Sephiroth
I like this place, I muse, as the humble silhouette of Icicle Inn reappears like a phantasm through the snowfall. It has a solemn peace about it, as if forgotten by the rest of the world, buried under a white blanket of relentless soft immaculacy. Snowflakes inundate the openings of my heavy cloak, settling thickly on my eyelashes as if insisting that I close my eyes and freeze with the rest of my surroundings. Especially now, as my muscles agonise sweetly with exhaustion. It's difficult to believe that this quiet hamlet is nestled so near the edge of the deep planetary wound from which I've just returned.
—"The Northern Crater can be found just over the mountains. It's the impact site of Crisis... where I found Jenova."—
Professor Gast had seemed surprised at my insistence that I go and see it for myself. Though I cannot guess why.
The impact sight is a singular opportunity. An intimate prospect from which to witness the planet, to see its flesh, its life blood, first hand—winding caves, bizarre formations—the planet's struggle to heal itself unfurling in real time, immediate and alive. The profound energy gathered there is preternatural—captivating. And the monsters that dwell within are more impressive than any I've previously encountered, as if symbiotically imbued with that same energy. They'd posed a challenge which took my instincts by surprise, stirring sleeping memories of struggle and achievement awake to invigorating effect.
I couldn't say how long I've been gone. Suffice to say it's been a while, a month, perhaps more? When I'd found I could go no further into the planet's core I'd had the strangest impulse to jump down into the deeper chasms—chasms pulsing with light—a beating heart. I could almost have forgotten everything else just to embrace that intoxicating, powerful, oneness.
The whole thing had been completely counter intuitive fancy. It would have obliterated me. There would be no glorious unity, only a void of complete irrelevancy. I wonder... When Jenova crashed into the planet thousands of years past, creating the odyssey I'd experienced, was it too trying to become one with the planet?
The village is fast coalescing from its dream like appearance into direct tangibility. I continue to enjoy the bite of the elements as I make my way back to the house turned laboratory where the old man is probably waiting.
I relieve myself of Masamune, my pack and heavy winter cloak, shaking the snow off in the doorway before setting them to one side. There is no sign of him as I enter and for a brief moment I think he must be out. That is, until I see that he is lain out on the bed on the floor below, still fully clothed and apparently fast asleep.
Is it not the middle of the day? I realise that I have no idea what time it is. It may be light outside but that doesn't necessarily have any meaning at this latitude. I look over at one of the professor's consoles.
3:45 am.
Well, that explains it. Although, not why he's still fully clothed, surely that is a sign he's been overworking himself on something. The simplistic yet sizeable table is covered with many stacks of papers. Physically exhausted yet serenely curious, I take a seat, I inspect the nearest pile of documents. They're all printed files, Shinra records, old and new.
Ah.
I spare a glance in the direction of the floor below. He must have put the access codes I'd left him with to good use, though I'm surprised Shinra hasn't blocked off any entry to the system they could reasonably have presumed I still had. However, professor Gast is an intelligent man, if there were to be a way around it, I trust he would have found it.
Family.
He'd made very little mention of the girl during our journey north, nor in the months before my departure to the crater. But I'd seen him drift away into his own mind, seen his sleepless red eyes and heightened distractibility. All this I'd observed with restrained curiosity, and here now is the result blooming full in the security of my absence. I cannot pretend to understand it, and confess to finding it an irritant; he obviously doesn't trust me. Truly, should I wonder the same of him?
I am fond of him though.
I've experienced such an odd state of calm since arriving here. Perhaps it's the absence of any significant number of people, or that this feels like a place frozen in time. Perhaps it's the ambiguous atmosphere of hushed promise. Yet, I'm certain he is also a substantial part of it.
What I remember of my childhood had been spent in a highly regimented fashion. Adults came and went with a haste that was both foreign and clinical. Professor Gast was different. I can still recall my bewilderment when the science division leader would kneel down to greet me with a smile that was not the vacant social signalling I was accustomed to but the spring of some occult ardour, manifesting out of the malaise like a flame.
I had understood implicitly that he was at the inception of the world around me, and I could see the moths gathering around him, unable to imitate his light. Authentic, lively, engaging, visionary—So this is genius, I'd thought. This man I remain fond of—despite everything—this man currently asleep in the basement, is a spectre from that time—a time where I did trust, and strangely, that's enough for now.
Before my departure we'd had another disagreement. We'd been arguing frequently—part of the process of discovery. He had many recordings, interviews with the Cetra, his late wife, Ifalna. Our first few weeks here had been spent pouring over them together, and subsequently, arguing. His problem is that he's afraid of it. 'It' is outside the back of the house, locked up in a frozen container.
The head.
In a sense, I believe I can understand. It is dangerous, that much is undeniable. But it is also alien, utterly unlike anything else found on the planet, because it does not come from the planet. You cannot hope to understand something if you are blinded by your own opposition towards it. It's an oddity to me that he assumes I'm advocating that Crisis is somehow benign. I know that he understands the concept of a false dichotomy.
It's a credible supposition that I would have unique insight where Jenova is concerned. I can only assume that the Cetra woman compromised his mind on the matter. When it comes to their relationships humans seem to lose any sense of objectivity. Jenova may have infected the Ancients to their substantial, if not fatal, cost, but... could it have been an act not of aggression for aggression's sake, but of ultimate communion?
I'd begun some tentative experimentation with the idea—using small samples of the cells, introducing them to portions of biological or inert materials. Observed over sufficient time and given a conducive environment, the cells' reactions would seem to conform to my hypothesis. The very fact that the behaviour manifests at the cellular level poses interesting questions in itself. Was Jenova a conscious being? What directed it's actions? Was it all pure instinct?
Professor Gast had vacillated between nervous consternation and energetic mentorship regarding my efforts. His aversion to any experiment with Jenova material, however small, is avidly steadfast. But it's not in his nature to easily remove himself completely, he's quite easily swept up in his environment, a traight that lends itself well to his abilities if something I never really noticed as a child.
Overall though, I've been grateful for his input on my forays into the scientific method. I smile faintly to myself. It's curious, like old times, if a little more volatile. The role of scientist is, in a strange manner... liberating?—an interesting change of pace from that of SOLDIER.
It's still somewhat disquieting to me just how well I had taken to that occupation.
I leaf through some more papers.
Many are Shinra internal memos on the Ancients... There are some mentioning the activities of the Turks... Particularly any relations of them monitoring something confidential in the sector five slums... A blurry photocopy of a newspaper clipping mentioning flowers growing under the plate.
Nothing much really grows under the plate. Is that a Cetra characteristic? Going by the information in Gast's video logs, it seems to fit. Such a small thing. So prosaic it woluld draw no great attention, yet, in principle, quite miraculous. How peculiar, Ancients must be very subtle beings—mundanely phenomenal. The clipping is old but some of the information he's uncovered seems promising.
As I continue my perusal however, I notice that some files are somewhat more tenuous in their relation to the girl. He must have been taking an excessively thorough approach. They're all somewhat out of order too, indicating a particularly frantic state of mind. That mystery is short lived however.
Turks mission extension in Wutai made possible by relief from duties in Midgar slums...[redacted] dismissed for incompetence in related incident...body of [redacted] not yet located for recovery and further study...
...So... they are likely completely gone now. The very last half-Cetra included. I pause to reflect, it is sad news. Something truly valuable has been relegated to memory... And, Professor Gast.. I can recall his reaction upon receiving such information the first time well enough to know that he was likely taking it very badly.
I skim through yet more papers, increasing my pace in the hope of better informing myself before he wakes. In all truthfulness I should rest soon also... My roving fingers freeze. The document in question is in reference to another scientist.
Lucrecia Crescent.
I carefully withdraw my hand and stare at the offending paper for a long moment. He has told me about her, but I have no desire to revisit the matter... I can't un-see the little cooperate photograph that sits in the top left hand corner of the page—A pretty woman with an air of elegance about her smiles politely past me at a phantom photographer.
Abruptly. My sense of peace is gone.
I lift the paper away from the others and continue to watch that distant smile as it burns.