Sephiroth

So that is how he sees me, as little more than an impulsive child.

I stand from my seat at the library desk, muscles stiff with restraint. Taking a few steps towards the bookshelves I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to hold the pressure behind my eyes at bay.

That he could so mistake me...

Thoroughly agitated, I turn, walking back towards the chair where Masamune still leans. I lift it into the musty air, the flat of the blade catching the dull light as I turn it, feet finding their preferred stance with autonomy.

Obsessed?

I swing—watching the dust startle in the wake of the true edge.

What does he expect of me? Jenova is the reason for my existence as I am. Why wouldn't I seek to understand it, to control it.

I slash back through the air—doubling its hazy panic.

—"Jenova is your Mother, she exists at the core of all—that matters—about you."—

—"Sometimes, in some ways, you remind me of your Father."—

I bring my next cut to an abrupt halt, the blade stopping just short of the desk still brimming with Professor Gast's arduous workings. My hand twists on the grip as I squeeze the handle. Pivoting, I reverse the trajectory in a sharp sweep.

I begin pacing, hoping to disperse some of the energy that threatens to escape out of me and begin tearing into my surroundings. I dislike this place. Things were different at Knowlespole.

Remote, peaceful, frozen.

I stop, facing the bookshelves once more, the bindings of various defunct old tomes greeting my preoccupied stare.

I've read many of them, their contents carefully document every aspect of the Jenova Project to the point of redundancy. Every related topic, every cursory theory, every supporting study, every technicality—all catalogued in compulsive citation. It all serves to create an impression of finality, of immutability...

Professor Gast, you of all people should understand... What else could you possibly have envisaged for me?

I shake my head, resuming my pacing more slowly.

Does he wish for me to pretend that I am something that I am not?

I think back to my professional existence at Shinra—and that is the appropriate word for it—an existence—deeply rooted in a sense of orderly, dutiful monotony. The various dramas of my various acquaintances had buzzed obliquely around me, but I'd smiled upon them nonetheless, wishing them well, or quite often, well away. Perhaps I was waiting? Waiting for something, I didn't know quite for what. For this? For the truth? I chuckle at that. All I'd had was a name.

Jenova.

The mother who died after childbirth, a truly muddled formulation of the reality of things... I pinch the bridge of my nose, mind drifting, as I haven't permitted in a long time, to the mother in the tiny photograph.

I only ever succeeded in burning it into my memory.

The professor's words had certainly made the forgetting of it all the more toilsome. I begin listing them with circumspect irritability. 'Visionary' was certainly as debatable as the results of her vision. 'Insightful' was hardly a rational conclusion to draw from it. 'Sensitive' was a thinly veiled description of what seemed to me to be obvious cowardice—

—"Lucrecia was weak, so frail she chose to throw herself away."—

I don't stop myself this time—Several of the shelves buckle and books tumble to the floor—papers scatter as some are torn apart.

An impractical abuse of Masamune, I admonish remotely as I inspect the blade, sharp pain continuing to cut its way out from between my eyes. I gaze at the shallow scar I've created in the bookshelf for a prolonged moment. The damage is relatively clean and many shelves hold their position, buttressed by the structure as a whole. One hand still twists on the sword's grip, while the other presses at my forehead, attempting to erase my own thoughts. Hojo's words had angered me, despite how I've seemingly echoed them.

No. I was not so distasteful—not so obscene—It was not his place—

I shake my head sharply, my thoughts too dissonant.

Professor Gast had spoken of what had transpired at the Shinra building as if it were an act of revenge, but it was merely justice. Too long had Hojo continued as he had been. It was simply fitting that his absolution be administered at his own hand. That I had played a role was merely a product of my own will to agency, I never could stand his cringing arrogance—

Quiet laughter rolls out of me slow and mellow, the wry levity of it directed squarely inward.

In my disquiet I've permitted the implications of my own thoughts to reflect back at me, validating Gast's conjecture.

I shake my head with residual amusement. ...Perhaps I have undervalued the influence of my own desires. ...Yet, what does it matter if the line between justice and vengeance is thin?

—"You refuse to understand your own humanity, and that renders you a puppet to your own complexes."—

My hand returns to press into my temples.

I am not like him.

I feel decidedly disoriented. Adrift in a way that I'm not habitually inclined. My mind turns haphazardly to Professor Gast in a supplicant reflex not unfamiliar, but certainly anachronistic.

I exhale with a weary chuckle, somehow relieved that he is not far away, though not entirely sure why. A tiny smile twists the corner of my mouth.

Do I still see him in that way? The way I did as a child?

My actions at Shinra Headquarters have certainly been made a problem by following him here, regardless of what they were previous—

I cannot sense Hojo from this place.

I've been trying for some time now. I'd been counting on returning there, to Knowlespole, to the crater. It was there that I could sense Jenova as far as Midgar. I'm reliant on the concentration of the planet's energy, it's wisdom. At present I can only faintly discern Jenova's signature up in the mountains where I left it. I need to move closer.

I begin making my way to the exit. There's little use in lingering here with my treacherous thoughts.

The girl has disrupted everything. How incorrect I'd been to assume that her re-emergence would bring the Professor any kind of peace. The reality is quite the contrary.

—"I don't want her involved in your mistakes!"—

My grip twists more firmly around Masamune as I swiftly ascend the spiralling makeshift stairs to the master bedroom.

I shouldn't have been surprised at that decidedly parental demonstration of his distrust. Yet the amount which it has aggravated me nevertheless is an unpleasant surprise.

I hesitate briefly on the landing. At the far end of the hall I can see the Professor and his daughter locked in conversation, a quaint picture framed by what remains of the greenhouse foliage. I take quick note of the research diary in her hands, and the body language of their interaction. They're standing close but avoiding eye contact. It's a positive moment. Shy.

She's staying then. At least for now—Gast sharing his research amounts to such an invitation. I thought he might. Despite his earlier evasiveness with her. Despite his obvious wariness of me. Since she introduced herself it's been clear that she has a stubborn temperament, and Professor Gast is empathetic, apprehensive, practical—He wouldn't wish to drive her away.

I continue on, descending the staircase in soundless irritation. I've already declared my own intent to stay, but it seems definite now. Without my presence they will not be safe here. It certainly instils a sense of urgency in the need to improve my abilities.

A month. Perhaps a few, I muse with absent optimism, fully departing the gloom of the mansion interior. By then I may have managed to relocate Jenova's body, and I'm sure Gast will eventually coax the girl away to some safer haven... I pause once again, my speculations interrupted by the sense that I'm being watched. Glancing back, a tiny glimpse of flagging red fabric draws my eye sharply upwards.

Vincent. For some unknown reason he is perched on the roof, partially hidden in the late afternoon shadow of a dormer window. He looks at ease, in his solemn way, as if he often finds himself there.

How crowded it is here, I think with dry discontent, wondering if his judgemental stare will be another fixture of existence in this place. Perhaps our earlier exchange had been overly harsh. If so. I am unrepentant. Even if my words were ill judged he has left me be since then. An outcome with which I am contented.

His presence, however, is a nuisance, a reminder of the subject he'd raised, the point of connection between us.

—"I knew your mother."—

What does it matter? Let it be—She is dead. All that is left is the mother that she chose for me.

My strides are long, bringing me promptly to the beginning of the mountain trail, but I can't quite outpace my own thoughts.

They may have made a monster of me, but I will not be controlled. I can transcend it.

I will transcend it all.

It is well into the evening by the time I return to the mansion. My progress had not been ideal, I found myself struggling at times to keep the focus required given the insufficient sleep I've been getting, over the previous few days in particular. Yet the location here is not entirely disadvantageous.

The Nibelheim Mountains are rich in Mako, that is of course why they were chosen as a reactor site in the first place. Shallow veins of it branched throughout the many peculiar cave formations that had been incorporated into the mountain trail. After some wandering I'd rediscovered the natural Mako fountain my mission detail had first stumbled upon during my last orders. It was there that I'd chosen to begin. The planetary hum of the fountain was a mere trickle of energy to draw upon in comparison to the crater, but it helped.

There is no sign of Gast or his daughter as I pass over the landing but my eyes still linger on the empty conservatory. To my recollection there are two bedrooms and the one adjacent has more than one bed. Perhaps they're already at rest. I turn, entering the master bedroom—I can only assume the intent is for me to take it over from the Professor. I scarcely imagine he wishes for me to share a room with his daughter, I muse absently with wry amusement.

How strange it is, to choose to stay in this Mansion. I still recall, quite lucidly, the experience of searching through the place on that night three years ago. To me the whole structure seems ingrained with the rot of betrayal and ugly secrecy, along with the more apparent age and neglect.

Hardly restful.

The room still has a few of Professor Gast's more tiresome signatures—The odd drawer and cupboard that has been left ever so slightly askew, as if such small things were beneath his notice. I close them.

—"I could really use your help."—

Yet he'd rather appeal to terrorists. I shake my head, finding the thought slightly absurd, as if inspired by some spectral leftover of misplaced Shinra loyalty. I have no reason to care about such things.

But I do care. I care what happens to him.

I exhale slowly. Irritably.

I'll need to involve myself more in his work as well as my own. The further strain on my time is not a welcome revelation. My gaze drifts over the secret entrance to the basement set into the corner of the room.

An hour's further reading wouldn't be much sacrifice, I concede, beginning a descent. But I've not even reached the base when I first begin to hear buoyant voices floating faintly up from deeper below.

Their reunion must be ongoing after all.

The topic of discussion sounds personal, something about the mother—The Professor's Cetra wife... The unusual weightless quality of his tone recalls an obscure memory, one I'd all but forgotten...

Private, it had read, yet I'd accessed it all the same.

I couldn't say that I'd known exactly why. It was early on in our time together but I'd already consumed all of his wife's lectures several times through. Professor Gast had been fast asleep in the basement and I'd remained restless, further researching the content on the Crisis as a virus phenomenon as the subject had drawn my interest.

I don't know what I'd expected to find, but the ensuing recording was so un-expected that I'd already let it play through before I thought to reconsider. There were no secret notes, no enlightening insights or addendums to shed new light on my inquiries, only a happy couple naming their baby.

Such a thing was the domestic and banal opposite of unpredictable, and yet I'd found myself wondering at the unfamiliar lightness in his voice—at how old I must have been at the time—seven, eight?

I'd cut off the static aftermath of the video.

I've no doubt I'm similarly intruding on something of a private nature now, but I'm intent on getting my own business out of the way. Their conversation becomes yet more audible as I stride through the underground passage. It's little wonder—the heavy library door remains fully ajar.

"What is it?" Gast questions, his happy tone wilting into concern.

"It's still strange to me... that research could be such a positive experience." This statement from his daughter is accompanied by a small laugh.

"...We're not all like Hojo," the Professor responds.

I'm nearly at the entrance when the girl walks into view, gaze seemingly intent on something at the back of the lab.

"Are these..."

Gast follows her into the frame, his back towards me.

"...Yes, this is... where I found them."

I reach the entrance, turning my head to inspect the topic of discussion—Mako chambers. They've both yet to notice my presence. My silent approach was more habitual than intentional but I find myself taking the opportunity to momentarily observe them regardless.

"I can't imagine what it was like for you," Gast begins, the question imbedded in his sympathy obvious. She hesitates.

She likes to keep secrets, this cheerful girl.

I'd had time to skim her file during my visit to the Shinra building—Endurance breaking, Mako treatments, Mako submersion... among other things. I find myself watching her more particularly, wondering if she is recalling that experience now. I know from my own that it can be quite memorable.

"It was..." she begins, turning her head towards her Father.

She stops, her lips remaining slightly parted, eyes widening. Her intonation suggested that there was more to the sentence, but catching sight of me in the doorway has left whatever it was she was going to say forgotten. I hold her peculiar stare, getting drawn into the study of her face with the same clinical curiosity as earlier in the day.

It's strange. At first glance just an ordinary girl, the closer I look the more subtly yet fundamentally abnormal she appears.

"Sephiroth. You've returned."

The Professor's blunt pronouncement turns my attention.

"I have."

He doesn't respond immediately, only continues to gape at me. It's understandable given the way our earlier conversation had ended. "I apologise for the interruption," I begin again, nodding my head. "I wanted to review your migration project before retiring for the night."

I'd thought that would be sufficient for them to understand, but instead the Professor glances backwards into the library portion of the lab. "You... did you..?" he begins incoherently. "Have you been...?" he continues, casting a furtive glance at his daughter.

"Yes," I reply, watching him. There's no mistaking that look of concern, he reserves it for the one topic. "It needs to be moved."

"Jenova. Please just say it, I already know what you're both talking about." The Cetra girl shakes her head and though her even tone lacks force there's something in it that implies rebuke. I chuckle, somewhere between annoyance and amusement, turning to look blankly down at her.

"Jenova," I confirm.

She stills apprehensively.

"What will you do with it?"

What a pointless question.

"Use it."

Gast looks up at me sharply before turning to his daughter. "Aeris..."

She looks at him, softening. "I'm sorry, but..."

"It's under control," I state blandly, smoothing my irritation for the Professor's benefit.

She turns back towards me, her guard rising, her voice distant. "How? How can it be?"

"Aeris please," Gast implores, shaking his head.

She seems to consider him for a moment. "You used it. Hojo used it..." She shakes her head, wincing. Her words are barely audible and filled with quiet concern, as if thinking out loud.

I restrain the urge to laugh.

"I thought I was Cetra once," I reflect, looking around the library. It seems absurd now—I'd seen the monsters at the reactor, on some instinctive level I must have known it wasn't the case, even then with all sources confirming it for me. I return my gaze to her with stony toleration. "But I am not." She's stilled, watching me from behind her brittle guard. I discard the impulse to step closer, incited by the frail contradiction of her.

"I cannot hear the voice the planet, read its will, feel the passing of the dying, or sense them from the lifestream." I watch her face, curious. "But you can." I pause. She doesn't look away, yet she shivers and I find the impression somehow interesting. Is she uncomfortable with what she is? "In a similar vein," I continue patiently, "you were not shaped by Jenova." I glance over at the Professor who seems poised to intervene. "I hope that you can acknowledge how absurd it is to compare me to others in that regard."

"I—" She turns away. I watch her plaited hair swing as she shakes her head my eyes drawn once more to the ribbon I'd so recently been looping around my fingers, faintly desiring a chance to do the same with the curious white materia tucked into it's side.

Something in her demeanour changes. She stills, not with apprehension, but with a calm that seems to settle on her from nowhere. "And yet," she says quietly, steadily, turning to take a step forward and looking up at me "Hojo is a twisted man, what possible good could it do to further twist him?" she glances to her side, "and in such a way."

This again?

She shakes her head as if to dislodge some unpleasantness that is overtaking her, but instead of turning away again she seems to meet whatever it is head-on.

"Why?" she asks, with an air of quiet authority.

I laugh.

Reflexively. Rankled by her absurd presumptuousness.

I look down at her with condescension. Not inclined to grace her with a serious answer.

"Why not?"

He did it to you.

I don't voice the thought, but I'm sure she can read it in my eyes. I flick them down at her left arm, just above the elbow, to make absolutely sure.

She flinches, pulling her arm away and taking an involuntary step back. For just a second that wary guard from earlier and her sudden fierceness are striped away—I glimpse only fear flashing through her eyes, finding it oddly gratifying.

"Enough of this." Gast strides over, positioning himself between us, eyes alight with exasperation. I look down at him calmly before turning and moving away. I also desire for whatever this is to end. Gast turns, directing his polite ire towards his daughter. "Aeris would you please give us a moment?"

She glances between the floor and the door in some kind of indecision before meeting her father's gaze with a tight nod followed by a quick headshake. "I—" she bites her lip and nods again, moving hastily towards the exit. She casts one last look at me on her way out. I can only describe it as bold, her earlier confidence back in force.

What a changeable creature she is.

The library is mercifully quiet in their wake. I use the minutes preceding the Professor's inevitable return to make my way to the back, to the desk, where I flick idly through the papers there. It's not long before I hear the warily paced footfall that hails his approach. I look up.

"Don't look so worried." I shake my head, exhaustion catching up with me.

Professor Gast has removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes slowly. "I shouldn't have told her about that," he says, almost to himself. I smile knowingly. Gast is a man of ideas, easily carried away by them from moment to moment.

Finally, he looks at me, replacing his glasses. "Why did you do it?"

I'm not sure why he chooses to echo his daughter's question and from his fatigued tone, neither is he.

I shake my head, weary of the topic. We've been over this already. "To watch Shinra," I begin automatically, and yet, "to watch him," I shake my head. "To watch him live out his own ambitions—justice—and curiosity, I want to see... what he does."

Professor Gast stares across at me, his expression a mixture of discomfort and interest "You're angry," he says, nodding.

I laugh, cutting through the strange atmosphere. No. I don't feel angry. My gaze finds the shallow scar in the bookshelf. My laughter intensifies.

How farcical.

"Perhaps," I chuckle, turning, any affectation I could muster would be pointless.

"I can't blame you," His point of focus skims over my shoulder. "but surely—there must be better ways to—"

I raise a hand, shaking my head, interrupting his weak hedging, nettled by the topic altogether. Thinking on it only serves to feed it. I stare across at him for a quiet moment, feeling myself fill with calculating resentment.

How peculiarly bitter it is to care.

It seems I am stuck here. I cannot yet bring myself to return to the crater without him, torn away from the path I'd found there—a winding route to new awareness amongst the unending muddle of this limbo.

—"Tell me—do you not only sense her presence... but also experience a... compulsion, to reunite with your Mother—in perfect completion?"—

Hojo's Reunion theory. I'd read about that in his notes too. I am sure—I know that it is my own will that asserts itself—

—"How are you so sure you can control it? Or that it's not influencing you?"—

I take a step to the side, pressing at my temples.

I'd believed such a thing impossible. Why should I question it now? The past few weeks have been odd no doubt—things will clear.

Yet, I cannot seem to dislodge the thought. I look back at him.

He clears his throat.

"About... Aeris, she... will be staying with me for a while, I will try to keep her out of the way." He pauses. He's implied that he means to save me further annoyance but his true concern is obvious, as I'm sure he is aware. In my irritation I briefly consider being frank about the primary reason for my presence here—for their protection. But I decide against it. A deadline pressures him into a decision and that will make it easier for me to make my peace with it.

"I am glad no harm has come to you Professor," I begin, "but Shinra has you under surveillance."

He nods to himself. He knew. Of course he did, how reckless he has become.

"I will ensure her safety while I am here," I continue, "But you will need to find a safer place for her to go."

He looks up at me, a mixture of suspicion, gratitude and worry passing quickly through his features. "...Yes," he nods. He opens his mouth again only to close it, taking a long subdued breath, his eyes traveling over the bookshelf. I sit watching him.

"You expressed a desire for my help..." He looks over and I incline my head. "I am happy to lend what thoughts I can to your work while I remain here."

Slowly, he moves forward, taking a seat opposite.

"...I appreciate that," he begins cautiously. "Will you be going into the mountains often?" he continues after a pause.

"I will be here in the evenings."

"I see."

Though we spend several more hours discussing his work, our disagreements do not resurface. The time passes quickly, it isn't difficult to maintain the exchange of ideas in spite of my exhaustion.

The next few days in the mountains do not yield the improvement for which I had hoped. Rested, sharp, and newly distracted by the granular grate of doubt...

I'm struggling to let go.

The process requires communing, submerging into an ocean of consciousness. This outcome is a natural result of my lack of focus.

It has taken me until the afternoon of the third day to reach this conclusion, after another morning characterised by stubborn sporadic shifts between making my way north—to slipping abruptly and plummeting directionless only to land roughly—bracing myself against the natural formation of the Mako fountain and fighting back nausea.

I'd thrown myself back one last time in frustration, grappling forcefully with it before inevitably falling away, unable to move when I couldn't fully trust my own limbs.

It's me. I'm doing this. All I need do is calm down. If it were influencing me...

Yet.. wasn't that always part of it? Part of the fundamental way that this works? It is my will—my will, but it's being...

I'm her resurrection, I think nonsensically. She's scattered—inert—has no strength of will. She needs me.

I stare into the fountain as it hums back at me.

It is through her that I feed from it. Feed from the lifeblood of the planet. The knowledge of the Ancients.

The thought displeases me. It's how the Professor's wife would put it. Yet the experience of it is different. It feels more like connecting—not consuming—imbuing the flow of it all with my own presence—directing it.

I find myself wondering how the Cetra experience it. This knowledge. This power.

Perhaps I should ask her—the professor's daughter.

The thought is uninvited.

It's earlier than usual when I return to the Mansion. I make my habitual pause on the landing, glancing towards the conservatory. It seems to be getting greener at a pace that isn't entirely plausible despite the fact that the girl has obviously been bringing in new flora. I make my way forward to stand amongst it all, coaxed by the phantom of curiosity.

It's different now—in this room. The general atmosphere of the mansion has retreated to it's boarders as if pushed out. Despite finding the whole thing inexplicably impudent I linger, absorbing the surreal impression of it for a moment I lose track of before turning back towards my room.

I fall into routine, removing my armour and retrieving a plain shirt from one of the drawers. The clothes are all dangerously close to moth-eaten and precious few of the seemingly miscellaneous collection fit me, yet spending my evenings armoured remains less appealing. As I descend to the library I wonder idly if the Professor will be there already.

He isn't.

I glance down the hall to the work desk to confirm it before turning back to the girl's curious presence.

Her back is facing me, oblivious and alone as she stands before the Mako chambers hands clasped, lost in some kind of reflection. At the foot of the each chamber lies a flower, one blue and one yellow. It doesn't take long to infer their significance.

"You knew them." I muse aloud, not knowing for certain who it was that must have been involuntarily conscripted to Hojo's whim, but given Shinra's recent presence here they must have been in my charge that day and of particular interest. I feel sure I could guess at the identity of at least one of them.

My detached surprise at the realisation is abruptly mirrored, brought to life and magnified in front of me as she startles, turning and stepping back with such haste that she nearly loses her balance.