Sephiroth

I rest but I don't sleep, listening intently to my heart beating it's slow and solid rhythm.

Thump. Thump.

I'd only stared at first, contemplating my next course of action as the Mako fountain sang its same incomprehensible song, that perfect note vibrating in my mind until I could stand it no longer. I'd reached, anchoring myself by concentrating carefully on my heartbeat—its heartbeat.

Thump. Thump.

The same.

I hadn't thought I'd progressed that far. I could hardly count my efforts as satisfying since I'd begun the endeavour, and certainly not in the past few days... but there was no mistaking it, the hard edge of Nibel's reaching arms of igneous obsidian, abrupt as a vein of crystal cutting it's way through the landscape. The transition into the rugged simplicity of the Corel mountains had been quite stark from where I'd stood—it stood.

Thump. Thump.

Curious.

I feel myself frown.

I'd allowed myself to sink again. I'd been vigilant, and—nothing. I'd noticed nothing. Only embrace.

—Welcoming arms—

I sit up.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The shattered star-scape is fading as dim turquoise bleeds into inky black. Morning invades through the window, colouring the soft white of the plant resting on the sill. I smooth my furrowing brow, refusing to dwell on the frustration that the sight inspires. It must be indigenous to this area. It has that same disquieting familiarity possessed by many of the things that originate here...

How at home it looks, taunting me with its serenity. The same as that garden of hers, though it bears only a small seed of the effect—the effect that had submerged me so easily—distracted me so completely. The power that she possesses. It bothers me.

The pull of it.

—"Before seven..."—

The vague promise teases at me in wispy soprano.

I lie back, closing my eyes, willing my mind to quiet.

The girl is a distraction.

The morning has truly begun by the time I make my departure. Cool mist hangs low in the air, dew winking tearfully from the sun. Six fifty-four was the time when I'd last looked at a clock. It must be nearing seven, if not past.

Contradictory girl.

I'm later than usual so I decide not to wait. The gate rings its deep metallic toll as I put the mansion behind me for another day.

Yesterday's early return had proved a mistake. What had it achieved to sit in Gast's company and quietly seethe with questions for which I scorn his answers—for which there are no answers?

—"You're angry."—

The more time that passes the surer I am that, in this at least, he is correct.

It has begun to permeate everything.

Perhaps it always has. Is that it? The sum of my 'humanity'—Contempt?

For you in turn, Professor.

Perhaps him most of all, however instinctively I turn to him, perhaps because of it...

I slow.

Twenty foot—thirty since the last bend in the trail. I should have noticed sooner.

I stop.

"Good Morning."

Her voice is light, face shadowed by the hood of her cloak, save for the slab of sunlight highlighting pink lips.

The Cetra girl scoots to the edge of the ledge on which she is perched, gingerly easing herself down, only to stumble as she lands. She dusts her cloak and smiles as if pleased with herself. A bemusing sentiment, given her ungraceful descent of a surface that cannot be more than my own height. She bends to pick up a metal staff from the ground.

"You shouldn't be out here," I reprove, taut with agitation.

She frowns.

"You invited me."

I gesture around us.

"Alone," I elucidate.

"You too?" she murmurs pulling down her hood. Sun spills down her neck, singing rich hair with gold.

Her slim throat constricts as she swallows.

"I wanted to watch the sunrise," she confides, with a quiet honesty that returns my attention.

Without being watched.

It's merely a hunch. The memory of her standing in the hall cuts though my mind.

—Traces of dirt visible on her dress and boots—Vincent standing across—

"This trail is dangerous and beyond your abilities," I affirm flatly. Her gaze darts back to mine, grip tightening on her transparently feeble weapon.

Yes I know what your abilities aren't, we both know how, and you should know better, I think coldly, noticing how the warm light merely scatters over the surface of her eyes. As if they hide something—

She laughs.

It's a quietly ambiguous sound, escaping from behind a small smile and quickly downcast eyes. She shakes her head, whatever it was withheld once more behind the troublemaking curve of her mouth. "Tsk," she breaths airily, shaking her head "I haven't gone far." she turns to peer down the path, "perhaps I don't mind a little danger." Her tone is uninformative.

Ah, now this is familiar. I chuckle at the return of that, now unmistakable, signature of mingling intrigue and annoyance.

She looks back up at me.

I wonder...

I scare her, and yet, naturally, she also occasionally acts in complete contradiction to the notion. Either way, in this moment—in this context—I find myself wearied by her lingering lack of trust. "Good," I rejoin, "however, whatever your," predictably nonsensical, "preferences, if I'm to escort you then you'll need to comprehend that you are safe—safest—when close to me."

She stares back, unmoving, her relative stillness drawing my attention to the sharp little rise of her chest as her breath snags. I've surprised her—I inhale smoothly—Expected. I close my eyes.

"Have you considered," I begin again, moving to close some of the distance between us, "what it is that has kept Shinra at arms length since you arrived here in Nibelheim?" I pause, examining her, "from you, and the professor?" She bites her bottom lip, quickly letting it go. I stare for a moment at the wet sheen left behind by her teeth.

"The fountain is a few hours trek from here." I cast my eyes over her once more in consideration. "Likely several at an adjusted pace." I turn away to move a few meters further down the trail. "You'll need to stay close." I glance back.

Can you do that? I ponder with amusement—amusement that really should be disapproval.

But isn't. At all. Strange.

Slowly, she tilts her head. "Please," she nods, "lead the way..." she gestures with a sweep of her arm.

Quite the shift. Her nonchalance is an act, betrayed by hesitation and newly wet lips...

Perhaps I've been overly harsh, she is young, technically a civilian, my mood particularly foul before her intrusion—"...Bodyguard," she adds, as if completing some private reflection.

Bodyguard?

An impulsive smile attempts to twist the corners of my mouth.

I have some experience in the station, very occasionally, for the president himself and a few other insufferable higher ups. I did not enjoy it, requiring far more patience and tolerance than other duties as it did. But this—

—I've wanted.—

Thump. Thump.

It pulses in my ears.

A distraction...

Why should it follow that it be unwelcome?

AN: I apologise for the negligible length of this chapter and for the lack of updates. The only explanation I have to offer is my lack of experience, inspiration and confidence. I can only say that, for me, I've learnt the lesson of finishing writing before posting the hard way.