Chapter Two
Under the cloak of nightfall, the palace lay still, save for the occasional gust of wind that whispered through the ancient halls. Cloud tread softly across the manicured gardens, his young heart pounding with both trepidation and resolve. Cloaked in shadows, he slipped like a wraith through the unguarded archway beyond the Sapphire Hall, the faint moonlight casting his slender silhouette against the ornate walls of the imperial residence.
With practiced stealth borne of a refined combination of both necessity and mischief, Cloud navigated the labyrinthine corridors. His destination was as clear in his mind as the bright North Star above—the private chambers of Princess Tifa. The heavy sorrow that lingered in the air since the untimely demise of her mother, Thea, drew him forth, compelling him to offer solace to his friend in her time of grief.
He paused before the shoji screen that sealed Tifa's room from the rest of the world, his small fingers trembling as they found the edge. Gently, cautiously, he slid the panel open just enough for his slight frame to slip through, before closing it with equal care behind him.
The chamber was awash in the soft glow of paper lanterns, casting long shadows across the tatami floor. Tifa sat upon a silk cushion, her petite figure dwarfed by the enormity of her loss, hunching her shoulders and darkening her features. Clad in a somber ebony silk kimono, her dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears, reflective pools of mourning.
"Tifa," Cloud whispered, his voice barely audible. She looked up, surprise flickering across her delicate features when she noticed he'd slipped into her chambers.
"Cloud? How did you...?" she began, but the question died upon her lips as the understanding settled between them—a shared recognition of their place in this rigid world where station dictated every breath and every step.
"Shhh," he hushed, moving closer to sit beside her. He could not offer grand gestures or bring back what was lost, but he could grant her the simple comfort of companionship. "I had to wait until the guards changed rotation on this floor," he admitted, his gaze steady and full of empathy.
"Nobody will tell me anything," Tifa said quietly, her voice strained with frustration and sorrow. "But I know... I know there's something more about Mama's death. Something hidden." Her intuition was sharp, slicing through the veils of secrecy that shrouded the court. Cloud's chest tightened as he watched Tifa's brow furrow with pain.
"Whatever it is, you're not alone," Cloud assured her, placing a tentative hand atop hers—his touch light as a falling cherry blossom petal. He wasn't sure what to say - from his station in life, he knew even less than she did. But while their young minds could scarcely grasp the complexities of political intrigue, they understood the language of loss all too well.
Their solemn exchange was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, measured and certain. Before Cloud could react, the shoji screen slid open with swift authority, revealing Marle, Tifa's obaasan, standing with a disapproving frown etched deeply into her aged features.
"Cloud!" she exclaimed, shock and disappointment mingling in her stern voice. "You should not be here. It is improper and against the rules of the household. How many times have I had to tell Claudia this?"
His heart sank. Caught in the act, there was no avenue for denial, no shadow to hide within. With a bow of his head, he accepted the admonishment, knowing full well the consequences that would follow.
"Forgive me, Obaasan," he uttered respectfully, his words tinged with genuine remorse. In his earnest desire to be there for Tifa, he had neglected his duty—a grave error in a society that held such principles in high esteem. The last thing he wanted to do was bring shame or difficulty to his mother on top of everything else.
"Come with me," Marle commanded, her tone brooking no argument. Cloud cast a longing glance towards Tifa, whose expression was a complex tapestry of gratitude and worry.
"Go, Cloud," she said softly, freeing her hand from his. "Thank you for being my friend."
As Marle led him away, Cloud dared not look back, though his heart remained in that tranquil room with the princess. He knew Marle would inform her father, the Emperor, of his transgression. And though he feared the repercussions, the thought of Tifa facing her sorrows alone was a far more unbearable fate to him. After all, in the end, friendship and loyalty were the only lights that shone brightly in the darkness of uncertainty enveloping them both.
The next morning, Cloud watched from the shadows of the scullery as Tifa Lockhart, her dark hair perfectly arranged and kimono immaculate, was escorted by her obaasan to the courtyard where her noble friends awaited. The young serving boy's heart ached with an unfamiliar weight, his tiny hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"Cloud," whispered one of the kitchen maids as she passed by with a tray of steamed buns. "Your eyes betray your thoughts. Beware lest Marle sees the longing in them."
He nodded, grateful for the maid's concern but unable to peel his gaze away from Tifa. She moved with poised reluctance among her peers, her stature small but regal, her spirit caged. Cloud knew the reason for this change; whispers of political unrest had slithered through the corridors like a persistent chill. Yet he could not comprehend why such matters would sever the threads of their innocent friendship.
Of course, looking down at his simple chigo's uniform of dark cotton hakama, Cloud knew well why.
As the children began their calligraphy lesson, Tifa's brushstrokes appeared hesitant, her concentration broken by silent rebellion. Cloud understood that resentment growing within her, for it mirrored his own. He longed to reassure her, to tell her that he, too, wished for things to return to how they once were when they could share stories and dreams without fear of reprimand or the dreadful sorrow of death hanging in the air above their heads.
"Cloud!" The sharp voice of the head cook snapped him back to reality. "Enough daydreaming. There are rice bags to be carried and floors to be scrubbed."
"Of course," Cloud responded, bowing slightly before hurrying to his duties. Yet as he lifted the heavy sacks of rice, each grain seemed to carry the weight of his sorrow. And as he scrubbed the wooden floors, the water that pooled in the grooves reflected not only his somber face but also the image of a distant princess, trapped within invisible walls.
The days rolled on like the thunderous Koi in the imperial pond, each as indistinguishable as the last. Cloud's opportunities to see Tifa grew scarcer, and the moments they did share were fleeting, overshadowed by the ever-watchful eyes of the court. His heart grew heavy with the burden of unvoiced emotions, his role as a servant never more pronounced than in these times of separation.
And so, amidst the splendor of the palace, beneath the watchful gaze of Da Chao Mountain in the distance, two young souls were bound by duty and tradition, yearning for the freedom that seemed as distant as the stars above. Cloud, resigned to his fate yet hopeful for change, continued his work in silence, cherishing the memories of a friendship that bloomed like the cherry blossoms in spring—a friendship that, despite the emperor's decree, refused to wither in his heart.
The ancient stones of Da Chao Mountain stood like silent sentinels, age-old guardians cloaked in the verdant embrace of climbing wisteria and moss. Tifa, her heart as heavy as the humid air that clung to her skin, ascended the worn path alongside Emilio and the other boys. Her small hands gripped the hem of her kimono, a garment too formal for such an expedition, yet she wore it as a silent protest against the stifling confines of the palace and the ever-tightening grip of her father's rules.
"Your mother's spirit dwells atop these peaks," Emilio had whispered to her under the sheltering boughs of the palace garden, his eyes alight with the fervor of adventure and the comforting myths of old. "She watches over you from the heavens, but here, you may feel her closer, Princess."
Tifa's heart, burdened with grief and the opaque veil of political intrigue that shrouded her mother's untimely departure from this realm, yearned for some semblance of connection to what was lost. She sought solace in the thought that amidst the crags and windswept heights, she might find a whisper of Thea, her beloved mother.
As they climbed, the world below seemed to shrink, giving way to grand vistas of rolling hills and distant shimmers of the palace rooftops—her gilded cage. With each step, Tifa's things and calves burned - but she also felt a mingling sense of rebellion and hope fuel her ascent. Emilio led the way, his youthful exuberance cutting a path through the dense foliage that clawed at their clothes with thin, green fingers.
Yet, as the sun reached its zenith and began its slow descent, the skies betrayed them. Dark clouds, like ink spilled across parchment, blotted out the blue and brought with them a chill wind that moaned through the mountain pass. Lightning flashed, a serpentine dance of light that illuminated the faces of the boys, now etched with concern.
"Princess Tifa," Lester called out from behind them, his voice barely rising above the growing tempest, "We must turn back! It is not safe!"
But the princess, with the stubborn fire of her lineage, pressed on. Each crack of thunder was a drumbeat urging her forward, a call to find the peace that eluded her in the waking world. Her delicate slippers slipped upon the wet stone, the silk of her kimono growing heavy with the rain that began to fall in earnest.
"Please, Tifa-sama, we must heed the mountain's warning," Taylor pleaded, his own resolve waning before nature's display of power.
Emilio looked back, torn between loyalty and safety, his gaze lingering upon Tifa's resolute figure. Yet, even he could not deny the danger that the storm presented, and with a heavy heart, he signaled the retreat.
But by now, Tifa would not be swayed. She knew not if the spirits truly roamed these sacred peaks, or if her mother's essence could be found within the caress of the wind or the echo of the thunder. All she knew was the ache that hollowed her chest, the desperate need to feel close to Thea once more, to ask the questions that lingered and seek the truths that evaded, even if it meant braving the wrath of the heavens.
The winds howled with the fury of ancestral spirits disturbed, clawing at the fabric of Tifa's kimono as if to pull her back from the precipice of her intent. With her mother's death casting a long shadow over her heart, she climbed Da Chao mountain's treacherous path, seeking solace in the arms He hadn't moved from the steps of the last pass, dust unfurling as the storm pelted the earth. His eyes, just moments ago bright with youthful adventure, now mirrored the tempest's unease. "The mountain rejects our presence."
Tifa's small hands balled into fists, her knuckles white as the moon above. She glanced back at her companions, their silhouettes hesitant and dwarfed by the looming threat of nature's wrath. "Then return if you must," she declared, her words slicing through the din like a katana. "I will not be deterred."
One by one, the boys retreated, casting worried glances that were quickly swallowed by the thickening mists. They left behind more than just their friend; they left behind the weight of obligation that tethered them to the ground below.
Tifa turned, her heart heavy and her limbs aching, turned, looking up to face the round, sculpted face of Da Chao above.
She pressed on.
Cloud, hidden amongst the foliage, watched the scene unfold with a furrowed brow. The serving boy, used to observing rather than participating in the affairs of nobility, felt an unfamiliar anger bubble within him as he witnessed Emilio and the others abandon Tifa in her time of need.
His gaze clung to the retreating figures until they vanished completely, then shifted back to Tifa's lone form advancing upon the mountain path. Cloud's heart raced, pumping courage through his veins. He dashed from his hiding place, feet sure and silent as he had been taught, closing the gap between himself and the determined princess.
"Princess Tifa!" he wanted to shout, but the words tangled in his throat, muffled by the raging wind. Instead, he allowed his actions to speak for him, moving swiftly to follow her ascent with unwavering resolve.
The distance lessened with each step, yet with every moment that passed, the storm seemed to gather its strength, as though it too shared Cloud's urgency. Thunder rumbled across the heavens, a drumbeat of warning that went unheeded by the princess' ears.
Cloud's mind swirled with thoughts of duty and the rigid lines of station that separated them—lines he was about to cross once more. But as the rain lashed against his skin and lightning illuminated the sky, revealing Tifa's silhouette against the mountain's harsh backdrop, those lines blurred into insignificance.
He followed her, driven by something beyond his understanding—a force as compelling as the spirits said to dwell within Da Chao's enigmatic peaks. And though the storm sought to bar their way, he would not let Tifa face its fury alone.
Cloud surged forward, his small form a shadow flitting through the tempest. His eyes locked onto Tifa, her slender figure swaying precariously near Da Chao's immense stone hand, sculpted long ago by artisans whose names had vanished into legend. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs, her small hands clenched in defiant grief as she sought solace from the indifferent stone.
"Princess Tifa," Cloud called out again, his voice barely piercing the howling wind. "You mustn't do this! It is too dangerous!"
Tifa's head turned slightly, acknowledging Cloud's presence but not heeding his plea. The tears that streaked her cheeks were indistinguishable from the rain that soaked them both to the bone. Her resolve was like the mountain itself—unyielding, resolute—as she stepped closer to the carved deity's hand.
"Please, turn back," Cloud implored, drawing closer. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the hem of her soaked kimono. The rigid societal lines forbade such contact, yet the peril she faced rendered all propriety mute. "You aren't going to find your mom here!"
A sudden flash rent the sky asunder, followed by a deafening crack that echoed the thunder above. The lightning struck with divine precision, cleaving the palm of Da Chao's hand. The rock trembled and groaned, splintering apart under the electric assault.
"Princess!" Cloud cried out, throwing himself towards Tifa as the ground beneath her fractured.
Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat an eternity as Cloud's fingers stretched desperately towards Tifa's small hand. Her wide, fear-stricken eyes met his, a silent plea for salvation etched within their depths. Their fingertips grazed; a fleeting touch charged with the urgency of life and death.
Then, as though the earth itself rebelled against their forbidden connection, it crumbled away. They lost their footing, tumbling into the chasm that opened like a hungry maw beneath them. Cloud's thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and determination—he could not, would not let her fall alone.
The world became a blur, the roar of the storm melding with the rush of adrenaline. Together, they spiraled downward into the unknown, embraced only by the tempest and the unspoken promise that bound one boy to his princess.
Cloud's descent was a tumult of terror and confusion, his body twisting through the air as he clutched at Tifa's hand. The ravine yawned before them, an abyss veiled in shadow and storm. Cloud could feel the sting of gravel against his knees, the jarring impact as he tumbled to an unyielding earth. It betrayed not even a whisper of forgiveness for their intrusion.
As the dust settled around him, silence took hold—a stark contrast to the cacophony of their fall. Cloud lay there for a moment, gathering the scattered shards of his courage. His knees throbbed with sharp complaints, but he forced himself upright. The scrapes were superficial; his duty to Tifa far outweighed the bite of his wounds.
Blinking through the veil of rain, he saw her—a small, still form crumpled a few feet away. His breath caught in his throat, each step towards her heavy with dread. She lay like a fallen blossom upon the cold ground, her raven hair splayed out in stark relief against the pale stone.
"Tifa," he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the murmur of the rain.
She did not stir.
Cloud's heart pounded with a ferocity that matched the storm above. Closer now, he could see the gash upon her forehead—a cruel mar on her otherwise serene visage. Crimson painted her skin, a stark contrast to the delicate flush of her cheeks, a line of red running clean down the side of her face.
"Tifa," he called again, louder this time, as he crawled to her side. His hands shook as he reached out, tentative fingers brushing her cheek, willing her to awaken from this unnatural slumber.
But Tifa remained motionless, locked in the silent grip of unconsciousness, her spirit adrift from the world they shared. Cloud gathered her into his arms, cradling her with reverence and fear. He knew then that he would protect her with every fiber of his being, just as the ancient pines stood guard over the sacred temples of their land.
He gazed up through the veil of rain and the encroaching darkness, searching for a path to salvation, praying for the strength to carry them both from this place. In that moment, between the whispers of the wind and the cries of the heavens, Cloud made an unspoken vow—a promise etched into the very marrow of his bones—to stand by her side against the storms that would surely come.
Tears welled in Cloud's eyes as he gently shook Tifa's shoulders, his voice a desperate whisper amid the tempest's rage. "Tifa, please," he implored, fear clenching his heart like the iron grip of winter on the blossoms of spring. Her face, pallid beneath the moonlight's watchful eye, gave no response, her chest rising and falling with a faint rhythm that was the only sign she remained tethered to this world.
With great tenderness, Cloud brushed away the strands of ebony hair plastered against her brow, marred by the blood that seeped from her wound. His own scrapes paled in comparison to the stillness that claimed her. He cradled her closer, her name tumbling from his lips in a litany, as though each utterance might summon the life back into her limpid form.
"Help!" he cried out, his voice carrying over the ravine and into the night. The wind stole the sound, casting it into the vastness of the darkened forest that lay beyond. His pleas seemed swallowed by the same shadows that threatened to claim Tifa from him.
Time unfurled like a scroll left in the rain, the ink of minutes blurring into hours. Cloud's sobs had quieted to silent vigils, his gaze never leaving the princess's face. It was then, when hope flickered dim as the last star before dawn, that the sound of rustling armor and hurried footsteps broke through the maelstrom.
The royal samurai guard, led by an unyielding sense of duty, emerged from the shroud of night. Marle, her form stooped with age yet imbued with a fierce determination, was at their forefront. The obaasan's eyes found Cloud first, a flicker of relief softening the stern set of her mouth before it hardened once more upon seeing the princess in his arms.
"Princess Tifa!" Marle exclaimed, her voice strained with worry as she rushed to their side.
The samurai encircled them, their faces grim masks carved from years of service to the throne. With practiced hands, they lifted Tifa from Cloud's trembling embrace, her body as fragile as a petal caught in the wind. Marle cast a disapproving glance at Cloud, her eyes speaking volumes of the chastisement to come.
"Back to the palace with her, quickly!" commanded the lead samurai, his voice as sharp as the katana at his side.
As the search party hastened back through the treacherous terrain, Cloud found himself alone with Marle, her gaze now fixed upon him with a severity that made his bones tremble. Without a word, she gestured for him to follow, and together they made the silent journey back to the palace, his heart heavy with the weight of Tifa's plight.
Upon their return, while the princess was whisked away to the care of healers, Cloud was met with the stern faces of the household staff. Words were not needed; the disappointment in their eyes spoke a clear message as he was ushered away to the scullery. His hands, which had held Tifa with such gentleness, were now condemned to the menial toil of scrubbing pots and pans, the water turning pink as it washed over his wounded knees.
In the solitude of his labor, Cloud's mind replayed the day's harrowing events, each moment etched into his memory like the delicate engravings on a warrior's armor. His mother, Claudia, was far more forgiving that evening as she dressed his wounds and tucked him away to bed, kissing him on the forehead and reminding him calmly not to worry.
Even so, as duty and tradition bound him to his station, but his heart—a rogue wave crashing against the shore—refused to yield to the distance placed between him and Tifa.
Dawn had scarcely broken when the sharp rap of authority echoed through the servants' quarters. Claudia, her fingers gentle as cherry blossoms on Cloud's wounded knees, stilled at the intrusion. The door slid open with a weight that seemed to pull the very air taut, and there in the frame loomed the imposing silhouette of Tifa's father, the emperor.
"Your careless actions have brought shame upon us all," he thundered, his voice resonating with the fury of the very tempest that had brought he and Tifa crashing to the earth. His eyes, dark like the deepest depths of the forest at night, were fixed upon Cloud, who shrunk beneath the gaze.
"Your Highness," Claudia began, her voice a tremulous whisper against the storm of his anger, "my son meant no harm—"
"Silence!" The word cut through the room sharper than the edge of a samurai's blade. "The Princess lies in a slumber from which she may never awaken, and it is by your son's hand she was led to folly."
Cloud's heart clenched like a fist around rice paper, crumpling under the weight of the emperor's words. Tifa, his dear friend, trapped in a realm of shadows and silence—a prison of his unintended making.
"Listen well," the emperor continued, his ire unabated, "You are both banished from this palace. Should you dare defy my decree and let your shadow fall upon my daughter again, the consequences will be severe and without mercy." His gaze then shifted to Claudia, and though softer, it carried an unyielding resolve. "You shall serve as a lady-in-waiting to the Matsumoto household on the other side of town, far from here."
Claudia bowed deeply, her movements as fluid as ink upon parchment. "As you command, Your Highness," she acquiesced, accepting their fate with the grace of fallen leaves upon a still pond.
Cloud watched, a silent specter, as the seeds of his world were scattered to the winds. He wanted to scream, to protest, but duty and honor bound his tongue, and he remained rooted in place, a bamboo shoot amidst a raging river.
There was nothing to do but begin to pack their things.
For seven days, the palace held its breath, waiting for the gentle princess to return from the precipice of eternity. When at last she opened her eyes, the relief that swept through the halls was tempered with caution. Tifa, once so full of life, now gazed upon the world as though through a veil of mist. Her memories of the mountain, of Cloud, lay buried beneath a blanket of snow, untouched and unseen.
Her father, vigilant as ever, tightened the reins of her freedom, decreeing that Marle, steadfast as the ancient pines, would keep watch over her. Tifa chafed against the constraints, a caged bird whose wings had tasted the wild skies. Her spirit, indomitable as the mountain itself, rebelled against the walls that sought to contain it.
In the quiet corners of the palace, whispers of her discontent rustled like leaves, carrying tales of a princess yearning for the wind's embrace. But Cloud could only listen from afar, his heart aching with a longing that stretched across the expanse like the haunting notes of a shakuhachi flute.
The sun set behind the palace walls, casting long shadows that crept slowly across the courtyard. Cloud, exiled from the life he knew, clung to the memories of Tifa, a solitary petal adrift on the winds of change.
But he could not be deterred from seeing her.
Tifa, with the stealth of a shadow cast by the waning moon, slipped through the ornate corridors of her father's palace. Her heart was a drumbeat in her chest, rhythmic and urgent, as she navigated the familiar labyrinth of sliding screen doors and polished wooden floors that gleamed like still water under the moonlight. The hushed whispers of courtiers and the rustling of silk kimonos were her guiding beacons as she crept closer to the shoji that concealed the political machinations threatening to unravel the fabric of her reality.
Her memories of the day just over a week ago on Da Chao were still bleak and hazy; in fact, everything since her mother's passing had become a blur. She found herself on the precipice of a new sort of cliffside as she tried to navigate it all, especially with the stiff impositions placed on her by her father. The gentle rustle of silk against the tatami mats was the only sound that filled the otherwise silent room. Tifa sat by the shoji window, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze outside. The vibrant pink petals seemed to mock her, their beauty a stark contrast to the storm raging within her heart.
She hugged her knees to her chest, replaying the events on Da Chao Mountain over and over in her mind. The sharp pain of losing her mother still felt raw, a wound that refused to heal. Climbing the mountain had been a desperate act, a way to feel closer to her mother. But now, it seemed like a foolish endeavor, especially after the fall.
"Why did you do this, Father?" she whispered, her voice breaking the silence. Her father, the emperor, had forbidden Cloud from seeing her, believing the lies the other boys had told. They said Cloud had coerced her into climbing the mountain, but Tifa knew better. Despite how she had lost too much of her recollection of those events, she knew in her heart that Cloud had been the one to try and stop her, the one who had reached out his hand when she slipped, the one who fell with her.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled the panic in his blue eyes, the same eyes she had found comfort in since they were children. Now, he was forbidden from even speaking to her. She felt a pang of anger towards her father for keeping her confined, for believing those deceitful boys over her.
Her small hand paused upon the delicate rice paper, her breath a silent mist that threatened to betray her presence. Inside the chamber, voices rose and fell, a symphony of tension and intrigue. Tifa's ears strained to catch the words, to weave meaning from the tapestry of veiled threats and oblique references that danced just beyond her grasp. She knew not the full extent of the secrets that flowed through these walls like hidden streams, but she understood enough to know that they bore the weight of her future.
As night descended upon the village, Tifa sat with her arms still holding her knees when the heavy silks of her curtains rustled against the night breeze. Cocking an eyebrow, she watched as the window was silently pushed open from the outside, her heart racing as she thought to call out to the palace guard.
To her great surprise, though, Cloud slipped through the shadows of Tifa's chamber, a small bundle clasped in his hands. The sight of him forced her heart into a staccato rhythm, mirroring the silent footsteps that carried him across the polished wooden floor. Their eyes connecting across the dim candlelight of her room, Tifa sat up on her knees, feeling her youthful cheeks flush with exuberance at the appearance of her dear friend.
"Cloud!" she exclaimed, a smile breaking through the sorrow that had so often clouded her eyes since her mother's passing. "How did you?
"Shh," he warned with a gentle finger to his lips as he approached. "We must be quiet. I've become quite learned at navigating the rooftops of the city.
Her gaze fell upon the small package wrapped in cloth. "What have you brought?"
"Melonpan," he whispered, presenting them to her. "My mother made them for you—to lift your spirits."
Tifa's smile widened, and she carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing the sweet treats nestled inside. She picked one up and bit into it, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Cloud watched, his chest swelling with warmth at the sight of her momentary joy.
"Thank you, Cloud," she said, her voice no louder than the rustle of silk. "I am so sorry about Papa. The others -"
"It's okay, Tifa he replied, taking a seat beside her, "I know. It doesn't matter. I'll always try to find a way to see you, no matter what happens. How are you feeling?"
Her heart fluttering, Tifa smiled, reaching out a hand to invite him to sit close. This rendezvous was as forbidden as any other they had snuck together in their young lives, but it was the most important meeting they had had yet.
"Much better, now that you are here."
They sat in companionable silence, the world beyond the chamber walls fading into insignificance. It was a stolen moment in time, a precious reprieve from the weight of duty and expectation that so often seemed to crush them both. In a surge of tenderness, Cloud leaned forward, intent on placing a chaste kiss upon her cheek—a symbol of their unbreakable bond. But just as his lips brushed her skin, the shoji door slid open with a whisper.
"Princess Tifa?" came Marle's voice, sharp with concern.
Cloud's instincts took over. He rolled to his feet and darted to the window, slipping through it like a wisp of smoke. He clung to the outer wall, his heart pounding as he listened for any sign that he'd been discovered.
Tifa thought quickly. "Obaasan, I can't find my rose yukata. The one that Mama had made for me. Could you check?"
"Of course, my child," Marle replied, her tone softening.
Cloud made his escape, scaling down the side of the palace with practiced ease. Once on the ground, he cast a final glance upward, where Tifa stood silhouetted against the soft glow of her chamber light.
Back within the safety of her room, Tifa watched Cloud vanish into the night, her heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and longing. When Marle returned from the armoire with the yukata draped across her arms, Tifa feigned relief and accepted it with a bow.
Left alone with her thoughts, Tifa lay back against her pillows, the sweetness of the pastry still lingering on her tongue. Cloud's visit, though brief, had ignited a spark of hope within her. She clutched the fabric of her mother's yukata, and allowed herself to mourn for Thea, to pine for Cloud's companionship.
As the night deepened, her eyes closed, and she drifted into sleep, the promises they had exchanged became a mantra in her mind—binding them together, come what may.