Aeris
Ageing Mako reactor infrastructure.
I'd been surprised to see it. I suppose I knew it was up here, but, after so much wilderness, so far from Shinra, so far from people, as if it's trespassing. Scaffolding improvises a pathway over writhing intersections of fat, wormy piping, malting its rust into rock. There are no stairs, only ladders. He'd said I should go first.
The whole place is eerie, humming some dissonant overture of nostalgia as I descend, reminded of Midgar. Of home. My attention is consumed by the cold touch of iron when I hear it. Perhaps that's why my first thought is of metal scraping against itself, something structural, but, no— I turn my head, looking over my shoulder. I'm still several feet from the ground made prone by my grip on the final ladder. Stuck.
Where?
My eyes travel carefully across my environment, a shadowed labyrinth of caves, rock and scrap metal.
The sound comes again. A sharp, rasping reverberation. Close. My head snaps in its direction, breaking my paralysis. Two sharp pricks reflect the subdued light of the ravine, pinning me through the must, perfectly level as they float forwards, light dribbling over a long muzzle concaved with a glut of gum and tooth. It's off. Too large. Too small. In all the wrong places. My lips part. He can't be far away.
No sound comes out.
Don't— you'll provoke it— Too late!—
Movement.
To my right. To my front. The heavy sound of something large hitting the ground. Cold, gritty, dirt. My own voice crying out, mingling with a guttural yowl. I find myself looking up at a wall of black and silver.
Sephiroth.
I back myself up towards the scaffolding, using it to pry myself back up, my fingers feeling frail, shaking as the rust scratches at them. The wolf— thing— is pacing back and forth several meters in front of us, limping slightly as it snarls.I look over at my— guide? — protector?— watching him sweep his uniquely vicious weapon, turning it in a serene arc behind his back where he grasps it with both hands in a leisurely stance. He glances down at me, inscrutable as ever.
I have no idea what he is.
"There are four of them," he informs me.
Four?
I scan our surroundings again, frantic to perceive whatever it is that he does. My body is quicker to do so than my mind, lifting my staff in front of me in a belated bid for defence— stumbling as I'm pushed back. There is another cry as the second wolf is flung away.
So easily. Too easily.
He resumes that same relaxed stance as before, the alien green of his eyes alighting on me. Patient. Expectant.
He's not killing them. He's covering me.
Oh.
I look down at my staff, the suggestion of lightning coiling up at me, the stench of it, suffocating, the song of Materia reaching into me like a thousand tiny hooks in my blood.
No...
I step backwards.
They're coming.
One— attempts a surprise attack, nails knifing against rock. Two— pincers from the other direction. Three— barks and yowls, fevered. Four— ? The first two are tossed aside, the third crying out reactively, tail tucking. The fourth... Dirty red trickles down its back legs as it attempts to scramble back to its feet.
He...
He glances down at me.
"Fight," he demands.
I don't—
I don't notice the rallying attack, dazed by the sudden half-moon swing of steel and the heavy thuds of fur and flesh.
"You'd give even part of yourself away?" his usual command is singed with ice.
Give myself?
"—and to such a small man."
Everything thickens, heavy, my blood stilled by the weight of it. I don't know how I know. But I do.
Hojo.
I haven't. Not since that time. Not since it was forced from me.
The knowledge is distant and unwanted, the understanding worse. I don't think, won't think, feel my own revulsion sparking, prickling, popping, burning. I have to get it out.
I can't.
Part of me.
Get it out.
Part of me.
let it out!
My eyes skip sharply over my accuser. How perverse he is in his perfection, violence clinging to him, permeating him. Man? Monster? Messenger? So far, so untethered, so—
FREE.
An elusive barb of longing twists its way out through me, turning my insides like a key, lucid lethality sliding through my body in a catastrophic sigh of release. The light is blinding, the sound tearing jaggedly through the surroundings in a shock of tiny oscillations.
I stare for a moment as my eyes adjust, riding the tremors of residual electricity, weightless, I turn—
...I've been searching for you...
...I didn't think...
You'd find me first.
I look away.
No one can—
"Through these caves," I hear him announce.
Not since—
I hesitate before moving to follow, once his eyes are safely obscured.
Mother...
It's all wrong. He is all wrong.
I think of the bridge. I hear his laughter, not his usual cold derision but that one small, playful chuckle from earlier down the trail, so very, very soft, and so pitifully fleeting.
He looks like he belongs.
Almost a dozen strides ahead, here in the dark, the only light the incandescent glow of Mako rich minerals.
What is wrong with me?
I lag behind, careful not to move either too fast or too slow. The charged atmosphere of the caves refuses to fully dissipate the tingle that still lingers on my skin, nerves live with warm adrenaline, as if urging me to... to something, anything. If only I knew what.
"We're nearly there."
He doesn't turn as he speaks, only pausing briefly before ducking through a smaller opening to his right. As I turn the corner after him I inhale sharply—
It's like stepping into an invisible stream. A mere trickle at first but deeper and louder with every step until, too quickly, a manic crowd beats past me on every side, leaving me behind. They cry—for help— in warning— with joy—
I don't understand.
DANGER.
It's a harmony. The concept is three dimensional with fear, sorrow, pain, excitement—
"Aeris."
The intimacy of my name causes me to flinch as I look back up the tunnel to where he stands, shards of light escaping from behind his dark silhouette, their severe geometry in stark contrast to the whirling maelstrom of consciousness they join.
I can't see his face.
For a long moment there is only light before the glade gently focuses into view, the rushing river of life evaporating with an abruptness that feels almost conspiratorial. The colours turn surprisingly earthen as Mako dances off the bones of ancient growth, a winding church of giant roots re-joining dirt and stone, and, in the centre—
He stalks past me in a jolt of intrusion, as if, for a still second, I forgot where I was, who I was with. This place is different. Sacred. He doesn't belong here. My perception teeters precariously between threat and empathy... He doesn't belong... He turns his head, statuesque and expectant.
I join him at the altar, every step becoming heavier, wading into a lake, a deep lake, dark and made for drowning. No. Not a lake— A fountain— It pours into me.
I've known. Somehow, I've always known, what called to me beyond the safe imprisonment of Midgar, what the planet would ask of me. Yet I still struggle for its name... Can liquid bind? You're bound to your shadow. My shadow... that looms at my side. High, high, high above. Cold. Cold as the void of space.
COLLISION.
I shudder.
Slowly, in spite of the rigid pressure in my chest, I force myself to look. I have to tilt my head back to allow his attention directly in through my own. He doesn't hide his curiosity, it's almost childlike in its openness, volatile, devouring.
This is you. The real you.
FIRE.
Will it consume me?All death is an end, and a beginning. Maybe... there's a chance— Why? Why did I come? Why is this the way!? I can't—
Yet I am anchored as I permit him through my eyes, holding him there even as my heart rebels wildly. My faith remains. Always. Its thread delicate and strong. I mustn't lose my grip. If I let go I am lost.
I reach for him.
Fire is dangerous.
His eyes are sharp, his hand heavy as he allows me to lift it with passive intrigue.
And destructive.
I tug at the fingers of his glove.
Just as it is transformative.
His palm is almost hot as I press it to my own—
And creative.
—threading my very small seeming fingers through his, as if I could form a bridge with my touch.
A large part of me is recoiling from my own actions. I try to imagine him as a child, doubtless he once was. I imagine him brimming with questions, a child with silvery hair and bright turquoise eyes, not yet so saturated with Mako.
Let me guide your fall.
His hand twitches, fire flaring.
Someone must.
I can't dwell on an alternative.
"Is this where you go?" I ask, though it's barely a question. I can feel the ripples of his impact, like a large rock skipping water, disturbing, displacing and separate. "What you do... is..." I search for a way that could begin to describe it. "There is much more here... than you know." I manage to remain still as the gloved fingers of his other hand raise abruptly, gripping my chin, searching with analytical hunger.
He can't feel it, only see its reflection in my eyes.
"Tell me." The demand is edged.
"I—" I can barely think. "I'm trying..."
abruptly he releases me. turning away. Sparing me his frustration? But when he chuckles, the low rumble of it is almost... sad.
"Do you ever wish... you could've been... normal?" The words leave me as I think them. My voice was quiet, remote, and it had trembled. My heart stutters with hurt at it's impulsive betrayal. Something is pulling at me from the other side of the bridge.
He turns back to me, eyes widening. "Why?" The pure and certain quality of his bemusement is uncomfortably disarming.
"To..." To fit in. I clasp my hands behind my back and shrug, feeling foolish. "To fit."
"You..." as he lifts his arms a little, palms up, "are never alone." The statement is absolute.
I shake my head. No, but it is not the same. "Do you never feel lonely?" I can't help asking in reflexively affronted disbelief.
He chuckles, gently derisive, eyes closing and opening as he shakes his head slowly. I feel suddenly very self conscious. Why did I ask him that? Of course he doesn't—
His expression... it... softens... It's so unexpected, so foreign on him that my pulse finally relents a little, the naturalness of it stealing the air from my lungs. "I don't know," he answers. His voice is relaxed, honest, there's a startling absence of calculation in it, "perhaps," as if thinking aloud. Open, He's being open. "Perhaps not for people."
I think immediately of my mother. My real mother. I might understand what he means. Better than he does.
Something tugs at me again, current picking up speed, I should be alarmed. But I can't look away. He reaches towards the fountain. Lengthy, pale, fingers pause at its boarder, my own tightening over the leather of their missing glove. Light twists and tethers itself over his exposed hand, absorbed by black as my eyes travel upward unbidden, rekindling, sliding along the bloodless frame of his collar— his jaw— and—
Beautiful.
Recognition. It's recognition that pierces me. And I'm bleeding... Saturating, with that one, cruel, word. I'd previously thought— only in a monstrous way, but...
Fool.
The rebuke is futile, its attempt to slap, to salve, merely stings sweetly at the sickening spread. Please. I can't...
I can't close the wound.
He looks at me, the wistful curve falling from his sharp lips, eyes flickering again, severe and seamless from immersive to penetrating.
I turn away from him. Not now. Not right now. "What is it?" His smooth demand slides through me regardless.
"It's nothing." My hands find each other again.
"Nothing," he echoes with iron incredulity. His footsteps are heavy, deliberately informing me that he's moved to my back.
Please don't. The thought is empty. Only he would use patience as a weapon. I can't help but imagine his eyes on me, easily reading the stiffness in my fingers, the goose bumps on my neck. Fine then. I can see only one route to escape the force of his will. Over.
I spin round, brushing quickly past him, the fountain catching me, re-immersing me in its presence. "Thank you," I manage, strained but genuine, allowing its too fullness to hold me a moment, "for showing me." The words were meant to be about the fountain – for his guidance, his protection, but as they leave me... I'm still thinking of that smile.
The naivety of it twists my insides with startling shame.
Fool.
"You wish to leave." His voice has turned to ice. I'm not sure how to answer, it didn't even sound like a question. "Come then." He saves me the need. I hear him turn, not waiting.
Fool. Fool. Fool.