Chapter Three
The moon hung like a blade above Wutai's eastern wall as Cloud pressed himself against the damp stone of the palace garden. Koi stirred beneath the black glass of the pond, their golden scales catching shards of lantern light as if the water held fragments of the stars themselves. Above the swaying pines, Tifa's chamber window glimmered—a pale square of rice paper where silhouettes should have danced.
Empty. Always empty since the mountain.
He crouched lower, fingers brushing the dagger at his waist. The guards' footsteps crunched gravel three paces east, close enough to hear the clink of their armor. They spoke of harvest taxes and a missing kitchen girl, their voices fading as they turned toward the barracks. Cloud waited until the rustle of their hakama trousers dissolved into the cricket-song night before moving. Every shadow became an ally; every snapped twig between the azaleas felt like betrayal.
Cloud's mind drifted back to that fateful day on Da Chao Mountain. The memory played over and over - the sudden crack of lightning, the crumbling ledge beneath their feet, Tifa's scream of terror as they plummeted into the abyss. He squeezed his eyes shut against the painful images. If only he had been quicker, stronger...he could have pulled her to safety. It was his fault she had been injured, and now Lord Lockhart rightfully blamed him.
"I failed her," Cloud whispered to himself, his words carried away on the night breeze. "I should have protected her."
The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting. He knew it was hopeless - a lowly servant and bastard like him could never be with the daughter of a noble house, especially now. Lord Lockhart had made it very clear that Cloud was no longer welcome anywhere near Tifa. The chasm between their worlds had never felt wider.
And yet, Cloud found himself drawn to her, night after night. He had to see with his own eyes that she was alright, had to imagine, if only for a moment, that things could be different. That somehow, someday, he could be the one to keep her safe.
With a sigh, Cloud turned away from Tifa's window. He melted back into the shadows of the palace grounds, alone with his heavy thoughts and the soft chirping of crickets in the gardens. Though it pained him, he knew this was as close as he could ever be to her now. Duty and tradition had built walls between them that felt insurmountable.
As he slipped out through the side gate, Cloud cast one last longing look back at the flickering lights of the palace. His heart ached with all the words left unspoken, but he steeled himself to endure. For Tifa's sake, he had to find a way to become more than he was - to forge a path that could lead him back to her side, even if she never knew he was there.
Cloud's steps were heavy as he made his way back to the servants' quarters, his mind weighed down by the realization that had been slowly building within him. As long as he remained a mere servant, powerless and looked down upon, he would never be able to truly protect Tifa from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the palace.
The political machinations of the nobles, the whispers of war on the horizon - these were threats that Cloud was helpless against in his current position. He clenched his fists, frustration and determination warring within him. There had to be a way to bridge the gap between them, to become the shield that Tifa needed, even if she never knew it was him.
As he lay on his thin futon that night, staring up at the worn wooden beams above, a plan began to take shape in Cloud's mind. He knew it would mean leaving behind everything he had ever known, but for Tifa, he was willing to make that sacrifice.
The next morning, Cloud sought out his mother, Claudia. He found her hunched over the washbasin, her hands red and raw from the harsh soap. When he told her of his decision to leave the village and join the samurai forces, Claudia's eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and understanding.
"Cloud, my boy," she said softly, reaching out to cup his cheek. "I always knew this day would come. As much as it pains me to see you go, I know that your path lies beyond the confines of this village."
Cloud leaned into his mother's touch, taking comfort in her strength. "I have to do this, Mother. For Tifa, and for myself. I can't stay here, powerless and unable to protect those I care about."
Claudia nodded, a sad smile on her weathered face. "I know, Cloud. Just promise me that you'll be careful out there. The world beyond our village can be a harsh and unforgiving place."
"I will, Mother. I promise."
As Cloud packed his few belongings and prepared to leave, he couldn't help but wonder if this path would truly lead him back to Tifa. Would becoming a samurai, a warrior of the shadows, be enough to bridge the gap between their worlds? Only time would tell, but Cloud knew that he had to try. For Tifa, he would face any challenge, endure any hardship. She was worth fighting for, even if she never knew the depths of his devotion.
With a final embrace from his mother, Cloud set out on the road to his new life, his heart heavy with the weight of his choice, but his spirit unbreakable in its resolve. Outside, mist curled through the streets like phantom rivers. Cloud walked without looking back, the weight of his dagger familiar against his thigh. In his mind, he counted steps: thirty-seven to the north gate, ninety-two through the mulberry grove, two hundred along the river road. Numbers kept the memories at bay—Tifa's smile, the crack of bone, her father's wine-stained curse.
But as dawn's first bruise colored the sky, he paused at the crossroads. Behind him, Wutai slept beneath its blanket of fog. Ahead, the road twisted into forests where bandits and ambition thrived.
Protect her,he begged whatever gods listened to bastards. Then he stepped forward, leaving childhood in the mud behind him.
The dirt beneath Cloud's sandals still smelled of last night's rain—petrichor and pine needles crushed under hurried footsteps. His mother's bundled rice cakes pressed against his ribs like misplaced armor as he counted the notches in the path: thirty-seven to the north gate, ninety-two through the mulberry grove, two hundred along the river road. Numbers anchored him better than prayers.
Fog swallowed the sleeping village whole, leaving only the skeletal outlines of merchant stalls and shrines. He didn't look back. To turn now would summon memories better left buried—Tifa's laughter between plum blossoms, her father's boot connecting with his ribs outside the stables, the wet crack of her arm breaking during their fall. Instead, he focused on the weight of the dagger at his thigh, its leather sheath worn smooth by stolen hours of practice behind the charcoal kilns.
The samurai outpost emerged at noon like a mirage. Sunlight glinted off curved rooftops armored in black tiles, while the stench of forge smoke and unwashed bodies announced its reality. A dozen recruits sparred in the courtyard, their bokken clacking in arrhythmic fury. Cloud's fingers twitched—he knew each of their mistakes before the training master barked corrections. Overreach on the red-haired boy's downward strike. Poor footwork from the one with jade earrings.
Cloud took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he approached the gates. The guards eyed him warily, their gazes lingering on his worn clothes and the dust of the road that clung to his skin.
"State your business," one of them barked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I'm here to join the samurai," Cloud said, his voice steady despite the nervousness that twisted in his gut. "I wish to serve and protect."
The guard snorted, his eyes narrowing. "You? A scrawny thing like you, barely old enough to hold a sword? What makes you think you have what it takes?"
Cloud met the guard's gaze, his blue eyes flashing with determination. "I may be young, but I'm willing to work harder than anyone. I'll prove my worth, no matter what it takes."
The guard studied him for a long moment, then jerked his head towards the courtyard. "We'll see about that. Report to the recruitment officer. He'll decide if you're fit to join our ranks."
As Cloud made his way into the outpost, he couldn't help but overhear the whispers that followed him.
"Another bastard child, thinking he can rise above his station."
"He'll be gone within a week, mark my words."
Cloud gritted his teeth, the words stinging like salt in a wound. He knew that his journey would not be easy, that he would face prejudice and doubt at every turn. But he refused to let it break him. He had made a promise to Tifa, and to himself. He would become a samurai, a protector from the shadows, no matter the cost.
With a deep breath, Cloud approached the recruitment officer, his eyes blazing with resolve. His journey was just beginning, but he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. For Tifa, he would endure anything.
Cloud stood at attention, his body aching from the grueling trials he had endured. The sun beat down on the courtyard, glinting off the sweat that dripped from his brow. Around him, the other recruits panted and groaned, their faces etched with exhaustion.
The trials had been relentless—endless hours of swordplay, tactical drills, and physical challenges designed to push them to their limits. Cloud's muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to show any weakness. He had outperformed many of the other recruits, his agility and quick thinking setting him apart.
But as the samurai commanders gathered to assess the recruits, Cloud could sense their hesitation. They whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting towards him with a mix of admiration and disdain.
"The boy has skill, there's no denying that," one of them murmured.
"But his low birth... can we really place him among the honored ranks?" another countered.
Cloud's heart sank, the words cutting deeper than any blade. He had worked so hard, had given everything he had to prove himself worthy. But it seemed that even here, in the heart of the samurai outpost, his status as a bastard child would always hold him back.
As the commanders continued their deliberations, Cloud remained silent, his disappointment masked behind a stoic facade. He knew that he could not change his birth, but he had hoped that his skills would speak for themselves.
Finally, the head commander approached him, his face grave. "Cloud Strife," he said, his voice low and serious. "You have shown great potential during these trials. Your swordsmanship and tactical abilities are impressive, especially for one so young."
Cloud's heart leaped, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. But the commander's next words doused that flame as quickly as it had sparked.
"However, due to your low birth, we cannot place you among the public ranks of the samurai. It would be... inappropriate."
Cloud's shoulders slumped, the weight of disappointment crushing him. He had come so far, had sacrificed so much, only to be rejected at the final hurdle.
But then the commander leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There is, however, another role that we believe you would be well-suited for. A role that requires great skill, discretion, and a willingness to operate in the shadows."
Cloud's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. "What role is that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The commander's gaze was piercing, his words measured and deliberate. "A royal assassin. Your missions would be covert, deadly, and thankless. You would live in the shadows, never publicly recognized for your deeds."
Cloud's breath caught in his throat, the enormity of the offer sinking in. To be an assassin, a silent killer in the night... it was a role that few would envy. And yet, as he thought of Tifa, of his desperate need to protect her from the dangers that lurked in the shadows, he knew that it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
"I accept," he said, his voice steady and determined. "I will become a royal assassin, and I will serve the kingdom from the shadows."
The commander nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Very well. Your training will begin immediately. Prepare yourself, Cloud Strife. The path ahead will not be easy."
As Cloud bowed deeply, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision, he couldn't help but think of Tifa. He knew that she would never know of the sacrifices he was making, of the dark road he had chosen to walk. But if it meant keeping her safe, if it meant being able to protect her from afar, then it would all be worth it.
With a final glance at the sun-drenched courtyard, Cloud turned and followed the commander into the shadows, ready to embrace his new role as a royal assassin. It was a path that would test him in ways he had never been tested before, but for Tifa, he would endure anything.
Cloud sat in the dimly lit barracks, his thoughts a swirling maelstrom of doubt and determination. Around him, the other recruits laughed and joked, their voices filled with the eager anticipation of glory and honor. They spoke of the battles they would fight, the accolades they would earn, the respect they would command. But for Cloud, there would be no such recognition.
He glanced down at his hands, calloused from the endless hours of training. The path of an assassin was a lonely one, a road shrouded in shadows and secrets. There would be no parades in his honor, no songs sung of his bravery. His victories would be silent, his sacrifices unknown.
And yet, as he thought of Tifa, of her gentle smile and the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, he knew that it was a burden he was willing to bear. As an assassin, he would have the power to protect her from the dangers that lurked in the palace, the threats that hid behind polite smiles and poisoned words. He would be her silent guardian, her unseen shield.
"Hey, Cloud!" One of the other recruits called out, his voice cutting through Cloud's reverie. "Why so quiet? Aren't you excited to become a samurai?"
Cloud looked up, his blue eyes cool and distant. "I am honored to serve the kingdom in whatever way I can," he said simply.
The recruit laughed, shaking his head. "Always so serious, aren't you? Well, I guess that's why they chose you for the special training."
Cloud nodded, his expression unchanging. The special training, as they called it, was a euphemism for the brutal, unforgiving world of the assassins. It was a world of shadows and secrets, where one's loyalties were forever in question.
As the days turned into weeks, Cloud threw himself into his training with a singular focus. He mastered the art of stealth, learning to move like a ghost through the shadows. He honed his skills with the blade, becoming a deadly force of precision and speed. And he studied the art of deception, learning to wear a mask of innocence even as he struck with lethal efficiency.
His instructors were impressed with his progress, marveling at the way he seemed to thrive in the darkness. They whispered among themselves that he was a prodigy, a once-in-a-generation talent.
But for Cloud, there was no pride in his accomplishments. Each new skill he mastered, each new technique he perfected, was simply another tool in his arsenal, another way to keep Tifa safe.
And so, he trained. He pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, to the very limits of his endurance. He bore the bruises and the scars, the aches and the pains, all in service of his silent vow.
At night, when the barracks were still and the only sound was the soft breathing of the other recruits, Cloud would lie awake, staring at the ceiling. He would think of Tifa, of the life they had shared before fate had torn them apart. And he would renew his promise, his sacred oath to protect her, no matter the cost.
For in the end, that was all that mattered. Not glory, not honor, not the accolades of the samurai. But the knowledge that he had done everything in his power to keep the one he loved safe from harm.
Even if she would never know of his sacrifice.
Azaleas wept crimson petals onto the gravel path. Cloud counted seventeen steps to the moon-viewing pavilion where a silhouette waited—a woman's form draped in robes the color of forgotten graves. Her left sleeve hung empty, pinned above the elbow.
"They say you move like shadow breathed life." Her voice carried the rasp of someone who'd inhaled battlefield smoke. "Tell me, boy. Can you kill what cannot be seen?"
She tossed a blade. Cloud caught it by the hilt, recognizing the balance of a ninjato despite never having held one. The edge gleamed blue with monkshood poison.
The dagger in Cloud's hand felt lighter than his mother's farewell. Lighter than Tifa's trust. He saw the trap—glory traded for gutter work, honor supplanted by utility. But in the poison's sheen, he also saw power. Not the gilded sort paraded in daylight, but the kind that coiled in sewers and slipped through keyholes. The kind that could dismantle threats long before they reached palace gates.
"We have a mission for you."
Cloud listened, his heart pounding in his chest as he received his first mission. It was a long-term assignment, the commander explained, one that would take him deep into enemy territory. Midgar. He would be gone for years, with no contact with the outside world.
As the commander outlined the details of the mission, Cloud's mind raced. Years away from Wutai, away from Tifa. The thought was almost unbearable. But he knew that this was the path he had chosen, the only way to gain the power he needed to protect her.
He bowed his head, accepting the mission with a solemn vow. But before he left, there was one thing he had to do.
That night, Cloud crept through the palace grounds, his footsteps silent on the well-worn paths. He had walked this route countless times before, but tonight, everything felt different. The air was heavy with a sense of finality, a feeling that this might be the last time he would ever see these walls.
He made his way to the palace gardens, his heart in his throat. And there, standing by the koi pond, was Tifa.
She looked ethereal in the soft glow of the lanterns, her kimono fluttering gently in the breeze. Her face was calm, but her eyes were sad, reflecting the loneliness that had haunted her since her mother's death.
At the sight of Cloud, a flicker of surprise crossed her features. But then, slowly, a soft smile broke through the sorrow.
"Cloud," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle trickling of the water. "What are you doing here?"
He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I had to see you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Before I leave."
Tifa's brow furrowed. "Leave? Where are you going?"
Cloud hesitated, the weight of his mission hanging heavy on his shoulders. "I've been assigned a long-term mission," he said finally. "In enemy territory. I'll be gone for years."
Tifa's eyes widened, and for a moment, Cloud saw a flash of fear in their depths. But then, she composed herself, her face settling into a mask of calm.
"I see," she said softly. "And when do you leave?"
"Tomorrow," Cloud replied, his heart clenching at the thought. "At dawn."
Tifa nodded, her gaze drifting to the still waters of the pond. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a physical thing.
Finally, Tifa looked back at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Promise me you'll be careful," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come back to me."
With trembling hands, she reached up and unclasped the delicate crescent moon earring that had been her constant companion since childhood. It was a cherished symbol of her family's legacy, passed down from mother to daughter for generations.
Tears welled in Tifa's eyes as she pressed the earring into Cloud's palm, curling his fingers around it. "Take this," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's a promise, Cloud. A promise that I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes."
Cloud looked down at the earring, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He knew the significance of this gesture, knew how much it meant for Tifa to entrust him with something so precious. "Tifa, I..." he began, but the words caught in his throat.
Tifa shook her head, a watery smile on her lips. "You don't have to say anything," she murmured. "Just promise me that you'll come back to me."
Cloud nodded, his jaw clenched with determination. "I promise," he said, his voice low and intense. "I will come back to you, Tifa. No matter what happens, no matter how long it takes, I will find my way back to you."
Her chest tightened. Before he could speak, she seized the front of his jacket, linen rough against her knuckles. "The real oath. Not the words they teach you in barracks."
Something shattered in his composure. His hands found hers, larger now but still bearing the strawberry birthmark she'd traced as children. "Body and blade," he whispered, forehead dipping until it nearly touched hers. "Across every river. Through every shadow."
"Until our paths cross under the same moon." She finished the old traveler's prayer, their breath mingling in the space between them.
The earring glinted as he slipped it into an inner pocket. She didn't ask about the bloodstains mottling the fabric there, or why his left sleeve smelled of medicinal herbs. Some truths were sharper than tanto blades.
He melted into the pines as silently as he'd come, the guards' lanterns bobbing far downstream. Tifa remained motionless long after the last crunch of snow faded, watching the koi brush against the ice where Cloud's reflection had been. The eastern sky lightened to the color of unripe plums.
In her clenched fist, she found four crescent marks—mirroring the moon now buried in his coat.
But in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the promise they made to each other, the unbreakable bond that would keep them connected across any distance.
The night wore on, the palace falling into a deep, melancholic silence. Tifa stood at her chamber window, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the first hints of dawn were beginning to paint the sky. She had not slept, her mind too full of thoughts and fears to find any rest.
Her heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest, weighed down by the knowledge that Cloud was gone, that he had left to fight in a war that seemed to have no end. She had always known that this day might come, that their worlds were too different, their paths too divergent. But still, she had hoped...
A soft knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She turned, her brow furrowing in confusion. Who could be calling at this hour?
"Come in," she called, her voice sounding small and fragile in the stillness of the room.
The door slid open, revealing the stooped figure of her obaasan, Marle. The old woman's face was lined with concern, her eyes dark with worry.
"My lady," she said, bowing low. "Forgive the intrusion, but I heard you stirring and thought you might need some company."
Tifa smiled, a sad, grateful smile. "Thank you, Marle. I would like that very much."
The old woman shuffled into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She moved to stand beside Tifa at the window, her gaze following the young girl's out into the dawn-streaked sky.
"He will come back to you," Marle said softly, as if reading Tifa's thoughts. The woman could be tough, but she knew Tifa's heart and cradled it easily. "But you mustn't tie your thoughts up with him. He will find his way home."
Tifa nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. She wanted to believe Marle's words, wanted to cling to that hope like a lifeline in the dark. But the fear was always there, the knowledge that war was unpredictable, that even the strongest and bravest could fall.
"I miss him already," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the wind in the trees. "I feel like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again until he returns."
Marle reached out, her gnarled hand resting gently on Tifa's shoulder. "I know, my lady. But you must be strong, for him and for yourself. He will need your strength in the days to come, just as you will need his."
Tifa nodded, drawing in a shaky breath. She knew Marle was right, knew that she could not let her fear and sorrow consume her. She had to be strong, had to hold on to the hope that Cloud would return to her, no matter how long it took.
And so, as the sun rose over the palace walls, bathing the world in a soft, golden light, Tifa made a silent vow. She would wait for Cloud, would keep the memory of their love alive in her heart. And when he returned, she would be there, ready to welcome him home with open arms.
No matter how long it took, no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would never give up on him. For their love was a bond that could not be broken, a promise that would endure through all the trials and tribulations of life.
And with that thought, Tifa turned from the window, ready to face the new day with renewed strength and determination.
The grand Sapphire Hall gleamed with an eerie light, the polished marble floors reflecting the flickering glow of the torches that lined the walls. Tifa crouched in the shadows of the mezzanine, her young eyes peering through the ornate balustrade at the gathering below. The air was thick with tension, the room filled with a palpable sense of unease.
The scent of burnt pine resin clung to Tifa's sleeves as she pressed against the sliding door's edge, watching through the gap where gold leaf had flaked from the shoji screen. Sixteen months had weathered the palace gardens beyond recognition—cherry blossoms replaced by black pines pruned into spearhead shapes, gravel raked in harsh zigzags that hurt to behold.
The Midgarian delegation had brought winter indoors. King Shinra's fur-lined cloak dripped melted snow onto the tatami, each droplet hissing faintly against the floor's residual warmth. Behind him stood his son Rufus, princely countenance sharpened into a blade—platinum hair trimmed military-short, gloved fingers tapping nonsense rhythms against his thigh holster. But it was the man lurking behind them who stole Tifa's breath. Professor Hojo's spectacles caught the lamplight in twin flashes as he scribbled notes, bamboo pen scratching like insect mandibles.
At the head of the long, wooden table sat her father, Lord Brian, his face a mask of stoic resolve.
"We come bearing an offer of peace," King Shinra began, his voice smooth and oily. "An end to the hostilities between our two great nations."
Lord Brian's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "And what are the terms of this peace?" he asked, his tone measured and even.
Tifa's thumbnail dug into the doorframe. They weren't here to discuss trade routes or border disputes. She'd overheard the kitchen maids whispering about entire villages near Mount Daichi vanishing overnight, about black-robed surveyors carrying strange instruments that made dogs howl for miles.
"A token," Hojo purred. "For the young lady observing us."
Ice flooded Tifa's veins. She hadn't made a sound, hadn't shifted her weight once. Yet the professor's gaze pinned her through the paper-thin screen, eyes magnified to grotesque proportions by his lenses.
Her father's face went stonier than the dry rock garden outside.
Rufus leaned forward, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "A marriage alliance," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the mezzanine where Tifa hid. "Between your daughter and myself. A union that would bind our two kingdoms together, ensuring a lasting peace."
Tifa's heart clenched in her chest, a sudden wave of fear washing over her. She knew little of politics, of the games that men played in their quest for power. But even at her tender age, she understood the implications of Rufus' words.
Lord Brian was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I will consider your proposal," he said at last, his voice tight with barely concealed mistrust. "But I make no promises."
King Shinra smiled, a cold, calculating thing that sent shivers down Tifa's spine. "Of course," he said, rising from his seat. "We shall await your decision with great anticipation."
As the Midgarian delegation filed out of the hall, Tifa caught a glimpse of Hojo's face, his dark eyes glittering with a malevolent light. She shuddered, an inexplicable sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.
Lord Brian remained seated at the table, his brow furrowed in thought. Tifa watched as he rubbed his temples, a gesture she had come to recognize as a sign of deep concern.
"Father?" she called out softly, emerging from her hiding place.
Lord Brian looked up, his expression softening as he saw his daughter. "Tifa," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Come here, child."
Tifa crossed the room, her small hand slipping into her father's larger one. "What's going to happen, Father?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Are they going to make me marry Rufus?"
Lord Brian sighed, pulling her close. "I don't know, my daughter," he said, his voice heavy with worry. "But know this - I will do everything in my power to protect you, to ensure your happiness and safety."
Tifa nodded, burying her face in her father's robes. But even as she took comfort in his embrace, she couldn't shake the feeling that their lives were about to change forever - and that the future that awaited them was filled with uncertainty and danger.
The streets of Midgar were a labyrinth of shadows and steam, the air thick with the acrid scent of mako. Cloud moved silently through the narrow alleys, his footsteps muffled by the hiss of distant machinery. His heart raced beneath his dark, form-fitting armor, the weight of his mission heavy on his young shoulders.
"Target acquired," came the crackling voice through his earpiece. "Proceed to the rendezvous point."
Cloud's hand tightened on the hilt of his katana, the metal cool against his palm. He had trained for this moment, honed his skills to become the perfect weapon. Yet as he approached the designated location, a sense of unease prickled at the back of his neck.
The alley opened up into a small courtyard, dimly lit by the flickering glow of a single lamppost. In the center stood a figure, their face obscured by a hooded cloak. Cloud's instincts screamed danger, urging him to turn back, but he had his orders.
"Identify yourself," he called out, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his gut.
The figure turned, and Cloud's breath caught in his throat. It was a woman, her delicate features etched with fear. Her eyes, a striking green, met his, and in their depths, he saw not the hardened gaze of a political mastermind, but the terrified expression of an innocent.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know what's happening. I'm not who they think I am."
Cloud's mind raced, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. This was no target, but a pawn in a larger game, a trap set to ensnare him. He took a step back, his senses on high alert, but it was too late.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the shadows, the ring of steel against steel as swords were drawn. Cloud spun, his own blade flashing in the dim light as he deflected the first attack. But they were too many, their movements swift and coordinated, hemming him in from all sides.
Cloud fought with all the skill and fury of his training, his sword a blur of motion as he parried and countered. Yet for every assailant he felled, another took their place, the tight confines of the alley working against him.
A searing pain bloomed in his side, the warm rush of blood telling him he'd been hit. Cloud gritted his teeth, refusing to yield, but his movements were slowing, his vision blurring at the edges.
As he fell to his knees, the taste of copper on his tongue, a single thought crystallized in his mind. He had been betrayed, a pawn in a game far beyond his understanding. And with that realization came a surge of bitter anger, a determination to survive, to unravel the truth behind this web of lies.
For he had made a promise, a vow to return to the one who held his heart. And Cloud Strife was not a man to break his word, even in the face of death itself.
The cold stone of the Midgarian alleyway pressed against Cloud's cheek as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The coppery scent of his own blood mingled with the acrid smell of the city's underbelly. Each breath sent a lance of pain through his battered body, a testament to the severity of his wounds.
Through the haze of pain, he heard voices, distant and muffled. Hands grasped him, rough at first, then gentler as they turned him over. Cloud forced his eyes open, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on the faces above him.
"He's lost a lot of blood," a woman's voice said, soft but urgent. "We need to get him to the outpost, quickly."
Cloud felt himself being lifted, the movement sending fresh waves of agony coursing through him. He wanted to protest, to demand answers, but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.
As he was carried through the winding streets, the world faded in and out, snippets of conversation reaching his ears.
"...Shinra's work, no doubt..."
"...should have known better than to trust..."
"...lucky to be alive..."
Cloud clung to those last words as darkness claimed him once more, a flicker of hope amidst the pain and betrayal.
When he next awoke, it was to the gentle touch of a cool cloth on his forehead. The air was heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs, and the soft glow of lanterns cast the room in a warm, comforting light.
A slit opened. Eyes—green as summer moss flecked with gold—widened.
Herbs first. Sharp tang of yomogi crushed underfoot, sweetness of dried chrysanthemum hanging in braids from the rafters. Cloud woke to the scent of decay interrupted—gangrene burned away by mugwort poultices, his side stitched with thread spun from spider silk. Weak light filtered through rice paper screens, illuminating shelves cluttered with clay jars labeled in hurried brushstrokes: nightshade, ghost pipe, widow's breath.
"Don't sit up."
A girl knelt beside his pallet, mortar balanced on her lap. Her hands moved with practiced violence, pulverizing lotus roots into paste. Delicate wrists at odds with the force of each strike.
Cloud blinked, his eyes adjusting to his surroundings. He was in a small, simple room, lying on a cot with crisp white sheets. And beside him, tending to his wounds with gentle, practiced hands, was a young woman.
She had the most striking green eyes Cloud had ever seen, filled with a depth of compassion and sadness that seemed at odds with her youthful appearance. Her chestnut hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, and she wore the plain robes of a healer.
"Where..." Cloud croaked, his throat dry and raspy.
The woman started slightly, then offered him a gentle smile. "You're safe," she said softly. "This is a healing outpost, just outside the city. You were brought here last night."
Cloud tried to sit up, then hissed in pain as his wounds protested. The healer placed a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down.
"Easy," she chided gently. "You've been through quite an ordeal. Your body needs rest."
Cloud closed his eyes, the events of the previous night rushing back to him. The ambush, the betrayal, the sickening realization that he had been used.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
The woman hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. "My name is Aerith," she said at last. "I'm a healer here at the outpost."
There was a heaviness to her voice, a sadness that seemed to echo his own. Cloud studied her face, seeing in her eyes a reflection of the pain and loss he carried in his own heart.
"You've been crying for someone named Tifa in your sleep," she added with a wry but soft smile.
He froze.
In that moment, a strange sort of understanding passed between them, a recognition of shared grief and shattered illusions. For in this war-torn world, where trust was a luxury few could afford, they had both learned the hard way that nothing was as it seemed.
And as Aerith tended to his wounds with gentle, practiced hands, Cloud knew that he had found an unexpected ally in this place of shadows and deceit. A kindred spirit, bound by the scars they bore, both seen and unseen.
As time passed, Aerith became a valuable resource in his missions in Midgar. They found solace in each other's company. In the quiet moments between assignments, they would talk, sharing stories of their pasts and the dreams that had been shattered by the relentless march of war.
For Cloud, it was a chance to unburden himself, to give voice to the doubts and fears that had haunted him since that fateful night in Midgar. He spoke of Tifa, of the promise he had made and the weight of the crescent moon earring that hung around his neck, a constant reminder of all he stood to lose.
Aerith listened with a compassionate ear, offering no judgment, only understanding. She too had lost someone to the war, a soldier named Zack who had gone missing on the front lines. In Cloud, she saw a reflection of her own pain, a shared anguish that transcended the boundaries of allegiance and duty.
"Zack once promised he'd build us a house near the Gold Saucer. Two bedrooms—one for guests, he said." Aerith told him one morning when handing him a special elixir she'd prepared for his next excursion. A moth battered itself against her lantern as she stilled her pestle. "His last letter came sealed with wax instead of a kiss."
Cloud reached for the crescent moon earring—always in his pocket, never on display. Aerith's gaze followed the movement.
"Write her," she whispered. "Before your silence becomes another ghost between you."
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Dearest Tifa,
I write to you from a place of healing, both in body and in spirit. The wounds I sustained in Midgar are slowly mending, thanks to the care of a kind healer named Aerith. She has been a true friend to me in this dark time, a light in the shadows of war.
I think of you constantly, of the promise I made and the future we dreamed of together. The crescent moon earring you gave me is my most cherished possession, a symbol of the bond we share and the hope that someday, we will be reunited.
But I fear that day may be further off than either of us could have imagined. The war grows more brutal by the day, and the path I have chosen is one of danger and uncertainty. I am haunted by the things I have seen and done, by the knowledge that I am but a pawn in a game whose rules I do not fully understand.
And yet, even in my darkest moments, your memory sustains me. The thought of your smile, your laughter, your unwavering faith in me—these are the things that keep me going, that give me the strength to face another day.
I will write to you as often as I can, my love. For in this world of chaos and betrayal, your letters are my one true constant, a reminder of all that is good and pure in this life.
Until we meet again, I remain forever yours,
-Cloud
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With a heavy heart, Cloud sealed the letter and entrusted it to the outpost's courier, unaware that it would never reach its intended destination. For in the tangled web of political intrigue and shifting alliances, even the most innocent of correspondences could become a weapon in the wrong hands.
And so, as Cloud poured out his heart onto the pages, Tifa waited in vain for word from her beloved, her hope slowly giving way to sorrow and doubt. The distance between them seemed to grow with each passing day, a chasm that even the most heartfelt of words could not bridge.
The maple leaves had turned the color of old blood when Tifa began counting silences. Each morning before dawn prayers, she climbed the watchtower stairs—too narrow for guards to follow—and pressed her cheek against woodgrain still cold with night's breath. Below, the courier's pigeon coop hunched like a widower's shoulders. Thirty-seven slats in the roof. Twelve bamboo tubes for messages. Every day, empty.
"Again?" Yasmin, the kitchen maid, caught her descending at daybreak. The older girl's apron smelled of miso and sympathy.
Tifa tightened the ribbon around her practice sword. "He's fighting a war. Mornings are busy."
Her first lie tasted of metal. By the ninth week, she could chart deception's progression—iron after breakfast, lead by moonrise. At night, kneeling beside her lacquered writing desk, she traced the words of Cloud's last received letteruntil the ink blurred beneath her trembling fingers.
The training yard became her confessional. When wooden practice blades cracked against each other, she could scream freely. She had thrown herself into her training with a fierce determination, honing her skills with the same single-minded focus that had once been reserved for her dreams of a future with Cloud.
But now, those dreams seemed as distant as the mountains themselves. The letters that had once been her lifeline, her one connection to the boy she loved, had slowly trickled to a stop. At first, she had told herself that it was simply the chaos of war, that Cloud was too busy fighting for their future to put pen to paper. But as the weeks turned to months, and the months to a year, doubt began to creep in like a thief in the night.
Has he forgotten me?The thought was like a knife to her heart, but she could not shake it. Has he found someone else, someone who can be by his side in ways that I cannot?
She shook her head fiercely, trying to banish the traitorous thoughts. Cloud had promised her, had sworn on the very stars themselves that he would return to her. And yet, the silence stretched on, a yawning void that threatened to swallow her whole.
Tifa sat at her writing desk, the soft glow of the lantern casting shadows across the parchment before her. Her brush hovered over the paper, trembling slightly as she struggled to find the words to express the turmoil in her heart.
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My dearest Cloud,
It has been months since I last heard from you, and with each passing day, the ache in my heart grows deeper. I fear for your safety, for the horrors of war that you must face alone, so far from home.
I miss you more than words can say. I miss the sound of your voice, the warmth of your smile, the way you made me feel like anything was possible. Without you here, the world feels colder, darker, as though all the light has gone out of it.
I know that you are doing what you must, that you are fighting for a cause greater than yourself. But I can't help but fear for what this war will do to you, to us. Will you come back to me the same boy I knew, or will the horrors of battle change you in ways I cannot begin to imagine?
Please, Cloud, be safe. Come back to me, whole and unharmed. I need you, more than I have ever needed anyone or anything in my life. Without you, I am lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and doubt.
I will wait for you, Cloud, for as long as it takes. I will wait for you, even if the whole world tells me to let you go. For you are my heart, my soul, my everything, and without you, I am nothing.
Come back to me, my love. Come back to me, and let us build a life together, far from the shadows of war and the machinations of those who would seek to tear us apart.
Forever yours,
Tifa
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With a shaking hand, Tifa signed her name at the bottom of the letter. She folded it carefully, sealing it with a drop of wax and pressing her family's crest into it.
But as she held the letter in her hands, a sudden doubt seized her. What if Cloud never received it? What if he had forgotten her, moved on to someone else? The thought was too painful to bear, and Tifa felt a sob rising in her throat.
A sob shattered the characters. Brushing wetness from the page, Tifa reached for fresh paper when the oil lamp guttered. Darkness pooled around her like spilled fate.
Suddenly, a knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. "Lady Tifa?" a servant called from outside. "Your father requests your presence in the Great Hall."
Her blood became still water. Beneath the unfinished letter, the draft treaty peeking from her father's documents flashed crimson seals and damning clauses—Fifth Article: Union of Houses Lockhart and Shinra to Commence Upon Heiress's Sixteenth Year.
Tifa hastily wiped her tears, tucking the letter into the folds of her kimono. "I will be there shortly," she called back, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.
As she rose to leave, Tifa cast one last glance at the letter on her desk. It seemed such a small thing, a fragile hope in a world consumed by darkness. But it was all she had left, a fleeting connection to the boy she loved more than life itself.
The hairpin in her sleeve suddenly weighed as a dagger. She stood, smoothing the letter's crumpled edge, and blew out the trembling breath that smelled of pine sap and betrayal.