Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Are you absolutely sure?" a woman in her late thirties asked as she wiped her hands dry with a dish towel and draped it over the rim of the wooden sink. She turned to face her teenage daughter at the small kitchen table, brushing a wayward strand of bright blond hair back into her bun. If you looked closely, a few streaks of gray threaded through her hair. She still looked youthful, but the shadows under her eyes told another story.

The girl stood, bringing her empty plate to her mother after finishing her meager breakfast of toast and egg. "It’s time, don’t you agree?"

Her mother set the dish in the sink and gently grasped her daughter’s arms. The resemblance between them was striking—both shared bright blond hair, fair complexions, lean builds, and eyes that glowed like sapphires. Yet her daughter passed herself off as a son: hair cut short into gravity-defying strands that haloed her head, plain brown trousers, a tan tunic, and boots completing the disguise.

"I hate to let you go, but in my heart, I know it is time," the older woman, Freya, said softly, her eyes full of both sadness and pride.

The Strife women came from a long line of Valkyrie blood, their traits—hair, eyes, and resilience—passed down through generations. Never had a son been born among them.

"What did you see when I was born?" the daughter asked, her voice low, almost pleading.

Freya shook her head. "I cannot speak of it."

"You cannot, or you refuse?"

Instead of answering, Freya pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace. Her breath brushed Cloud’s silky hair as she whispered, "I saw your future, Cloud. The road will be long and hard, but its end will be beautiful." She drew back, forcing a sad smile. "That is all I can tell you, my love."

Cloud sighed, nodded, and turned toward the window. "They’re here. I’d better go." She slung her bag over her shoulder and moved to the door.

"I must ask," Freya said, stopping her. Cloud turned, tilting her head in bemusement. "When you reach Midgar—will you continue the charade, or will you be true to yourself?"

Cloud exhaled. "I’ll continue it. You know how they treat women—especially women like us. Afraid of us. Eventually, they’ll find out, but not yet."

Freya nodded. "Yes. I’m glad you earned that scholarship." She stepped closer and pressed a small bag into her daughter’s hands.

Cloud opened her mouth to protest, but her mother’s firm look silenced her.

"Take it. You need it more than I do. I’ll manage here."

"But you must come to Midgar soon," Cloud whispered as she tucked the moneybag into her satchel. Freya only shook her head. Cloud’s eyes stung as she met her mother’s gaze, then turned toward the doorway. Their home sat at the edge of Nibelheim, the trail up the treacherous Nibel Mountains looming just beyond.

The town itself was idyllic, nestled at the base of the jagged peaks known as Gaia’s Spine. Despite the mountains’ ominous presence, Nibelheim appeared sweet and welcoming to outsiders. Yet beneath its calm exterior, the townsfolk clung to old superstitions. They feared women with blond hair and glowing blue eyes.

Both Freya and her daughter bore those traits. Originally from Midgar, they had moved when Freya’s husband took work at the mountain reactor. His untimely death left them stranded, unable to afford to leave. To protect her child, Freya disguised Cloud as a boy. Even so, contempt and suspicion shadowed them for years.

Freya wished for a gentler life for her daughter, but fate offered only this: a scholarship to the ShinRa Academy, where Cloud might finally escape Nibelheim and carve her own future.

"I love you," Cloud said, her voice thick with both longing and determination. "I’ll write every week. And if I can, I’ll send enough for you to join me in Midgar."

"I love you too," Freya whispered. "Promise me you’ll write."

Cloud nodded, and with one last look at her mother, she jogged down the path to the square where a green canvas truck waited.

Every year, near the end of summer, a lone ShinRa truck rolled into Nibelheim to collect recruits. A blazing red diamond logo marked its side, and two uniformed SOLDIERs with electroguns stood watch as hopeful youths from surrounding towns stretched their legs. For a short time, boys—and the occasional girl—could sign their names and board for Midgar, where their futures awaited.

ShinRa was Gaia’s largest corporation, its reach spanning Mako energy, government, and its own military. The headquarters dominated Midgar, a sprawling metropolis halfway across the world from Nibelheim, housing millions—nearly half the planet’s population.

"ShinRa recruits! Line up and sign your names here," one of the guards called, slapping a clipboard on the truck’s hood. Boys scrambled forward to scrawl their names.

Cloud strode up, signed quickly, and climbed into the truck’s back before doubt could take root. The vehicle rumbled out of Nibelheim, bound south through desert, jungle, and eventually to Costa del Sol.

The trip passed with skirmishes against roaming beasts, which the soldiers dispatched with ease. The recruits cheered; Cloud, however, grew pale.

Her blond hair bobbed as the truck bounced along uneven roads. Her blue eyes stayed fixed on the window while waves of nausea churned her stomach.

"Hey, you alright?" a brown-haired boy asked.

Cloud groaned. "I’ve never been good with long rides."

"We’re almost there," another boy said, pointing to golden sands through the back flap.

Costa del Sol bustled at the shoreline. SOLDIERs led the recruits toward registration. Cloud joined the shorter line for those with official letters, clutching her acceptance to the ShinRa Academy—a two-year scholarship she had fought hard to win.

At the table, a sergeant reached for her papers without looking up. "Forms. Papers. Whatever you’ve got."

Cloud handed them over, catching sight of a sharp-dressed woman in sunglasses—the unmistakable mark of the Turks. Her pulse quickened.

"Cloud Strife, male, fifteen, Nibelheim," the sergeant muttered as he wrote. He glanced up. "Consider joining SOLDIER alongside your academics?"

Cloud forced her voice steady. "No, sir. Not yet."

"Think on it." He tore off a slip and handed it to her. "Ticket to Midgar. Wait over there."

She drifted toward the harbor wall where other boys gathered, ticket in hand. Her gaze swept over ranks of uniformed soldiers: gray for sea, navy for land and air, cadets in blue and gray. She knew the ranks from her studies.

Should she join them? The idea tempted her—money, security, and a chance to bring her mother to Midgar. But the risk of discovery was too great. She wasn’t ready.

"Mind if I join you?" The boy from the truck—Luke, from Gongaga—slid down beside her.

They spoke easily: his dream of SOLDIER glory, her plans for science, his urging that she at least try training. He teased her about General Sephiroth, the legendary war hero, and spoke of the Mako treatments that forged the Elites. Cloud shuddered at the thought of being infused with Mako.

An announcement crackled: time to board. Luke tugged her up, racing for a good spot.

The sea voyage to Junon was long, and Cloud’s face shifted from pale to green, much to Luke’s amusement. From Junon, another truck carried them inland until, at last, Midgar loomed.

Cloud’s jaw dropped. Black walls stretched for miles, laced with humming violet energy to repel monsters. The ground around them was scorched gray, lifeless. And above it all, a massive plate loomed, shadowing the city beneath.

They passed the gates and entered the joint base, where recruits were processed in droves. Cloud waited hours before receiving her identification card, cadet uniform, and dorm assignment.

The barracks were sterile rows of white buildings, lawns cut in exacting squares. She found her dorm at last, muttering floor numbers under her breath as she climbed the stairs. At her door, voices greeted her.

Two men looked up as she stepped in.

"Hey, Reno, we got another one—he’s even got the hair!" one said with a grin.

Cloud smiled shyly, smoothing her unruly spikes.

The dark-haired man with glowing violet eyes introduced himself as Zack Donovan Fair, Class Two SOLDIER and Residential Advisor. The red-haired one was Reno Sinclair, Class Three SOLDIER, with his sights set on the Turks.

They showed her the bunks, trunks, and mismatched posters plastered with gum. A massive broadsword hung on the wall, dwarfing her.

Cloud introduced herself, careful to keep her voice steady. "Cloud Strife, from Nibelheim. Mako Science major."

Zack beamed. "Welcome, roomie. Just call me Zack."

Reno smirked. "Tell us about yourself."

As they spoke, Zack explained SOLDIER ranks, Reno boasted of Turk's ambitions, and General Sephiroth’s name arose like a storm cloud. To reach Class One, one had to face and defeat the man himself. Cloud listened wide-eyed, unsettled.

Later, after a tour and dinner at the Mess Hall, Cloud finally lay down in her bunk. Exhausted but relieved, she closed her eyes. The long road had begun.

Little did she know, it would change everything.

Chapter Text

Zack hummed softly under his breath as he strolled down the hallway to his room. After a long, uneventful day at work, he was itching for some sparring practice to shake off the boredom. His thoughts drifted to his littlest, anti-social roommate, the fluffy blond-haired kid. He knew the youth was in their room, studying hard as always.

Grinning to himself, he thought back to how quickly he’d convinced Cloud to join SOLDIER. For cadets, it was almost impossible to make it past two years at the Academy without joining; the tuition alone was too steep. Part-time SOLDIER work came with a heavy discount, and the pay was just enough to cover classes. The deal was too good to refuse, and Cloud had been no exception.

With Reno’s help, Zack had gotten Cloud enlisted and secured a solid scholarship for the rest of his courses. Cloud had accepted his new fate without protest, though Zack remembered the air of quiet resignation that came with it. Later, he and Reno made a secret bet: once Cloud made Class Two, would he stick with SOLDIER or jump over to the Turks? He had the size and build for the Turks, but Zack ended up winning. Cloud admitted he didn’t think he’d last past Class Three anyway and planned to finish his degree, then find a normal job.

Still, Zack had been stunned by the kid’s natural ability. Hand-to-hand, swordplay—Cloud picked it all up with startling speed. Despite his small frame and not meeting the usual regulations, Zack adjusted the training to suit his strengths, building speed and agility instead of raw power. To his relief—and maybe a bit of pride—Cloud had signed on in time for Basic Training.

Zack paused at their door and eased it open quietly. Sure enough, there was Cloud, parked at the desk, papers and books spread around him. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning. From the very first time they’d met, he’d felt a strong, protective pull toward the kid.

He’d seen him through Basic Training personally and had been floored by his endurance. SOLDIER Cadets had it tough, but Scholar Cadets? They had to juggle training, classes, and duties simultaneously. From dawn till late at night, Zack drilled his recruits mercilessly, and Cloud never once complained. He was the smallest and youngest of the group, the only true teenager; most of the others were four to six years older. Yet he kept up. His endurance was inspiring.

Zack frowned briefly. Cloud wasn’t exactly outgoing, but he still managed to learn everyone’s names and have casual conversations. Even so, he never truly socialized with anyone except Zack and Reno. Their third roommate, Phil, only came around to sleep or shower and had his own circle of friends.

Watching him now, Zack thought about how closely he’d observed him through training and classes. He wasn’t just tough; he was brilliant. In nearly a century of ShinRa history, only a handful of people had accomplished what Cloud was pulling off: Roscoe ShinRa, the company’s second president; scientists like Gast, Hojo, and L. Brown; and, of course, the one and only General Sephiroth.

Shoving off from the doorframe, Zack padded closer. Cloud tensed immediately—he always knew when someone was behind him—but relaxed and kept writing. Zack leaned over his shoulder and spotted the book propped on the desk. Second-year material. He was way ahead of the rest of his class. Zack frowned.

Shaking his head, he plopped down on the bed.

“Boots,” Cloud reminded flatly, still writing.

Zack chuckled. “Promise—feet off the bed.” He kept them dangling.

The Dean had cornered him a while back about Cloud’s request to advance early. At first, she refused, and Zack argued for Cloud’s right to enjoy herself, maybe take it easy for once. Cloud complained she was bored and wanted to push ahead, so Zack went higher—speaking to professors and, finally, to Sephiroth.

The General surprised him by taking a personal interest. Sephiroth checked Cloud’s records, reviewed her progress, and approved the advancement, as long as Zack monitored her and made sure she didn’t burn out. Cloud had been thrilled, though she insisted on keeping her progress off the books and under the radar.

Zack smirked, remembering. He’d wanted to introduce the two of them, but it never seemed to line up. Still, Sephiroth always asked about Cloud’s progress when Zack stopped by his office, and Zack made sure to report faithfully.

At a personal level, though, Zack had noticed things that nagged at him. Cloud was closed off, guarded—too much like Sephiroth in that way. It was déjà vu: once again, Zack had taken it as a personal challenge to break through and earn the trust of someone determined to stay locked away.

At least Cloud trusted him more than most—even more than Reno, who was usually off with his own crowd, spending his free time at bars or chasing trouble.

Zack leaned over the desk. “Boring, eh?” he asked, nodding at the report.

Cloud glanced up, giving a faint smile. “There’s not much to write, and the teacher’s an idiot. He wants twenty-five pages, like we’re supposed to cover every detail in ShinRa’s history. I doubt he even reads them.”

Zack barked a laugh. “I did the same thing. Slipped in a little dirt about Dwight ShinRa’s sex life and still got an A plus. Priceless.”

Cloud chuckled softly, returning to her essay. “Yeah, but since I’m ahead of the class, I’m pretty sure he’ll actually read mine. So no junk for me.”

Zack shook his head, clapped her gently on the back, and went to hang his sword up. She tensed at the touch, and he sighed. Sometimes, he wondered if Cloud had been abused growing up; she recoiled from the simplest gestures, never letting anyone close. The thought left a hollow ache in his chest. He shoved it aside and made a silent promise to himself: whatever had happened to her, he’d be there. He’d help her.

He thought back to one moment in particular, only a few weeks after Basic Training—a memory burned in his mind.

Flashback

Zack bounced into the room after a long day, eager for some fun. “Cloud!”

He found the blonde already glued to the desk, nose buried in a book, scribbling away at an assignment.

“Jeez! Already working? No fun at all?”

Reno popped his head into the doorway. “Hey! Come on! There are games at the park right now. Let’s go!”

Cloud didn’t even look up, hand flicking dismissively as she kept writing. “Uh, maybe some other time.”

Zack and Reno exchanged a look. Mischief sparkled in their eyes, and they grinned in unison.

“I don’t think so!” Zack announced. With Mako-enhanced speed, he spun Cloud’s chair around before she could react. In the next instant, she was hoisted up over his shoulder, flailing in the air.

As they started toward the door, Cloud thrashed and pounded on his back. She was so light it startled him for a moment, but her shriek was what froze him in place.

“Hey! Dammit! Put me down! I don’t fucking want to go, so fucking let me down already!”

Zack met Reno’s wide eyes in shock. In three months, neither of them had ever heard Cloud swear, let alone scream.

“Whoa.” Zack quickly loosened his hold, setting her down. He stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her face twisted in horror and fury. Clutching her chest as if struck, Cloud bolted for the bathroom and slammed the door.

Reno’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s up with the kid?”

Zack shook his head, eyes still on the door, and waved him off.

Reno shrugged. “’K, see ya later. Hope he’s okay.” He slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Left alone, Zack sat heavily on the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the bathroom door. What the hell just happened? In only three months, Cloud had become so withdrawn—never letting anyone close, always guarding her space like a wallflower trying to disappear.

Cloud never spoke of his hometown or of his family. All Zack knew was that Cloud wrote a short, simple letter to her mother every week, with no details.

He clenched his fists. I’ll help you. Whatever happened to you, whatever’s still haunting you, I’ll help you—no matter what.

An hour later, the door finally opened. Cloud stepped out, pausing when she saw Zack still waiting.

“Finally,” he said. “About time you came out.”

She scowled. “I thought you left.”

Zack shook his head. “I couldn’t. I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He searched her face for some clue—anything.

Cloud looked away and shrugged. “Oh. You’re forgiven.” She sat back at the desk and resumed her work.

The dismissal stung, but Zack brushed it aside. He reached out and touched her arm, only to feel her flinch.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m here. If you ever need to talk… talk to me. I’d like to be your friend. Trust me.”

Cloud froze, her pen hovering midair. Zack gave her a soft pat on the back and stood.

“See you later,” he said quietly, before heading to his bunk.

Alone again, Cloud let her pen fall. A single tear traced her cheek as she whispered the word as if testing it on her tongue.

“Friend…”

End Flashback

Cloud set her pen down and looked up at the raven-haired man.

“I’m done for now. What’s for dinner?” she asked with a grin.

Zack smiled back. “Mystery globs.”

They both laughed, his deep tenor and her youthful alto mixing like mismatched bells. As they headed out together, Zack thought about how his stoic friend would be amazed by this kid someday. Grinning, he ran after her.

By the time they reached the Mess Hall, Cloud was chattering about her reports and classes. Zack blinked, surprised she had nearly finished all the assignments he’d seen her start only a few days ago.

“When are you getting your finals?” he asked as they joined the line for food.

“They want me to wait and take them with everyone else,” she said with a pout. “But what am I supposed to do until then?”

The expression tugged at him. Cute, almost pretty—and that thought still caught him off guard. He reminded himself: Cloud was a boy, a man now, in ShinRa’s ranks.

“Oh, I’ll talk to Sephiroth about it. He’ll arrange something. You can take them early.”

Cloud froze as the lunch lady dropped a lump of orange “mystery meat” onto her tray.

“Sephiroth?” Her eyes went wide. “He’s the one who told the teachers to let me get ahead?”

Zack nodded, nudging her forward when the line grumbled. “Yeah. After you told me you couldn’t advance, I went to him. He’s my friend, and you’re lucky—he was actually interested. Pulled a few strings.”

Cloud’s cheeks flushed as she showed her ID card to the next server. She muttered under her breath, “Pretty sure he threatened them for their lives.”

Zack heard and laughed outright, drawing odd stares. Following Cloud to a table, he grinned. “That’s Sephiroth for you. Don’t worry—you should be glad. He hardly spares anyone time, even me. Usually I have to bug him nonstop to get five minutes.”

Cloud looked up in amazement as they sat at a newly cleared table. “And you’re still alive?”

Zack chuckled while poking at a green glob on his tray. “You believe those rumors?”

She shrugged, taking a bite of the orange sludge—turns out it was just macaroni and cheese. “Mystery meat, my arse.” Her dry remark drew chuckles from nearby. “Still, with his reputation, the rumors aren’t hard to believe.”

“You’re not wrong.” Zack spotted a familiar mop of red hair. “Hey, Reno! We’ve got seats here!”

Reno wandered over with two others: a tall, bald man with a deadpan expression and a short blonde woman with cropped hair.

“Sit,” Zack said, gesturing at the space beside him and Cloud. “What’s new?”

“Won a three-on-three basketball tourney,” Reno bragged. “Elena’s team crushed the women’s barracks. Seven–three.”

“Crushed as in won the game, or crushed their faces into the pavement?” Zack asked, flicking a green ball across the table.

“Both,” Rude answered calmly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Come on, that’s not true!” Elena protested, smacking his shoulder.

Reno cackled. “What about Smith’s bloody nose when you pegged her with the ball?”

“She got in the way. I was passing to Spiegel!” Elena rolled her eyes.

“Sure,” Reno drawled, chewing his food.

Cloud sat quietly, watching their banter with shy curiosity. She nibbled at her dinner and listened as the conversation drifted from basketball to tag football to dating gossip.

“So, what about that girl from Slum Five?” Reno asked, downing his drink.

Zack’s grin lit up. “She’s great. Wants me to get flowers from overseas so she can grow them in her garden.”

“Yeah, that garden’s amazing,” Reno said. “How’s she keeping it green through winter?”

Zack leaned in with mock secrecy. “Barrier Materia. Gave her an old one—still works.”

Elena gasped. “That’s against regulations! Issued Materia is for SOLDIER only!”

Zack waved her off. “Relax. I filed a report saying it was cracked, got a new one, passed the old one along. No one noticed. Don’t do it yourself, though. Come to me first.” He wagged his finger in mock warning.

From beside him, Cloud murmured, “I’m sure the General knew.”

Zack blinked, surprised she was still there—usually she left meals early. “Yeah, he knew. Didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t critical.”

Cloud’s faint smile flickered, then faded when Reno turned to her.

“So, you writing to anyone back home? Seeing anyone in Midgar?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. No one.”

Elena noticed the discomfort and smoothly redirected. “So, Zack, this girl. She the one?”

Zack shrugged, thoughtful. “I don’t know. She’s sweet, wonderful… but different. She says she hears the Planet. I thought she was crazy, but maybe it’s a gift.”

“Hear the Planet?” Reno frowned.

“Yeah. Says it’s like hearing crying—like it’s in pain.” Zack’s voice trailed off as he caught Cloud’s expression, which was distracted and distant.

Her gaze swept the Mess Hall, which was thinning out as dinner wound down. Then her eyes froze on the far exit.

Zack noticed the shift instantly. He followed her line of sight, and there he was: Sephiroth, clad in black, his silver hair catching the harsh cafeteria lights, standing like a shadow of authority while some poor Class Two cadet wilted under his scolding.

“Sephiroth, huh?” Zack’s brows rose. Turning back, he caught Cloud’s wide-eyed look. He’d seen that face a hundred times on recruits idolizing the General. But in Cloud’s eyes there was something more—deeper admiration, quiet respect.

“You wanna meet him?” Zack asked quietly.

Cloud’s cheeks flushed. “Uhm, no.”

Zack smirked. Sephiroth wrapped up his lecture, glanced around the room, and his jade eyes locked with Zack’s. A nod passed between them. Zack lifted a hand in return.

Cloud stiffened. They really know each other.

Then Sephiroth’s gaze shifted to her. For a heartbeat, Cloud thought she saw recognition—something sharp, something curious—before his eyes went cold and unreadable.

Cloud froze. A feeling she couldn’t name struck her—like remembering a melody she’d never been taught. Only when Sephiroth turned and left did she breathe again.

Zack didn’t miss a thing. Grinning, he nudged her tray. “He wants to meet you. After all, he’s already pulling strings for you in class.” He stood, carrying his empty tray to the return rack. “Come on. Kendo practice?”

Cloud nodded and fell into step beside him.

On the way to the gym, she asked, “Why are you teaching me swordplay? I don’t get that until second year.”

“Because you’re good,” Zack said with a smile. “And it won’t hurt to get ahead. You’re already speeding through your classes—same goes for combat. Kendo’s one of ShinRa’s core skills. Sephiroth and I are both masters, so I teach the basics.”

Cloud smiled faintly. “Thanks. I like swordplay more than anything else.”

“You’ve got real talent for it. Wanna hear a secret?” He leaned closer, whispering, “Sephiroth is awful with guns. Couldn’t hit a target to save his life.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

Zack laughed at her innocent shock. “Really. There you go. He’s not perfect.”

“I knew that.” Cloud huffed. “No one’s perfect.”

Zack’s smile softened, his eyes distant with thought. “No one is, until you meet the one who feels perfect for you.”

Cloud frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Ah, you’ll get it someday.”

They entered the gym and made their way to the locker room. Cloud grabbed her gi and slipped into a bathroom stall to change while Zack changed outside. A few minutes later, they stepped out together, dressed in the standard white-and-blue ShinRa-issued gis with matching obi, their feet bare against the cool floor.

From there, they headed to the armory. Each picked up a bokken—a wooden training sword shaped like a nodachi or katana. Zack, as always, chose the katana and broadsword, the same kind he kept hanging in their dorm. Cloud lingered at the racks, scanning the rows of blades. She’d been trained to handle several types but felt drawn to the four-foot nodachi: a straight, slightly oversized blade, scarred from heavy use yet still carefully maintained. She gripped it firmly, and together they made their way into an empty dojo.

They began with their usual ritual: stretching, loosening stiff muscles, and settling into the rhythm of practice. Soon the dojo echoed with the crack of clashing bokkens and the swift scuffle of bare feet. Zack’s Mako-enhanced strength and speed gave him the edge, but Cloud countered with agility, her smaller form darting around his strikes.

“Good, you’re gaining,” Zack said after landing a smart hit across her upper arm. He knew it would bruise later, but saw how quickly she adjusted, ready for his next attack. At this rate, he thought, she could make a solid Second Class—maybe even First, given time.

After nearly an hour of bokken drills, they switched to the nodachi and katana. The sparring shifted into something like a dance, strikes and parries flowing in rhythm, their blades slashing and locking with practiced precision. Zack found himself enjoying it more than expected; Cloud mirrored his movements almost flawlessly, absorbing and correcting mistakes with startling speed.

At last, they broke apart, both lowering their weapons. Cloud bent double, panting and dripping sweat, while Zack barely glistened, his stamina buoyed by Mako.

“You’re doing well,” he said, handing her a bottle of water. “Feel like taking on tougher partners soon?”

Cloud shrugged, catching her breath. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Keep this up and improve a little more—you could take on Sephiroth in a couple of years. I know I’m trying.”

Cloud blushed faintly and laughed. “Let’s see you beat him first.”

“We’ll see.” Zack nodded toward a massive weapon propped against the wall. “Want to try the Buster Sword?”

Cloud eyed the blade, its surface shimmering unnaturally under the lights, veined with twisted patterns, glowing bluish rather than gray. Mythril. She had thought such a weapon would be impossibly heavy, but with training, she knew she could at least lift it.

“I guess.” She stepped forward, gripping the hilt and hauling it up. A grunt nearly escaped her throat, but she bit it back. Once she adjusted her grip, the weight seemed more manageable.

Zack smiled with pride as she moved into a stance. She parried an invisible opponent, thrusting, blocking, and twisting her lithe body with surprising grace. He offered the occasional correction, watching her improve in real time.

After a quarter hour, she stopped, chest heaving. Carefully, she returned the blade to its rack, wiped the sheen of sweat from the metal, and dabbed at her damp golden hair with her sleeve.

“I guess I’ll head back to the dorm,” she said quietly.

“Sure. Next time, same sword?” Zack asked as she packed up.

Cloud nodded, murmured a soft goodbye, and slipped out the door.

“That’s Cloud Strife you’ve been telling me about?” a baritone voice asked from the shadow of the dojo.

Zack started, turning toward the sound. “General Sephiroth.”

The man stepped into view, dressed in black kendo clothes, even his feet bare—a rare sight for anyone but Zack. A scowl crossed his face at the formality. “Cut the formalities. So that’s your little roommate?”

Zack chuckled. “Yeah, that’s him. Cute little thing, isn’t he?”

Green eyes rolled. “He has good swordplay. His stance is strange, though. Familiar.”

“I know. I can’t place it—it’s different.”

“It’s Nibel fighting stance. Very old, almost ancient. From what I’ve read, it’s usually carried by the women, not the men.”

Zack’s eyes went wide. “You mean he’s using the Ancient stance? And what’s with the female part?”

Sephiroth’s gaze sharpened as he examined the swords left on the floor. “He didn’t just pick this up here. He must have learned before—perhaps from his mother. You said he’s from where?”

“Nibelheim.”

The silver-haired man’s eyes narrowed with dislike. “Nibelheim… there’s an old reactor there.” He stepped into position, bokken in hand, the weapon nearly as long as his legendary Masamune.

Zack mirrored him, settling into a stance. “Yeah. The Nibel Mountain Reactor, high up in the range. I’m not sure if you’ve been there.”

“Not recently. I don’t remember. Have you?” They circled slowly, easing into a parrying rhythm.

Zack’s wrists moved deftly, his bokken clicking against Sephiroth’s. “Once in a while. It’s a quiet town. The people don’t like ShinRa showing up—they usually hide indoors until we leave.”

“Yes.”

“Seems it makes Cloud even more mysterious, doesn’t it?” Zack pressed as their movements quickened, bokkens cracking louder now.

Sephiroth nodded. “Since you first told me about him—his pace through academics—I found it unusual. No one his age could advance that way unless they had prior Mako exposure.”

“Mako. Always the blasted thing,” Zack muttered.

“Still… with his swordwork and combat skills, I suspect something in his background is driving this. It’s not ordinary.”

Their sparring escalated into real combat. Zack swung, only to have his strike deflected.

“He’s emotionally fragile,” Sephiroth said between clashes. “I’d hate to see anything bad happen.”

“Care about him, do you? That’s unusual for you.” Strike. Defend.

“Hey, he’s a special case.” Parry. Thrust.

“Granted.” Sephiroth lunged, only to have his blade diverted. “You’re building a limit break.”

“So are you.”

The General’s eyes widened slightly—Zack was right. He was nearing his first limit break, while Zack was already pushing into his third.

“You’re holding back.”

“I mean to. I’m trying to break into my fourth.”

“What type?”

“Omnislash.”

“That’s high level for Class One.” Sephiroth’s tone sharpened as he shifted into trance, channeling his first-level break. Zack, in turn, initiated Omnislash.

The dojo exploded in brilliant colors. Energy flared, blades clashed, and the rhythm of their spar turned furious and blindingly fast.

At last, both slowed, the aura of their limit breaks fading. Sephiroth lowered his weapon, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Welcome to Class One. You’ve made it.”

Zack froze, jaw dropping. “You’re serious?”

“You defeated me.” He lifted his bokken, snapped it down to a nub, and touched his neck, where a dark bruise was already forming.

“Oh, crap!”

“My thought exactly. And ow, that really hurt.” Sephiroth chuckled, tossing the ruined bokken aside and rubbing his neck.

“It’ll be gone in a couple of hours.”

“True. See me tomorrow for—” He rolled his eyes and waved dismissively, clearly irritated. “—paperwork. You’ll start soon. Don’t worry, it won’t interfere with your schedule. The rest is up to you.”

Zack nodded. “Thanks, man.” He swigged from a bottle, then passed it to the General. Together, they surveyed the dojo: floor gouged, walls splintered.

“Think they’ll get mad?” Zack asked.

Sephiroth’s chuckle rumbled low. “I’ll tell them a monster rampaged in here. Don’t worry. Worth it.” He tossed the empty bottle back with a smirk. “It’s been lonely in the Elite.”

Zack shook his head, catching the bottle. “Why don’t you spar with him someday?”

“Maybe. Level him up more, and I’ll consider it. It would be an interesting change.”

“He’s not good enough yet?”

“Almost. But he’ll do well if he keeps at it. Train him more with broadswords—he has the knack. Likely taught before. The Buster Sword itself was designed in Nibelheim.” Sephiroth’s eyes flicked toward the door. “Go check on him. He’s back, watching us.”

Zack’s stomach dropped. “He what?”

“He didn’t hear us. He always watches when we spar.”

“You never told me!”

Sephiroth’s lips curled into a half-grin. “I don’t mind. It’s probably why he’s improved so quickly.” With that, he turned and strode out, black hakama swirling, silver hair trailing like a banner.

Zack sighed, hefted his bag, and gathered the swords to return them to the armory.

From the shadows of the adjoining dojo, Cloud rose silently. She had first stumbled upon Zack and Sephiroth sparring by accident, returning one night for something she had forgotten. Since then, she had come back again and again, hidden and unseen, to watch their movements. Each session sharpened her study—and with it, her admiration for the General grew into profound respect.

She hurried back to the dorm. Her two other roommates were already asleep. Quietly, she slipped into the shower, then climbed into bed, exhaustion pulling her toward sleep.

Just as she began drifting off, something hit her in the face. Swatting at it, she found a rolled-up sock. Looking up into the darkness, she caught the faint glow of Zack’s Mako eyes peering down from the top bunk.

Scowling, she muttered, “Hey, I’m trying to sleep here.”

Zack chuckled softly. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Enjoy watching Sephiroth and me spar?”

Cloud froze. “He… he said I always watch you?”

“Yeah. He always knows things. I didn’t realize until tonight—he told me.”

A silence stretched between them until Cloud squeaked, “Uh… sorry?”

“Don’t worry. He said he doesn’t mind. I don’t either.”

“Really?”

“You’re getting a lot of lucky breaks with him. Normally, he wouldn’t go out of his way for anyone, and he definitely prefers sparring in private.”

Cloud shifted uneasily. “Really, I didn’t mean to.”

Zack climbed down from his bunk and sat beside her. Cloud edged over, making room.

“Well, I know you take every chance to watch him,” Zack said. “You’re not the only one who admires him.”

Cloud’s gaze dropped to her blanket. She traced idle patterns across the rough cloth with her finger. “Oh.”

Zack frowned. “Care to tell me why?” His voice was curious, not scolding. Propping himself on one elbow, he studied her. To Zack, the moonlight softened her spiky hair, casting her face in faint silver. He caught himself noticing her fine nose, the small full lips, the way her expressions shifted between childlike fragility and a startling maturity. Her azure eyes were blank, masking whatever lay beneath.

After a long silence, Cloud sighed. “I don’t know why.” She wanted to say it was respect, or even a crush, but neither word fit. It felt older than that—like something written into her bones, a thread tugging her toward him no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

“No? Usually people who admire him have reasons.”

Cloud shifted to face him, her expression questioning.

“Oh, most want to be like him,” Zack explained. “Some—usually girls—have crushes. Others want his strength, his fame… he’s just that kind of figure.”

“What about you?” The quiet question surprised him.

“Hm. When I first met him, I was cocky. Challenged him to a fight. I didn’t even know who the great General Sephiroth was back then.” Zack laughed at the memory. “He laughed in my face and wiped the floor with me.”

Cloud smiled. “So, you became friends.”

“You could say that. I’ve never seen him talk to anyone else the way he does with me. He hardly bothers with people at all, and he doesn’t share much about himself.”

“Kind of a guy who keeps to himself?”

“Yeah. But…” Zack trailed off, thoughtful.

Cloud tilted her head, resting her chin on her knees. “But what?”

The lieutenant sat up and tapped her nose. “You’re like him.”

Cloud blinked. “Eh?”

“You keep to yourself. In all the time I’ve known you, you won’t let people get close—or even touch you. He’s the same way.”

“Oh.” Her voice was faint, dazed.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Zack asked gently.

Cloud blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“All right. Go to bed.” Zack patted her head before climbing back to the top bunk and curling up with his back to her.

They were alike in many ways, yet opposite. Sephiroth lurked like a shadow, while Cloud was like the sun—shining, but always hiding behind clouds. Zack knew then they had to meet properly. If they did, they’d get along famously.

He lay awake a little longer, musing on Cloud’s fascination. It wasn’t an obsession; it was study—respect from a distance. And Sephiroth hadn’t rejected it; he seemed amused, even encouraging. That alone was unusual.

Sephiroth rarely smiled, yet with Zack, he sometimes did—dark humor, mischief slipping through. Tonight, though, Zack had seen another spark: the General’s interest in Cloud’s stance, in the way the kid moved unseen in the background.

Something Sephiroth had said nagged at him. The stance Cloud used—the Nibel stance—was practiced by women. Zack had heard of it only in myths: the legends of Valkyries. He shook the thought away, saving it for another time.

He concluded there was something unique tying the two together. Letting the thought drift, he allowed sleep to claim him.

Below him, Cloud was lost in her own musings. She remembered Sephiroth vanishing into the shadows after sparring. At that moment, she finally understood Zack’s words earlier.

“Yes. There you go. Sephiroth isn’t perfect, no matter how much he seems to be.”

“I knew that. No one can be perfect.”

“No one is, until you meet someone who’s perfect for you.” Zack’s words echoed, though he had been thinking of a green-eyed, russet-haired woman in Sector Five.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, you’ll understand someday.”

Cloud hadn’t expected to understand so soon. To her, Sephiroth’s flaws were perfect. That realization frightened her. Feelings had taken root—dangerous, impossible feelings. She crushed them down, deciding they weren’t worth the risk to her life.

Chapter Text

General Sephiroth sat in his office, drumming his fingers against the desk. His gaze lingered absently on the computer screen in the far corner, where the names and statistics of cadets and SOLDIERs scrolled in steady lines. Few had advanced to Class Two, and none to Class One.

The steady tapping of his fingers stopped. A moment later, the clack of keys filled the quiet office, followed by a series of electronic blips. The display shifted to a profile—blond hair, sharp blue eyes. A cadet whose name he had heard more than once.

Sephiroth leaned forward. Zack had tried several times to arrange an introduction, but missions and paperwork always intervened. At first, Sephiroth had dismissed the boy as unremarkable, yet something about him tugged at his attention. Even secondhand, the mention of the Nibel Fighting Stance had piqued his interest.

Two years had passed since Sephiroth first heard of him—a cadet intent on advancing through the program at his own pace. Zack often spoke of the boy during training sessions or sparring bouts, and Sephiroth had noticed how protective Zack had become. Despite his promotion to Class One, Zack still chose to remain in the dormitories, explaining once, “I’d rather keep him under my wing until he feels free to soar on his own. He needs some guidance, and I want to be there.”

Sephiroth respected that loyalty. He could also see, line by line, the evidence of Cloud Strife’s progress on the glowing screen. The cadet had compressed his first and second years of academic training into a single year and was already nearing the completion of his fifth. A bachelor’s degree in Mako Science was behind him, and he was now pursuing his master’s.

Physical training, martial arts, kendo, and strategy—Cloud excelled in all of them. Sephiroth’s frown deepened when he reached the section on current duty assignments. Cloud was serving as a guard in ShinRa Headquarters, a posting far beneath such talent.

“Why is he working a lowly job? He deserves better.” Sephiroth scrolled further, one eyebrow lifting as he read the designation aloud. “Class Three, Level One Sergeant. He should already be in Class Two by now. Why is he not?”

As if summoned by the question, the office door opened and Zack strolled in, humming.

“Hey General, what’s up?” Zack asked as he sat down in the chair opposite Sephiroth.

“Why is Strife in Class Three and working as a guard on the fourth level of ShinRa Headquarters?” Sephiroth asked. He quickly worked on the computer, pulling up past files.

Zack’s eyes widened as he leaned to look at the screen on the desk. “No idea. You’re serious?”

“It says here.” Sephiroth gestured toward the monitor. “Didn’t he tell you?” He returned to the screen and kept reading; his frown deepened as he scrolled further.

“No, he’s busy all the time and not under my legion anymore. He’s working under Lieutenant Stifer’s legion.”

“Lieutenant Stifer?” Sephiroth’s voice carried a razor’s edge. “That fool is unfit to guide anyone beyond mediocrity. Strife deserves better.” He exhaled and returned to the computer, clicking away at the keyboard. “Strife was never nominated for promotions. I’m going to change that, put him under your legion, and I want you to personally train him for Class One.”

“You think he should be in Class One?” Zack’s eyes widened further.

“Yes. He should be. I can’t do much unless he passes the tests to Class Two first. But he will have to be under your legion.” Sephiroth continued typing, changing data, and transferring Cloud’s files.

Zack slumped in his chair and flipped through the files he had brought with him. “He’s graduating in a few weeks with his Master. He said he wasn’t sure if he would get the Doctorate. If he does, he’ll have to work under Dr. Hojo for an apprenticeship, since he’s the only one pursuing a doctorate in Mako Science.”

“Has he had any Mako Treatment yet? It doesn’t say here,” Sephiroth asked, still focused on the computer.

Zack pursed his lips as he tapped his chin. “I don’t know of any. I only see him half the time now. I would have known if he got sick lately. No, I don’t think so.”

“Find out why he’s majoring in Mako Science. I think it has something to do with his past and with his being from Nibelheim. There is no record of his family or anything in the file.”

Zack nodded as he closed the folder and placed it in the completed assignment basket on Sephiroth’s desk. “He never talks about his past; he has a surviving mother in Nibelheim and is the only family member he has. Other than that, he has some problem with other recruits here on the compound. Reno informed me that there’s a group of SOLDIER from Nibelheim giving him trouble.”

Sephiroth nodded as he pushed himself away from the desk and faced Zack. “Cloud is being transferred to your legion. Sign up for your own apartment as soon as possible, because it will be down to you two at the barracks. Your other roommates are transferring to other legions soon, too. I believe one of them is going for Turks, am I right?”

“Yeah, Reno. Been training under Tseng lately.”

“Tseng? That’s a very high place in Turks.”

“Something like that. When are you going to be free?”

The silver-haired man waved his hand. “I’m busy. The only time would be the Ball. I have to attend.”

Zack smiled. “The Ball—good excuse to drag Cloud there. He skipped the last two years.”

“I noticed.” Sephiroth rose from his chair and moved to the shelves that lined his office walls, full of scrolls and books. He pulled a volume out and turned to Zack. “I’m finished for the day. I have to go see Dr. Hojo for an appointment.”

Zack wrinkled his nose. “Can’t get out of it?”

“No, or he will send the entire SOLDIER upon my ass, regardless of me being the General.”

The raven-haired man chuckled as he got up to follow Sephiroth out of the office. “What you got there?” He gestured to the book in Sephiroth’s hand.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to read this book for a while. Mythology of Nibel Mountain: The Valkyries of Nibelung.”

Zack took the book and read the title. “Valkyries of Nibelung. Too bad those women are myths. Be nice to meet one—hear they’re really beautiful.”

Sephiroth nodded mentally, adding, Like a certain person. Then he shook his head.

They parted from the building where Sephiroth’s office was, Zack heading toward the Knoll, a high grassy park near the library. He knew he would find Reno and the others there since it was lunchtime. Sephiroth went toward the vehicle hangar of the Fortress Compound to retrieve his transport for Midgar, where Doctor Hojo’s lab was. All the other recruits received their Mako Treatment at the Fortress Compound’s Medic Wing, unless they were required to be seen by Hojo himself.

Zack found Reno sitting on the grass with Rude and Elena.
“Hey, guys. Where’s Spikey?”

Reno shook his head, mumbling around a sandwich. “Dunno, he said he was going to be at the library today.”

“All right, what’s the grub on the menu today?” Zack dropped onto the grass.

Elena scowled. “Mystery Meat. Liver. That’s why we have this.” She tossed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had made.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” Elena laughed and bit into her own sandwich while Reno and Rude argued quietly about sports.

Zack munched on the sticky-sweet sandwich, his mind drifting. Valkyries of Nibelung? That’s right—Sephiroth had wanted to look into it since that night. An old mythology tied to Nibelheim. Why would it matter to Cloud? Suddenly, like a ball smacking him in the head, the thought struck. “Ow…” He tossed the ball back to a group of cadets playing tag-ball. Nibelheim! Cloud’s from there… but what does that have to do with him? He’s a guy… Zack frowned, frustrated that the sudden revelation led nowhere.

Reno nudged him in the ribs. “Look, there’s Cloud.”

They glanced up to see Cloud walking down the winding path, arms full of books, reading one after another.

“There he goes again, burying himself in schoolwork,” Reno muttered.

“Yeah, he’s working on his Master’s,” Zack said offhand.

Gasps came from the three, and they chorused in amazement, “Master’s!”

Zack laughed. “Amazing, eh?”

“How old is he?” Rude asked quietly, watching the blonde steer clear of a couple of cadets.

“Seventeen,” Zack answered, remembering it had been two years since Cloud came into their lives.

Reno frowned as he took the last bite of his sandwich. “He even got the book…”

Zack whipped his head toward him. “What book?”

Before Reno could answer, three men—bigger than Cloud—stepped into her path, blocking the way. Cloud closed her book with one hand, face stoic. The leader spoke, and Cloud replied with cool nonchalance. Zack rose from the grass, recognizing them as part of the Nibelheim gang that always harassed Cloud.

The leader moved forward threateningly, Cloud stepping back. At something crude, the man said, Cloud flinched. The other two laughed like hyenas, and Cloud nearly stumbled. Anger twisted her face as the man drew back his fist.

Zack charged in with his usual cheerful façade. “Hey, Cloud!”

All four heads turned. The three men backed off quickly, plastering on fake innocence. Cloud’s anger eased as she saw Zack approach.

The leader—Second Class Sergeant Lockhart—grinned. “Hey, Fair, just offering Strife some help with those books.”

Zack’s eyes narrowed dangerously, making the man flinch before forcing a smile. “Oh, thanks for trying to help. I’ll take it from here, since I needed to talk to Cadet Strife.” The three left without much fuss.

Cloud huffed, shifting the books in her arms. Zack grabbed a couple. “Never listen, do they?”

“No.” She scowled, avoiding his eyes.

“You know you can report them.”

“No.”

“That’s breaking regulations, you know.”

“I said no. I don’t care—I can handle them.”

Zack scowled. “Something’s going on, and it’s clear they’re bothering you. I’ll report them myself.”

Cloud’s eyes flashed. She snatched the books back. “Since when did you become my mother?” she snapped, storming away.

Zack rubbed the back of his neck, watching her go. “Gee… I’ve never.” The memory of Sephiroth’s rare temper flashed through his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Me either,” said a voice at his side. Reno had joined him.

“You know the book I was talking about,” Reno went on. “It’s a box of chocolate—and you were holding it.”

“What?” Zack asked, baffled.

Reno chuckled, and the two returned to the grass. “Every month, he goes out with that book-box, every day for a week. Comes back with it, empty. Then he goes out and does it again.”

Zack blinked, finding it all pointless. “So he likes chocolate. Leave him alone.”

Reno waved a hand. “No, no—it’s for psychology class. Had to pick a subject to study and write up a report.” He waved his arms when Zack glared. “Anonymous! Totally anonymous! The teacher never knew it was him!”

Elena waved a cookie. “If Cloud were a woman, I’d say PMS. But no—he’s a guy, so it’s just weird.” She looked back at her cookie only to see it vanish—straight into Reno’s mouth. She scowled at him.

Zack buried his head in his hands and groaned. “You guys… I don’t know what’s worse, that Nibelheim gang or you.”

“At least we don’t mean him harm,” Rude said quietly.

The First Class shook a finger at them. “Stop this and find someone else to pester.”

“Maybe we’ll pester you next!” Reno called after him as Zack walked away.

Zack’s prediction was right; he found Cloud in their room, sitting at the desk as usual, nose buried in a book.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading,” the blonde replied without looking up.

“Reading what?” Zack asked as he dropped onto the bed, propping his boots on the frame. He craned his neck to see the title on the spine. “Cinderella?”

Cloud’s cheeks flushed pink. She quickly closed the book and set it on the desk. “Yeah. It’s one of my favorites. Found it in the library—this version’s a little different from the one I read before.”

Zack laughed and folded his arms behind his head. “Speaking of balls… are you going this year?”

“No.” The reply came sharp and immediate.

Zack groaned, throwing his hands up. “Man! The last two years, you didn’t even make an appearance! Well, as your superior, I’m commanding you to go.” He stopped mid-rant, his eyes flicking from Cloud to the book on the desk, then back again. Something clicked, the earlier jolt from that ball in the park echoing like a spark in his mind.

Cloud arched a brow. “You’re not my superior,” she deadpanned.

To her horror, Zack laughed. “Oh, but I am. Regulations, you know—you’ve broken enough of them already.” He got to his feet and began pacing, his tone playful but his eyes sharp. “You defied my order earlier. And now… I’ve just realized something.”

Cloud stiffened as he turned back, pinning her with his gaze.

“If you confess, I’ll overlook the rest. I’ll take care of you here at ShinRa.”

She blinked, feigning blankness. “Confess what?”

Zack stepped closer, and Cloud instinctively leaned back in her chair. He studied her a moment before sighing. “You’re good—too good.” Then, softening, he added, “When you’re ready, I’ll be here. But you’re going to the ball, one way or another.” He pulled her dress uniform from the trunk and laid it across the bed. “Wear this, or whatever you choose. Keep the secret too long, and someone else will figure it out. Tell me, and I’ll help you. You’re too good to lose over this.”

Cloud’s face went pale. “Yes, sir.”

Zack nodded. “By the way, you’re being transferred out of Stifer’s legion into mine—General’s orders.”

She gaped. “What the—?”

“After graduation, after the Ball, you’ll be taking your Class Two tests. Once you pass, the General wants you moved straight into training for First Class as soon as possible. Yeah, General’s orders too—just don’t let that out yet. I’d like to see Stifer piss around about that. He’s been dying to get to Class One for eternity.”

Cloud scowled and looked away. “I don’t want to.”

“If you love Cinderella, then you’ve got to go to the ball.”

“What does Cinderella have to do with anything?” she shot back.

“She went to the ball—so should you. Maybe you’ll find your prince or whatever,” Zack teased, tapping the book.

Cloud rolled her eyes, masking her nerves. “I’m not interested.”

Zack grinned at the faint flush creeping across her cheeks. “Ohhh, about a certain someone…”

“No! No, no, no, no! I am not hearing this!” Cloud slapped her hands over her ears while Zack laughed.

“All right, all right. Just go.”

“I still don’t want to go to the stupid ball.”

“You’re going, and that’s final,” Zack said, voice dropping into firm command. Then, gentler, “However you want to go, no one will know who you are.” With that, he left the room.

Cloud slumped back in defeat. Zack would drag her there regardless, kicking and screaming if he had to. She opened the book again, staring at the picture of Cinderella in her gown. Maybe he was right. She could go as herself, and no one would notice. Quietly, she decided she’d slip into the city mall that weekend to find something to wear.

In the hallway, Zack leaned against the wall. He knew the truth now: Cloud wasn’t a boy, but a girl—and she wasn’t ready to admit it.

So much like Sephiroth, yet different. Both guarded, both distant. He cared for her, worried about her future. And Sephiroth… Sephiroth was getting too close to the truth, even without meeting her.

Shaking his head, Zack stepped outside into the late light, muttering, “A box of chocolate… geesh.” Then he glanced toward the sky with a smile. “Saturday, I’ll personally make sure you go to the ball.”

At Headquarters deep in Midgar, Sephiroth tried to make himself comfortable in the battered dental chair. Tubes ran from the stand beside him, one feeding the green-glowing substance of Mako into his arm. He shifted against the cracked leather, a book balanced in his hand: The Valkyries of Nibelung. Feeling the usual wave of dizziness that came with treatment, he pressed on, eyes moving down the page.

“In elder days, it was told that Nibelheim was the dwelling of the Nibelung, who kept their vigil at the foot of Mount Nibel, standing watch before the mountain’s gate. They were named the Children of Mist, born not of the Cetra nor of the Calamities of the Sky, but of the Ancient race of Gaia herself. While the elder races waged their wars for five centuries uncounted, the Nibelung remained unseen. Hidden within the veils of cloud and stone, they endured, guarding the heart of the Planet.

They called themselves Valkyries, and by oath eternal swore to defend Gaia from all who would profane her. Most were women—fair of hair and eye, their beauty terrible and unearthly. A few bore differing hues, yet all shared the gifts of their line: the strength of their mothers, the wisdom of their fathers, and the skills of every ancestor added unto them, that each generation rose greater than the last.

Of men, there were but a few. The first was Odin, lord of the mountain, son of Alexander the Judge and true son of Gaia, brother to the first Valkyrie, Jenova. In later days, others were born, and their names are kept in the records: Michael, Gabriel, Raziel, Uriel, Ramiel, Sariel, Metatron, Jophiel, Anael, Jeduhiel, Simael, Haniel, and Luciael. In all, fifteen men named themselves sons of the Valkyries. Yet the scrolls foretell a sixteenth, whose name is withheld—for he is the one prophesied.”

Sephiroth’s eyebrow arched as he read on. Odin and Alexander are both rare Summon Materia. But the others? Thirteen left unaccounted for… Could they be?

A nurse approached quietly, changing out the bag of glowing liquid. “Sorry, sir. The Doctor ordered extra doses. Please let us know if you feel anything out of the ordinary.”

Sephiroth answered only with a glacial look. She blanched and hurried out, leaving him to his reading. His thoughts drifted: This Strife kid… from Nibelheim. Yellow hair. Blue eyes. It can’t be. Myths, nothing more. And yet… there’s still the unnamed one.

“Reading mythology, eh?”

The oily voice drew his eyes upward. “Doctor Hojo.”

The man slithered into the room, gaze flicking to the Mako bag feeding into Sephiroth’s veins. “How is it coming?” He tapped the side of the bag with long, bony fingers, then nodded at the book.

“The book, or the treatment?” Sephiroth asked flatly.

“Either.” Hojo smoothed back his lank black hair.

“Book’s interesting. Treatment’s fine.”

“Interesting.” Hojo plucked at the book’s spine with a bony hand. “Valkyries. Romantic nonsense. They never existed.”

Sephiroth’s silence was sharper than words.

“Even the Cetra. Calamities of the Sky. Whatever they call themselves. All foolish. Worthless. You shouldn’t waste your time on myths.”

“I’ll read whatever I want, Doctor Hojo.” Sephiroth ground the title against his teeth, making it clear the conversation was finished.

“You’re free to go after this bag,” Hojo replied airily, and slipped out.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes and turned back to the book.

Chapter Text

Reno found Zack in the dojo at the end of his kendo class. He waited as the older man finished cleaning the room before approaching him by the lockers. Zack greeted him with a wave.

“Hey, what brings you here?” Zack asked as he gathered up his gear to put away in the storage room. “You don’t usually show up unless you need something.”

Reno rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “You’re always right. I need to talk to ya about Cloud. I found out some things.”

Zack’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like it when Turks stuck their noses where they didn’t belong—but then again, that was their specialty. He pushed into the locker room and headed for the showers, Reno trailing him. “What things?”

Reno paused at the low wall that separated the showers from the lockers, resting his arms on it. “Some of my contacts dug into why the Nibelheim gang’s got beef with our Cloud.” He smirked as Zack rolled his eyes and turned on the water.

Zack ducked under the spray, scrubbing shampoo through his hair. Since stumbling on Cloud’s secret, he’d suspected the gang’s motives. He’d just hoped Reno wouldn’t get close enough to piece it together.

“What did you find out?” he asked, rinsing off.

Reno shrugged. “They’ve been harassing Cloud since they were kids. Lockhart’s got a personal grudge—something about his sister getting hurt—and he pins it on Cloud. I don’t have the whole story, but it runs deep.” He sighed. “They called him a freak.”

And there it is. Zack grimaced, reaching for the soap. “A freak? How? He’s smart, adaptable, sure—but that’s not freakish.”

Reno tossed him a towel. “That’s part of it. But one of the gang mentioned Nibelheim’s old history—something about Nibelung myths.”

Zack raised an eyebrow as he dried off. Too close. “Just myths,” he said flatly.

“I agree. But you know how superstitious the people there are. They put stock in those old stories.”

Zack hummed as he pulled on his shirt and socks.

Reno eyed him, squinting. “You know something.”

Zack chuckled. “You’re perceptive.”

“Give.”

Zack shrugged, deciding to throw him off. “It’s just the Valkyrie myths. You remember that from history class.”

“Yeah.” Reno nodded slowly. “Valkyries—the goddess-like women who guarded Mount Nibel?”

“Exactly. Pale, golden-haired, blue-eyed. Traits you don’t see often.”

Reno frowned, then his eyes went wide. “Cloud. Blond, blue eyes… Damn. That’s why they’re riding him?” He groaned. “Over his looks? That’s messed up.”

Zack shut his locker with a clang. “Whack reason, yeah. Anything else?”

Reno scrambled off the bench to follow him out. “Some background. Cloud’s parents weren’t from Nibelheim. His old man was a ShinRa mako scientist stationed at the Nibel Reactor; he died in an accident around the start of the Wutai War. His mom stayed, but the town never accepted her. People said she scared them. Files didn’t have much more—dead end.”

Zack stopped short, making Reno bump into him. He gripped the redhead’s shoulder, voice firm. “Reno, stop digging into Cloud’s past. If he wants to talk about it, he will. Leave it. As for the Nibelheim gang—I’ll bring it up to General Sephiroth.”

Reno blinked. “General Sephiroth? Come on, isn’t that a little much?”

“Not when the General’s already got plans for him. I’ve got orders to move into an apartment and take Cloud with me.”

“Shit!” Reno sputtered. “The kid’s getting trained for Class One?”

“Something like that.”

“Knew he was good, but not that good. Damn.”

Zack gave him a sidelong look. “I hear you and Rude got into the Turks.”

Reno smirked. “Yeah. After the Ball, we’re in. Elena’s being scouted too, but she’ll need a couple years. We’ll help her train. She’s good in sports, but combat? Total klutz.”

“Yeah?” Zack held the door open. “You’d all be solid in SOLDIER, but Turks suit you. Any date for the Ball?”

Reno shook his head. “Wanted to ask Elena, but she’s already taken.”

“By who?” Zack asked, following him up the stairs. “I figured she’d end up with you or Rude.”

Reno chuckled. “It’s Tseng.” He grinned at Zack’s choking gasp. “Swear I don’t know how it happened. Tseng never seemed the dating type, but Elena’s had a crush forever.”

Zack laughed. “Better luck next time, huh?”

Reno shrugged. “Guess so.”

They found Cloud in the dorm room as usual—reading, studying, and humming a soft tune neither Zack nor Reno recognized.

Zack leaned toward Reno. “Anything else I should know?”

Reno leaned against the doorway, eyes on the kid. “Nope. Good luck digging into his past.”

Zack waved him off and flopped onto the bed beside the desk, grinning. “Cloud, you’ve graduated. Why are you still buried in books?”

Cloud stopped humming, smirking as she lobbed a crumpled paper ball at him. “Not studying. Just browsing Doctorate requirements, deciding if I should bother.”

Zack shot up so fast he cracked his head on the bunk above. He yelped, while Cloud and Reno burst out laughing. “Ow! Shut up, both of you!” He rubbed his head, scowling. “Why a Doctorate? If you go that route, you’ll barely see SOLDIER. We need you.”

Cloud’s smile softened. “I was just looking. I don’t think I’ll go for it.” She held up a brochure. “You have to apprentice under someone in the field.” She grimaced. “And there’s only one.”

“Hojo.” Zack flopped back on the bed with a groan. “Yeah, he’s creepy.”

Cloud nodded. “Exactly. I’d rather stick with SOLDIER. It’s more fun.”

Zack chuckled. “Thought so. You’ve got the talent for it. Who knows? You could be the next General.”

Cloud shook her head. “Not likely. You’ll be a General long before I ever would.”

Zack shrugged. “Guess we’ll dream on.”

Reno snorted. “Speaking of dreams, I gotta meet Rude.” He slipped to the door, throwing Zack a pointed look and mouthing, Find out more and tell me later.

Zack tossed the paper ball at him as he left, then turned back to Cloud, watching her stack papers. “So why Mako Science? Really.”

Cloud hesitated, lips pursed. “I guess… I liked it?”

Zack shook his head, grinning. “That can’t be it. It’s one of the hardest, most boring fields in the program. There’s gotta be another reason.”

Cloud leaned back in her chair. “My father was a ShinRa scientist. Mako research. I guess I wanted to follow in his footsteps. Maybe.”

“Yeah?” Zack sat up straighter. “Was he around during the Wutai War?”

Cloud shook her head. “No. He died right around the time it started. Reactor accident up on Mt. Nibel.”

Zack winced. “Damn. So it’s been just you and your mom ever since?”

“Yeah. We lived on the path leading to the mountain, away from the rest of town. Near the old Manor.”

Zack’s brows lifted. “The ShinRa Mansion?”

Cloud nodded. “That’s the one. I was always told to stay away—too creepy. But… someday, if I ever go back, I’d like to see what’s inside. I’ve always had a feeling something’s hidden there.”

“Something’s there, all right. It’s where Hojo holes up whenever he disappears.” Zack grimaced. “Don’t know if he’s been around lately.”

“I don’t plan to ask.”

They chuckled, the tension easing, and their talk drifted toward Cloud’s future training—preparing for Class Two, and eventually, Class One.

The day of the Ball crept up on everyone—everyone except Cloud. For her, the week had dragged unbearably, each day lost in stacks of papers and books. She had already graduated, yet still worked through final projects out of habit. Even the sample assignments for a Doctorate she no longer intended to pursue lay scattered across her desk.

The door slammed open, and Cloud jumped, wide-eyed. Her breath caught when she saw Zack in the doorway, dressed in his full Class One formal uniform, katana gleaming at his hip, a severe look on his face.

Her frown deepened. “It’s Saturday?”

“To the shower. Now!” The sharp order cracked like a whip. Instinct took over—she shot to her feet and saluted before bolting into the bathroom, door slamming behind her.

Zack smirked as he strode into the room. Propping open her trunk with his polished boot, he lifted the neatly pressed formal uniform, smoothing the fabric with deliberate care. The black, spit-shined boots came next. As he worked, the sound of running water cut off in the bathroom. Something white at the bottom of the trunk caught his eye. He pulled out a box, flipped it open, and smiled. So that’s her plan.

Box in hand, he called toward the bathroom. “Cloud. Come out. We need to talk.”

The door cracked open, her damp head peeking through. “Zack?”

“Come out.” His voice softened, but the edge of command lingered. He lifted the box slightly. “I know.”

Her eyes widened, and the door clicked shut again. Moments later, she stepped out wrapped in a towel.

Zack forced his face into neutrality, though it took effort. Without the bindings or uniform to hide her, Cloud looked utterly transformed. Damp hair clung to her face, the towel pressed tight to her chest, bare legs revealed for the first time. She wasn’t the spiky-haired cadet he’d known anymore—she was a striking young woman.

Cloud stared down at her feet, voice small. “Am I going to be expelled?”

“No.” His tone gentled. “I figured it out last time we spoke. No one else knows—and after tonight, no one will.” He held out the box. “I can see what you’re planning. You’ll need a date.” A faint smile tugged at his lips.

Cloud’s head jerked up, startled. “Really?”

“Yeah. Officers are allowed to bring outsiders as dates. I don’t have one this year—my girlfriend couldn’t make it.” He sighed, then met her gaze. “You deserve to be yourself—if only for one night.”

She took the box carefully, staring at it before a shy smile touched her lips. Wordlessly, she slipped back into the bathroom.

Staring at the door after it closed, Zack finally understood. Cloud’s insistence on privacy—always dressing alone, never showering with the others—suddenly made sense. He remembered the time Reno had barged into the bathroom, mistaking it for Phil. Cloud’s ear-splitting shriek had cracked the mirror, and Reno had stumbled out crab-legged, clutching his ringing ears. All he’d seen was steam. Zack had once wondered how a young cadet could hit that pitch. Now he knew. He chuckled at the memory and turned back to the task at hand.

He laid her SOLDIER formal out on the bed—though it wouldn’t be worn tonight, and set the issued ceremonial katana beside it. “Pity it won’t be used,” he muttered.

The bathroom door opened a few minutes later, and Cloud stepped out. Zack’s jaw went slack. She wore a pale blue gown with a fitted corset bodice, delicate lace edging along the neckline, and a flowing skirt layered with a draped overskirt. Her damp hair hung loose around her face, and she smiled at him shyly.

She’s beautiful… otherworldly. If the legends were true, I could almost believe she carried Valkyrie blood, Zack thought, momentarily undone.

Cloud fingered her hair uncertainly, a comb in hand. “I don’t know what to do with this. It’ll just stick up.”

“Here,” Zack said gently, taking the comb. He stepped behind her, gathering her short hair into a neat ponytail, twisting it into a simple bun, and leaving soft strands to frame her face. Moving back around to meet her eyes, he gave an approving nod. “There. You’re very beautiful. No one would ever connect you to SOLDIER Strife.” The contrast was jarring.

“Think this is okay?” she asked, tugging lightly at the gown before slipping into white slippers and pulling on long gloves.

Zack fastened a pale blue velvet choker around her neck, grinning. “It’s perfect. Suits you.”

Her cheeks colored. “Thank you.”

“Beautiful,” he said simply, tilting her chin up. His voice softened. “Thank you for trusting me with your secret. You’re more than a comrade—you’re my soul-sister.” His laughter faded into something steadier. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes brimmed, but she smiled through them, wiping one away. “Thank you, Zack. Just for tonight, right?”

“Just tonight. Be true to yourself.” He wrapped a shawl gently around her bare shoulders.

“So, that’s it?” she asked.

“Not quite.” Zack pulled a small pin from his pocket and gestured to the uniform laid out on the bed. “This.” He affixed the diamond insignia to the collar. “Congratulations. You’re officially Class Two SOLDIER.”

Cloud gasped softly.

Zack straightened, smiling. “As your superior, I probably shouldn’t say it early—but come Monday, you’re under my orders.” He shrugged playfully. “Shame you can’t show it off tonight.”

Cloud laughed faintly. “Thank you. SOLDIER Cloud Strife is off duty.”

“Don’t thank me. Sephiroth made the call—you passed your tests with flying colors. He wants you working toward Class One.” Zack offered his arm.

Her eyes widened as she slipped her hand into his, and together they stepped out of the room.

Zack and Cloud took a jeep from the fortress compound through the underground tunnel to ShinRa Headquarters, buried deep in the heart of Midgar.

Upon arriving, Zack guided her into the elevator, and they rode toward the upper floors where the grand ballroom was located, just below the presidential offices. Cloud stood by the glass wall, gazing out over the sprawling city as the elevator climbed. It stopped several times to admit more passengers. She turned to Zack, noting how striking he looked in his Class One uniform—nearly all black, with the long knee-length jacket trimmed in deep royal blue. The insignia on his collar gleamed like polished silver. He looked every bit the elite SOLDIER. She smiled when he caught her watching.

At last, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, revealing a ballroom awash in dazzling light. Cloud gasped. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above the polished floor, and the vast chamber was filled with uniforms, gowns, and glittering jewels. SOLDIERs of every rank mingled with Turks, executives, and ShinRa dignitaries. Nearly all the women wore elegant evening gowns, their silks and satins in sharp contrast to the uniforms.

She stared in awe until Zack touched her arm, gently leading her forward. “Welcome to the ShinRa Winter Ball,” he said with a smile. Then his brow creased. “I can’t call you Cloud tonight, right?”

Cloud blinked, remembering. “Oh. My name is Cloud Sorano Strife… you can use Sorano.”

“Sorano,” Zack repeated warmly. “Lovely.” He led her further inside, nodding and waving as acquaintances greeted him.

Cloud tugged nervously at her gloves. “Oh gee…” she muttered, acutely aware of the glances following her.

“You’re lovely,” Zack said matter-of-factly. “They’re staring because they’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

“Stop,” Cloud whispered, flustered.

Zack only laughed. “Come on, let’s see if anyone’s bold enough to ask you for a dance. Though I think plenty will.”

Before she could argue, he swept her into a quick step across the floor, explaining the traditions of the Ball as the music carried them. She tried to listen, but the rhythm and the whirl of dancers pulled her in. She laughed as Zack teased her, spinning her out and pulling her back in with practiced ease. He spoke of something called the Ring of Dance, but only half of it reached her through the rush of movement and music.

When the song ended, Zack bowed with a grin. Cloud, catching on, curtsied quickly, as did the other women on the floor. She glanced toward the buffet tables, where clusters of women whispered behind fans and cast pointed looks her way.

“They think you’re the Cinderella of the ball,” Zack teased.

“No,” Cloud protested. “I’m not here to find a prince. I’m your date, remember?”

Zack’s gaze shifted across the crowd, and his grin widened. Cloud rose on her toes to see what had caught his attention—then froze. Across the ballroom, framed by space as if no one dared come too near, stood General Sephiroth.

Her stomach flipped. Zack had been trying to arrange this introduction for weeks, and now—

Zack glanced back at her, noting her expression of shock and horror. He smirked. “I think you’re wrong. I’ve found your prince.”

Cloud’s cheeks flamed. “No!” she sputtered, fumbling with her gloves as the blush deepened to crimson.

Zack chuckled softly. “Would you like to dance with your prince?”

Her answer was to whirl around on her heel and stalk off toward the buffet, leaving Zack grinning behind her.

The raven-haired man shook his head with a smile and shouldered his way through the crowd toward the General. As always, Sephiroth stood apart—an island of space no one dared to enter—radiating the silent command to be left alone. He looked every bit as intimidating in formal dress as he did in battle. His attire differed little from his usual: black from collar to boot, a dark grey turtleneck beneath a trench-length jacket, the only changes being the absence of shoulder guards and the presence of the six-foot Masamune sheathed at his hip.

Sephiroth inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment, a subtle invitation for Zack to approach. He sipped a tall flute of champagne.

“General Sephiroth.” Zack snapped a salute, then relaxed when the General returned it with a curt nod and a stoic, “Zack.”

Zack ignored the ice-cold stare. He’d long since learned that in public, Sephiroth played the part of the unfeeling war god, especially at the social circuses President ShinRa forced him to attend. Grinning, Zack leaned in. “Having fun yet?”

A faint glare. “Do I look as though I am?”

“I don’t know. Your idea of fun’s still a mystery to me.”

The corner of Sephiroth’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “My idea of fun is to massacre this room.”

Zack’s eyes went wide. “Then give me five minutes to pick who I’d like spared from your bloodthirsty blade.” His gaze flicked warily to the enormous sword at Sephiroth’s hip.

A low chuckle. “Mm. You said you were dragging the kid here. I don’t see him.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “He bailed. But I did bring a date—my little sister…” He glanced toward the buffet table where the blonde had been a moment before and cursed under his breath. “Damn it, she’s gone again.”

Still sipping, Sephiroth’s brow rose. “Little sister? I was under the impression you were an only child. Gongaga, wasn’t it?”

Zack’s frown melted into a grin. “You’re right. She’s not blood. Just a friend, more like family. I figured she’d enjoy herself tonight—and maybe you’d like her too. Short, shy, pretty. Blond hair, blue eyes. Don’t think there’s anyone else like that.”

“I suppose not.” Sephiroth’s brows knit faintly at the description. It had to be a coincidence.

“So,” Zack prodded, “you going to join the Ring of Dance?”

The glare he got in reply could have frozen mako. Zack threw up his hands. “Right, not your style.”

“General Sephiroth! You are going to be in that Ring of Dance!”

Both men turned. President ShinRa strode toward them with predatory amusement in his eyes. Both Zack and Sephiroth groaned inwardly. They knew that look—another scheme to humiliate his finest SOLDIERs.

“President ShinRa, I don’t—”

The President cut him off with a raised hand, wagging it in Sephiroth’s face. The General’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with the urge to cut the offending limb off at the wrist.

“You are going to dance, that’s final. Or I’ll pull your rank.”

“Yes, sir.” Sephiroth inclined his head, the picture of obedience, though Zack caught the venom beneath it.

“Ooh…” Zack muttered, wisely averting his eyes.

Sephiroth set his glass on a passing tray and turned to leave, but not before smacking the back of Zack’s head in passing. “He will never pull my rank.”

“Oww!” Zack yelped, rubbing the spot as he watched the General stride away. The crowd parted before him. Shaking his head with a grin, Zack scanned the ballroom until he spotted a familiar flash of blond hair. Cloud—or Sorano, tonight—was ringed by a gaggle of cadets, looking utterly overwhelmed.

“There you are, Sorano!” Zack cut in smoothly, flashing the young women his trademark smile. “Excuse me, ladies. I’m stealing this one.”

Cloud let out a breath of relief as Zack pulled her free from the circle of giggling cadets. “Zack… thanks,” she whispered as he steered her toward the center of the room.

The crowd shifted, gathering in formation. She spotted the General standing off to one side, alone as always, and then noticed something strange—none of the SOLDIERs around her carried their weapons. Even Sephiroth’s Masamune was missing.

Zack unbuckled the katana from his belt and set it aside with a grin. “Let’s put this away for now.”

“What’s going on?” Cloud asked, just before Zack spun her into place beside two strangers. SOLDIERs formed two concentric circles, lining up in neat rows.

Zack grinned. “We’re joining the Ring of Dance. Don’t worry, I’ll explain.”

He quickly outlined the tradition: two circles facing each other, hands linked side by side. When the music began, the outer ring stepped left, the inner ring right, moving in time as the tempo quickened. When the music stopped, so did the dancers—whoever stood opposite became your partner for the next song. Gender didn’t matter; it was all part of the fun. The game runs six songs—three dances in all, with the last one slow and romantic. SOLDIERs often joked when paired with comrades, especially about who ended up leading.

“Zack…” Cloud’s voice dropped into a whine as her eyes darted toward the nearest exit.

But Zack’s grip was firm. “Relax. It’s fun. Who knows—maybe you’ll meet the prince of your dreams.”

Her horrified look only widened as two men beside her caught her hands, smiling reassuringly. Across from her, another woman winked playfully. Groaning inwardly, Cloud swore she’d make Zack pay for this later.

The music struck up, and the line lurched into motion. “Come on, it’s easy—just follow me,” the man to her right urged, pulling her along.

Soon the two circles spun in opposite directions, feet falling into a steady rhythm as the tempo climbed. Laughter and shouts filled the ballroom. Faster and faster the dancers moved until Cloud’s head spun. Despite herself, she began to laugh, caught up in the whirlwind of steps and voices.

Abruptly, the music slowed. The circles stilled, leaving her facing whoever fate had chosen. Around her, the silence broke into cheers, teasing, and good-natured ribbing. She caught whispers: the General had finally been swept into the game—and, for once, with a girl rather than another comrade.

A snicker escaped her at the thought. She turned to see who stood before her.

Her breath caught. “Oh…” she gaped, eyes going wide at her new partner.

Chapter Text

After leaving Zack behind, still rubbing his sore head, Sephiroth strode toward the center of the ballroom where the lines for the dance were forming. Seething inwardly and quietly plotting the President’s demise, he took his place with the stiff precision of a soldier reporting for duty.

Two hands slipped into his, and he glanced down to find women on either side of him, gazing up in breathless awe. Both wore vivid red gowns, their grip eager. He was silently grateful for the barrier of his gloves.

The music swelled, and the circles began to turn. Sephiroth followed the woman on his left, mimicking her steps until the pattern settled into instinct. He committed one more note to memory: never again would he allow himself to attend a social trap that left him this exposed—President’s orders or not.

His movements flowed with flawless control, every pivot and step infused with the same balance that guided him in battle. Around the circle, flashes of familiar faces swept past—Zack grinning as always, a handful of officers from his own division. And then, through the blur of shifting color, something unusual caught his eye: a shock of bright, Chocobo-yellow hair. Uncommon, unnatural.

A cadet, perhaps. Yet the image lingered. Against his will, his mind flickered back to the Valkyries of Nibelung—the very myths he had been researching of late.

The music ended, and a ripple of commotion swept the room. Sephiroth dreaded the next part: the paired dance with whoever fate had set before him. He blinked, registering that his partner was short, nearly a head and a half below him. His gaze dropped, and he masked the flicker of surprise. A young woman. One he had never seen before.

She looked shy, almost demure, with golden hair gathered in a small bun and eyes of startling sapphire. The Valkyries returned to his thoughts unbidden as he studied her. She wore a pale blue gown that matched her coloring, making her seem almost unreal. This must be the ‘sister’ Zack mentioned.

Their eyes met, and something inside him stuttered. His pulse quickened, and a strange, unfamiliar warmth unfurled in his chest. Innocence and light radiated from her in a way that struck him as impossible. No makeup, no affectation—just the soft glow of her skin, her wide, unguarded eyes. She looked at him with horror first, then denial, as if searching for a way out. Most women clung to him, desperate for his notice. But this one blushed furiously, eyes darting everywhere but his.

The music swelled again. Sephiroth bowed with formal grace and extended his hand. “Shall we?”

“Whoo!” Zack’s voice cut through, and Sephiroth glanced up to see him whirl past with a laughing woman in his arms. His eyes widened at the sight of Sephiroth’s partner, then he winked before spinning away.

Sephiroth sighed and felt a soft hand slip into his. “Why the hell not?” the golden-haired woman murmured, her other hand hesitating before settling near his elbow—she was far too short to reach his shoulder.

A strange urge to smile tugged at him. He placed a guiding hand at her waist and led her into the dance. Her eyes stayed stubbornly on his chest, so he broke the silence. “So fate chooses you. You must be the one Zack called his sister.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered softly.

He eased his voice. “I’m not one for formality. You know my name.”

“Yes. General Sephiroth.”

“Then, while we dance, you may use it. We share a friend, after all. And I’ve not been told yours.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she finally looked up, just enough. “Sorano.”

He let the name roll on his tongue. “Of the sky. Fitting.” The meaning settled into him, deep and oddly familiar, as if he’d spoken it before in another life. They moved together with effortless harmony, her steps aligning perfectly with his. The folds of her gown whispered around their ankles, making them appear to glide.

Wanting to hear her voice again, he asked lightly, “Zack never mentioned you. He spoke often of his friend Cloud Strife. Do you know him?”

“Yes. He is… my twin brother. He told me you were responsible for his advancement. Thank you.”

Sephiroth faltered for half a beat. Twin? That wasn’t in any file. “I didn’t know Strife had a sister. Records list only his mother.” He didn’t press, but the explanation sat uneasily with him. Records could be falsified; secrets buried. He’d confirm it later.

She shrugged faintly. “You could say I’m a family secret. My hometown made life hard for my mother and me. I wouldn’t be on record.” Her tone closed the subject with quiet finality.

Pieces fell into place in his mind—Nibelheim, the myths, Zack’s insistence, the aura she carried. Perhaps the old tales weren’t just tales.

Her eyes caught his again, and for a fleeting moment, he felt something impossible—comfort. The purity in them rivaled the sky itself, a serenity he’d never known in Midgar, nor within ShinRa’s walls. He felt… at home.

The music ended too soon. Regret pulled at him as she slipped away quickly, vanishing back into the forming circle. He returned mechanically to his place, face stern, but his mind burned with the memory of her sapphire gaze. He searched for her golden head in the blur of dancers, scowling inwardly. Why had she unsettled him so?

There was more to Sorano than met the eye. Something rare. Something precious.

As the dance slowed before the next turn, Sephiroth glimpsed Sorano across the opposite circle. For a fleeting instant, he thought she smiled at him.

The music ended, and the world seemed to still as he found his new partner directly before him. His own surprise mirrored hers.

“Sorano.”

Cloud’s mouth formed an “O.” She swallowed hard. “Who’d have thought?”

Sephiroth’s lips curved faintly as he bowed, offering his hand. “Shall I have this dance… again?”

Cloud’s smile was soft, shy. Without words, she placed her hand in his, and once more they moved together across the floor. To her amazement, the stoic General seemed to open up, offering small laughter and unexpected kindness—rare glimpses of a side few ever saw. And though she tried to deny it, the attraction stirring in her grew stronger.

Not far away, Zack was in his element, sweeping a new partner across the floor, cracking jokes, his grin flashing. The first woman had been mischievous; this one was bolder, talkative. His easy charm matched either. Yet part of his mind drifted, amused at the thought of Sephiroth dancing with Cloud not once but twice. Fate? He caught flashes of silver hair, tall and unmistakable, moving with the poise of someone born to command. Curious, Zack steered his partner closer for a better look.

Sephiroth danced with flawless grace—of course, he did. But what startled Zack was the partner: small, golden-haired, keeping perfect pace as though she had always belonged at his side. His eyes widened. “Cloud?”

“What about clouds?” his partner asked innocently.

Zack pasted on a bright smile. “Never mind.” Inside, though, he was already plotting how mercilessly he’d tease Cloud later for pulling off not one but two dances with the General.

Meanwhile, Cloud let herself be carried by Sephiroth’s lead again. This dance was quieter, more intimate, each silently admiring the other without daring to voice it. She risked a glance upward, studying him closely. His features were sharp, sculpted—an aristocrat’s nose, curved lips that could look cruel but softened when he chose, lashes so dark they cast shadows over his brilliant, catlike eyes. His skin was flawless, pale bronze stretched over fine bone.

She lingered on his eyes—icy jade, piercing and endless. A shiver ran through her as she felt she could drown in them, trapped forever in green depths that were paradoxically both chilling and comforting. Familiar, somehow, like a dream she couldn’t quite recall.

The song ended too soon. Sephiroth bowed, silver bangs falling forward to shadow his face, and in that veil Cloud caught something startling: a genuine smile. Then the moment ended, and they parted to rejoin the circle for the final dance.

Cloud slipped back into line, pulse racing. To her shock, she found herself wanting—aching—for another turn with him. She forced the thought down. Odds were slim anyway. Best not to think on it.

Her musings were shattered when a warm hand squeezed hers too firmly. She looked up to see Zack, laughter already dancing in his eyes.

“What?” she hissed.

Zack only chuckled, flashing a knowing grin. “Two times in a row… That’s something.”

Heat flooded her face again. “Shut up.”

“Come on, you know the saying,” Zack teased. “If someone ends up with the same partner three times in a row, it’s fate!”

Cloud’s head snapped toward him, voice sharp with panic. “What does that have to do with me? I’m supposed to be Sorano, remember? Just for tonight. One night.”

Zack shrugged, his grin wide. “Still counts.”

She tried to yank her hand away, but the circle had already begun moving again. If she pulled free, the entire formation would collapse like dominoes, and humiliation wasn’t worth it.

Zack leaned closer, his tone still playful. “Have to admit, though—you two danced better than anyone else on the floor.”

Cloud scowled. “So what if I can dance?”

Zack only laughed harder, hollering with delight as the pace quickened. Others joined in, the ballroom echoing with cheers and stamping feet. The music thundered with bass, rattling the chandeliers, before cutting off abruptly.

The lights dimmed. A hush swept the hall as the next melody began—soft, slow, romantic. A few groans and giggles rippled through the rings.

Cloud groaned too, bracing herself. She turned to see who her partner would be—and froze. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

Across the circle, Zack caught sight of her partner at the same moment. His jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing like a fish before he finally managed a stammer, then a smirk. “Ooh…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Third time in a row?”

Cloud and Sephiroth both shot Zack identical glares. He only grinned, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning back to find his final partner. When the circle shifted, he ended up facing a man. Zack barked a laugh.

With exaggerated flourish, he bowed low. “Hi there! I’m Zack. What’s your name?”

The man faltered, clearly not expecting theatrics, then rolled his eyes. “Rory.”

Zack clasped his hand with mock gravity, and the two waltzed off in a comical saunter, laughing the whole way.

Sephiroth, however, turned back to Cloud. His jade eyes softened as he extended his hand again with formality. “Last dance. May I?”

Cloud placed her hand in his, trying not to notice how steady and warm his grip was. “I suppose… why not?” She let him draw her close, her pulse hammering in her chest. “Still, this feels… weird.”

Sephiroth tilted his head. “Weird?”

She flushed, glancing away. “Third time in a row. Zack said something about that.”

“Ah.” A faint curve touched his lips. “Old superstition. Three dances with the same partner, and you’re destined for one another.” His raised brow and roguish smile sent her heart into another tumble.

Cloud’s gaze darted toward the floor, cheeks pink. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Zack’s teasing voice: You’re getting way too comfortable with the General.

She cleared her throat. “You’ve done this before?”

“The game?” His eyes glinted faintly as he shook his head. “No.”

Her curiosity slipped out before she could stop it. “Why now?”

For a beat, his smile faded. She worried she’d overstepped, but then his voice came low and even. “The President insisted.”

Her brows rose. “And if you’d refused?”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising even him. He glanced down at the golden-haired young woman in his arms and realized, with mild astonishment, that she’d managed to slip past his defenses. Instead of irritation, the sensation was… comforting. “He’d threaten to pull my rank.”

Cloud winced sympathetically. “Ouch.” She offered a small smile as he spun her in an elegant turn, skirts flaring around their ankles like pale blue waves.

Zack glanced over his shoulder and found the two talking as if they had known each other for years. The sight eased him—Cloud wasn’t withdrawn as she so often was. Something about the General, he thought, drew her out. Curious, Zack promised himself he’d figure it out. Soon. With a wince at the headache creeping in from overthinking, he turned back to laugh at one of Rory’s jokes.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Sephiroth asked, steering the conversation forward. He wasn’t one for long exchanges, yet with Sorano, he found himself wanting to talk, to listen, to linger.

Cloud bit her lower lip as she thought, a gesture almost comically endearing. “My mother taught me, a long time ago.”

He smirked faintly. “Then I presume she must be an excellent dancer.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said with a small nod. “I’d like to think so too.”

They twirled across the floor in perfect rhythm. Sephiroth’s gaze flicked toward the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without breaking stride, he guided her there, shutting out the music with a quiet push of his foot as the doors swung closed behind them.

Cloud frowned softly when they stopped beneath the black, starless sky. He released her only enough to shift their hands but kept his hold as he led her toward the railing. Settling himself on the stone ledge, he left her standing close before him, their joined hands a striking contrast—his gloved grip enveloping her small fingers. For a moment, it looked almost protective.

The muffled hum of the orchestra floated from behind the glass. Cloud slipped her hand free and perched beside him on the railing, gaze drawn to the dancers spinning in the ballroom beyond.

Sephiroth studied her profile, wondering why he had brought her here of all places. He knew the answer, though—he wanted a moment alone. His eyes flicked briefly to the garden below, then back to the girl beside him. Why had Zack never mentioned Sorano before? She was a mystery.

He remembered her claim of being Cloud Strife’s twin. Strife was what, seventeen? This young woman looked very innocent—blue eyes wide, nose delicately upturned, lips soft and unguarded. Kissable.

He caught himself staring and blinked. Did he actually want to kiss her? The thought startled him. Yet the longer he sat beside her, the more tempting the idea became. He realized—with a jolt—that he was interested. Not in anyone generally, but in this one.

Cloud closed her eyes, swaying softly to the music as she listened, letting her guard down for the first time that night.

Sephiroth hesitated. His hand hovered halfway, fingers flexing against the leather. Then, almost without thought, he tugged the glove free. The soft thud of it falling against the stone ledge felt louder than it should have. For a moment, he studied his own bare hand—unfamiliar, vulnerable—before reaching forward.

His palm cupped her cheek, warm skin meeting his. A faint tingling shot through him, startling in its simplicity, yet irresistible.

Cloud’s eyes fluttered open. The green of his gaze locked onto hers, softened in a way she had never seen before—tender, unguarded. She froze, caught between the instinct to pull back and the curiosity that rooted her in place.

Her breath caught. Every instinct screamed that he was too close, that this was dangerous. And yet another voice rose inside her, quieter but stronger, urging her not to move.

The decision was taken from her. Sephiroth bent his head with sudden certainty, lips closing over hers in a kiss that was both alien and inevitable.

She gasped, but instead of retreating, she leaned in. Heat flared, spreading like fire through her veins. His arms wrapped around her, steady and strong, while his other hand cradled her face. The kiss deepened, her lips parting in permission, their tongues tangling as she tasted the faint trace of wine lingering on his breath.

For Sephiroth, the moment was disorienting. His mind—disciplined, ruthless—shattered into fragments. This wasn’t strategy, nor curiosity, nor the cruelty he had long since mastered. It was honest, unbidden, and it unsettled him more than battle ever had. And yet… it felt right. Familiar, as though he’d been here before.

He tasted defiance and innocence tangled together. When at last they broke apart, her breath trembled against his cheek.

He studied her, his hand still cradling her face. His voice was low, uncharacteristically unguarded.
“Who are you?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No one. Really.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice came quieter still, a confession he hadn’t intended to make.
“I want to see you again.”

Her sapphire eyes opened, and he saw only sorrow in them. “I can’t,” she whispered. She slipped from his hold and rose to her feet. “I’m sorry. You’ll never see me again.”

She backed away, murmuring apologies as though they were wounds she could not heal. He remained seated, strangely rooted, watching her retreat as if some unseen thread were being cut. When at last she fled through the doors and vanished into the press of bodies, Sephiroth reached out—too late.

The balcony felt colder without her. He sat there a moment longer, hand still half raised, wondering why the loss of a stranger had left him feeling hollow.

Zack, after being shoved aside, caught sight of Cloud darting into an elevator. His gut clenched. He turned, searching for where she’d come from, and spotted the balcony doors ajar.

Outside, Sephiroth stood motionless, the city lights painting silver over his hair. For once, he didn’t look like the untouchable General. He looked… lost.

Zack’s heart twisted. He had never seen that expression on his friend’s face. Carefully, he stepped out.
“Sephiroth, what happened?”

The General lifted a hand vaguely, shoulders sagging in rare defeat. “I don’t know.” His voice was low, distracted. He paced the balcony, sharp boots whispering against stone.

Zack perched on the railing where Cloud had sat moments ago. “Hey.” His voice softened, probing but careful. “Something happened. Can you tell me?”

The mask snapped back into place—cold, flat, practiced. “It’s not important.” Sephiroth’s tone cut like a blade as he turned toward the doors.

Zack sighed, but didn’t move. He knew better than to push. Still, when Sephiroth stopped halfway, head bowed, then turned back, Zack felt a jolt of relief. The General returned and sat beside him.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Sephiroth admitted at last, his voice quieter.

“Start from the beginning,” Zack said gently.

Sephiroth frowned, staring at his bare hands. He usually wore gloves, but now the pale skin and the tattooed number glared back at him. He remembered the warmth of her cheek under his palm and felt that strange tingling again. “It’s a game, isn’t it?” He nodded toward the ballroom doors.

“The dance?” Zack shrugged. “It’s a game—unless you make it something else. So why bring her out here?”

“No idea,” Sephiroth said, his voice distant. “One moment we were talking. The next…”

“The next what?” Zack pressed, his tone sharp with unease.

Sephiroth’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. “…We kissed.”

Zack nearly toppled backward off the railing. He caught himself, then leaned forward, shouting, “You kissed her?”

“She responded.” The General’s voice was even, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of confusion.

Zack’s jaw dropped. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “You don’t just kiss her! Damn it, Sephiroth, she must be completely thrown off. Do you know how shy she is? How long it took me to get her to trust me? Her life before Midgar was a nightmare. She’s fragile!”

Sephiroth frowned, rising to his feet. “Then why didn’t you tell me? You barely have time to leave headquarters. She claimed to be Strife’s twin—and from Nibelheim. None of it adds up.”

Zack met his glare evenly. “I met her through Cloud. Yes, she’s from Nibelheim, and yes, life was rough. But she’s wonderful if you give her time. I care for her like a sister. I didn’t want to see her hurt. That’s why I thought you should meet her—and Cloud. I figured you’d understand him.”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You and Cloud share things. Personality, drive, that… weight.” Zack waved a hand. “Forget it. I just don’t want him ending up bitter and alone. He deserves better.”

The words hit home harder than Zack realized. Sephiroth turned away, then back, his voice low. “…So he won’t end up like me.”

Zack’s smile faltered. “You’re not alone. You’ve got friends.”

“Name five.”

“Uh…” Zack scratched his neck. “You’ve got me.”

“Only you,” Sephiroth muttered.

“Can’t fault me for trying to widen the circle,” Zack said with a crooked grin.

Sephiroth exhaled slowly and sat again. “She and I were fine. It would have worked. Wouldn’t it?”

“You forgot to stop,” Zack countered.

“I’ll apologize.” His eyes darkened. “But she said I’d never see her again.”

Zack sighed as he watched his friend’s head drop. “I’ll talk to her, see what I can do. But I gotta ask—was it good?”

For a long moment, Sephiroth said nothing. Then, almost reluctantly, a faint curve touched his mouth. “It was… different.”

Zack raised a brow. “Different how?”

Sephiroth’s gaze lifted to the night sky, voice quiet. “…Warm.” It left me unsettled.

Zack froze, startled by the honesty in that single word. “Warm, huh? That’s saying a lot coming from you.” He stood, brushing off his pants. “I’ll find her. Maybe she’ll listen.” He gave a wave. “See you later.”

Sephiroth inclined his head, watching Zack disappear into the crowd. Left alone, he flexed his bare hand, remembering the warmth still clinging to his palm.

Chapter Text

Most believed General Sephiroth to be nothing more than the weapon ShinRa had forged—an unfeeling machine of war. And in part, they were right. He was disciplined, cold, and feared. Yet beneath that steel exterior beat a living heart, capable of memory and doubt, haunted by battles past and questions no file could answer.

Right now, deep within ShinRa Headquarters, frustration simmered beneath his calm façade, not because of the President’s usual barking orders—though that often tried his patience—but because of the futility of his current task. Hours combing ShinRa’s public archives yielded nothing. He knew what he sought was locked away in the private collections above. Top-secret. Restricted. And somehow, even he had been denied access.

“Paranoid bastards,” he muttered as he left the silent library. SOLDIERs in the hall shrank back under his glare, their spines stiffening as he passed. “Every database open to me, and still no clearance for their private library? What could they possibly think to keep hidden from me?”

“You’d think they were hiding something even from you.”

Sephiroth halted mid-step. Only Zack could sneak up on him and get away with it. The younger SOLDIER strolled up with a grin as smug as a cat with a canary.

“What possessed you to be here the day after the Ball?” Zack asked. “Everyone else is still sleeping it off.”

The General gave a derisive snort, refusing to break stride. “Nothing that concerns you. Why are you here?”

Zack only grinned wider. He reached toward Sephiroth’s ear—one of the few men alive reckless enough to do so—and tugged something free. “What’s this?” He dangled a card between his fingers. “See, I called your condo. You weren’t home. Traced where you’d been seen last, figured you’d end up here. Good thing I know people.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed at the card. The embossed lettering was unmistakable—clearance for the restricted library. His mind ticked once: denied to him, yet Zack had it, which meant only one thing.

Zack’s violet eyes sparkled with mischief as he caught the flicker of confusion cross his friend’s face. “Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, connections. Remember my old roommate Reno? Redhead, loudmouth?”

A slight nod, Sephiroth’s glare sharpening.

“Well, he’s all buddy-buddy with little Rufy.”

“Rufus ShinRa,” Sephiroth muttered, rolling his eyes. “Of course.” He plucked the card from Zack’s fingers with a sigh.

Together, they turned back toward the guarded stairwell. The moment Sephiroth flashed the card, his stare alone sent both guards pale and stiff, trembling as they stepped aside.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?”
“I had a dream last night, and I’m certain it was a memory.”

Zack nearly collided with Sephiroth’s back as the General stopped before another unguarded door. Sephiroth swiped the pass card.
“Dream… Oh, you’ll need the password too. It’s A.V.O.N.E.J. Don’t ask me what kind of gibberish that is.”

Sephiroth entered the code without hesitation. “Backward for Jenova—Hojo’s project. Of course. This must be where he hides the files. I’m barred from this place because I’m part of the project.”

“Part? What do you mean?” Zack asked as they stepped into a small, sterile room lined with bookcases. A single desk and computer sat dormant at the far end.

Sephiroth’s gaze swept the space, his voice dropping to a mutter. “I’m the experiment. Hojo believes if I knew everything, I’d lose my mind.” He rolled his eyes and dismissed the thought with a flick of his hand.

Zack’s face twisted. “No way. That’s just—” He shuddered. “Whatever you’re looking for, I’ll help.”

A rare smirk touched Sephiroth’s mouth. He gestured toward the first shelf. “Then start there. I’m sure you have nothing better to do.”

“Fine, fine.” Zack rolled his eyes but moved to the nearest bookcase. “Guess my opinion of Hojo just dropped another few notches.” He yanked a binder free and started flipping through pages.

Sephiroth turned to the opposite wall, pulling binders of his own. As he skimmed, his mind wandered back to the subject of memories. He realized, with unsettling clarity, that his own began only just before the Great War.

It was seventeen, eighteen years ago, he remembered—he was young then, eleven going on twelve, smaller and still growing into his frame. Mako had already altered him; he’d already been advanced to Class One.

He stood in formation with nine other Class One Elites, all bigger, all older—SOLDIERs who already filled the room with a kind of easy size and confidence. A whisper floated past him.

“Can’t believe they let a scrawny kid with us,” one muttered to another.

“Sh. You’ve seen him. I wouldn’t dare cross him—some experiment of Dr. Hojo. A freak. Whatever that madman made, you don’t want to mess with it.”

“Still, a kid?”

The young Sephiroth ignored them. He felt nothing outwardly and planted himself as straight and still as he could, waiting for orders. Heidegger paced before them, hand to his beard, brow furrowed, the weight of command curling in his posture.

“The Second and Third classes are failing in the war. We deploy soon,” Heidegger announced, stopping to face them. The Class One Elites stood like statues, eyes fixed beyond his shoulder. “Soren, I want you to lead this team. All of you are going. Here’s the file—be ready to move at twenty-three hundred hours.”

He handed the slim folder to the older Class One: a stocky man with pale blond hair and slanted, angry-red eyes. Soren peeled the cover back as the others relaxed fractionally into readiness. He skimmed the three pages, then looked up at the group.

“We go in and take out the leader. Destroy obstacles. Take no prisoners.”

“Hey, Sephiroth,” Zack called, pulling the silver-haired man out of his reverie. “You’ve gone through half the bookcases already. Anything?”

Sephiroth blinked, realizing Zack was right—he held yet another binder in his hands. “Nothing,” he said, sighing. “It’s all technical debris on the SOLDIER Project—successes, failures. War reports. Nothing of use. As for the Jenova Project… not even here. Entire shelves of empty binders. Hojo must have left the real documents at the Mansion in Nibelheim.” He shoved the binder back harder than necessary.

“I don’t get it,” Zack said, shutting his own binder and turning. “If they didn’t want you in here, why’s there nothing worth hiding?” He pointed to a shelf lined with green binders. “All I’ve seen is Dr. Gast’s research. Stuff about the Promised Land, myths, legends, how it ties into the Planet.” He glanced down at the binder in his hands, flipping a page—then froze. “Wait a sec… Hey! This might be it! Gast found artifacts linked to the Valkyries!”

Sephiroth snatched the binder, scanning. “Yes. Gast located them.” His frown deepened. “But it doesn’t say where.” He shut the binder with controlled force. “Still… I know where to look.”

Zack crossed his arms against the bookcase. “Okay, I’ve gotta ask. Why the sudden obsession with Valkyries?”

Sephiroth hesitated, then handed him another binder. “Because this is mine.”

Zack flipped it open, expecting another technical manual—and froze. “No way. It is you. Says here… born in Nibelheim?” His violet eyes shot up in surprise. “Seriously?”

Sephiroth gave the smallest nod. “My mother was Dr. Lucrecia Brown. She worked with Hojo… and with Gast on Valkyrie research. I want to know why. They were in Nibelheim under the guise of another project—the early SOLDIER program. But she was assigned specifically to Valkyries. No mention of my father beyond this: Turk.”

“A Turk?” Zack whistled. “So you were practically born into ShinRa.”

A low growl rumbled in Sephiroth’s throat. “According to them, I was theirs to own. No childhood—only labs, Hojo, training, missions.”

Zack rubbed the back of his neck. “Think we can trace your father? Turks are all in the database.”

Sephiroth seated himself at the terminal, powering it on. “Profiles are logged. I’ll search.”

Zack leaned over his shoulder, poking the cold steel of his pauldron. “Still never figured out why you wear full armor at a desk.”

Sephiroth ignored him, narrowing the files. “Here. I’ve filtered to Turks active a year before my birth.”

The screen lit with names.

“Maybe match features?” Zack suggested. “Lucrecia’s file says brown hair, brown eyes. So… not where you got that.”

“Silver hair. Green eyes,” Sephiroth said flatly, typing. Results: none.

“Try just silver hair—skip a generation maybe?” Zack offered.

Nothing.

“Green eyes then.”

Five matches flashed on the screen: Kimo Kitaro, Ani Mikhail, Dane Osbourne, Soren Valdemar, and Vincent Valentine.

Zack leaned in, brow furrowing. “They’re all too old for Lucrecia. And Ani Mikhail—she’s a woman.”

Sephiroth adjusted the filter. Ani’s name vanished. Four remained. “By age range, only one is remotely possible.” He clicked. Vincent Valentine.

The profile filled the screen: dark-haired, pale, eyes glowing faintly green beneath unruly bangs.

Zack gave a low whistle. “Handsome devil. Legendary Turk, right? Look—died just before you were born.” He pointed to the profile. “And with those green eyes? Come on, Seph, you see it. Could explain the hair, too.”

Sephiroth’s gaze lingered on the screen, impassive. “My hair was black when I was a boy. White came later.” His tone cut off the thought as he tapped the mission logs. “And Valentine was in Wutai during the only window of conception. Lucrecia was already seven months along by the time he returned to Nibelheim.”

Zack frowned. “Doesn’t line up, huh?”

“No.” Sephiroth closed the file with finality. “It doesn’t align.”

“Yeah…” Zack rubbed his forehead. “Doesn’t make sense. But he’s the only one who even comes close.”

Sephiroth shut down the terminal, sliding the binders back in place. “Gast’s home in the north. That’s where the rest of his research must be. And my past… whatever there is of it, lies in the Nibelheim manor.” His gaze turned distant. “I’ll make time on my next mission.”

“Mission, huh? Then I’m coming too!” Zack announced, trailing him toward the exit.

“You’ve noticed,” Sephiroth replied dryly, “that as Class One, you now follow me on every deployment.”

“Right—duh,” Zack laughed.

Sephiroth steered the conversation. “How’s your apartment?”

“Moving in Monday! Two bedrooms—tried for two baths, but no dice. Best part? One floor under you.”

“No loud music.”

“Promise. Only when you’re not home.”

Sephiroth gave him a sidelong glance. “Did you speak to Cloud about Sorano?”

Zack faltered.

“Not well, then.”

“No,” Zack admitted grimly. Cloud had made him swear to drop it. Eager to change the subject, he blurted, “You never told me—how’d you make General?”

The jeep jerked as Sephiroth swung it around a corner, eyes narrowed. “The Wutai War. Ten went in. I was the only one who came back.” His voice was ice.

Zack winced. “Damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Sephiroth’s tone softened, though still flat. “I’m not proud of what happened. It was my first major deployment. I was eleven. We landed in Wutai…”

Sephiroth’s mind swirled with memory. He recalled the night their boat scraped against a sandy shore under a sky torn with fire. Orange bursts lit the horizon with every explosion; blue and green flares streaked across the dark, materia crackling in desperate arcs. When red flares rose, he knew summons had been called. Wutai was throwing everything it had.

The ShinRa forces were outnumbered. The Elites disembarked in silence, their armor dull gray so as not to betray them with a shine. Weapons gleamed faintly in their grips.

Sephiroth brought up the rear. He wore no armor—only a black uniform that clung to him like a second skin. His sword, a four-foot mythril katana, caught the light like quicksilver. His waist-length black hair was bound in a high tail, the severe lines of his face almost Wutaian in the flickering firelight. At a glance, he might have been mistaken for one of the enemy.

Soren’s voice carried low over the sand. “Team Red, right. Team Blue, left. Green with me. Sephiroth—you stay here. If anyone comes… no prisoners. Destroy obstacles.”

Sephiroth nodded once, wordless, and held his blade ready. He watched the nine Elites vanish into the smoke and jungle. Soren had been given the title of General for the war; Heidegger had promised him full command once he returned.

Sephiroth stood sentinel through the long hours until dawn. Smoke rolled over the beach, thick with the stench of burning flesh. From the horizon came a roar that shook the ground—a massive red dragon swept down, Bahamut itself. The summon crashed to earth in a storm of crimson sparks. Defeated.

The sun bled over the horizon. Explosions stilled. Shouts dwindled to silence. Sephiroth frowned, sword tightening in his grip, and stepped forward.

The jungle beyond was littered with corpses, ShinRa SOLDIERs, and Wutai warriors alike. The deeper he went, the heavier the dead lay. He knew he was nearing the battlefield.

It opened suddenly to a wide clearing. The ground was strewn with bodies. Only Wutaian fighters remained standing.

Something tugged at his ankle. He glanced down.

General Soren lay there, a sword thrust through his chest. His eyes glazed with final effort. “No prisoners. Destroy obstacles,” he gasped, and with a rattling breath, went still.

Sephiroth lifted his gaze. The surviving Wutai had seen him—alone, small against the lightening sky, silvered by the dawn. Their eyes fixed on him as one. His own narrowed. His sword gleamed.

His body shifted. Emotions sealed away. Automatic.

He charged.

The Wutai roared and surged toward him. Weapons flashed. Sephiroth cut into them without a sound. Small, yes—shorter than every man he faced—but his blade tore through them in relentless arcs. They fell by the dozens. His mind locked on one command: no prisoners, destroy obstacles. Over and over, the words hammered through him.

Obstacles. Kill the leader.

Within twenty minutes, two hundred lay cut down. The survivors broke, retreating. Only one figure remained across the field, sword still in hand.

The leader.

Sephiroth advanced.

“Stop there. We surrender,” the man called, dropping his blade and raising his hands. He wore the armor of a Wutai officer, his face drawn with exhaustion and fear.

Sephiroth halted ten yards away, voice flat. “Surrender?”

“Yes.”

“The word does not comply. Mission: kill the leader.”

The man’s eyes widened as he grasped what the boy meant. His lips shaped a whisper. “You’re a monster.” His hand flicked, summoning a red flare from the materia in his palm. “Neo Bahamut!”

The sky split open. Another dragon, silver-scaled, dove from the heavens. Its shadow swallowed the battlefield.

Sephiroth stared upward, unflinching. Then he leapt, soaring high to meet the summon. His katana struck the beast’s face in a flash of steel. They clashed midair, dragon’s claws snapping, wings tearing through smoke. He twisted and spun with impossible grace, each motion precise, deadly.

Light burst around him. His body glowed, stretching, changing. His black hair unraveled, cascading into ghost-white strands. His frame lengthened, the sword in his hands elongating until it spanned six feet. With a final blinding arc, he cleaved the dragon apart. It dissolved in a supernova of crimson light, scattering across the dawn.

Before he landed, Sephiroth hurled his blade like lightning. It struck the Wutai leader square in the chest, driving him to his knees.

“I said, we surrender…” the man coughed, blood bubbling. His hands clutched at the blade jutting from him. “You’re a monster… a freak. Who are you?”

Sephiroth cocked his head, expression unreadable. His voice was ice. “Sephiroth.”

The man collapsed, dead.

Sephiroth pulled the sword free. The steel gleamed black now, impossibly long, heavy with the weight of its first slaughter. He whispered the name that surfaced unbidden, ancient as if remembered.

“Masamune.”

The wind rose across the field, tugging at his newly silvered hair as he walked from the carnage, leaving silence in his wake.

“What was that limit break?” Zack asked in awe, still reeling from the story as they parked near the campus library.

Sephiroth turned his head, sorrow flickering in his eyes. “Super-Nova. My final limit break. It is powerful—too powerful. Had I lost control, the entire island would have been obliterated. With the planet’s full energy behind it…” He paused, voice low. “The world itself could be undone.”

Zack whistled softly. “So that’s when you became a General?”

“In a way,” Sephiroth admitted. “I returned alone. Wutai was crushed, but the victory was meaningless. ShinRa abandoned the campaign soon after. Too many dead. Our SOLDIERs… gone. Their armies… devastated. The Elites reduced to one.” His jaw tightened. “They said I came back changed—that I looked years older than when I had left. My body… closer to eighteen. That was when they named me General.”

“Man,” Zack muttered, shaking his head. “No wonder people are afraid of you.”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever told,” Sephiroth said, his voice cutting sharply in the quiet. “ShinRa never learned what truly happened on that field. And they never will. I am not proud of who I am.” He stepped out of the jeep, his coat flaring in the wind as he strode toward the building.

Zack sat there a moment, struck silent. To be trusted with that truth—even a sliver of it—was no small thing. He knew Sephiroth needed someone, no matter how much he denied it. Damned be regulations and ShinRa protocol. Zack resolved then and there to make sure Cloud didn’t shut herself away. Maybe, just maybe, she could be what Sephiroth needed—and what she needed too.

A grin tugged at him despite the weight of the moment. Three dances in a row. Maybe it wasn’t fate like the old superstition claimed… but watching Sephiroth and Sorano together, it had sure as hell looked like it.

He climbed out, heading for his dorm with a determined grin. First order of business: finish packing. Second? Hunt down Cloud and make sure the kid actually ate something for lunch.

Chapter Text

Zack sighed as he stumbled into Sephiroth’s office, arms stacked with boxes of paperwork courtesy of Heidegger. Muttering under his breath about the “old bear,” he shuffled through the room, careful not to crash into anything with his vision blocked.

“Whew.” He dumped the boxes beside the massive desk and glanced up. Sephiroth was already buried in documents, pen moving in precise strokes. One of Zack’s brows arched. “Sephiroth?” he asked softly, mindful not to be too loud when the man was working.

Without looking up, the General flicked a hand. “Hello to you too.”

“More paperwork?”

“Not paperwork. Research.” Sephiroth finally raised his eyes.

“Research?” Zack leaned over, snagging a sheet. His eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Gast’s work? The Valkyrie project? You lifted this stuff out of that library you weren’t even supposed to touch!”

“They haven’t noticed,” Sephiroth replied coolly, shuffling through more pages until he found the one he wanted. “Or they don’t care. ShinRa never throws out anything. Gast’s boxes were collecting dust in the basement. His notes aren’t difficult to break once you see the pattern.”

“Patterns?” Zack flopped into a chair opposite, baffled.

A rare glimmer of amusement touched Sephiroth’s mouth. “Here.” He passed him a page. “Tell me what you see.”

Zack frowned at the neat script. “Uh… words?”

“It’s simple. Too simple. Read the first line. Notice the capital letters that don’t belong. At first, I assumed it was a quirk of his handwriting. After a few letters… words began to form.”

Zack tilted his head, sounding the letters out. His eyes went wide. “No way! So what’d you find?”

“Locations. Names.” Sephiroth slid another sheet across. “Objects hidden—relics, most tied to Valkyries. Several here in Midgar, the rest likely left at Gast’s house in Icicle Inn.” His finger tapped one passage. “And here—he writes of a child. Said to carry something of great value. A materia, perhaps. Something… holy.”

Zack’s eyes widened. “A child? She’d be grown by now. Any chance we could track her down?”

Sephiroth shook his head. “Gast scrubbed the details. No name. No location. Only the warning that ShinRa would never let her live if they knew.”

“Worth a shot,” Zack muttered, before pointing at one of the notes. “So—Midgar, Tome, Library. That one around here?”

The General rose, pacing the office in measured steps. “There are more than a dozen libraries in Midgar.”

“Or,” Zack said with a grin, wandering to the bookshelf, “it’s already in here.” He tugged free an ancient tome. Its black cover was worn smooth, etched with fading letters: Nibelung. He hefted it with both hands, surprised at the weight. “Been staring at this thing forever. Feels like it’s got bricks inside. You ever read it?”

Sephiroth’s brows drew together. “No. It came with the office. This space once belonged to General Soren. He was close to Dr. Gast.”

Zack thrust the tome toward him with a grin so wide it nearly split his face. “Right under your nose. Fate’s got a sense of humor.”

Sephiroth accepted the book. The leather was warm against his gloves, warmer than it should have been. His brows knit, but he said nothing.

“You know Heidegger’s gonna lose it if he thinks you’re skipping reports for fairy tales,” Zack teased. “Word gets out, ShinRa’ll sniff around.”

Sephiroth scowled. “Out.”

Laughing, Zack raised his hands in surrender and sauntered to the door. “Fine, fine. Don’t let your ‘research’ eat you alive, General.”

Left alone, Sephiroth set the tome on his desk and opened it carefully. Dust plumed into the air. Ancient symbols gleamed faintly under the lamplight, as though the ink still lived.

Zack, retreating down the hall, shook his head. Ever since Sorano, the General had been obsessed with the Valkyries. And though he didn’t dare voice it, Zack couldn’t shake the feeling that Sephiroth’s search, Sorano’s past, and Gast’s mysterious child were all threads in the same weave.

Several days later, Zack slammed the phone back into its cradle with more force than necessary, scowling.

Cloud poked her head out of her bedroom, brows raised. “What’s eating you?”

“Something,” Zack muttered, waving a hand. “I need to track down an old desk. They moved it out of the office a while ago, and now nobody can find it.”

Cloud stepped into the hall, arms crossed. “Why would you need an old desk? You’ve already got a perfectly good one buried under all your junk.”

“I don’t care about the desk itself,” Zack said, running a hand through his hair. “It just happens that this one’s got something important I need.”

“Oh.” Cloud thought for a moment. “There’s a warehouse full of old ShinRa office stuff. I got assigned guard duty there once. No clue why they’d bother guarding busted furniture, but…” She shrugged. “It’s not far.”

Zack’s scowl vanished, replaced with a grin. “Really? Then take me.”

“Now?”

“If you can.”

Cloud sighed but disappeared back into her room. A moment later, she emerged, lacing up her sneakers. “A couple of blocks’ walk. I still have the access card. They gave it to us so we could check the place during patrols. I just… haven’t turned it in yet.”

“I swear, it’s fate,” Zack muttered as he followed her out the door.

The new apartment suited them well enough. Zack had claimed the bigger bedroom, while Cloud was content with the smaller one—her own space, finally. The bathroom stood between their rooms; they’d worked out an unspoken truce, each locking both doors whenever it was in use to avoid collisions.

Cloud, however, hadn’t spoken a word about the night of the Ball. Zack knew better than to force the subject. She wasn’t ready, and he could see it. Instead, she’d pulled inward, retreating behind walls of silence. She came out only to eat, to train, to say the bare minimum. Most of the time, she shut herself away.

It grated on Zack. He recognized the pattern—she was back in her shell, the same one it had taken him nearly a year to break through when they’d first met. He hoped it wouldn’t take that long again. He didn’t have that kind of time anymore. Their schedules had shifted, training together was rarer, and duty pulled at him in every direction. For the first time, he understood Sephiroth’s constant frustration: being Elite demanded everything, and there was never enough left over.

They walked to the warehouse in silence. At the gate, Cloud gave a casual wave to the guards; they nodded in recognition and let her pass without question. She swiped her access card at the side panel, and the lock beeped open.

The warehouse stretched cavernously before them, rows upon rows of shelves stacked with ShinRa’s discarded relics. Crates, boxes, broken machinery—everything categorized, boxed, and forgotten.

“Desks are this way,” Cloud said, leading him toward the far wall. She gestured at a towering pile.

Zack groaned. “Oh, crap.” The mountain of desks climbed halfway to the ceiling, stacked with alarming precision. “That looks like a deathtrap.”

Cloud smirked faintly. “No. I’ve climbed it. Solid stack—just heavy.”

Zack rubbed his temple. “So now I’ve gotta go through all that? Why couldn’t they just leave it in the office like normal people?”

“Which desk?” Cloud asked, heading toward a clipboard hanging nearby.

“Dr. Gast’s old one.”

Cloud flipped through the list. “Each desk has a serial number. Gast’s is… eight-seven-four-five-nine-zero-one-zero-seven-three.” She tapped the line.

Zack’s shoulders sagged. “So we’re hunting for one desk out of hundreds. Great.”

Cloud gave a short laugh. “Not really. Look.” She waved him around the corner, where another smaller pile of desks stood. “Each group has its own clipboard. Maybe thirty per stack. Lucky for you—this batch is due to be burned next week.”

Zack’s jaw dropped. “Burned? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope. ShinRa’s got so much junk, they torch the overflow every week.” Cloud clipped the board back in place and crouched to peer under the nearest desk. “Eight-four-seven… seven-three. Got it.”

Relief washed over Zack, and he muttered up at the ceiling, “I swear… fate.”

Cloud straightened. “They usually clear the desks before dumping them here…”

“Let me at it,” Zack said, already moving. He searched every inch—sides, legs, drawers—until he flipped the pencil drawer over and grinned triumphantly. “Here it is.”

Cloud leaned in. “What is it?”

Zack peeled away a strip of brown tape from the underside of the drawer, revealing two small disks stuck beneath.

“I’m on a scavenger hunt for Sephiroth,” he explained. “Pieces Gast left hidden. This is the second one. I thought it’d be harder, but so far… it’s like fate’s just laying them out.”

“Oh.” Cloud’s response was quiet, almost flat, as she turned toward the exit.

Zack caught the tone, sharp against his nerves. Not hurt. Not concerned. Just… indifferent. And that grated worse than anything. He hurried a step to fall in beside her.

“Cloud.” His voice was firmer this time, pausing just enough to make her look up. “Talk to me.”

Azure eyes met his, unreadable. “About what?”

“Come on. I’m your friend. Something’s bothering you.”

She only shrugged, gaze sliding away again. “All right. In your own time,” Zack muttered, irritation and worry tangling in his chest as they walked on in silence.

Cloud stopped abruptly, her voice low but firm. “Zack, look. I came here for a better life. I thought I’d become a doctor—that was it. But I liked SOLDIER better. It took everything I had just to stay in. If they find out the truth, I’ll be court-martialed, kicked out… whatever. Then I’d have to go back to that damn town. Just let me keep the life I’ve built. I can’t see Sephiroth anymore—not as Cloud, not as Sorano. I know you want me to aim for Elite, but I’d rather stay Class Two.”

Zack frowned, staring down at the smaller figure. “Court-martialed? I don’t give a damn about regulations or protocol. The moment I saw you dance with him the first time, I knew it—” he jabbed a finger at his own chest, “—in here. You and him, you’re made for each other. And I know the man—he’d break the same rules for you. Don’t think I don’t realize I’m breaking regs myself just to protect you.” He let out a heavy sigh. “So why don’t you want to go back home?”

Cloud’s eyes dropped to the pavement. “I didn’t have a good childhood. I was rejected—even as a male. Here, everyone’s different, so they have to accept each other. Back in Nibelheim, I was a freak. My mother always said they feared me because of what I am… and they never knew I was a girl the entire time.”

Zack tilted his head, studying her with open honesty. “You’re not a freak. You’re normal. Hell, you’re better than normal. Smart, talented. People should admire that, not reject it.”

A faint smile curved Cloud’s lips. “It’s not that simple. My parents came from Midgar, yes. But… I don’t know why exactly. The only thing my mother ever told me was that they feared me because they feared the Nibelung. I still don’t understand why a myth could scare them.”

She glanced at the brown envelope in Zack’s hand and gave a small, tired gesture toward it. “You should take that back to Sephiroth.” With a faint wave of farewell, she turned and walked off toward the dorms, her figure retreating.

“Nibelung…” Zack whispered, the word chilling him. He watched her walk away toward the dorm, and suddenly his eyes went wide. “Oh, crap. You’re really a Valkyrie… Sephiroth was right. I knew it!”

Without another thought, he spun on his heel and sprinted across the compound. His boots pounded against the pavement until he reached his jeep. He vaulted inside, yanked out his cell phone, and stabbed the speed dial with trembling fingers.

The jeep roared through the empty streets, Zack balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he drove. “Sephiroth! I’ve got the disks—two of them. And I talked with Cloud tonight. I found out something. I’m heading to your office.” He snapped the phone shut and swung into the ShinRa parking garage.

He sprinted past security, flashing his card without slowing, and took the elevator up. By the time he burst into Sephiroth’s office, he was a little out of breath.

“Zack. That was quick.” Sephiroth looked up from behind his desk. Papers and empty boxes surrounded him, evidence of hours already spent digging through Gast’s work. His jade eyes flicked toward Zack. “What is it?”

“Here—disks.” Zack dropped into the chair opposite the desk, handing them over. “But that’s not all. Cloud told me something tonight. As a friend.” He leaned forward, emphasizing the words. “I’m saying this off duty. Just… don’t drill him, okay?”

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. He nodded once. “Go on.”

Zack exhaled. “He said his hometown considered him a freak. No idea why. The only thing he knew was that it had to do with the Nibelung mythology. He brushed it off like it was nothing, but…” Zack hesitated, aware he was practically handing Sephiroth the missing pieces. “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Nibelung,” Sephiroth repeated slowly. His eyes narrowed, the word heavy in his mouth. “He said that?”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Sephiroth leaned back, expression unreadable. “Mythology… perhaps. But I am beginning to think otherwise.” He tapped the stack of papers beside him. “Enough for tonight. I need to finish this work. We’ll review the disks later. For now, get some rest. We have a mission in a few days.” His gaze sharpened on Zack. “And don’t worry. I’ll leave Cloud alone. But if you know his secret—and I think you do—you realize you could face court-martial as well.”

Zack stood, giving a lopsided salute. “Yeah. I know. Thanks, Seph. Good night.”

The next morning, both men were deployed. The mission dragged on for a week, grueling and thankless, and by the time they returned to Midgar, the backlog of work had doubled. Between debriefings, reports, and new orders, research had to wait. The disks and the trail of hidden relics would remain untouched—for now.

Two more weeks passed, and life slid back into its usual rhythm. Neither Sephiroth nor Zack made any move to resume what Sephiroth called his “Valkyrie research.” The tome, the disks, and every scrap of report had been stashed away in Zack’s apartment—under his bed, buried in the chaos.

Zack’s room was a disaster, something between a junkyard and a pigsty, but that was his mess alone. Cloud kept the rest of the apartment immaculate, and he abided by her one iron rule: no shoes on the carpet. His boots, like always, went into the box by the door as he came in late one night, duffel thudding to the floor.

He rummaged through the disaster of his room until he unearthed a clean pair of boxers and sweatpants, then headed for the shower. SOLDIER habit ran deep—fast showers, no wasted minutes. Four minutes later, he was clean, dressed, and his hair combed back into a neat plait.

Padding down the hall, Zack stopped at Cloud’s door. She sat at her desk, reading one report while her hand scribbled notes on another, multitasking with the same stubborn focus she applied to everything. He leaned against the frame, watching silently, as he often did.

He’d grown fond of the kid—no, not just fond. Protective. Responsible. A bond had formed between them, sibling-deep, the same kind he felt with Sephiroth. And lately, he’d noticed the General’s own bond with her taking root. Over their last mission, Sephiroth had slipped in his sleep, murmuring her name, calling out as if in desperation. Zack had asked him about it, but Sephiroth’s curt denial had shut the matter down. Zack left it—for now.

Cloud hadn’t trained with him once in the past three weeks. Instead, she buried herself in coursework, determined to finish her master’s degree and prepare herself for finals. Even meals in the dining hall, she skipped, preferring solitude. Reno and the others had asked after her, disappointed not to see her. Reno, in particular, had groaned at losing his “favorite subject” to tease.

Zack saw what was really happening. Cloud was withdrawing, not just from the world, but from him, too. Ever since the warehouse, their conversations had dwindled to almost nothing. She filled her time so completely she left no space for Sephiroth—or for the memories of that night at the Ball.

Zack remembered that night vividly. When he came home, he’d found her already in bed. The gown she’d worn was folded with painful care, hidden deep in the trunk, as though she meant to bury it forever. She hadn’t been asleep, just staring blankly at the wall. His attempts at conversation met only silence.

Since then, her cerulean eyes had darkened day by day, shifting like storm-tossed seas. They had always betrayed her emotions—changing shades like a living mood stone. Now, their deepening navy left him unsettled.

Sephiroth wasn’t faring much better. He had drowned himself in work, so consumed by reports and orders that Zack sometimes wondered if he slept at all. And though the General never said it aloud, Zack could see the toll—the weight of remorse, heavy enough to make him avoid even mentioning Cloud’s name.

Frowning, Zack muttered under his breath, “That’s it. This has gone too far…” He pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped inside. “Hey, Cloud.”

The blonde lifted a hand in acknowledgment, eyes still fixed on the page.

“Not even a word?” Zack asked, his voice stripped of its usual humor.

Cloud finally glanced up, glare sharp. “I’m busy.”

“It’s late.” Zack dropped onto the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “We haven’t sparred in weeks. Want to go a few rounds on the grass outside?” He picked up the bokken leaning against the desk and turned it in his hands. “Collecting dust. Don’t want you to get rusty.” His tone softened on the last line.

Cloud shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Come on. I miss it—miss our time.”

She stood abruptly, gathering books into her arms. “Sorry. I have to return these to the library tonight.”

Zack shut his eyes and counted to ten, fighting down the edge in his voice. When he opened them again, she was already gone. He exhaled hard, his gaze falling to the desk—and froze.

The tome.

He picked it up, flipping to the marked page. A Class Four ID card slid out—Cloud’s.

“She found it…” Zack muttered grimly. He scanned the passage where the card had rested, words tightening in his gut. A prophecy: a Nibelung child would appear, destined to destroy its town in penance for its sins. His eyes narrowed. “Destruction of Nibelheim…?”

He turned the page. Verses filled the space, written like a song. His lips shaped the words before he realized. “Seraphim, seraphim…” The melody was familiar—it was the same tune Cloud hummed so often. The realization slammed into him.

He snapped the book shut, bolted to his room, and dragged out the box hidden under his bed. Tome, disks, scraps of notes—everything went into a duffel. This couldn’t wait. Court-martial or not, he was done standing by.

Zack fished out his phone, thumb hitting speed dial. Four rings.

“What is it, Zack?”

He let out a breath. “Sephiroth! Cloud found the tome. He’s read most of it. He’s at the library right now—withdrawn, shutting down, and I think he knows something. This can’t wait. We need to settle it before it blows up. Listen—Cloud’s part of the legacy in that tome.”

A pause, then Sephiroth’s calm reply: “I’ll find him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Do it now.”

Sephiroth’s faint exhale almost sounded like an eye roll. “Which library?”

“The campus one.”

“Understood.” The line went dead.

Zack dropped onto his bed, cell still in his hand, eyes shut.

Sephiroth shut down his computer, scanning the last of the files on his desk. Only a small stack remained unfinished. The clock glowed green in the dimness—late. Nearly closing time for the campus library.

He slid Masamune into place and strode out.

The jeep’s engine rumbled low as he drove through empty streets. His mind circled back to the tome. He had read it more than once, and though it posed as mythology, he’d learned to recognize what lay hidden in the lines. Prophecies.

The first was clear enough: the destruction of Nibelheim. History said the town still stood. Which meant it had yet to come.

The second was harder to swallow: two Nibelung children born around that time, male and female. Witnessing destruction, enduring suffering, and in time, ascending as the King and Queen of the planet itself.

But how? The world was fractured, carved up by governments, bound by wars. ShinRa and Wutai stood as enemies even now. Peace felt impossible. Unity, a dream. How could two children—no matter their legacy—rule the whole of it?

His hands tightened on the wheel. No answers came—only the unease of inevitability.

Sephiroth’s jeep rolled into the campus lot, headlights sweeping across the empty lawn. He killed the engine, stepped out, and cut across the grass toward the library. Its windows glowed faintly; someone was still inside.

By the time he reached the steps, the interior lights flicked off. A woman with a ring of keys was already turning the lock.

“I’m looking for someone,” Sephiroth said, his voice low but carrying. “Cloud Strife. I was told he was here.”

The woman startled, eyes wide as she took in who stood before her. “Oh—General!” She fumbled with the keys. “Yes, he was here. Dropped off some books and left just a few minutes ago.” She lifted a hand, pointing nervously to her right.

Sephiroth inclined his head in thanks, then turned down the path she’d indicated.

It didn’t lead back toward the apartments. Instead, it cut across the campus toward the ShinRa building, its silhouette rising dark against the skyline miles away. Curious. Every other building along the way was dark, shuttered for the night.

Why would Cloud go there?

Sephiroth lengthened his stride, senses pricking. If the boy had chosen to wander the campus, he couldn’t have gotten far. 

Cloud handed over the books with a polite smile, murmured thanks, and stepped out into the cool night. The sky was a blank canvas—moonless, starless. She lingered on the steps, uncertain. Returning to the apartment meant facing Zack, and she knew he’d be waiting, ready to press her with questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

So she turned toward the long path that cut across campus, winding eventually toward the ShinRa building two miles away. The grounds sprawled like a maze, military barracks and training halls looming between academic wings. Streetlamps hummed faintly, their Mako-powered glow casting sickly greenish-yellow light and stretching shadows into every crack and corner.

Cloud walked on, trying to lose herself in the rhythm of her steps.

She didn’t notice the figures trailing behind until it was too late.

Turning down a narrow path between buildings, she passed a dark alley—and a rough hand clamped over her mouth, yanking her back. She gasped against the grip, her arms wrenched painfully behind her. The shadows swallowed her whole—five of them. The faint glow from a distant lamp barely etched their outlines against the alley walls.

“Well, well…” The voice oozed mockery, one she recognized instantly. “If it isn’t little Cloudy. All alone. No Zack. No Turks. No Class Ones to run interference.”

Her captor’s breath was hot against her ear, his arm an iron bar across her shoulders. She twisted, but his hold only tightened, sending sharp jolts through her joints.

The leader stepped into the light, and her stomach sank. A face from Nibelheim—older now, harder, but no less cruel. One of the thugs who had tormented her for years.

“Not so tough without your babysitters, huh?” he sneered.

Cloud forced herself to stillness. Training drummed into her spine: don’t give them what they want. Don’t flinch. Don’t beg.

It didn’t stop the fist that slammed into her stomach. Her knees buckled, air ripping from her lungs as her shoulders screamed from the pressure.

They shoved her down hard. Skin tore from her palms and knees as she hit the pavement. She scrambled, but a boot caught her ribs. Pain exploded. She heard the crack before she felt the splinter of bone in her chest.

Kicks and fists fell in rhythm. She curled tighter, vision flashing white, lips sealed against the cries clawing at her throat.

“He doesn’t cry,” one of them muttered.

“Idiot,” the leader spat. “That SOLDIER training drilled it out of him. Just makes it more fun.” He grinned, fisting a hand in her blond spikes, yanking her upright.

Cloud’s eyes glazed. Her breaths came ragged, wet—broken ribs pressing into her lungs. One leg is refusing to hold weight. She should’ve been screaming. Instead, she stared at them through the haze, noting the faint Mako-green shimmer in their eyes.

Enhanced. Injected. Stronger than they had any right to be. That explained the bone-snapping strength of their blows.

And so she did what SOLDIER conditioning had taught her—what she had once mocked Sephiroth for describing after Wutai. She forced her mind into stillness, into that blank, frozen place where pain became numbers and sensations became nothing. A switch inside her flicked. Her body curled, her arms shielded, her heartbeat slowed even as fists thundered against her ribs. Endure. Let it pass. Survive.

She let her mind detach, shutting away the pain, letting instinct carry her through. It wasn’t the first beating. And she’d learned to survive them.

But the leader wasn’t finished. His voice dropped, venomous with old hate.

“You remember Tifa, don’t you? Sweet little Tifa Lockhart. She fell off that bridge. Nearly died. And who did they say cut the ropes?”

The memory knifed through her haze. The canyon, the bridge snapping beneath Tifa’s small frame, her own hands reaching too late. It had been an accident—just rotten luck. But the boys had never forgiven her. They’d turned it into truth: Cloud the freak, Cloud the monster.

And now they were here to finish what they’d started.

Sephiroth walked along the edge of the building, pausing now and again, scanning the maze of pathways that split the campus. It was impossible to know which turn Cloud had taken. His gaze drifted upward to the looming ShinRa Tower at the heart of Midgar, its steel bulk rising from behind the campus wall. Under the shadow of the massive plate, the city was always in half-darkness, the sun and moon blotted out by industry. From here, the tower looked foreboding, oppressive, and heavy with memory.

His eyes lingered on the wide balcony at its lower levels. A night from long ago stirred in his mind, regret pressing like iron into his chest. He forced the thought down, shook his head, and continued on, though he wasn’t sure where his feet were carrying him.

Back in the alley, the beating had stopped. Cloud lay crumpled against the pavement, her chest heaving, scraped hands clutching weakly at her ribs. Miraculously, her arms weren’t broken, though her fingers might have been—she didn’t care. She only wanted the agony to end.

“Hey,” one of the thugs drawled, grinning, “why don’t we have some fun with him?”

The leader’s lips curled, and he swept an arm wide as though granting permission. “Maybe he’s as good as that pretty face looks.” He crouched, seizing Cloud’s jaw in a bruising grip.

The words pierced deeper than any fist. Something inside Cloud shattered. Her body went rigid, then her mouth opened on a raw, bloodcurdling scream.

Two of the thugs caught her as she writhed, grabbing at her pants with cruel intent.

The scream cut short as darkness overtook her. Cloud went limp, slumping against the ground, unconscious.

Sephiroth froze mid-step. Voices—harsh, jeering—echoed down the narrow walk between buildings. His hand went instantly to the Masamune’s hilt, tightening until the leather creaked. He knew there was an alley just ahead, dead center between the dorm wings. Then it came: a scream, high and ragged, tearing through the night. The sound ripped straight into his chest, freezing his breath.

He broke into a run. The Masamune whispered free of its sheath, its steel catching what little light the streetlamps bled into the dark.

The alley opened before him. Five SOLDIERs loomed over a small form on the ground. Blond spikes glinted faintly through the shadows. His heart lurched.

“Hey!” Sephiroth’s voice cracked through the narrow space like thunder.

The largest thug’s head whipped around. “Shit—it’s the General!”

Panic tore through the group. In an instant, they bolted, scattering past him in a blur of boots and curses. Sephiroth let them go. Their names, their ranks—he’d dig them out later and see them ruined. For now, only one thing mattered.

He sheathed the Masamune in a single fluid motion and dropped to one knee beside the still form.

Light fell across the bruised face, blurred in his vision—Cloud, Sorano, both and neither. His breath caught, and he whispered hoarsely, “Cloud…”

Carefully, almost reverently, he gathered her into his arms. She weighed next to nothing, her body slack against him, skin scraped, chest rising in shallow, uneven gasps.

Holding her close, Sephiroth turned from the alley, eyes sweeping the campus. Where could he take her? Not the ShinRa infirmary—not with questions, regulations, and eyes everywhere. There was only one place he trusted.

His condo.

With measured strides, he carried her swiftly through the campus maze, cutting across lawns and silent courtyards, taking every shortcut he knew. He never loosened his hold, every step tight with purpose, as though the smallest delay might cost her everything.

The elevator doors closed, and Sephiroth pressed his thumb to the sensor. The button for the top floor glowed green, registering his fingerprint. No one else had clearance—his entire condo spanned the top floor of the tower, a fortress in the sky.

Meanwhile, Zack shoved his feet into sneakers and slipped into the hall. If Sephiroth hadn’t found Cloud yet, he’d start searching. He jabbed the call button for the elevator, whistling under his breath, fiddling with his phone to keep his nerves down. His eyes tracked the glowing numbers climbing down the panel. Top floor.

“Huh…” His brows furrowed. “That’s Sephiroth’s.” The realization hit. If the elevator was moving from that level, Sephiroth must already be home. Cloud might be with him. Ditching the idea of searching the streets, Zack swiped his access card and hit the top button.

Inside the condo, Sephiroth pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder, Cloud limp in his arms. He laid her gently on the massive bed, pulling his gloves off in haste. His long fingers pressed against her neck, searching—there. A pulse, faint and uneven. Slipping fast.

With a practiced flick, he dislodged a Materia orb from the Masamune’s hilt—a soft green stone pulsing faintly in the dim light. He pressed another against Cloud’s chest, bowing his head as he murmured the Curaga spell again and again, weaving light into broken flesh. A glow spread across her battered body, shadows falling away as life crept back under his hands.

He didn’t hear the front door open.

Zack entered the condo cautiously. The place was dark, silent, a bad sign. He quickened his steps toward the bedroom, heart hammering. The sight stopped him cold.

Sephiroth knelt at the bedside, Materia glowing in his palms, his face grim in concentration. On the bed—Cloud. Bloodied, torn, nearly unrecognizable.

The light ebbed, fading to darkness once more. Sephiroth exhaled hard, relief breaking through his mask as he pressed his hand against her chest. A strong heartbeat thudded beneath his palm. The green stone slipped from his fingers, rolling across the sheets. He slumped back on his heels.

“Sephiroth…” Zack whispered from the doorway.

The General’s head lifted, pale hair falling forward as he reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Yellow light spilled across the room. His voice was low, rough. “I found him in the alley. Beaten within an inch of his life.”

Zack stepped closer, sinking to the floor beside him. His eyes darted over Cloud’s torn clothing, the blood, the bruises mottling pale skin. “No…” His throat tightened.

Sephiroth’s jaw set. He gathered Cloud’s limp hand into his own, dwarfing it. “I’ll make them pay,” he said, a dark vow under his breath. “They nearly killed him.”

Without hesitation, he pulled at the ruined shirt, intending to strip it away.

“Wait—” Zack reached out, but it was too late. Fabric tore under Sephiroth’s hands, falling in tatters to the floor.

He froze. Beneath the shredded shirt, Cloud’s chest was tightly bound in bandages.

“What’s this?” Sephiroth muttered, tearing the last of the bloodied cloth away and tossing it into the bin. His gaze flicked to Zack. “You knew.”

Zack sat back heavily, hands falling uselessly into his lap. His silence was answer enough.

Sephiroth turned back to the bed, removing Cloud’s boots, then the socks. The feet beneath were too small, too delicate for a boy’s. His motions slowed. He tugged away the last of the ruined clothing until Cloud lay still and bare but for the white bindings across her chest and a pair of plain white undergarments.

The truth stared him in the face.

For the first time in years, his control cracked. A storm surged inside him—betrayal that Zack had kept this from him, that anyone had dared hide the truth. Yet alongside it came something fiercer: protectiveness. The image of Cloud broken in that alley seared into him, stoking a vow that went deeper than duty. She was Sorano. She was his. No one would ever lay hands on her again.

His control trembled; fury burned at Zack’s silence, but it was smothered beneath something heavier—protectiveness.

Sephiroth straightened, his shadow long against the wall, his eyes locked on Zack. His voice was cold, certain.

“I see.” He looked down at the figure on the bed, then back at Zack. “Cloud… is Sorano.”

Chapter Text

Sephiroth didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Say it,” he said, the words precise as a blade. “No evasions.”

Zack held his stare. His mouth was dry; his palms weren’t. “Cloud and Sorano are the same person,” he said, steady. “I’ve known since before the Ball.”

Silence pressed in. On the bed, Cloud—Sorano—slept in a carefully even rhythm, the green wash of Curaga long faded from her skin. Sephiroth looked at her a beat too long, something raw skimming beneath the steel, then back to Zack.

“How long,” he asked, “have you kept this from me?”

“A few weeks,” Zack admitted. “I gave her the choice to tell you. To tell anyone. She didn’t. I… backed her play.” A breath. “If you’re going to tear into someone, tear into me first.”

Sephiroth didn’t tear into anyone. He moved to the desk instead, drew out a flat case, and clicked it open. Papers. Photocopies. A glossed photograph of the Nibelung tome’s marginalia. He laid them in a clean row.

“I believed it before tonight,” he said. “Two years of scattered evidence. Dr. Gast’s cipher—capital letters threaded through his notes. The artifacts he seeded across Midgar. The Wutai legend’s pairing with the tome’s stanzas. And the hymn.”

Zack frowned. “The hymn?”

Sephiroth’s gaze flicked toward the bed. “The melody Cloud hums when she thinks no one hears. It falls into the same shape as this stanza.” He tapped a line. “Long phrase, short. Long, short again. Same cadence. Same refrain. Not a coincidence.”

Zack leaned closer despite himself. “You’re telling me this isn’t a myth.”

“I’m telling you there’s too much alignment for superstition.” Sephiroth’s voice stayed even, almost quiet. “Nibelung in the records. Valkyrie markers in Gast’s field logs. And a cadet who fits every anomaly the files can’t account for.”

Zack scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wanted to believe it was just… figured it was Cloud being… well, Cloud. Stubborn, brilliant, pain in the ass.” He looked back at her. Smaller, somehow, against the sprawl of the sheets. “All right. Say you’re right. Then what?”

“Then we keep her alive.” The answer came without hesitation. “And we keep this contained to the three of us.” A beat. “The men who did this—”

“I’ll help you find them,” Zack said, voice low and dangerous.

“You won’t need to,” Sephiroth replied. “They were careless. I saw their faces.”

Zack studied him. The mask was there, but it had hairline fractures—tiny things you only saw if you’d known him long enough. The way his hand hovered a fraction above the blanket and didn’t quite touch. The way his breath subtly changed when Cloud’s lashes fluttered with a dream.

“You’ve believed in this for a while,” Zack said softly. Not a question.

Sephiroth didn’t look at him. “I believed the files were lying to me,” he said. “This… explains why.”

Zack let out a long breath. “Then we do it your way. We keep it quiet. We watch her back.” He hesitated. “And Seph—thanks for not—”

“I’m not ShinRa’s rumor mill,” Sephiroth cut in, almost tired. “I’m not Hojo.” A pause. “And I am not sending a wounded cadet to a tribunal.”

Something in Zack’s shoulders eased. He nodded once. “Good. Then we’re aligned.”

They stood there a while, listening to the measured sound of Cloud’s breathing, the Midgar hush beyond the windows. Finally, Zack tipped his head toward the corridor.

“I’ll crash on the couch,” he said. “If she wakes and panics, it’s better she sees both of us. Family, not authority.”

Sephiroth didn’t correct the word. “There’s a blanket in the cabinet.”

Zack started for the door. He stopped, turned back. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t my secret. Not because I didn’t trust you.”

Sephiroth’s answer was almost too soft to hear. “I know.”

Zack left him there with the papers and the sleeping girl and the kind of quiet that felt like the edge of a storm. Sephiroth set the evidence aside, switched off the lamp, and took the chair near the bed. He didn’t sleep. He watched the rise and fall of her breath and, for once, let the questions come without trying to cut them down.

Cloud rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, then stilled. The fabric was softer than anything in the dorms, and the air smelled faintly of salt and steel. She sat up slowly. The bed was massive, draped in slate-gray sheets, the furniture stark and utilitarian. Her eyes fell to a bin near the nightstand — her bandages, her torn uniform, bloodied and ruined. Her stomach dropped. She raised a trembling hand to her chest and felt soft cotton instead of bindings. An oversized shirt, buttoned loosely, hung almost to her knees.

Her gaze swept the room: the long dresser, the sword rack above the bed, the tall boots near the door. Everything spoke of a man she knew by reputation alone—a man who should not have found out.

The realization hit her like a blow: she was in General Sephiroth’s condo.

Her breath stuttered. She staggered to the door, cracked it open — and froze. Across the kitchen, she saw them. Zack, half-slouched on a barstool, scarfing down breakfast. Sephiroth, composed, sipping coffee, green eyes lifting to meet hers.

For a heartbeat, the room was still. Then Cloud snapped the door shut and leaned back against it, chest tight. Tears welled unbidden, slipping down her cheeks. It was over. Her secret was out. Everything she’d built, everything she’d fought for — gone. Zack was caught up in it, too, and even he couldn’t shield her forever.

She curled onto the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Silent sobs shook her shoulders. If ShinRa didn’t expel her, Nibelheim would still claim its revenge, branding her a fraud, a freak, a failure.

The door creaked open. Zack entered first, dragging a chair from the corner and setting it beside the bed. He leaned forward, hands clasped, voice quiet.

“Hey. You probably want answers.”

Cloud didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on her knees.

Zack went on gently. “I sent him to find you last night. You were gone too long. He brought you back.” He paused, swallowed. “You were almost gone, Cloud. They nearly killed you.”

Her fingers clenched against the fabric of the shirt.

Zack’s voice softened further. “He healed you. Cleaned you up. And yeah… he knows. But listen—” Zack glanced at Sephiroth, then back at her, his tone steady. “It stays between us. No one else. Not a word to ShinRa. Not ever.”

At that, she looked up, eyes wet and wide. Her gaze darted from Zack to Sephiroth. The General sat at the edge of the bed, posture precise, but his expression unmasked. Concern, sharp and real, softened the harsh lines of his face. He inclined his head once, as if to seal the vow.

The fragile dam broke. Cloud buried her face in her hands, shaking.

Zack gave Sephiroth a small nod, a signal. Without hesitation, Sephiroth moved closer, but carefully, like approaching a frightened animal. He sat on the corner of the bed, giving her space. When she didn’t flinch, he laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Cloud,” his voice was low, steady, “you are safe here. That much, I promise.”

The words landed heavier than she expected, grounding her. She turned, slowly, and let herself lean into him. His arm came around her with careful strength. She clung to him, trembling, as though he were the only anchor in the storm.

Zack rose, giving them the faintest grin. “I’ll… uh, give you two some space. Got errands to run.” He left the room quietly, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sephiroth remained silent except for the steady rhythm of his breath. He didn’t press, didn’t demand explanations. He simply held her as her sobs ebbed, his hand brushing gently along her back. Longer than she could remember, Cloud felt warmth instead of judgment, safety instead of fear.

And though neither of them understood why, the moment carried a gravity both could feel — as if it had been written long before either of them had a choice.

When her tears finally quieted, Sephiroth loosened his hold but didn’t step away. His hand lingered at her shoulder, steady, as though giving her the choice.

“You should eat,” he said softly. “It will help.”

Cloud nodded faintly, embarrassed to feel how her stomach clenched at the thought. He guided her out of the bedroom, one arm hovering close but never pressing.

The living room felt warmer than she expected. Plates still sat on the counter — eggs, bacon, flapjacks, even juice poured into glasses. Zack’s plate was half-picked over, but another sat untouched, waiting.

“Sit.” Sephiroth’s tone left no room for argument, though it wasn’t unkind. He placed the tray before her and took the seat across, watching with that same unreadable calm.

Cloud hesitated, but the first bite broke something loose. Hunger overruled shame, and soon she was eating quickly, almost too quickly. She caught herself once, cheeks burning, but Sephiroth only inclined his head slightly.

“I’ve seen men return from battle with the same hunger,” he murmured. “It means you still have fight left in you.”

Cloud swallowed hard, lowering her gaze. She wanted to thank him, but the words stuck.

When she finally slowed, her eyes wandered to the far end of the counter, where papers lay stacked beside an ancient leather-bound tome. The sight froze her. She knew that book—the tome she had found, the one that spoke of Nibelung, prophecy, and destruction.

Her breath caught.

Sephiroth noticed. Of course he did. His eyes followed hers, then returned to her face. “You’ve seen it.”

She flinched at being caught, then nodded reluctantly.

He rose, lifted the tome, and returned to sit across from her. For a moment, he only studied her, his hand resting on the worn cover. Then, slowly, he opened it to the familiar pages.

“I’ve been piecing through Gast’s work for nearly two years. At first, I thought it was a myth. An academic curiosity.” His voice lowered. “But too much fits. Too many threads align. The fighting stances, the fragments of history, the… prophecy.” His eyes flicked to hers, holding steady. “Nibelung is not a legend. It never was.”

Cloud froze. Silence stretched. Then she whispered, almost too low to hear: “My mother used to say the same. That people feared us because of it. I never… wanted to believe.”

Sephiroth leaned forward slightly, not pushing, but anchoring. “And now?”

Her blue eyes lifted, wavering but steadying as they met his green. “Now… I don’t know what to believe. Only that it feels like everything’s been chasing me my whole life.”

For the first time since the night began, a flicker of something passed between them—shared weight, shared truth.

“You don’t have to explain everything tonight,” Sephiroth said. His hand brushed the tome. “But understand this: you’re not alone in it. Not anymore.”

Cloud’s lips parted, and this time she didn’t stop herself. “Then… tell me. Tell me what you’ve found.”

Sephiroth studied her for a long moment, as though weighing her readiness. Then, with deliberate care, he turned the tome toward her and opened it. The pages smelled of dust and age, but the ink, though faded, still held its shape — diagrams, songs, fragmented records.

His voice was quiet, even, almost ritualistic. “The Valkyries weren’t only legend. They were blood, bone, lineage. The Nibelung carried their marks — pale skin, golden hair, blue eyes. Traits you cannot mistake.” His gaze flicked, briefly, to her eyes.

Cloud listened, silent, her breath shallow.

“They were Gaia’s daughters. The first was Megamiki, born of Gaia and Ouranos. From her came mortal daughters, each bound to the planet, each hidden in the Nibel Mountains. They did not rule, but they endured — protectors who lived apart, stronger with each generation.” He turned a page of the tome, tracing a finger across the faded script.

“When the Cetra walked the earth, the Valkyries kept their distance. The Cetra could call on the planet’s gifts, shape the elements, heal the land. Gaia decreed that her daughters and the Cetra were to be joined, to bind their fates together. From that bond came children stronger, wiser, each more resilient than the last.”

He paused, his voice lower now, almost reluctant. “But not all unions bring harmony. Not all daughters stayed hidden. And it was then… that Jenova came.”

The name sent a chill down her spine.

Sephiroth continued, steady as stone. “She was one of them once. But the Calamity twisted her. What remained was neither Valkyrie nor Cetra — only a vessel for destruction. And when she turned on her sisters, the Nibelung scattered. Broken. Lost.”

He closed the tome gently, his hand resting over the cover. “This is why I watched you. Why I studied. Your stance, your instincts, the song you hum — they all match. For two years I’ve searched for proof. Now I have it.”

Cloud whispered, throat tight. “You think… I’m the last one.”

His silence was answer enough.

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed slightly as he thought. If she is the last daughter, then who is the last son?

The silence stretched, heavy as iron. Cloud’s hands curled in her lap, knuckles white. For a moment, she wished she hadn’t asked — wished she could retreat into the safety of half-truths and silence.

Zack cleared his throat from the doorway, breaking the weight of it. “So… what now? You’ve got your proof, Seph. She’s not just some myth. She’s real. And if that tome’s right, she’s in the middle of it.” 

He stepped into the room, watching the two. I already put the pieces together, but hearing Sephiroth spell it out made it real.

Sephiroth’s gaze lingered on Cloud, unreadable, before he finally leaned back in his chair. “What now,” he echoed, his tone flat. “Now we wait. And we prepare.”

“That’s it?” Zack pressed, stepping further inside. “Two years of digging through files, sneaking reports out from under ShinRa’s nose, chasing scraps of myth — and you’re telling me all we do is wait?”

“I’ve learned patience,” Sephiroth said, cool and measured. His eyes shifted to Cloud again, softer this time. “She needs time. Answers. Not orders.”

Cloud swallowed, uncertain. She wanted to deny everything, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when the pieces were falling together so clearly — the whispers in Nibelheim, her mother’s warnings, the song she hummed without knowing why.

Zack rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. “Still feels crazy, y’know? Valkyries, prophecy, destruction of Nibelheim… and now Cloud caught in the middle of it all.” He glanced between the two of them, his expression torn between worry and fierce loyalty. “But… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not just old stories.”

Sephiroth gave a faint nod. “It never was.”

Her laugh faded into silence, but the heaviness in her shoulders seemed lighter. She looked between the two of them, waiting for the judgment she had always known was coming.

None came.

Zack leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Listen, Cloud — your secret? It stays with us. No one else needs to know unless you want them to. Not the brass, not the Turks, not even Reno with his nosy little projects.” He wagged a finger for emphasis. “Between the three of us, it’s sealed.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “You’d… keep it?”

“Of course I would.” Zack’s grin softened into something steadier, brotherly. “You’re family. And I don’t rat out family. End of story.”

Sephiroth’s gaze lingered on her longer than he meant it to. In his mind, the pieces of the past two years aligned: the way she moved in battle, the song she hummed without thinking, the sharp resilience hidden beneath her quiet exterior. Nibelung traits — but also something more. Something that tugged at him in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to name.

He had always dismissed the notion of destiny as a poet’s word. Yet watching her now, small and fragile in his shirt, eyes rimmed red from tears but still refusing to break, he wondered if fate was a truth he’d simply never believed.

“You are not alone anymore,” he said at last, his voice low, certain. “Whatever the tome foretold, whatever Nibelheim whispered — it will not touch you here. You have Zack. You have me. That will not change.”

Her cerulean eyes lifted to his, wet but clear, searching for any crack in his resolve. She found none. Slowly, she nodded, drawing her knees tighter as though hugging his words to herself.

Zack clapped his hands together, breaking the moment before it grew too heavy. “Good. Settled then. Pact of three.” He pointed between them in turn. “No blabbing, no sneaking around, and no letting Reno sniff this out, got it?”

Cloud’s lips curved faintly. “Got it.”

Sephiroth inclined his head. But inside, the admission pressed against him like a blade’s edge. He had sworn himself only to the Company, to duty, to the sword. Yet here sat a girl who had defied all reason — a girl he should have dismissed as a myth — and instead he felt a pull he could neither deny nor fully understand.

Not yet.

The conversation drifted into silence. Cloud leaned her cheek against her knees, staring at the faint pattern of the sheets. She wasn’t sure when she had last spoken this much about Nibelheim, about herself — maybe never.

Zack stretched and stood, clapping his hands. “All right, that’s enough heavy stuff for one night. You’re safe here. Get some rest, yeah?” He shot her a crooked grin and jerked a thumb toward Sephiroth. “Don’t worry — the General’s got more honor than to peek.”

Cloud let out the faintest huff, half laugh, half exhale. It was more than either of them had heard from her in weeks.

Sephiroth shot Zack a look, but there was no real bite behind it. “You talk too much,” he muttered.

“That’s why you keep me around.” Zack winked, already backing toward the living room. “Couch is calling. Don’t hog all the drama without me.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room steeped in quiet.

Sephiroth remained at the edge of the bed, not close enough to crowd her, not distant enough to seem aloof. He watched her for a long moment, the rise and fall of her breathing, the bruises fading under Curaga’s glow, the fragility she tried to hide behind that stubborn gaze.

“You should sleep,” he said at last.

She nodded, slipping beneath the covers. The shirt she wore hung loose on her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands, and for reasons he refused to name, the sight struck him harder than it should have.

As her eyes fluttered shut, she whispered — so quiet he might have imagined it: “Thank you.”

Sephiroth stood, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders with deliberate care. His hand lingered a fraction too long before he realized and drew it back.

When he finally turned away, his jaw was tight, his thoughts restless. He crossed the threshold, pausing only once to look back.

Cloud slept soundly, her breath even, her features softened at last.

He closed the door with the gentlest click, leaving her to rest — and the General of ShinRa felt inevitability pressing against his chest — not from prophecy, but from her.

Chapter Text

Sephiroth stood in the large gymnasium in his gym getup, watching Zack and Cloud face each other. Zack held his buster sword, while Cloud had something similar, though slightly smaller. He studied their stances as they waited for his signal to begin.

Zack suddenly stood upright, throwing the massive sword onto his shoulder with one hand, the other settling on his hip.
“Cloud, I’ve seen you do that stance all the time. Why are you doing it?”

Sephiroth let out a quiet huff and stepped to Zack’s side, lowering his voice. “Zack…”

“What?” Zack turned to the taller man, while Cloud eased out of her position.

She mirrored Zack, hefting her sword onto her shoulder and letting it droop behind her. “I always do that. You never complained before.”

“Think carefully.” Sephiroth tapped a finger against Zack’s forehead. “Nibel Fighting Stance. There’s one thing it has in common with hers that no one else in this gym shares…”

Zack frowned, looking around the room, trying to catch what Sephiroth meant. After a few long seconds, Sephiroth sighed.

“What gender is Cloud?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Female… oh!” Zack’s eyes widened. “I see now. Sorry, Cloud!”

The General chuckled. “A woman’s body balances differently than a man’s. The center sits lower. That stance was designed for women to handle a weapon as large as the buster sword.” He returned to his spot and gestured for them to continue. “We’ll need to refine it if we don’t want others noticing.”

Zack, flustered, dropped back into stance, and Cloud did the same.
“Well, at least you were dumb enough not to notice,” she muttered.

Zack gave her a dark look as Sephiroth raised his hand to signal the fight.

It had been a few days since that night. Both men had included Cloud in their training schedules, taking time to prepare her for First Class. Cloud gladly accepted and used the chance to get to know Sephiroth more personally, regretting she hadn’t done so earlier.

The two sparred, their blades clashing hard. Cloud had started with a smaller broadsword at the General’s insistence. Over several sessions, she had advanced quickly, now wielding one only slightly smaller than Zack’s buster sword. She was almost ready to take its full weight.

Sephiroth observed with a faint smile, stepping aside when their strikes drove too close. He watched every detail—how Cloud corrected her mistakes in an instant, how she turned Zack’s momentum against him. She was good. Exceptionally good. At the very top of Class Two, nearly level with Zack, who himself was not far behind Sephiroth. He realized the truth then: out of the entire ShinRa army, only three SOLDIERs stood at the very peak—and Cloud, without Mako enhancement, was one of them.

If she faced any of the weathered veterans, he had little doubt she would defeat them. Holding her own against Zack, even with his Mako strength, was no small thing.

Sephiroth’s thoughts sharpened. He knew what Mako did—strength, speed, endurance, healing. However, his own enhancements surpassed those of any SOLDIER alive. He had received pure Mako from birth, while the others were given diluted doses only after reaching the Class Three level. That made him different. Compatible in ways they were not.

He had known Zack for nearly twelve years, since Zack was a teenager. Zack had clawed his way up from the very bottom, his resilience stronger than most. Sephiroth suspected it was only a matter of time before ShinRa chose to administer pure Mako to him. He disliked the practice, but there was nothing he could do—every SOLDIER was bound to it. Worse, Mako was addictive. Withdrawal meant death. There was no way out.

But Cloud… Cloud was different. Her strength was natural. Unique. He had already broken into the system and erased every appointment Hojo had scheduled for her. With luck, it would buy time. Hojo would notice eventually. Sephiroth was already preparing contingencies. A Plan B that might mean leaving ShinRa entirely, taking Zack and Cloud with him. It would be drastic and costly. But if it kept her from Hojo’s hands, he would do it.

The old myth of the Valkyrie whispered at the edges of his mind. Looking at Cloud, he could no longer dismiss it. She was proof enough. And unlike him, unlike Zack, she deserved a life that was more than a weapon’s fate.

Arms folded, he watched her drive Zack back a step, steel ringing through the gym. His decision settled, cold and certain: he would not let ShinRa take her.

“Good, good…” Sephiroth commented, lifting his hand to stop their sparring. He turned to Zack. “May I see your buster sword?”

Zack nodded, passing the blade over with a shrug as he stepped back. Sephiroth shifted the sword from hand to hand, testing the weight, twirling it once or twice. Then he turned to Cloud and held out an empty hand.

Cloud gave him her sword. He tossed it lightly back to Zack, then placed the buster sword into her hands.
“Here,” he said, before walking over to the bench to retrieve his Masamune.

Zack and Cloud exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Oh, he’s decided it’s time. Good luck, kid,” Zack muttered as he stepped back, leaving Cloud to gape at Sephiroth.

The rest of the gym went still, realizing what was about to happen. The General was challenging a Class Two SOLDIER. It was rare to see Sephiroth issue a challenge at all—usually it was SOLDIERs testing themselves against him for a chance at Class One.

“Uh…” Cloud hesitated, unsure what to do, until she saw Sephiroth across from her, Masamune in hand, his stance settled, his head tilted in a small gesture of readiness.

“Right,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the buster sword. She adjusted until it felt lighter in her hands, then raised it in a signal that she was ready.

Cloud moved first, lunging with a high arc that clashed against the Masamune. In an instant, the two fell into a furious dance.

Zack watched in amazement. He had sparred with Sephiroth enough to know his skill was beyond anything else in ShinRa, but watching him against Cloud was something different. It was almost like watching two dancers, each completing the other’s steps, as if they already knew where the next move would land.

In Zack’s eyes, it was nearly perfect—the parries, the pivots, the way they closed and opened the space between them. Almost a week ago, Sephiroth had discovered Cloud’s secret. For the next two days, he had become her shield, checking on her every few hours, asking where she was, how she was faring. He even made time to talk, getting to know her more.

By the third day, Cloud had recovered enough to return to training, falling into a new routine that included all three of them. Yet traces of that night still lingered. Whenever she saw the five thugs in camp, her face went pale, and she drew closer to whoever she was with—Sephiroth, Zack, sometimes Reno if he happened to be around.

The General became her anchor, her steady presence, while Zack remained her constant friend. Cloud confided in both of them more and more. Once, they had even gone together to Kalm, eating at a small diner in the country town, finally able to talk freely without fear of being overheard.

Zack had noticed how Sephiroth looked at her—knew he’d already fallen, though he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Zack had told him once just to be himself, let her trust him, and wait for her to show him the way forward.

Lately, both men seemed lighter for it. Sephiroth, especially around her, almost looked like a normal man with emotions. The mask he always wore slipped, and Zack found he liked seeing the real person beneath. 

The session ended when Sephiroth swept Masamune’s long blade close to her neck. The weight of the buster sword pulled her back, and she toppled onto the mat. He sheathed his weapon, then extended a hand to help her up, giving her a secret smile.

“Excellent. You should stick with wide broadswords as your weapon of choice.”

Zack grinned, clapping. “You think so?”

The General nodded, taking the buster sword back and handing it to Zack. “Yes. He handles wide broadswords better than anything else I’ve seen.”

Cloud tilted her head at the words. They had agreed to keep their false gender in public, to avoid suspicion. She still cross-dressed as she had since the Academy, though it had become more difficult lately. She was flat when she first enrolled, but in the past year and a half, she’d begun to develop. Bandage wraps were the only way to conceal it.

Training helped—her build had grown more muscular, easily passing for a young man—but Sephiroth had noted she should watch her mannerisms. He could see how she unconsciously moved and spoke like a woman.

“Let’s hit the showers and then grab dinner,” Zack suggested. He hoisted the buster sword onto his back and latched it to his armor before following Sephiroth toward the First Class lockers. Sephiroth had used them alone for years; now Zack shared the space. Normally, Cloud waited outside, then hurried into the general lockers to wash up quickly before anyone noticed.

But this time was different. Sephiroth held the door open and waited for her to follow.

“What?” she asked.

“You need to clean up as well.”

“I’ll wait until we get back to the apartment. I’ll wash there.”

Sephiroth shook his head. “No. No time.”

“But—it’s First Class only.”

He gave a small laugh. “I’m inviting you into the First Class locker room. Don’t worry. It’s only Zack and me.”

Cloud flushed red as she stepped inside. The room was cleaner and far nicer than the general lockers she was used to.

Zack, already stripping his armor, grinned and gestured toward the single shower stall. “We won’t peek. You can use that.” He passed her a towel and her bag with a change of clothes, which he’d grabbed earlier from the apartment.

“Thanks.” She took the bag quickly and retreated into the stall.

Sephiroth and Zack headed to the open showers. Cloud finished first, dressing before the two men were done. She lingered in the stall, listening as the water shut off, followed by the sounds of towels dragged over long hair and tall frames. Both men always took longer to dry—Zack’s hair fell to his waist, and Sephiroth’s was longer still. Taller, broader, they had more to tend to.

“You guys almost done?” Cloud called.

Zack laughed. “Yeah, come on out.”

Sephiroth added, “Yes. You can come out.”

She stepped from the stall, finding Zack already dressed, and Sephiroth seated on the bench, tugging on a knee-length boot. He wore only his pants, his chest bare and perfectly chiseled. Cloud’s face heated, and she quickly averted her eyes to the rest of the room.

Once the two men finished, they left the locker room together and headed out of the gym, choosing to find something better than the Mess Hall’s cafeteria food.

Reno happened to be nearby. He froze, watching the General and Zack emerge from the First Class locker room—and then nearly gaped when Cloud followed them out as well. Something was going on. Something had been going on for a while now.

Rude slumped down next to him after a basketball game with the others.
“Hey. What’s got your brain churning?” he asked, peering at his friend.

Reno gestured toward the three with his head. “Dunno. Was just thinking about Cloud and Zack. They’re always with the General lately.”

Elena, blonde and sharp-eyed, joined them. “They’re getting rather chummy, those three. What’s the story?”

Reno shrugged, remembering what he’d seen the weekend before—Sephiroth running across campus with Cloud in his arms. “I know Zack’s familiar with the General, but Cloud? Didn’t expect that.”

Rude rubbed the back of his head. “You said something about Cloud and the General last weekend. What happened?”

Reno stood, grabbed the ball, and dribbled it between his legs. “I saw the General carrying Cloud back to his condo. Looked like the kid had been beaten up. I think it was the Nibelheim gang—they were running the other direction earlier. The next day, Cloud looked fine, but pale. Shaking all through classes. And he didn’t talk to anyone except Zack or the General for days.”

Elena leaned her elbow on her knee, chin in her hand. “Well, now they’re always together whenever they can be.”

“Zack and the General are protecting Cloud,” Reno said, tossing the ball clean into the hoop. “Not really my business, though.”

Rude chuckled. “And keeping track of Cloud’s life ever was your business?”

“Hey, I’m over that. Zack already threatened to have me demoted. But once I figured it out, it all looked different.”

“How so?” Elena asked, curious.

“Usually, Zack and Cloud spar after the gym closes. Lately, they’re training in the day—with the General. Kid’s already Class Two, promoted fast, almost broke Sephiroth’s record.”

Elena scoffed. “Didn’t you hear? The only person to finish a six-year program in three years was Cloud Strife.”

“Right. Whoa. Big brain.”

Rude laughed and shook his head. “No, just big spikes on that head of his.”

The three of them laughed together. Reno caught the ball as it rolled back to him. “Zack says they’re training Cloud for Class One. Think they’re trying to build the First Class back up, like it used to be. Only real talent makes it into First Class."

The others gasped.
“And Cloud’s one of them?” Elena asked.

“Yeah. Kid’s good. Can’t deny that.” Reno shot the ball again, and they drifted back into their game.

The General of the ShinRa army was on a mission. He strode down the busy hallway of the Hall, where SOLDIERs and Cadets gathered on their off hours to hang out, play games, and kill time. This was his first visit.

His day had been long, and a mission trip loomed over the coming weekend. He and Zack had already discussed the plan. Zack, ever the schemer, had suggested something bold: the General should make a grand appearance in the Hall.

As soon as Sephiroth entered, the hallway parted like the Red Sea. SOLDIERs froze, staring in awe at the black and silver figure cutting through their midst. Whispers rippled behind him.

His face remained somber, his steps purposeful. One cadet muttered as he passed, “Someone’s gonna get it.”

Sephiroth smirked inwardly and kept going. He reached the large room he sought and stepped inside. Not seeing his target, he caught a nearby SOLDIER by the shirt. The poor man’s knees knocked together as Sephiroth looked around and asked in a low voice, “Where can I find SOLDIER Strife?”

The room went silent. In perfect unison, every finger pointed toward the den down the hall.

Sephiroth released the SOLDIER, who crumpled to the floor, and walked back into the hallway. “Thank you.”

In the den room, the effect was the same. The noise dulled instantly at his entrance. Once, the reaction had amused him. Now, it was tiresome. Every time, people dropped whatever they were doing to gape at him. Of course, he knew why. He was the pride of ShinRa: the man who had ended the Great War, slain the worst of the dragons, dispatched assassins before they reached Midgar, and performed countless other feats.

He spotted Cloud and Zack at a foosball table with a few others. Zack gave a triumphant whoop as he scored, while Cloud stuck out her tongue—only to freeze when she realized the room had gone quiet. For a moment, she half-expected sirens to announce another war. She turned, already knowing the reason.

Sephiroth stood in the doorway, fully dressed in his uniform, Masamune at his hip.

“General Sephiroth, sir,” Cloud said quickly, saluting and bowing since no one else seemed brave enough to greet him.

The ball ricocheted off the table and rolled to his feet. He ignored it. “Strife. Come with me.” He nudged the ball with the toe of his boot toward Zack and pivoted out of the room, Cloud falling in step behind.

She nodded silently, following. The hush of the room pressed at her ears, something she had grown used to. Silence almost always meant Sephiroth was nearby. As soon as they left, the noise exploded behind them—voices tumbling over each other in speculation.

“Oh, what did that kid do?”
“Whenever the General comes asking for someone, it only means trouble!”

More mutters spread until Zack raised his arms, laughing. “Kid? Trouble? Yeah, right! You forget Strife’s Class Two now—he’d wipe the floor with you for calling him a kid!”

He dropped to his hands and knees, crawling around after the missing ball, looking utterly ridiculous.

The two walked out of the building in silence and across campus to the Knoll. Sephiroth stopped, and Cloud turned to face him, tilting her chin up—he stood nearly a head and a half taller.

“How’s the air up there?” she teased lightly.

He gave her a flat look before the corner of his mouth curved faintly.
“It was… interesting. I’ve never been inside the Hall before.”

She smiled. “I half-expected a bomb to go off or something. You have that kind of effect on a room.”

His low chuckle surprised her, a faint color touching his cheeks. “I didn’t summon you just to talk about that.”

“You’re too formal,” Cloud said, shaking her head. “Loosen up a little. …Ugh, I sound like Zack now, don’t I?”

Sephiroth actually laughed, loud enough to make a few Cadets passing nearby jump in fright. They scattered quickly, muttering in disbelief at the sound of the General laughing. Cloud almost pitied them.

“I think he’s rubbing off on both of us,” Sephiroth admitted. His expression grew more serious. “Anyway… I don’t quite know how to phrase this.” He glanced around, making sure they were alone, then returned his gaze to her. “I’d like you to accompany me to dinner this Saturday night.”

Cloud blinked at him. Her cheeks warmed. “Are you… asking me out?”

He nodded once, his hand brushing the hilt of Masamune out of habit. “I’d like some time with you. Alone. To know you better.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. She stood on her toes and tapped his nose with her finger, catching him off guard. “Depends. Where are we going?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes at her boldness. “The Gold Saucer. There’s a restaurant there worth the trip.”

Cloud’s jaw dropped.

“You don’t want to go?” he asked, misreading her shock.

She shook her head quickly. “No, no! That sounds amazing. But… isn’t that overseas?”

He chuckled again. “I have a mission at the Gold Saucer this weekend. You’ll accompany me, Zack, and a few other Class Twos. It’s a trial run—a promotion test for the top candidates. In truth, it’s more of a test for you than anyone else.”

Cloud clasped her hands. “Really? That means after the mission—”

“If you succeed, you’ll have a real chance at Class One.” A faint smirk touched his lips.

“But I haven’t beaten you yet—or taken the official tests.”

“That comes after the trial. So—yes or no?”

Her answer was wordless. She jumped up, arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He froze for a moment before wrapping his arms carefully around her waist.

“Yes,” she said firmly, sliding back to the ground. “It sounds good. A date.”

“Do you… happen to own a dress?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately cursed himself for it. He’d only wondered how she might look in one again.

Cloud laughed. “I have one. A ball gown. I don't think it would work for this weekend.”

He shook his head. “Forget I asked. It was unnecessary.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly. “And I probably shouldn’t have hugged you. We’re still in public.”

“No one is out here,” he said quietly as they started back toward the Hall. “But you’re slipping. Be careful. You’ll get your mission letter later today, but I wanted to tell you first.”

At the doorway, she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He gave her a single nod and turned away, heading toward his condo before returning to the office for after-hours work. Cloud watched him go, a soft smile lingering on her face as she slipped inside, oblivious to the stares she had drawn from those still watching.

Zack found her a little later and gave her a light smack on the head. Leaning down, he whispered, “What are you grinning about? You look like—oooh.” His eyes lit with realization, and a smirk spread across his face. “He asked you?”

Cloud’s cheeks warmed. She gave a small nod—then punched him hard in the arm. “I need a dress. For my mother,” she added quickly, noticing several people nearby watching her.

Zack rubbed his arm with a wince, then leaned closer and muttered darkly, “I think I know just the place. We’ll go this afternoon. Your mother’s birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?”

“I can’t really… I’ve got duties to finish.” Cloud frowned in thought. “Actually, I don’t have any time until this weekend, and the mission’s this weekend. Maybe I can squeeze in this afternoon.”

Zack slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Don’t worry. Leave it to me. I’ve got time.”

Cloud gave him a skeptical look but shrugged. “All right. Nothing too ritzy.”

Zack laughed.

That afternoon, Zack found himself in General Sephiroth’s office.
“I was supposed to take Cloud shopping for a dress,” he said, dropping into a chair. “But she got called away for something about her job.”

Sephiroth nodded. “Yes. I had her meet with the committee—sign up for the tests, transfer her academic credits, and SOLDIER duties. She needs to be prepared for both her master’s evaluations and the Class One trials. There were other matters as well.”

“Right.” Zack rubbed his arm where Cloud had punched him earlier, the ache still lingering. “So, when’s the big date?”

“Gold Saucer. Saturday night.”

“Ohh, good plan. During our mission trip. Let me guess—you’re taking her to that fancy restaurant there?”

The silver-haired General inclined his head. “And perhaps other entertainments. What does she like to do?”

Zack chuckled. “At the Gold Saucer, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

“I suppose so,” Sephiroth murmured. He reached for a small CD player on his desk, sliding a disc into it. “It’s about time we heard this.”

Zack leaned forward, recognizing it. “That’s one of Dr. Gast’s recordings, right? I’ve wondered what’s on those.”

The player clicked and whirred. A man’s voice crackled through:
“Gast: Project Valkyries…”

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling papers, then the voice continued.
“Right. The Valkyries. My wife and I have uncovered a few things… My wife researched the tome I discovered during my assignment to Nibelheim with Dr. Hojo, when the SOLDIER Project began. She unlocked its secrets, prophecies of events yet to come.”

Zack blinked at the player. “Man, that was a long time ago…”

A woman’s voice came next—gentle, melodic.
“The tome spoke of two children of the Nibelung who would change the world. They are called the Daughter and the Son. The boy would be born of the reincarnation of Jenova. The words are vague, but it was clear he would be born soon. The Daughter would be born to the last Valkyrie. Her mother would die in the destruction of Nibelheim—an event still to come—leaving her the last. Together, the two would bring order, redeem souls, release Gaia’s children, and reclaim the Cetra’s ancestral home.”

“Go on, Iflana,” Gast’s voice urged. “What else have you found?”

There was a rustle of paper.

“The Son and the Daughter are both born in Nibelheim,” Iflana explained. “The boy did not remain long. He was taken to what the tome refers to as the Dark City and raised there. Nothing more is said of him for some time. The Daughter, however, returned to Nibelheim and grew up there until she traveled to the Dark City herself, where she would find the Son. The tome describes them as powerful, unusual. Ah, yes—one detail: the Son will carry Gaia’s blood. We are uncertain what that means.”

Gast’s voice replied, eager. “Iflana, I believe it means Mako. The boy will have Mako in his system. It must relate to the SOLDIER Project.”

Zack glanced at Sephiroth. “Why do I have a bad feeling I already know who that Son is?”

Sephiroth had gone pale. “Listen.”

Iflana sighed. “Gast darling, we can’t be certain.”

“It’s Hojo’s SOLDIER Project,” Gast said grimly. “I’m sure of it. And the Dark City—it must be Midgar.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Iflana conceded. “We also found a Wutai legend that mirrors this prophecy—the tale of Megamiki and Madoshi. It tells of their suffering and long search for one another, and of their love and loyalty. If the Daughter and the Son reunite, they may set Megamiki and Madoshi free once more.”

“Yes,” Gast agreed. “That legend matches the tome.”

The CD whirred a few more seconds before clicking off.

Sephiroth leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I already knew much of this. But the part about the Son—that’s new.”

Zack nodded slowly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think you’re the Son.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

“You were born in Nibelheim, around the time the SOLDIER Project started, right?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t stay. You were brought here—to the Dark City. You grew up in Midgar. With Hojo.” Zack’s mouth twisted in disgust.

“…Yes.”

“You’re one of the strongest people alive. Everyone knows it. And you’re… different.”

Sephiroth’s gaze darkened. “My mother had brown hair and brown eyes. That hardly makes her a Valkyrie.”

Zack grinned, flipping open the tome and pointing to a chapter on the reincarnation of Jenova.
“Here. Gast’s wife wrote that the Son would be born to the reincarnation of Jenova, and the only Valkyrie noted with brown hair and eyes. That’s your mother—Lucrecia Brown. She worked on the Jenova Project with Hojo. It wasn’t her specialty, but… she must’ve been pulled in for a reason.”

Sephiroth went quiet, mulling over the revelation.

“For all we know,” Zack went on, “Cloud’s the Valkyrie—and you two found each other… in the Ring of Dance. Get it? Found each other?”

The General waved a hand. “Enough. You’ve made your point.” He shook his head, finding it all difficult to take in.

Zack grabbed the second disc and slid it into the player. “Might as well listen to the other one.”

The device clicked and whirred. Gast’s familiar voice filled the office.
“We have a special guest today. I went to great lengths to find her and secure this interview. She wishes to remain anonymous, but we can say she is one of the last Valkyries alive.”

Sephiroth and Zack exchanged glances, leaning closer.

Iflana’s voice followed: “What should we call you?”

A regal female voice answered, calm and clear. “I’ve had two names in my life. You may call me J.L.”

“All right, J.L. What a beautiful baby you have there,” Iflana said as the sound of soft cooing came through the recording.

“Baby?” Sephiroth and Zack said at the same time.

“Yes,” J.L. replied. “My son. He was born recently. We must be quick—I don’t want Hojo discovering this conversation.”

“Hojo…” the two men muttered together.

“It is important you tell us what you can,” Gast urged.

“Yes,” J.L. said. “I am one of the last Valkyries—perhaps only two of us remain. The other is young, orphaned, and currently hidden in the Dark City. She will one day bear a daughter.”

“You’re certain?” Gast asked.

“Yes. When I became pregnant, I knew that one of us would have a boy and the other a girl. I was the first. My pregnancy was… unusually short. Three months.”

Zack shot Sephiroth a look. “Three months?”

“Three months?” Iflana echoed.

“Yes. Valkyries carry children for only a short time. Our bodies develop quickly, even in the womb. Hojo believed my lie—that I’d hidden the pregnancy for six months. I never told him who the father was. I love him dearly, but protecting him was more important.”

“The father,” Gast pressed gently. “May we know who he is?”

“No. I wish not to disclose it. What matters is that you are meeting the Son of the Valkyries—the last one. He will bring balance to the planet.”

Iflana’s voice softened. “Adorable. But… unusual. Shouldn’t he have blond hair, like the others?”

“Not necessarily,” J.L. explained. “Only daughters inherit the blond hair and blue eyes. Sons are exceptions. My boy’s hair is black now, but it will change when he comes of age, when he reaches the peak of his power.”

“What does that mean?” Gast asked.

“When the Sons reach the end of adolescence, they release their greatest ability. Their bodies change, features alter, and they step into full adulthood.”

“And the visions?” Iflana asked. “Do all Valkyries see the future?”

“No. Only some. I do. And I tell you this—the legends in the tome will come true soon. The Daughter will be beautiful. My son will love her deeply, no matter what they endure.”

“You speak as if something terrible will happen,” Gast said.

“Yes. They are the Son and the Daughter—the King and the Queen. They will redeem Megamiki and Madoshi from their banishment. But they will suffer first. All because of Hojo.”

“Hojo?” Gast echoed.

“That’s right. I can’t stop it. I stay near him to keep Jenova from being released too soon.” Malice edged her voice. “But now I must end this. My son needs feeding.”

“Thank you,” Gast said, and the recording clicked to silence.

Zack let out a long breath. “Whoa. That’s… something. You’re the Son, no doubt. Remember Vincent Valentine? The Turk stationed in Nibelheim three months before you were born? It all lines up. He’s your father. And that woman—Lucrecia Brown.”

Sephiroth frowned. “J.L.? If the L stands for Lucrecia… what does J stand for?” He absently twirled a long strand of silver hair around his finger. “My hair was black before the Wutai War. I never thought much of it. I had assumed it was because of the Mako.” 

“There you go,” Zack said. “It has to be. Vincent Valentine’s your father.”

Sephiroth’s glare cut at him. “Vincent Valentine. He’s the only one.”

“Hot damn,” Zack muttered, leaning back with a grin. “We just uncovered your past. And you love Cloud—so together, you two are going to change the world.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes and flipped the tome open again. “I wouldn’t call it love.” Zack gave him a knowing grin. Another disc slipped out from the pages. He frowned, picking it up. “Another one. This looks recent.”

Zack took it, noticing a familiar scuff. “That must be Cloud’s. She’s always sticking things in here for bookmarks—look, her Class Four IDs are wedged in the pages too.” He slid the disc into the player and hit play.

A few moments of silence passed before a sweet, familiar voice filled the room. Both men recognized it at once—Cloud’s—blended with another female voice.

“Estuans interius adente veritate…” the two sang together, before Cloud’s voice rose alone:
“Seraphim, Seraphim, sors speciosissimus et omnis…”

Together again: “Veni, veni, venias—”

The second female soared into a high-pitched solo: “Concessi me ascendi facias!”

Cloud rejoined, her soprano strong and clear:
“Veni, veni, venias, Gloriosa!”

The pace quickened, the voices overlapping and lifting each other. Cloud carried the next line alone:
“Concessi me ascendi facias, Generosa!”

Together: “Veni, veni, venias, Gloriosa!”

The last phrase repeated, Cloud’s voice stretching into a long, aching note:
“Seraphim… Sera~aphim…”

The sound dwindled into silence.

Zack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He reached for the disc and glanced at his friend—then paused. Sephiroth sat motionless, his expression unreadable, gaze fixed on the player as if the music had struck something deep. After a moment, he closed the lid with deliberate care and slid the tome back into the drawer, his composure fully in place.

“What a voice,” Zack murmured, still shaken. He handed the disc over. Sephiroth accepted it in silence, slipping it into his jacket.

“It isn’t just a hymn,” he said at last, his voice low. “It’s a summoning. Not spoken as a chant, but sung. A song meant to call something—or someone—down.”

Zack frowned, unsettled. “Summoning? That’s… amazing. I’ve heard her hum that tune every day for years, when she worked on her homework. Now hearing the words… still gives me goosebumps.” He stood, shaking off the weight of it. “Since Cloud’s stuck on duty this week and can’t shop for a dress—want to come with?”

Sephiroth inclined his head. “I suppose. I have nothing else pressing.”

An hour later, the two were walking through the mall in civilian clothes.

“We’re going to this store and finding a dress for her,” Zack declared, scanning the shops as if following a plan.

“Do you know her size?” Sephiroth asked.

“Oh… crap.” Zack rubbed the back of his head. “I guess we’ll have to guess.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes but followed him inside. He stopped just past the entrance, staring at the racks upon racks of dresses. “This is like finding a needle in a haystack,” he muttered.

Zack grinned like a madman. “So, what kind of dress do you like?”

Sephiroth balked. “There is no way I am doing this.” He turned—and froze. A group of women had gathered outside the window, staring in at him with wide eyes. He was cornered. With a faint huff, he tugged the brim of his cap lower, as if that might hide him from their gaze.

Zack burst out laughing and tugged him deeper into the store. He snatched a red vinyl mini-skirt off a rack, holding it up like a prize. “Hey! A mini-skirt!”

Sephiroth’s face twisted in disgust.

“No? Yeah, you’re right—not your type.” Zack tossed it aside and kept digging. “What about this?” He held up a black leather number that looked like it belonged in an S&M magazine.

Sephiroth’s glare answered for him.

“Okay, too scary. Need something mellower.” Zack carried on, pulling out dress after dress, each one earning either silence or the faintest arch of Sephiroth’s brow. At one point, he even held a gown against himself and posed as if he were the one trying it on. Sephiroth rubbed at his temple, feeling a headache coming on.

While Zack kept up his antics, Sephiroth’s gaze wandered. He didn’t know what sort of dress would suit Cloud. He was only beginning to know her beyond the mask she wore as a SOLDIER. The girl beneath—that other self—was surfacing more each day. Then something on a display caught his eye, and he paused.

Zack noticed at once. “Ohhh. That’s nice,” he said, nodding in agreement. He waved a sales clerk over. “Hold on.” With that, he darted out into the crowd and returned, dragging along a young woman about Cloud’s build.

The girl blinked, clearly stunned to be in Sephiroth’s presence, but made no protest.

“Try this one on for us,” Zack told her, while the clerk lifted the dress from the display. The fit was close enough. Satisfied, Zack had the clerk box up the purchase, and the two men left the store with their items.

They made a quick stop at a men’s shop as well, picking something up for Sephiroth before heading out.

Chapter Text

Friday came, and the trio found themselves on the road overseas. Cloud looked pale, muttering about motion sickness. The other Class Two SOLDIERS shifted to the opposite side of the truck, trying to keep their distance. Zack, however, watched in amazement as her face cycled through different shades of green, oddly fascinated by it.

From the front seat, General Sephiroth turned and reached back, holding out a small item. “Take this.”

The others stared, startled by the rare display of kindness.

Cloud accepted it with a grateful look, recognizing the motion sickness pill. She placed it on her tongue and let it dissolve. Within minutes, some of the nausea eased, though the dizziness lingered. The other SOLDIERs sighed in relief, noting the return of color to her face, much to Zack’s disappointment, who her suffering had oddly entertained.

They arrived at North Corel, a small coal-mining town nestled below the Gold Saucer. The SOLDIERs disembarked and lined up neatly, waiting for orders.

Zack stood before them, hands clasped behind his back. Sephiroth joined him a moment later. Four Class Twos stood at attention, the ones eligible for promotion.

“One of you will be promoted,” Sephiroth said, his voice steady, “and given a year to train as Class One. Only one will earn that title.” He lifted a finger. “Our mission is straightforward. Reports confirm that two juvenile dragons have been sighted within the Gold Saucer. We will exterminate them. Two of you will go with Zack, two with me. No favoritism will be tolerated. We begin once we reach the top.”

The group marched to the station, where a cable car awaited. The car, suspended by two thick cables, disappeared into the sky, vanishing into the bank of clouds above. They boarded in silence, weapons ready. A quick draw determined the teams: Cloud and another SOLDIER would join Sephiroth, while the other two accompanied Zack.

Before they reached the summit, Sephiroth gave one last instruction. “If we finish early, you will have the remainder of the day for leisure. We will regroup at zero six hundred hours at the main gate for departure.”

Zack grinned. “Sounds good to me. We’ll handle those beasts quickly, right, men?”

The others cheered, while Sephiroth remained impassive. Cloud only gave a small nod, still a bit groggy.

At last, the car broke through the clouds, revealing the massive golden structure above. A giant saucer gleamed, lit with countless blinking lights, perched atop a towering spire. Part amusement park, part casino, it dominated the skyline.

Sephiroth stepped out first, presenting a pass to the attendant. Another man approached to collect their bags; their accommodations had already been arranged. The Class Twos would share a room in the Haunted House Inn, while Sephiroth had his own reserved.

Zack had been offered a private room as well, but declined. He insisted on staying with Cloud and the others.

“Zack, take Irvin and Marvy, cover the north sector. Strife, Erikson, you’re with me in the south. Remember, we’re here to find the beasts. No games until the mission is finished.”

Zack bounded off toward the stairs leading to the northern wing of the Gold Saucer, grinning like a madman with two Class Twos trailing behind. The pair exchanged wary glances, wondering if their commanding officer was all there. Among the ranks, it was said that too much Mako drove Soldiers insane. But in Zack’s case, it was just the usual overexcitement.

Sephiroth turned without a word and descended the stairs toward the southern wing. Cloud and Erikson, Zeke, as he’d introduced himself, followed. Zeke was from the far north, near Icicle. He struck Cloud as an easygoing sort: solid, obedient, dependable. Good Soldier material, though she doubted he had what it took to reach the elite.

They stopped at the crossroads where the southern wing split between the Event Square and the Chocobo Racing arena. Sephiroth waited by the entrance, silent, letting them make the call.

Zeke glanced at Cloud. “Suppose we start with Events?”

Cloud shrugged and nodded, her gaze flicking briefly toward Sephiroth. She remembered his words from earlier: he was only here to observe their judgment, fighting skills, and decisions.

The three moved through Event Square, quickly canvassing the area. They asked questions, looked over signs of damage, and pieced together a rough account. The story soon emerged that two beasts had escaped into the Saucer after hitching a ride on the Runway transport.

“So, it was two Spencer dragons you saw?” Cloud asked a thin man trembling near the Battle Arena.

“I don’t know!” he whimpered, wringing his hands.

Zeke sighed, rolling his eyes. “All right, who actually saw the monsters?”

From the crowd, a nervous voice squeaked, “Dio.”

Cloud turned sharply. “Where can we find this Dio?”

A burly figure stepped forward, massive, all bulging muscle and bravado. Cloud nearly snickered, stifling the sound with a cough. “You’re Dio?” she asked, her tone edged with mirth. From the corner of her eye, she caught Sephiroth leaning against the counter, his face bored, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lip.

The man puffed out his chest. “Yeah. Dio. They call me champ, owner of the Battle Arena.” He gave a slow nod, his gaze finally drifting toward Sephiroth.

Sephiroth stepped forward, voice flat. “Have you or have you not seen the monsters?” His tone cut through Dio’s puffed-up swagger, stripping it away like paper.

Dio frowned, huffing. “Sure did. Two of them ran right through my Arena. Don’t belong to me, that’s for sure, nothing like the beasts I keep.”

Sephiroth nodded once. “What kind?”

The man rubbed his chin, pretending to ponder. “Pretty sure they were Spencer dragons. Small, but vicious.”

“Two of them?” Cloud pressed.

“Yeah.”

Zeke asked, “Where were they last seen?”

Dio’s eyes flicked back to Sephiroth, but the General’s face remained cold and unreadable. “Last night. Saw ’em again earlier today. Headed toward the Chocobo Racing Arena. Guess they caught the scent of the birds.”

“Thank you.” Sephiroth pivoted on his heel, the sweep of his sheathed Masamune nearly clipping Dio as he strode out.

Cloud bit down on a grin, following quickly.

Zeke burst into laughter as they stepped back into the corridor. “That guy isn’t half as tough as he looks. I’m sure the General could take him in his own Arena.”

“Not worth my time,” Sephiroth said evenly, striding toward the Racing Arena. Then, almost as an afterthought, “But thank you for the compliment.”

As they entered the Chocobo Racing arena, the sharp smell of hay and stable washed over them. Cloud’s eyes lit briefly at the sight of the colorful birds pacing in their pens, trainers shouting, and handlers hurrying about. The track gleamed under the bright lights.

“I gotta come back here and watch this,” she murmured under her breath. She quickly forced her attention back to the mission. “Not here…” Her gaze swept the stands and track for signs of disturbance.

“We should ask around,” Zeke suggested, loosening his grip on his rifle.

Cloud stepped toward the nearest worker to question him, but before she could, a shriek ripped through the arena.

Chaos exploded. Chocobos bolted off the track, feathers flying, their cries echoing in panic. Spectators screamed and scrambled for the exits, overturning benches and knocking each other aside. Trainers ran to cut loose reins, trying to drive the birds toward safety.

Two medium-sized Spencer dragons prowled in the center of the track, their talons gouging deep grooves into the dirt. One lifted its head with a guttural growl, a few stray feathers clinging to its bloody lips.

Cloud drew her sword in a single motion. With practiced precision, she pulled several orbs of Materia from her pocket, clicking them into the weapon’s hilt and the slots on her armband until they hummed faintly with energy.

Zeke leveled his gun. “I guess that’s them.”

“Take the other. I’ll handle this one.” Cloud locked her focus on the larger of the two.

Zeke darted wide, firing in controlled bursts to draw the second dragon away. “Let’s go!” he shouted, ducking behind a section of railing. The arena was nearly empty now, leaving only the two of them against the beasts.

The larger dragon lunged at Cloud, claws flashing. She leapt back, slashing across its snout. The cut made it recoil with a hiss, shaking its head. From the corner of her eye, she caught the second dragon swipe a wing at Zeke, slamming him hard against the wall. His weapon clattered to the ground as he slid unconscious to the floor.

“Oh damn…” Cloud muttered, her stomach twisting. Now it was just her, two dragons closing in, one badly wounded but still advancing.

She twirled her blade, searching for rhythm, her boots skidding slightly in the churned dirt. Her pulse quickened, then something inside her shifted. Energy surged up from her feet, through her core, and into her arms until it thrummed in her sword. Her vision narrowed, senses sharpening.

She leapt high, raising the sword overhead. The steel caught the arena lights as it came down in a clean arc, cleaving through the larger dragon. A wet, tearing shriek ripped from its throat as the blade split bone and sinew. Blood sprayed across the dirt in a heavy arc, the beast collapsing in two halves that hit the ground with a sickening thud. Its body twitched once before going still, the stench of iron filling the air. Cloud landed lightly, boots splashing into the gore.

At the doorway, Zack appeared with Irvin and Marvy at his heels, but Sephiroth’s hand shot out, barring their way.

“Let Strife finish,” he said calmly. His eyes narrowed, watching the aura rising around Cloud. “He’s about to reach his first limit break.”

Zack exhaled, leaning against the doorframe with a crooked grin. “Ooh, that’s gonna be hell to wash out.” His grin widened anyway, impressed despite the mess. “Still, he’s doing damn well.”

Sephiroth’s eyes slid sideways to Zack, and the corner of his lips tugged upward a tiny bit.

Inside the arena, Cloud turned to face the second dragon. It stalked her, massive jaws parting as it hissed, its talons clicking on the dirt. 

She moved around, trying to avoid the second dragon as it advanced on her slowly. It was massive, muscles coiled as if ready to lunge. Having studied beasts, she knew this one would kill her if it ever got hold of her. Another surge of energy rose inside her, heat coursing from her chest into her arms. She spun the blade once, twice, letting the power hum through the steel until white-blue arcs crackled in its wake.

With a roar, she lunged. The sword carved across the dragon’s neck and shoulder in a cross-cut, the force tearing straight through scales and bone. Blood sprayed in two directions as the creature thrashed, its roar breaking into a gurgle before collapsing in a heap. Cloud landed hard, panting, her boots slipping in the gore. The corpse shuddered once, then went still, a spreading pool of crimson soaking the arena sand.

Cloud staggered back, sword lowering to her side. Her hands shook, chest heaving. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to steady her breath.

A slow clap broke the silence. She opened her eyes to see Sephiroth at the door, a faint secret smile touching his lips as he applauded. Zack leaned lazily on the frame, grinning from ear to ear. Irvin and Marvy stood behind them, both smiling.

“You were there the whole time and didn’t help?” Cloud demanded, her voice edged with disbelief. She wiped her forehead, then grimaced when her hand came away streaked with blood and clinging bits of flesh.

“The General wouldn’t let us,” Irvin admitted, jogging down to help Zeke to his feet. Marvy followed, slinging Zeke’s arm over his shoulders.

Zack laughed as he hopped down from the stands, reaching out to pluck a grisly chunk of dragon flesh off Cloud’s shoulder guard. He flicked it aside with a grimace. “Ugh. That’s nasty. You’re gonna be finding bits of that in your gear for weeks.”

He shook his hand off, then dug out two ShinRa-issued energy bars and pressed them into her hand. “Here, have some. You’re shaking, right? Totally normal after your first limit break.”

Cloud caught the bars and tore one open, biting into it gratefully. Zack smirked. “Braver and Cross-Slash. Not bad for your first level.”

Zeke groaned as Irvin and Marvy helped him upright. Sephiroth descended the steps with calm precision, arms folding across his chest.

“We tracked down the monsters in record time,” he announced. “Looks like we have the rest of the day free. Be ready at zero six hundred. I don’t want trouble.”

The Class Twos cheered quietly, already whispering plans. Zack threw an arm over Irvin’s shoulder, rattling off the best attractions to visit.

Sephiroth shook his head at Zack’s antics before turning to Cloud. His gaze lingered on the gore splattered across her armor. “You should shower and change before tonight.”

Cloud glanced down at herself, grimacing at the sticky streaks of blood and bits clinging to her. “Yeah… you’re right. I need it.”

“I should do the same,” Sephiroth said evenly. He gestured toward the exit. “Come. I’ll show you to our rooms.”

She nodded, still buzzing with adrenaline but grateful for the excuse to wash off. Together, they left the arena for the Haunted House Inn.

Cloud ducked into the shower, scrubbing herself down with the speed of habit, though she lingered a little longer than usual to make sure every trace of gore was gone. Afterward, she wrapped herself in a towel, wrung water from her short spikes, then cursed under her breath when she realized she’d left her change of clothes in the bag out in the bedroom.

She cracked the door open and peeked out. Zack was at the bed, rifling through his duffel.

“Zack?”

He looked up, grinning. “Relax. Door’s locked. The others won’t be back until late.” He straightened and tossed something her way. “Here. Put these on.”

Her glare sharpened when she caught the underwear.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, hands raised. “I’m helping you get ready for your date.”

“…What?”

“Here.” He turned, holding out a paper bag. “Got you something.” At her suspicious look, he smirked. “Not ticking, promise.”

Cloud took the bag warily. When she pulled the dress free, she froze. “Oh…”

Zack’s grin widened. “Go on. Try it. I won’t peek.” He turned his back.

She dropped the towel in haste and slid into the dress, fingers tracing the fabric as it settled against her. The skirt brushed her knees, lighter than anything she’d worn in years. She couldn’t help but smile, even as she fussed with the fit.

“Zack, I need help.”

“You sure you’re decent?”

“Yes! It’s the zipper.” She huffed, turning her back. “I can’t reach it.”

He chuckled, coming over to tug the zipper up. “There. Fits like a glove. You like it?”

“Very much.” She turned, swishing the skirt once, a faint blush coloring her face. “How did you know my size?”

“I guessed. You should know, Sephiroth picked that one out.”

Her head snapped up. “He did?”

Zack smirked at the way her blush deepened. “Yep. And you look beautiful. But…” He eyed her hair. “We need to fix that mess.”

He dug into his bag, pulling out a brush and a blue sash. “Hold still.” He tugged the brush through her spikes, taming what he could before braiding the longer strands back. A few stubborn tufts still stuck out, but he tied the braid off with the sash in a floppy bow at her nape.

“My girlfriend taught me a few tricks,” he explained as he worked. “Keeps nagging me about my hair, says if I’m gonna keep it long, I better take care of it.”

Cloud rolled her eyes but didn’t move.

“Better,” he declared, then frowned. “Except…” He looked down at her bare feet.

Cloud narrowed her eyes.

“Kidding.” He ducked back to the bag and pulled out a pair of pale blue flats. “Try these. Had to steal one of your boots a while back to get the size right.”

She scowled. “So that’s why I couldn’t find it for a day.” She slipped the shoes on, then straightened, a small, uncertain smile tugging at her lips. “How do I look?”

“Like trouble. Beautiful trouble.” Zack gave her a sly grin. “Sephiroth’s gonna lose it, he’s had that ball night stuck in his head ever since. Thinks I don’t notice, but I do.”

Cloud laughed, swatting him on the arm as she walked past.

Sephiroth paced at the bottom of the Inn’s staircase, dressed in black slacks and a silver-white buttoned shirt, the collar open to his chest. Casual, understated, yet elegant. His long hair hung loose down his back, catching the lantern light with every turn.

Zack had told him to wait there while he went up to “help” Cloud. A pang of jealousy stirred in his chest, knowing his friend was with her at that moment. He forced it down. Cloud’s eyes had always lingered on him, not Zack, and he reminded himself of that.

It had been an hour. Sephiroth glanced at the clock, fingers tightening briefly behind his back. He wondered how she would look in the dress he’d chosen. It had been the only one in the store that struck him, simple, innocent, yet striking.

“General Sephiroth,” Zack announced at last. “Your date has arrived.”

Sephiroth looked up.

Cloud stood at the top of the stairs, hesitating before stepping forward. For a moment, she was unfamiliar, an entirely different person, and yet still the Cloud he knew. The dress was layered in soft blues, the skirt falling just below her knees, leaving her legs graceful and unhidden. The bodice hugged her form, the neckline revealing a trace of her true self beneath the disguise of SOLDIER.

His gaze traveled upward, her face, her eyes glowing brighter than any shade of blue in the fabric, her hair pulled back into a small braid tied with a sash. Familiar. Unfamiliar. Both at once.

“Wow…” The word left him before he could stop it.

He fumbled briefly with the object in his hands, then held it out. Nestled in his palm was a single Nibel Flower, its white, star-shaped petals soft as down, fragrant and unmistakable.

Cloud gasped. “A Nibel Flower… I’ve only ever seen them on the mountain. How, ” She broke off, staring at him in disbelief.

Sephiroth inclined his head slightly, as though admitting a crime. “There’s a greenhouse at ShinRa Headquarters. It’s off-limits, but… I thought you would value this more than any rose.”

Her lips parted in shock before curling into a laugh. “You stole it? General Sephiroth, breaking protocol?” She tucked the blossom into her hair, smiling so brightly that it made his chest tighten. “You’re right. I love it.”

Zack, smirking from the side, clapped his hands. “You two look cute together. Go on, have fun!”

Sephiroth offered his arm. She slipped her hand through, and together they descended the staircase. The Haunted House’s foyer was dimly lit with flickering lanterns, shadows chasing across the floorboards as they crossed to the front doors. Outside, the night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of oil and sweet fried foods from the park.

At the curb, a lift waited, an open sky-carriage strung on rails that circled the Gold Saucer. Sephiroth guided her aboard, and the machine rose smoothly into the air. Lights unfurled below them in dazzling colors, the park glowing like a city made of fireflies.

Sephiroth sat across from her, watching as the ride lifted them into the sky, Gold Saucer’s lights glittering below like a thousand jewels. She leaned eagerly to the window, eyes wide, her joy unguarded.

For a moment, he felt stripped of rank and legend. Not General Sephiroth, ShinRa’s pride, but a man. A man who felt… light. Almost happy. The sensation was foreign, and it unsettled him.

His gaze lingered on her face, glowing with laughter, and memory pricked at him, Sorano, radiant in a gown at the ball, the same girl now sitting across from him. And with that memory came the echo of the prophecy. She was the last Daughter, meant to belong to the Last Son. Logic told him she was not his to claim.

And yet… the pull toward her was undeniable. He did not name it because he had no name for it. But he could not look away.

“Oh, look! Chocobo racing! I can see them all!” she exclaimed, leaning farther out.

Alarm shot through him. He caught her at the waist, pulling her back firmly.

“Please don’t do that again,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

She laughed softly, like bells chiming. “You forget, I have a strong grip. All that SOLDIER training, remember?”

He let out a quiet breath, his lips curving faintly. “It’s easy to forget you were ever a SOLDIER… when you’re in a dress.”

His hand lifted of its own accord, brushing her cheek. She flushed, her blue eyes meeting his, and something inside him tightened further. Whatever this was, it was dangerous. And he could not stop it.

Cloud felt strangely at ease beside Sephiroth. She was tall for a woman, with a narrow waist and the muscle of a SOLDIER, yet standing next to him made her feel unmistakably feminine.

Sephiroth was less certain of what he felt. Cloud leaned closer, her hand tucked against his arm, chatting about chocobos and the things she wanted to do. He listened quietly, relishing her voice and wishing, just for a moment, that his life were ordinary. That he could walk openly beside her, without secrecy, without ShinRa, without the weight of a thousand-year prophecy pressing down on them both.

They reached the restaurant at the Saucer’s center, its glass walls rotating slowly to give a sweeping view of the park below. The lights glittered like stars scattered across the earth. A small candle flickered between them. Sephiroth frowned, realizing the setting was far more romantic than he intended. He asked the waiter and was told the request had been added the day after the reservation. He hadn’t called back. Which meant Zack had meddled again.

Dinner passed in quiet ease. They shared a massive dessert, laughing when Cloud managed to steal the last bite. From there, Sephiroth convinced the chocobo manager to let them use the track. He hadn’t needed to say much; one look at Cloud’s wide eyes and pleading smile had the man melting into agreement. Sephiroth noted the way jealousy pricked at him, the thought that she might one day use that smile on someone else. He loathed the feeling. 

The race itself was pure exhilaration. Cloud, astride a golden chocobo, let out a wild shout as she zipped past him yet again—seven victories in a row.

At the finish, she hopped down, triumphant. “That’s seven! I beat the great General Sephiroth!” She gave a little victory dance, grinning ear to ear. “You owe me those chocolate bars!”

Sephiroth dismounted with a resigned laugh, raising his hands. “Fourteen in total, then?”

She nodded, poking him in the chest, cheeks pink with triumph. “Fourteen. The great General Sephiroth is in my debt.”

He caught her finger lightly, tugging playfully. “What is it with you and chocolate?”

“I like it. I never had it growing up.” She gave a small shrug, spinning the empty wrapper between her fingers. “First taste was from my father, one bite, and I was hooked. After I enlisted, I found the same kind in a shop near the mall. Been treating myself ever since.”

“A whole box a day, once a month,” Sephiroth murmured with a smirk.

Her eyes widened. “Where did you hear that?”

“Zack.”

“Zack!” she sputtered. “Oh, he’s going to get it, snooping in my things!”

“It wasn’t him. An old roommate mentioned it. Reno, I believe.”

She groaned. “Reno. Should’ve known. He’s going to get an earful, too.”

They laughed together, the sound carrying as they strolled back through the glowing Saucer. By the time they reached the Inn, the night had deepened. Cloud stopped at the door to her room. Light spilled from beneath it, muffled voices rising and falling. The other Class Twos had returned. She hesitated, staring at the door. “I can’t go in like this.”

Sephiroth paused, then gestured toward his own room with a faint bow. “Care to join me for a drink?”

She glanced up at him, still flushed from laughter and racing, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

Zeke reached the top of the stairs, arms full of drinks from the café. Just as he turned, he spotted a blonde woman slipping into the General’s room. Nearly spilling everything, he bolted for their quarters.

“Hey, who’s the blonde General’s got in his room?” he blurted as he shoved through the door.

The room exploded into chaos. Chairs scraped, boots thudded, and half the SOLDIERs barreled into the hallway at once. In seconds, they were stacked three deep around Sephiroth’s door, elbowing each other to peek through the keyhole.

“Move, my turn!”
“Damn, she’s beautiful!”
“Hotter than beautiful, who is she?”
“No way the General, ”

Zack stepped out just in time to see one guy sprawled on another’s back, trying to climb high enough to get a look. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable. Do you guys ever stop?” He crossed his arms, glaring at the pile of SOLDIERs. “You really think the General isn’t a man like the rest of us? He bleeds red, same as you, and yeah, he’s allowed to have fun once in a while.”

That shut them up. They blinked at him, jaws slack, as if the thought had never crossed their minds.

“…The General? Fun?” one whispered.
“Like… normal, human fun?” another muttered, horrified.

“Yes,” Zack snapped. “Normal. Human. Fun.” He jabbed a thumb at their door. “Now unless you want to find out how not fun Sephiroth can be if he catches you here, get back inside.”

Grumbling, they slunk off, muttering wild theories under their breath.

Zack shook his head, smothering a laugh. Cloud. Right, she’d never make it back to their quarters without exposing herself. He’d sneak her bag out once the others were asleep and leave the door cracked for her.

Stepping back into the room, he clapped his hands. “All right, enough gossip. Lights out. We’ve got an early call tomorrow.”

Cloud glanced around the room as Sephiroth shut the door behind them. “Your quarters are huge,” she murmured, half-teasing as she crossed to the bed. She pressed a palm to the mattress, testing its spring. “And this giant bed all to yourself…”

Sephiroth poured two glasses of wine from a carafe on the table. “Perks of rank,” he said quietly, handing her one. “I hoped you enjoyed tonight.”

“I did.” She sipped, warmth creeping into her cheeks. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed that much.”

He sat beside her, posture disciplined but not rigid. “Neither can I,” he admitted. “It’s been… different.”

Cloud leaned back against the pillows, swirling her glass. “I’d love to have a chocobo someday,” she said, then smirked. “And you swearing on the track, that was priceless.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his gaze lingered on her, steady and unreadable. She caught the look and blinked. “What?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, softly, “You remind me of the ball.”

She stilled. “The ball?”

“That night,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but when I realized who you were… I’ve never forgotten it.” His eyes dropped to the wine in his hand. “I shouldn’t say this, but I find myself… drawn to you. Even knowing who you are.”

Cloud lowered her glass, pulse quickening. “You mean, the last daughter?”

He nodded. “The prophecy says the last daughter belongs to the last son. You’re supposed to be his.” His jaw tightened. “And I… I don’t think I am that son.”

She leaned forward, her voice firm despite the blush rising in her cheeks. “Why should I wait for someone I’ve never seen, someone who may not even exist, when I feel something here, with you?”

Her words stunned him. “I don’t even know what I feel,” he admitted. “I’ve never… this is all unfamiliar to me. Attraction. Wanting something normal. Wanting…” He faltered, then finally let the truth fall. “Wanting you.”

Cloud’s smile was faint, but steady. “Then maybe we don’t need to know what to call it yet.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping. “I’m afraid of my own dream. If I ever go back to Nibelheim, it’ll burn. And I’ll be the reason.”

Sephiroth’s expression softened. He set his glass aside and reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “Then don’t think of Nibelheim tonight. Think of this. Just us. No ShinRa. No prophecy. Just… two people.”

Her breath caught at his touch. “Two people,” she whispered back.

The silence stretched, charged but fragile. Then Sephiroth leaned closer, his hand cupping her cheek. Their lips met, tentative at first, then steadier as Cloud pressed into the kiss, tasting wine and something new, something she didn’t want to let go of.

When they drew apart, her forehead rested against his. “For now,” she said softly, “this is enough.”

Sephiroth closed his eyes, letting the moment settle deep inside him, a vow unspoken. “For now,” he echoed.

Chapter Text

Cloud stirred, blinking awake to the soft glow of lantern light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then the memories came back. The race, the dinner, the laughter—and the kiss. Her lips still tingled faintly with the echo of it, like warmth that hadn’t quite faded.

She shifted, realizing she was lying atop the blankets, still in her dress. The spot beside her was empty, but warm. He’d been there, stretched out beside her while they’d talked long into the night, trading pieces of themselves neither had ever shared aloud. Somewhere between words and silence, she’d fallen asleep.

Pushing herself upright, she rubbed her eyes. The door to the bathroom clicked open, and Sephiroth stepped out, already in his black regalia, silver hair falling in gleaming waves down his back. The mask of General was back in place, though softer at the edges.

“Zack left your bag outside my door,” he said evenly. “You should get ready.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “He’s never going to let me live this down—spending the night with you.”

One corner of Sephiroth’s mouth twitched upward. “If Zack becomes insufferable, send him my way.”

The dry quip made her laugh, the sound easing the last of her nerves. She slipped past him toward the bathroom, but his hand came up gently, halting her. He leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed her cheek. For a second, he hesitated, as if weighing the risk.

Cloud tipped her chin up and bridged the space, brushing her lips against his. The kiss was soft, brief, but sweet in a way that startled her—like it had always been waiting.

When they drew apart, Sephiroth exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against hers. “We need to be careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “If we’re going to explore this… together.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of his words, but she nodded. “I know.”

He released her with reluctant steadiness, and she slipped away into the bathroom, her pulse still racing as the door clicked shut behind her.

At precisely 0600 hours, Sephiroth stood in the Haunted House Inn’s foyer, his posture as disciplined as ever, hands clasped lightly behind his back. Cloud waited at his side in her SOLDIER guise, armor polished, her face set in its familiar mask. She leafed absently through one of the inn’s brochures, more to pass the time than from genuine interest.

The front door creaked, and Zack strode in, stretching his arms wide with a yawn. He spotted her immediately, grinned like a fox, and slid right up beside her.

Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “So… how was your little sleepover with the General? Naughty girl.”

Cloud’s eyes flicked up in exasperation. She jabbed an elbow into his ribs, earning a wheeze of mock pain. “Nothing happened,” she hissed back. “I couldn’t get back into the room.”

Zack straightened, rubbing his side with exaggerated drama, but his grin only widened. “Uh-huh. Sure. Did you at least have a good time?”

Her cheeks warmed despite herself. She gave the smallest of nods.

“Thought so,” he said smugly, then winked.

Before she could retort, the other Class Twos filed in, shaking off the remnants of sleep. They straightened as soon as they caught sight of the General, their chatter dying instantly.

Sephiroth let the silence settle for a beat before speaking. “We are finished here. The skytram will take us back to the ground. From there, you’ll receive word regarding your promotions.”

They moved out together, boarding the tram in orderly fashion. The car lurched as it began its descent, the Gold Saucer shrinking above them in a shimmer of lights.

Zeke shifted in his seat, then leaned forward, speaking with unusual bluntness. “Strife deserves the promotion. No argument.”

The other two nodded in quick agreement.
“Best sword arm I’ve seen in Class Two,” one said.
“Beaten pretty much everyone already,” the other added. “Even Zack, half the time.”

Zack barked a laugh, clapping Cloud on the shoulder. “Hey, I’ll admit it. Kid’s damn good.”

Cloud flushed, staring at her boots, unwilling to meet their eyes. Almost unwilling—until she risked a glance at Sephiroth.

He sat opposite her, unreadable to anyone else. But when their eyes met, she caught it: the faintest curve of a secret smile. One meant only for her.

Two months had passed since the night at the Gold Saucer. The days blurred into training drills and missions, but Cloud still carried the memory of that evening—of laughter, racing, and a kiss that lingered in her thoughts. Now the sun hung low over the training grounds, heat shimmering above the packed dirt as blades clashed and boots struck in rhythm. Class Two SOLDIERs sparred in pairs under the watchful eyes of their superiors.

At the front stood Sephiroth, tall and composed, Masamune sheathed at his side as he directed the drills with quiet precision. Beside him, Zack barked encouragement at a cluster of cadets, his grin bright as always.

And there was Cloud. Her uniform set her apart now—black, sleek, and unmistakably Class One. The others stole glances at her when they thought she wasn’t looking, whispers trailing in her wake. Cloud ignored them, her focus sharp, her movements precise.

From the sidelines, a booming laugh cut through the air. “Ah, SOLDIER! The pride of ShinRa!” Heidegger strutted into view, mustache twitching with every word. Dr. Hojo followed at his side, his sharp eyes already scanning the field.

Sephiroth’s gaze flicked toward them. His jaw tightened. With the subtlest of gestures, he caught Zack’s attention and tilted his head—move Cloud. Now.

Zack shifted, casually stepping between Cloud and the approaching men, motioning her to change partners. But it was too late. Hojo’s eyes narrowed, locking on her figure.

The scientist muttered, flipping through the file he carried. “Strange. I don’t recall authorizing a third Class One SOLDIER.”

Heidegger barked another laugh and clapped Hojo on the back, steering him away. “Nonsense! Look at the results, Doctor. The General’s rebuilding Class One, restoring SOLDIER to its former glory! More promotions soon, I’m sure. You’ll have data enough.”

Hojo frowned but allowed himself to be led, though his gaze lingered on Cloud until they disappeared around the corner.

Sephiroth didn’t move, only lifted his voice smoothly. “Rotate pairs. Focus on precision.”

The drills resumed until the last echo of Heidegger’s voice faded. When the coast was clear, Zack and Cloud broke formation and approached him.

Zack’s grin had vanished. He dropped his voice. “Did Hojo notice?”

“Yes,” Sephiroth answered. His tone was clipped, his eyes still on the dispersing troops.

Cloud frowned, confused. “Notice what?”

Sephiroth lifted his hand, signaling dismissal. The Class Twos saluted quickly and scattered, grateful for the reprieve. Only when the grounds were empty did he turn fully toward her.

“I’ve been altering the system,” he said evenly. “Removing your scheduled Mako appointments.”

Her eyes widened. “So that’s why. I kept wondering when I’d be called in—it’s required for Class Two. You’ve been behind it all along.” There was no accusation in her voice, only dawning realization.

“You don’t need it,” Sephiroth said. “You’ve proven yourself stronger and faster without any enhancements.”

Cloud tilted her head, studying him. “Then why do you and Zack take the treatments? If you didn’t… would I be stronger than you both?”

Zack winced. “Stronger than me? Yeah. No contest.” He gave a crooked grin, but his eyes were serious. “But not Seph. No one’s stronger than him.”

Sephiroth’s frown deepened. “Mako shouldn’t be survivable in its pure form. And yet…”

“Yet you’ve gone long stretches without treatment and never crashed,” Zack finished quietly. “No shakes, no withdrawal. That isn’t normal, Seph. You know it.”

The silence stretched. Cloud looked between them, unsettled but steady.

Sephiroth broke it with a single nod. “That’s enough for today.”

Zack exhaled, his usual grin sliding back into place. “Yeah. And I’m late. My girl’s gonna kill me if I don’t show.” He jogged off, waving over his shoulder.

Cloud watched him go. “I’ve never met her.”

Sephiroth smirked faintly. “She’s a sweet girl. Zack’s been with her on and off for years.”

Cloud smiled softly. “She sounds nice.”

Sephiroth glanced at her sidelong, then back toward the path leading to the compound. “Will you join me for dinner tonight? At my flat.”

Her answering smile was small but certain. “I’ll always accept your invitation.”

Side by side, they left the training field, the setting sun casting long shadows as they walked back toward the condos.

Cloud sat hunched over one of the staff-room tables, laptop open, papers spread in a chaotic sprawl across the wood. She typed quickly, brows furrowed, the glow of the screen reflecting off her eyes.

A knock on the doorframe made her glance up. Reno leaned in, Rude just behind him.

“Well, well,” Reno said, a grin spreading across his face. “If it ain’t Strife. Long time no see.”

Cloud blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Reno. Rude. It’s been a while. How’s Turk life treating you?”

“Busy as hell.” Reno stepped inside, hands in his pockets. Then his gaze caught on her uniform, and his brows shot up. “Whoa, hold on. Class One? When the hell did that happen? I thought it was impossible!”

Rude gave a low nod of agreement.

Cloud shrugged lightly, closing her laptop halfway. “Four months ago. I trained under Zack and General Sephiroth, passed the tests, and here I am.”

Reno gave a low whistle, shaking his head. “Class One looks good on you, Strife. Never thought I’d say that.”

Rude added, “We’re working directly under Rufus ShinRa now. Keeps us busy.”

“The Vice President?” Cloud tilted her head, curious. “What’s he like?”

Reno snorted. “Bit of a pompous arse, but not bad. Job’s steady, paycheck’s good. Can’t complain.”

Before Cloud could reply, the door swung open again. Zack barreled in with a stack of folders, dropping them on the table with a heavy thud. “Reno. Rude.”

“Fair,” Reno greeted with a smirk. “Still running errands for the General, or did they finally let you handle a stapler on your own?”

Zack shot him a grin. “Better than being Rufus’s errand boy. Don’t let the kid here outshine you, huh?”

“Ha! As if.” Reno clapped Rude on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s let the Class Ones play dress-up.” With a final mocking salute, he sauntered out, Rude trailing behind.

The door clicked shut. Zack groaned, dragging a chair over to flop down beside Cloud. “Gruesome paperwork.” He shoved the folders toward her. “Kill me now.”

Cloud rolled her eyes and tapped at her keyboard again. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. Try not to die before then.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” He leaned back, stretching. “Sephiroth should be back soon, by the way. Trip to Icicle Village.”

Cloud frowned, her fingers stilling on the keys. “Why Icicle Village?”

“Hojo requested it.” Zack shrugged. “Didn’t say why.”

Silence lingered a moment, filled only by the clack of Cloud’s typing. Then Zack leaned in, voice quieter. “So… how’re things with you two?”

Cloud’s hands hesitated over the keys. Slowly, she smiled. “Good. He’s… good to me. Very understanding. Sweet.”

Zack barked a laugh. “Sweet. Never thought I’d hear that word used for Sephiroth. But… I’m glad. Honestly, I think he’s in love with you.”

Cloud froze, heart stuttering. “…In love?” she whispered. “How so?”

Zack’s grin softened. “Strife… Seph’s been alone his whole life. No friends, not really. No girlfriends, no boyfriends, nothing. Just duty to ShinRa. This… with you? It’s the first time he’s ever really let his hair down.”

Cloud stared at her screen, the letters blurring. She didn’t answer.

Zack kept going, gently. “I see how he looks at you. How he does things for you he’d never do for anyone else. He even breaks protocol for you. You know what that means? The guy who follows orders to the letter—bends rules just to keep you safe. He never even did that for me.”

Cloud’s hands hovered over the keyboard, then stilled. After a long pause, she whispered, “I can’t deny it. I feel… strongly for him. If anything happened to him, if we had to part, or if I were discovered and expelled from SOLDIER—I’d be wrecked. Completely. But…” She exhaled shakily. “I’m scared.”

Zack nodded slowly, his grin replaced by something steadier, more brotherly. “Yeah. That’s what love is like.”

Cloud stood stiffly before Heidgger’s desk, hands clasped behind her back, her voice flat and dutiful as she answered every question fired her way.

“Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. Understood.”

The reports were stacked neatly on the corner of the desk. Heidgger flipped through them with disinterest, grunting at intervals.

The door opened. Cloud turned her head—just slightly—and her heart jolted.

Sephiroth stepped inside, silver hair falling loose around his shoulders, uniform immaculate even after travel. For a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes when they met hers. Relief, warmth—something only she could see.

She swallowed hard, pulse quickening. Safe. He’s safe. Back.

Zack’s words from days ago echoed in her head. I think he’s in love with you. And now, standing here, she knew. She didn’t need Zack’s voice to tell her—she felt it in her chest, sharp and certain. She was in love with him.

“General Sephiroth,” Heidgger rumbled without looking up.

Sephiroth crossed the room with measured steps, laying a folder on the desk. “My report from Icicle Village. Hojo has already received his copy.”

“Good, good…” Heidgger muttered, rifling through another drawer. He produced a folder and shoved it across the desk. “Another assignment. In a few weeks’ time, you’ll go to Junon Base. More Class Twos to observe for promotion.”

Sephiroth inclined his head slightly. “Understood.”

“You’re both dismissed,” Heidgger said, already turning back to his papers.

They exited together, Cloud falling into step at his side. Their boots echoed down the long corridor, heads turning as SOLDIERs and staff whispered in awe. Two Class Ones—Sephiroth and the newest, youngest, and strangest of them—walking together like equals.

Cloud kept her face neutral, but heat pooled in her chest. The weight of his presence at her side, the knowledge of eyes on them—it was intoxicating.

They turned a corner, entering a quieter hall where the crowd thinned. Before she could register it, Sephiroth’s hand closed around her elbow. He yanked open the door of a supply closet and pulled her inside.

The door shut behind them. Cloud barely had time to gasp before her back hit the wood, and his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was hard, hungry—so different from the tentative brushes they’d shared before. His hands braced on either side of her shoulders, trapping her, his body pressing close. She gasped against his lips, her fingers curling into his coat, clutching him as if afraid he’d vanish again.

He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers with deliberate skill. A soft sound escaped her throat, muffled as he swallowed it eagerly. Her heart thundered in her chest, warmth flooding her body as he pressed closer still, one gloved hand finally dropping to grip her waist.

When they broke apart, both were panting, lips damp and swollen.

Sephiroth smirked, the expression dark and intimate, meant for her alone. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I missed you.”

Her blush burned hot, but her voice was steady. “I missed you too.”

His thumb brushed over her hip, lingering, before he straightened. “I have work to finish. Paperwork.” His gaze lingered on her lips. “But—come to my condo tonight. For dinner.”

Cloud’s breath caught. She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

He dipped down, kissing her once more—slower, savoring—before pulling back. Composure slid back into place like armor, though his smirk lingered, sharp and unmistakably hers.

He opened the door, stepping out first with his usual calm stride. She followed a moment later, cheeks flushed, hair mussed. They parted at the corridor’s end, walking in opposite directions as though nothing had happened.

Except everything had.

The smell of garlic and spices drifted through the small kitchen of Sephiroth’s condo. Cloud stood at the stove, humming softly under her breath as she stirred the pan. The tune was familiar—the tune—and it sent a ripple through him every time she sang it.

He leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, watching her. Eight months had passed since the Gold Saucer. What had begun as stolen glances and hesitant touches had become late-night sparring matches, quiet dinners, and long, innocent nights spent in each other’s beds when missions allowed. He remembered one ridiculous argument they’d had over whether chocobo curry should have raisins in it and another over which side of the training hall mats to roll first. Mundane things—stupid at the time—but they laughed about them now.

He knew, with a clarity that frightened him, that he had fallen for her. There was no denying it anymore.

Cloud’s hair had grown a little, soft spikes brushing the nape of her neck. She wore an old tee and loose sweatpants, barefoot, swaying slightly to the rhythm of her humming as she cooked. She looked every bit the SOLDIER and every bit the woman he’d come to crave—beautiful, unguarded, real.

There were times he wanted to push past the invisible line between them. Their kisses had grown steamy, their sparring matches turning into excuses for lingering touches. Nights lying beside her on assignment, her breath warm against his collarbone, had tested his restraint. But he had always pulled back, unsure if she was ready—or if he was.

She turned, catching him staring. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” he said simply.

Color rose in her cheeks. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and stretching up on her toes to brush his lips with hers—a quick, soft kiss. “Dinner’s ready.”

They made plates and sat at the small table, the overhead light casting a warm glow over their meal. They talked idly about the upcoming mission.

“There’s another trip in a month,” he said between bites. “Wutai. You’ll be joining me. Zack as well.”

Cloud tilted her head. “Wutai? What’s the objective?”

“Evaluation. More Class Twos for potential promotion.”

She hummed, filing it away.

When the dishes were washed and stacked, they drifted to the couch. Sephiroth sat at one end, and Cloud curled beside him, tucking one leg under herself.

“You heard from your mother?” he asked.

Cloud’s expression softened. “Yes. She wrote last week. Said Nibel Mountain has snow already. The garden survived the frost, though. And… the village treats her decently. Mostly. Same as always.”

He listened, letting her voice wash over him. Domestic. Ordinary. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until now.

When she fell quiet, she noticed he was staring at her again. She set her mug aside, shifted, and crawled into his lap, straddling him.

His mouth curved in a slow, private smirk as she leaned down. Their lips met—warm, familiar, deepening until the kiss turned hungry. His hands slid up her back, under the thin cotton of her shirt. She moaned softly into his mouth, rocking against him; his groan rumbled low in his chest.

Heat pooled between them. His palms moved to her front, then hesitated. He looked up at her, question in his eyes. She nodded.

His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing until she gasped. He kissed her again, trailing down her neck to her shoulder, nibbling lightly while kneading her softness. She rocked harder against him, feeling the proof of his desire pressing against her.

“Cloud…” he groaned against her skin. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?” she whispered against his mouth, kissing him again.

His grip tightened at her hips, holding her still as he rested his forehead against her collarbone. “I don’t want to ruin what we have. Not by rushing.”

She held his head to her chest, kissing his hair gently. “We do have something good. And I want it. With you.”

He looked up at her, eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. “Not now,” he said softly. “Soon.”

She nodded, brushing her thumb over his cheek. They kissed again—hot, hungry—until release found them in each other’s arms, a quiet, shuddering crest.

Sephiroth cupped her face, his thumb tracing her lower lip. His voice was rough. “I can’t deny it anymore. I’ve been in love with you. And now I’m selfish—whoever the last son is, you’re mine. I love you.”

Her eyes shone. She smiled, a trembling, luminous smile. “I love you too.”

They kissed again, slow and tender, then curled together on the couch, bodies still humming from the moment. Later, when they moved to the bedroom, he pulled her close as she drifted off against his chest.

He lay awake, watching her sleep, one hand brushing her hair back. He would fight for her. Fight the prophecy. Fight anyone who tries to take her away. If it came to it, he would die trying.

In another wing of ShinRa Headquarters, sterile light glowed across rows of data terminals. Dr. Hojo sat hunched at his desk, the hum of machinery a steady counterpoint to the scratch of his pen. He flipped through the Class One roster again, lips pressed thin.

“Three?” he murmured. “Impossible.”

The files did not lie—or rather, they should not have. Cloud Strife. Promotions logged—combat results on par with Class One. And yet, the medical records showed no entries for Mako infusions. Entire appointments simply… missing.

Hojo’s eyes narrowed. Someone had gone into the system and deleted requisitions with surgical precision. His fingers tapped against the folder, irritation tightening his features.

“Unstable data,” he muttered. “Or… interference.”

He scrawled a note in the margin: Investigate Strife. Cross-reference Icicle Village findings.

Closing the file with deliberate care, he slid it into a separate drawer marked for unresolved anomalies. His mind was already turning toward the next test, the next chance to peel away whatever was being hidden.

Another drawer sat locked, reinforced, never far from his reach. He let his fingers rest against the key without opening it. In time, perhaps. ShinRa’s crown jewel was showing signs of… independence. And independence was a dangerous trait.

A thin smile curved his lips. There were always contingencies.

Chapter Text

A year later, Sephiroth woke to sunlight spilling across his face, bright and warm against his skin. He rose, stretching his arms, and sidestepped the mess cluttering what had once been an immaculate room. Most of it wasn’t his. He smiled faintly as he picked up a book from the dresser, flipping through pages that unmistakably belonged to Cloud. Clothes lay tossed about, hers, mixed with his, evidence of last night’s hurried exit.

Cloud had stayed late after training, showering in his bathroom. When Zack had called, she’d scrambled for her things, grabbed the first clothes she could find, his, and bolted out.

He chuckled at the memory as he dressed, then crossed the hall and knocked on the door of Cloud and Zack’s apartment. Zack answered, hair sticking out in all directions, eyes half-shut.

“Morning,” he muttered, jerking his thumb toward Cloud’s closed bedroom door. “Still asleep. Whatever you two were doing last night, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Sephiroth smirked. “Nothing you think we were doing. I wouldn’t until we’re official. We trained late and missed dinner, so we ate in my apartment.”

“Uh-huh.” Zack yawned, shuffling to the counter to pour cold coffee. He grimaced after the first sip. “Like I said, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Sephiroth shook his head and stepped into Cloud’s room. She was still curled in bed, sunlight catching in her hair. He’d asked her to let it grow out since their first date, curious how the spikes would fare. His theory was only half-right; the strands now brushed her shoulders, tugging the wild tufts downward, but her bangs still stuck out in stubborn defiance. Cute, he thought privately.

He brushed a lock from her face, his fingertips trailing across her cheek before he bent to kiss her lightly.

“Mmm, that’s nice…” she whispered, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Morning.” Stretching like a cat, she sat up and blinked at his full black uniform and polished armor. “What’s with the uniform?”

“You forget we have a mission today?” His gaze swept her room, unimpressed at the lack of order. “You have less than an hour to pack.”

Cloud bolted upright, wide-eyed. “Oh no, the mission!” She scrambled around the room, yanking clothes from drawers and tossing them onto the bed in a heap.

Sephiroth leaned against the frame, watching her whirl in nothing but a tank top and boyish undergarments, which she always favored. She hopped on one foot, trying to pull on trousers, when another pair smacked him in the face. He caught them, eyed the tag, and frowned.

“Zack’s pants?”

“What about my pants?” Zack’s voice drifted in as he leaned through the doorway, catching sight of Cloud’s struggle with a black crew tank.

“These are yours. They’ve shrunk.” Sephiroth held up the trousers, far too small for Zack’s frame.

“What...” Zack snatched them back, rifling through the pile of clothes scattered on the floor. “Cloud! Half of this is mine!”

She shrugged, tugging her shirt over her head. “Too small for you. Fits me just fine.”

Sephiroth chuckled as Zack continued his hunt. “Who does the washing?”

Zack pointed accusingly at Cloud. Sephiroth made a mental note never to trust her with laundry.

“That’s the last time I let you touch it,” Zack grumbled, pulling free another shirt clearly his.

“They all look the same!” she shot back, grabbing him by the arm and steering him toward the bathroom. “Go pack, we’ve got to leave.”

“I’m already ready.” Zack grinned, unbothered.

“Good for you. Now let me finish.” Cloud shoved the last of her things into a duffel, somehow fitting more than seemed possible. She paused. “Exactly where are we going?”

“Nibelheim,” Sephiroth said.

She froze. “Nibelheim? My hometown?”

“Yes.” His voice softened. He remembered her unease a year ago at the mention of returning. “The assignment came from ShinRa. We have no choice.”

Her shoulders sank, but she nodded. “All right. I suppose… it’ll be good to see my mother again.”

Zack plucked the summon paper off the desk and handed it to her. “Next time, read the whole page. I made that mistake once, nearly botched the mission.”

Cloud scanned the report. “Reactor problem… attracting monsters…” She looked up, her voice quieter. “I thought the reactor closed down years ago, after my father died.”

“It did. However, it still draws Mako for unexplained reasons. We’re shutting it down for good this time. Hojo requested the mission personally. Suspicious.” Sephiroth’s tone hardened. “Only the Elites are assigned. A Class Two will accompany us; it’s his trial run for promotion. He’s skilled, but untested.”

Cloud exhaled slowly. “Just a weekend. I can manage.” She stuffed the paper into her bag.

“You’ll go as a female this time,” Zack reminded, picking up her duffel. “Remember our plan for the board on Monday.”

They’d agreed to finally confront the SOLDIERs Board with Cloud’s truth, to secure a pardon that would let her remain in Class One. Sephiroth had a contingency, should it fail, one that could cost them all their careers. He hadn’t shared it yet.

“I have to go,” Sephiroth said, turning for the door.

“Must you?” Cloud asked, meaning Hojo.

He touched her cheek briefly, a rare gesture. “Yes. If I skip, he’ll send the Turks after me. You’ll have to face the same soon enough. I’ll be there.”

“I just don’t like seeing you sick.”

“Nor I.” His hand dropped, and he allowed himself a small, private smile. “Don’t forget your bandages.” His finger flicked lightly against her chest, making her squeak.

“Yeah, yeah. Go already.” She shoved him out the door, then turned back to dig for a fresh roll of binding.

Cloud groaned, one arm wrapped around her stomach as the truck jolted along the uneven road. Her skin had taken on a sickly green tint. She slumped against a supply crate, opposite Zack and another Class Two SOLDIER, John Mercer.

Zack, restless as always, bounced a little on the bench despite the cramped canvas space. John edged farther away from Cloud, casting her wary sidelong glances.

“Hey,” Zack leaned toward her, his grin crooked. “How are you holding up?”

Cloud raised her head weakly, her face even paler than before. She waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. I’ll get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Zack shrugged. “Never had motion sickness.” He tipped his chin at John. “How about you?”

John shook his head quickly, still staring.

“Zack, settle down,” Sephiroth’s voice carried from the front. He reached back, tossing a small box. “Give her this.”

“Her?” John muttered, frowning as Zack caught the box. His eyes flicked to Cloud, then lingered, surprise flashing across his face. He’d seen Strife before, shorter, flat-chested, sharper angles. Now… different. Softer. He blinked, unsettled. “What the hell…? You don’t look like you used to. Magic?”

Cloud snatched the pill from Zack and swallowed it without answering. “Please tell me this isn’t laced with Mako.”

Sephiroth turned the box over in his hand, scanning the label. “It is. Designed for SOLDIER.” He glanced back briefly, catching the faint glow in her eyes. “Temporary. The effect fades in a day.”

“She’s a girl?” John blurted, his voice louder than he meant. “I thought Strife was a guy. A SOLDIER.”

Sephiroth, still facing forward: “Yes. In Nibelheim, Strife presents as female. Less risk of contradiction.”

John blinked. “You’re a...” He cut himself off as Cloud met his eyes.

Sephiroth’s tone stayed even. “You’re first up for Class One, Mercer. Treat this as part of your trial. You will keep what you learn on mission strictly need-to-know.”

A beat. John nodded once. “Understood.” He slid his canteen across to Cloud. “Here. Helps with the taste.”

Zack burst out laughing. “Long story. You’re one of the first to know, so congrats.”

“Whatever,” John muttered, still watching Cloud like she might sprout wings.

“We’re close now,” the driver called back.

“Good.” Sephiroth faced forward again. “Expect resistance.”

Zack’s grin widened. He nearly bounced off the bench. “Perfect. Got some new materia. Can’t wait to test it.”

Sephiroth’s reply came with cool amusement. “Like a child.”

“So what’s the mission briefing again?” Zack asked.

“This isn’t routine.” Sephiroth didn’t turn his head. “The Nibel reactor is malfunctioning. The output is unstable, attracting aggressive creatures. Our task is to eliminate them, locate the source of the problem, and shut it down permanently. Simple enough, even for you, Zack.”

“Hey, I’m not stupid.”

“I only said immature.”

Zack shot him a glare. Cloud muffled a snicker behind her hand. John stared between the two in open disbelief. He’d heard rumors about the General’s camaraderie with Zack, but seeing it firsthand was another matter.

Cloud shrugged tiredly, “Get used to it. They’re like that.” 

Time passed in fits of silence. Cloud leaned her head against her knees, fighting off the last wave of nausea. Zack juggled his materia lazily until John finally dozed.

Sephiroth glanced back once more, his voice low. “How is she?”

Zack brushed a strand of blond hair from Cloud’s face, noting she’d drifted into light sleep. “Holding up. She wasn’t thrilled about coming back here, though. Especially not like this.” His tone dropped. “Why insist on it?”

“The mission was unavoidable. And it coincides with our plan to reveal her.” Sephiroth’s gaze lingered on Cloud. His voice was quieter still. “I fear the prophecy is moving. I hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. Hojo requested this assignment personally. That alone is reason enough to tread carefully.”

Zack’s mouth tightened. “So he’s finally sniffing around.”

Sephiroth did not answer, turning back to the road. His face was unreadable.

Moments later, the truck jolted violently, nearly tipping to one side.

“Sir, something hit us!” the driver shouted.

Sephiroth leapt down, Masamune flashing free in a single fluid motion. “Our first monster.”

Zack jumped out beside him, grinning with the thrill of it. He waved Cloud and John back. “Stay put.”

The ground shook as a massive red dragon burst through the trees, towering several stories high. Its tail whipped, catching Zack and throwing him hard to the ground.

Sephiroth moved like lightning, Masamune cleaving in a single arc. The dragon shrieked before collapsing in a torrent of hot blood, splattered across the gravel as the carcass crumpled. Silence fell in its wake, broken only by the crackle of settling flames.

Cloud and John stared from the truck bed, wide-eyed at the effortless display of power.

Sephiroth dragged Zack back by the collar and tossed him onto the truck. Zack groaned, rubbing his head as John worked a Cure materia over him.

“Whoa…” Zack muttered.

Sephiroth gave his leg a light pat. “How’s that for a warm-up?”

Zack shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Nibelheim, small and quaint, lay eerily quiet under the looming shadow of the mountain. A faint green vapor hung in the air, the stench of Mako acrid and sour, seeping into every breath. Though light glowed from the windows, the streets were empty, the whole town feeling more like an abandoned stage set than a thriving community.

The truck stopped outside the gate. Sephiroth stepped down first, his long coat stirring in the breeze as he studied the view before him. Barely a hundred and fifty souls still lived here, where once thousands had thrived, before the reactor claimed them. From the gate, he could see nearly the entire layout of the town stretched along the road, a pale shadow of its former self. Beyond, Nibel Mountain towered: jagged, dark, its peaks sharp as blades. He wondered idly if it had once been beautiful, capped in clean snow, before it became what it was now, a foreboding place no sane man would traverse.

“How does it feel? Coming back after so long?” His voice was quiet, but he already knew Cloud stood just behind him.

She had shed the bandages before they left the truck. With Zack’s shrunken black uniform jacket over her frame, her figure was unmistakably female again. Her hair had grown out over the past year; though she still tied it back, golden strands brushed her shoulders, catching what little light lingered in the air. Her eyes, bright and unguarded, gleamed an almost ethereal blue against the bleak backdrop.

John glanced at her once, then again, more sharply this time. His brow furrowed, lips moving in a half-whisper: “Magic… you don’t look like you used to.” He said no more, but kept watching her with the unsettled suspicion of a man who’d just seen the rules change without warning.

Cloud ignored him, her gaze on the familiar rooftops. “Strange,” she admitted softly. “It’s been nearly four years. I’m a SOLDIER, I shouldn’t fear this. But I do.”

Sephiroth’s profile was calm, unreadable. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t really have a hometown.”

“Weren’t you born here?” Cloud asked quietly.

“Yes.” His voice was almost flat. “But I was taken to Midgar, raised under Hojo’s care. He told me her name was Jenova. But I knew it was Lucrecia Brown.” His mouth tightened as if even speaking the name left a bitter taste. “What does it matter? She’s long gone.”

Cloud’s heart squeezed, but she didn’t press. She remembered the nights he had admitted, in rare private moments, that all he had of his parents were sterile files and data sheets, clinical fragments instead of memories. He had once confessed he would give anything just to know them, but the chance had long since slipped away.

So instead, she nodded and shifted the subject. “Best not to confuse anyone. Call me Sorano here. They all know Cloud Strife as a boy.”

Sephiroth met her eyes and inclined his head. Zack gave his usual easy nod of agreement, while John still looked like he was chewing on more questions than he could ask.

“All right. Let’s move.”

Cloud fell in step, Zack to her right and John to her left. John muttered under his breath, “Figures I’d draw the first watch. Boring.”

Zack chuckled. “Don’t count on it. Something’s bound to happen here.”

“The Mako stench is heavy,” Sephiroth said, wrinkling his nose. “Rotting.”

Cloud sniffed the air and grimaced. It hadn’t been like this the last time she was home.

“Quiet,” Zack added as they reached the square. The tall water tower rose stark against the sky, but not a single soul walked the streets. He finally spotted a woman darting between houses, her eyes fixed on them, fearful, distrustful. “Guess they’re hiding from the monsters.”

“No.” Cloud’s voice was low. “They’re afraid of us. ShinRa sends SOLDIER for the reactor; it’s always been a curse on the town.”

Sephiroth nodded once, then turned toward the inn. “We leave for the reactor at dawn. One lookout on rotation, six-hour shifts. The rest of you get some rest.” He paused, glanced back toward Cloud, and allowed the smallest of smiles to tug at his mouth. “Sorano, you may visit with your family.” His tone was formal, almost ceremonial.

Zack clapped her lightly on the head, earning a glare. “I’ll poke around, see what the locals say.”

Cloud batted his hand away. “You do that. I’ll check on Mom.” She glanced across the square to the small house near the mountain path, its windows warm with light. Beyond it, looming and ominous, the abandoned Shinra Mansion stood like a sentinel at the edge of town.

“I heard General Sephiroth was coming, so I got my camera ready.”

Zack turned, spotting a man stepping out from a shop beside the inn. The man’s eyes were wide with excitement. Sephiroth’s reputation drew attention wherever he went.

“Better get back inside, it’s dangerous out here,” Zack said easily, motioning toward the shop.

The man’s shoulders slumped. “All right…” He shuffled back inside, leaving Zack to poke around after him, curiosity getting the better of him.

Cloud lingered at the edge of the square, her gaze drawn to the familiar little house across the way. She smoothed her uniform, brushing off invisible dust, then tugged at the strap that held her sword in place. Without her bindings, her shirt stretched uncomfortably across her chest, and she frowned at the thought of her mother’s reaction. Adjusting her shoulder armor one last time, she drew in a steadying breath and pushed open the door.

The warmth of home rushed to meet her. The air was thick with the sweet scent of Luchile nut bread baking, and from the kitchen came the faint, familiar hum of her mother’s song.

Cloud cleared her throat softly. She hadn’t set foot here in four years, and now she found herself standing still, unsure how to begin.

Her mother turned, wiping her hands on her apron. For a moment, her eyes narrowed with caution at the sight of a strange woman in uniform, then recognition struck. She gasped, stepping forward. “Cloud? Oh, welcome home!” She gathered her daughter into a fierce hug.

“Hi, Mom,” Cloud whispered, smiling as she returned the embrace.

Freya pulled back, circling her daughter with a mother’s keen eye. “Look at you. You’ve grown so much! And…” Her brow furrowed as she took in Cloud’s figure. “I thought you said you were masquerading as a male?”

Cloud laughed, a little sheepish. “I was. Not anymore. I’ll be telling the SOLDIER Board about my situation soon.” She stumbled over the last word, unsure what to call it, then slipped the sword from her back and leaned it by the door before sinking onto the couch.

Freya joined her, still smiling. “I’m amazed you lasted four years without being discovered. So, what brings you home?”

Cloud toyed with a pillow, exhaling. “I’m here with the others for the reactor.”

Freya’s expression darkened in thought. “But I heard General Sephiroth was coming with his Elites…” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh my, you’re one of them now?”

“Yes.” Cloud straightened a little. “First Class. For the past year. Sephiroth and Zack were the ones who pushed me to come clean with ShinRa. They’ll back me up if anything happens.”

“Sephiroth? As in the General? And Zack, your old roommate?”

Cloud nodded. “Yes. They know. It was… an accident they found out. But we’ve been close ever since.”

“That’s wonderful.” Freya softened, her voice tender. “They treat you well?”

“Better than anyone.” Cloud smiled faintly. Then she remembered, fumbling in her pocket for a small cardboard roll. “I meant to send this, but ShinRa inspects everything. I didn’t want to risk it being found.”

Freya unrolled the image inside and gasped. It was a picture of Cloud and Sephiroth, taken at the Gold Saucer on their first date. Sephiroth’s arm was firm around her waist, both of them smiling, caught in a rare moment of unguarded joy.

“You look so beautiful,” Freya breathed. “And this is General Sephiroth?”

Cloud’s cheeks burned. “Yes, Mom. We’ve been dating in secret for about a year.”

“Oh, my.” Freya’s eyes twinkled as she glanced back at the image. “He’s very handsome.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Cloud rose quickly and opened it, only to find Sephiroth standing there.

Freya whisked off her apron and smoothed her skirt before offering a smile.

“Seph, come in.” Cloud took his hand and led him inside.

“Much handsomer in person,” Freya said lightly, though her sharp eyes studied him far deeper than her smile suggested.

For a heartbeat, Sephiroth’s usual cold demeanor held, but then it softened into something warmer, almost tentative. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Strife.” His gaze flicked to the photo still in her hand. “Ah… so you’ve finally shown her.”

Cloud nodded. “She knows now. Sit with us?” She guided him to the couch, settling beside him.

Freya disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a tray of Luchile nut bread, a pitcher of tea, and cups that clinked faintly as she set them down. She poured and handed Sephiroth a cup, but did not sit immediately. Instead, she hovered, her eyes fixed on him.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” Sephiroth said, bowing his head slightly.

Freya didn’t answer at once. Her hand trembled faintly as she pressed it to her apron. “Lucrecia…” she whispered.

Sephiroth froze.

Cloud’s brow creased. “Mom?”

“I met her once,” Freya murmured, almost to herself. Her gaze drifted into memory. “Lucrecia Jenova Crescent, that was her true name. She was one of us. A Valkyrie, reborn from the ancient one before the Calamity. I should have realized the moment I saw you.”

Sephiroth’s breath hitched. “Crescent? But the files… they only said Brown.”

Freya nodded. “She changed her name to protect herself. And when Dr. Gast recorded her words, she gave only the alias J.L.—her initials reversed—so Hojo would never piece it together. But I remember her face. And I see her again, in you. You are her son, the Last Son.”

Cloud’s hand gripped Sephiroth’s. Her voice was hushed, trembling. “Then… it really is you.”

Relief flickered across Sephiroth’s features, the weight of years of doubt breaking at last.

Freya sat at last, her eyes still on Sephiroth, steady and unflinching. “The prophecy spoke of a Daughter and a Son who would meet, drawn together, bound by fate. I thought, feared, you might lose her, Cloud. But no… It’s you, Sephiroth. You’re the one. Lucrecia’s boy. And the Daughter is already by your side.”

Sephiroth exhaled, some long-held knot loosening in his chest. For months, perhaps years, he had braced for the moment he might be forced to let Cloud go to some faceless figure of prophecy. Now, hearing Freya’s words, he felt that fear melt into fierce certainty.

Cloud’s fingers squeezed his. She looked from one to the other, heart pounding.

“Then…” Sephiroth said slowly, a faint, almost incredulous smile tugging at his lips, “I don’t have to lose her.”

Freya’s eyes softened. “No. Your paths were meant to cross. Whatever comes next, you face it together.”

Cloud sat very still, her fingers still laced with Sephiroth’s. Then she seemed to remember herself and shifted awkwardly. “Uh, Mom… there’s more.” She glanced at Zack, who had been hovering by the door. “Do you have the tome?”

“Yeah.” Zack stepped in, closed the door, and dug through his pack to produce the weathered book. He handed it over with uncharacteristic solemnity.

Cloud passed the tome to Freya, her hands almost steady.
“Sephiroth found this in Midgar. It belonged to Dr. Gast. We’ve been studying it. I… well, we figured that the Last Daughter was me. You and I are Valkyries, that much I knew.”

Freya took the tome in trembling hands, unrolling the aged cover with reverence. Her breath caught sharply. “This… I thought it was lost forever.” She looked from the text back to Sephiroth, her face pale but resolute. “And now, with you sitting here, it’s undeniable. Lucrecia’s son and my daughter. The Last Son and the Last Daughter.”

Sephiroth’s jaw tightened at the name, but this time it didn’t sour as before. Instead, he inclined his head, accepting it. “So it’s true. I always feared the Last Son would be someone else, that fate would take her from me.” His gaze flicked toward Cloud, then back to Freya. “But you’ve confirmed what I could not allow myself to believe.”

Freya reached out and clasped both of their hands together over the tome. “The prophecy is not about separation, it is about union. Together, you will either destroy this world or restore it. That choice has always belonged to the two of you, not to ShinRa, not to Hojo.”

Cloud swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “So it’s us.”

“Yes.” Freya’s eyes glistened as she gave her daughter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “The Valkyrie blood runs in you both. I feared this moment, but seeing you together… I find hope instead of dread.”

Freya’s eyes lingered on them both, her voice hushed but steady. “The Valkyrie blood runs strong in you. But it is not only the prophecy you need to know. There is something else, something this town has never forgotten.”

She set the tome gently aside, her hands folding in her lap. For a long moment, she stared into the fire, the flickering light deepening the lines of her face.

“It began the night the reactor was finished,” she said at last. “The sky was black with storm. Every bolt set, every panel sealed, and yet the cost was lives, one man for every day of construction. We thought it was a coincidence at first, but the deaths kept coming. By the end, fear had hollowed the town.”

Cloud sat forward, her chest tight. She had heard whispers of this but never the full telling.

“That night, when the workers finally laid down their tools, a man stumbled from the inn, drunk, soaked to the bone. He swore he saw a woman standing in the square. Long golden hair, eyes like fire in the storm, her white gown untouched by rain. She pointed to him, and her voice carried over the thunder: Destruction shall fall upon this sinful town. Then she vanished in a strike of lightning.”

Freya’s eyes grew distant. “The man was found at dawn, sitting where she had stood. His hair had turned white, his mind shattered. From then on, Nibelheim feared women with golden hair and blue eyes. To them, we were omens of ruin.”

Cloud shivered, her hand unconsciously tightening on Sephiroth’s. “That’s why they always looked at me like that…”

Freya nodded slowly. “Yes. I also endured it when I first arrived. They never forgave the vision. To them, the Valkyries are demons in human skin.”

She looked back at Sephiroth, her expression sharpening. “But you, Lucrecia’s son, your birth was foretold as surely as hers. The Last Son and the Last Daughter, born to end what Jenova began.”

Sephiroth felt the crushing weight of destiny lift, if only slightly. His voice was low, almost reverent. “So I do not lose her.”

“No.” Freya reached across the table and touched his hand firmly. “You find each other. And together, you decide how the story ends.”

Zack shook his head, half in awe. “Whoa. That’d scare the hell out of me if I saw something like that. But… why stay here, knowing the town fears you?”

Freya folded her hands in her lap, her expression calm but edged with old hurt. “I came here with my husband, along with other scientists from ShinRa, nineteen years ago. The villagers ridiculed me, tried to drive me out. Only when my husband told them I was a foreigner from another country, no demon, no myth, did they relent. In time, they tolerated me. But I never told them the truth. That I was what they feared.”

Her gaze softened as it fell on Cloud. “When I became pregnant, the whispers grew louder. They said I carried a demon.”

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. “And the child was born?”

Freya rubbed her face, weary with the memory. “There was a doctor, Doctor Halden, in town. He checked on me often, ensuring I reached full term. But it wasn’t long...”

“Three months,” Zack interjected quietly.

Freya blinked at him in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Please,” Zack said gently, “go on. We’ll explain after.”

She inclined her head. “Three months, and then the night came. When Cloud was born, Doctor Halden wrapped her in a blanket and went pale as ash. He asked me if I was Valkyrie. I couldn’t answer. He only nodded, as if he already knew. He had seen the truth in her. We left two days later, and no one was ever allowed a proper look at the child. By the time we returned four years later, Cloud was already assumed to be a boy, and no one questioned it. The doctor, poor man, died just days after we left. His last words were confused, but clear enough: Beware of the girl.”

Cloud swallowed, uneasy at the weight of it.

Sephiroth leaned forward, his voice even. “He wasn’t wrong. According to the tome, the prophecy says Cloud and I will bring both destruction and peace. We don’t know how.” He reached into his coat and withdrew the old disc. “My mother, Lucrecia Brown, Lucrecia Jenova Brown, spoke of this. She carried me for three months, just as Valkyrie women bear their children. She said I was the Son of the Valkyrie, and that I would meet Cloud in Midgar. The rest… we pieced together ourselves. And yes, everything is falling into place.”

Freya’s eyes glistened with the weight of recognition. “Yes. I thought the time would come much later, when Cloud was older. But I was wrong. It’s upon us now. It will fall to you both to end Jenova and restore this world to its rightful order.”

She turned to her daughter, clasping Cloud’s hands firmly. “I am proud of you, no matter what. Remember this always: forgiveness is the greater form of love.”

Cloud’s throat tightened. “Mom… what do you mean?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.” Freya turned then to Sephiroth, her eyes sharp, almost seer-bright. “And you, I give you my blessing. Take care of my little angel.”

Sephiroth, caught off guard, inclined his head with rare sincerity. “I will. You have my word.”

“Please, call me Freya,” she said warmly. Her gaze shifted to Zack. “And you too. You’ve been as much a brother to her as any blood kin. I feel as if you are my son as well.”

Zack’s grin softened. “Thanks, ma’am, Freya.”

She clapped her hands lightly, the heaviness in the air giving way to homely warmth. “Now. Enough of prophecies. Stay for dinner.”

The three SOLDIERs exchanged a glance and nodded. Together, they followed her into the kitchen, helping to set the table, the conversation easing toward lighter things, Cloud’s clumsy cooking attempts, Zack’s antics, small memories Freya cherished from Cloud’s letters. For a little while, prophecy and fear gave way to something simpler, a home.

Chapter Text

“You have questions,” Freya said as she moved about the kitchen, stacking dishes, though her eyes were far away.

Sephiroth inclined his head. “Yes.”

“It’s about Cloud.” She turned, studying him with an unblinking gaze.

He hesitated. “Partly. But also… about what my mother left unsaid. In the recordings, she spoke of Megamiki and Madoshi, the Son and the Daughter, the Queen and the King. I understand the titles. But the rest… I cannot see how it fits.”

Freya’s hands stilled in the dishwater. She gave a low chuckle, though it carried no mirth. “Your mother saw further than I ever could. She bore the curse of sight clearly, cruelly. I only glimpse pieces. She could see the whole weave at will. That is what made her strong, and what made her suffer.”

Sephiroth passed her another dish, his voice low. “And what of Megamiki and Madoshi?”

“Their suffering will mirror yours and Cloud’s,” Freya said simply. “What they endured, you will endure. And what freed them will free you both. Your fates are bound. That much, I have seen.” She sighed, wringing her hands in the towel. “It is the King and Queen part that troubles you.”

“Yes.” He frowned. “ShinRa rules the planet, with SOLDIERs. Wutai alone clings to monarchy. I cannot see how, ”

“Things are changing.” Freya’s eyes darkened, as if she were staring through the walls into something farther away. “The destruction of Nibelheim, yes, the book speaks of that. But there is more. My mother, and her mother before her, foresaw what the tome never recorded. The Dark Ruler will fall. The prophecy is riddled with holes, Sephiroth. What you’ve read is but fragments. Yet in the end… all will be set right. I once told Cloud: Bad situations are illusions. Even ruin hides the seed of redemption.”

He stood silent, brow furrowed.

Freya set down the towel and fixed him with a steady gaze. “There is something else you hunger to know.”

He swallowed. “On the disk. The name J.L., why did she hide herself so carefully? Was it truly Lucrecia?”

For a long moment, Freya said nothing. Then she drew a breath. “Simple, and not simple. Who was your mother reincarnated from?”

The question struck him still. His voice was a whisper. “Jenova…? No. That cannot be.”

Freya’s lips pressed thin. “It is true. Jenova the Valkyrie, long before the Calamity wore her stolen face. She fought the invaders two thousand years ago, even while carrying a child in her womb. To protect that child, she sacrificed herself, traded her own soul with the alien ones that sought to consume it. The child survived, but her own essence was bound into flesh that was no longer hers. She walked this planet as Lucrecia Jenova Crescent. For two millennia, she wandered, waiting for the vision she saw to come to pass. And in birthing you, she finally laid her burden down.”

Sephiroth staggered back a step, as if the words themselves struck. “Two thousand years… My mother lived… all that time? And that makes me…”

“Her son, yes. And Jenova’s grandson. Megamiki’s blood runs in you. You are the Last Son, Sephiroth. That is why the prophecies cling to you.” Her voice softened. “Valkyries are not like mortals. We are children of the gods. Long-lived. Long-suffering.”

He stared, shaken. “And Hojo… what did he do to me? Why?”

Freya shook her head. “That, I cannot see. Only that what you will uncover will shatter you. Be strong when it comes. Remember what I say now: your worth is not written by his hand.”

Cloud’s laughter with Zack drifted from the other room, breaking the hush.

Freya stepped closer, placing her palms on either side of Sephiroth’s face, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with knowing. “I forgive you, for what you will do.”

The words sank into him like ice. He searched her face, but she only smiled faintly as Cloud’s footsteps approached.

Cloud poked her head in. “Sephiroth! Time to head back.”

Freya released him. He allowed Cloud to tug him toward the door, but glanced back once, unsettled.

At the threshold, Freya stood framed in the lamplight, watching them cross the square. Her voice followed them, soft as prayer to the night.

“Your son came home, my friend. It has begun.”

Midnight rolled around. Cloud stirred from her bed and glanced across the room, finding Luke had returned from his watch and was asleep in the next bed. Zack was gone, likely taking the next shift.

She slipped out into the hall and found Sephiroth standing at the window, moonlight silvering his hair and shoulders. A small table nearby held several cups and a pot of hot water. Cloud poured herself a tea in silence, noticing one untouched cup near him.

“What are you looking at?” she whispered.

He blinked at her voice, shifting slightly as though waking from thought. “The scenery.” His gaze returned to the dark landscape, which was pale under the nearly full moon. “Though I was born here, I was not raised here. Yet it feels… as if I know this place already.”

Cloud smiled faintly, leaning her head against his chest as she sipped her tea. “Maybe it’s our blood. Valkyries carry memory in their bones. Sometimes it calls to us.”

His hand drifted to her hair, stroking the golden strands. “Maybe you’re right.” They stood together in silence, gazing out at the vast Nibel grasslands that rolled into jagged mountains.

After a time, he sighed, breaking the stillness. “Come, we should sleep if we want an early start.” He offered her a soft smile before turning toward his door.

Cloud hesitated at hers, watching him.

“I’ve hired a guide to the Mako reactor for tomorrow. I’ve heard that she’s young. I hope she is reliable. Good night, ástin mín.” With a gentle kiss to her lips and a final nod, he slipped into his room.

She smiled to herself and closed her door, letting sleep take her when she crawled into bed.

Inside his room, Sephiroth sat heavily on the bed, turning a small black box over in his hand. Freya’s words still echoed in his mind: I forgive you, for what you will do. He could not make sense of them. He only knew that time was closing in, and soon.

At last, he rose, clutching the box, and moved silently into the next room. His Mako-bright eyes swept the beds: Luke was fast asleep. Cloud lay near the door, her breath soft and steady.

Kneeling beside her, he studied her face, the pale glow of her hair in the moonlight, the gentleness of her features at rest. He reached out, brushing his fingers over her hand. Slowly, carefully, he slipped a silver ring onto her finger, its gem catching the faintest glint of green in the dark. His thumb lingered there, memorizing the warmth of her skin.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her, torn between tenderness and the weight of all he had learned. Then he set the empty black box on her night table and slipped silently from the room.

Outside, Zack sat on the inn steps, Buster Sword balanced across his knees. He yawned and glanced up at the second-floor windows, thoughts drifting to his two best friends.

A grin tugged his lips. He knew Sephiroth’s plan, the proposal set for their first anniversary tomorrow. The news would shake ShinRa, maybe even the planet itself. Sephiroth, the most untouchable bachelor, gave his heart away.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. Zack’s grin softened into a sigh. “Good luck, you two.”

Zack stood next to Luke outside the abandoned mansion at the mouth of the mountain path. Sephiroth stood apart, speaking with two men from the town. His profile was as unreadable as ever, though Cloud sensed something different, an edge to his stillness, a restraint wound tight. The conversation with Freya weighed on him; she could see it, even if he would never say so aloud.

Cloud jogged up at last, a little out of breath. “Sorry,” she puffed, tugging at her collar. Under her breath, she muttered, “Somebody hid my boots.”

Zack gave an exaggerated whistle, grinning like a child caught red-handed. Sephiroth’s green eyes cut toward him, sharp enough to silence the amusement.

“Once the guide arrives, we move,” the General said simply, voice flatter than usual.

Cloud swatted Zack hard on the arm before falling into line beside him. Luke, watching the exchange, blinked in confusion as Zack winced and rubbed his shoulder.

From the inn, a stern-faced man approached. Cloud’s breath caught, Mr. Lockhart. He looked older than she remembered, but unmistakable. His expression hardened as he stopped before Sephiroth.

“Listen to me, Sephiroth.”

The name earned a glare, but he pressed on, his voice rough with paternal fear. “If something happens…”

Sephiroth lifted a hand, cutting him off with effortless authority. “Trust me.”

Before Lockhart could argue, a young woman strode up, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll be all right, Dad. I have them to watch out for me.”

Cloud’s heart lurched.

She wore a wide-brimmed hat, a white shirt with a red fringed jacket, and shorts to match. She turned, bright and smiling, as if danger meant nothing. “I’m Tifa. Nice to meet you!” Her wink landed squarely on Zack, who grinned back.

Zack gestured to each person in the party, “General Sephiroth, Class Two Luke Mercer, Class One Sorano Borough,” He supplied without a beat, “and myself, Class One Zack Fair, at your service.” He gave a gallant bow. Tifa laughed. 

Cloud stared, stunned. Tifa? Four years ago, she’d been a child at the edge of town. Now she was their guide. Relief swept through her when Tifa’s eyes passed over her without a flicker of recognition. Still, something in the girl’s gaze lingered, caught by the blond hair, the bright blue eyes.

“You’re the guide?” Cloud asked softly.

Tifa gave a low whistle. “A woman in SOLDIER? Didn’t think ShinRa allowed that.” She paced around Cloud, curiosity edged with something sharper. Cloud saw the flicker in her eyes—the unease, the old superstition. Blond hair. Blue eyes. The things Nibelheim had learned to fear. But Tifa only laughed it off and lifted her chin. “Anyway, you’re in good hands. I’m the best guide there is.”

Cloud forced a polite nod, tension twisting in her chest. Zack, sharp as ever, caught her unease. His brow lifted, silently mouthing, “That’s her?” Cloud gave the barest nod in return. Yes, this was the same girl from the Midgar gang he’d once mentioned.

She leaned in close and whispered, “Borough?”

Zack shrugged, “Do you want me to say your last name?” 

“Right,” Cloud muttered. 

“Let’s go,” Sephiroth said at last. The words were steady, but Cloud heard the strain beneath them. She longed to reach for him, to loosen that weight he carried—but not here. Not where others could see.

Luke hurried ahead after Tifa, eager to keep pace. The rest followed, only to be halted by another villager rushing forward, clutching a camera and begging for a photograph.

The villager, hands trembling on his camera, pleaded for a picture. His eyes darted between Sephiroth and the others as if desperate to capture proof they had ever come here.

Tifa laughed easily, slipping closer to the General. “What do you think, Sorano? Will your boss allow it?”

Cloud stiffened. Boss? Her eyes flicked to Sephiroth, unsure.

Sephiroth’s expression didn’t shift, but Cloud noticed the faintest roll of his eyes, annoyance, or perhaps unease. “Be quick about it,” he said, his tone clipped.

Tifa immediately looped her arm through his, beaming at the camera. Sephiroth did not return the smile. Cloud smirked faintly as she stepped up beside him, a little defiance in her posture. Zack and Luke fell in behind, completing the arrangement.

The flash burst, stark against the gray daylight. For an instant, the shadows seemed deeper, the mountain looming closer.

The man wasn’t finished. “One more! Just the SOLDIERs—it’s not often we get three Elites!”

Tifa chirped an apology and bustled out of frame, her smile never wavering. Sephiroth stayed planted, his stance casual but his eyes far away. Zack, catching a flicker of something grim in his friend’s face, nudged Luke out of the next shot. The three Firsts stood together, the lens freezing them in time, Sephiroth unreadable, Cloud solemn, Zack forcing seriousness into his usually bright features.

The flash burst once more, catching them off guard. Sephiroth had turned in that instant, his gaze fixed on Cloud, not with his usual reserve, but with something softer, almost protective. Cloud’s eyes were on him, her expression marked with quiet concern that slipped past her usual discipline.

It was a heartbeat, nothing more, a moment too brief for either of them to notice. But the lens caught it, freezing the exchange in silver and light.

The photographer blinked, lowering his camera with a furrowed brow. He opened his mouth as if to comment, then seemed to think better of it. “That’ll do,” he muttered.

Sephiroth was already moving on, unreadable once more. Cloud fell in step behind him, unaware of what had been captured. The photo would vanish into a drawer, then into years of dust and silence, until the day someone uncovered it again.

“Great, thank you!” the man called, though his voice cracked oddly, as if the weight of what he’d just captured pressed on him. He shuffled off, muttering something about making copies.

Tifa skipped at the front, her chatter filling the silence. Sephiroth followed, his coat whispering against his legs, eyes fixed on the jagged path ahead. Behind, Cloud and Zack trailed, Luke pale and uneasy. The villagers’ stares still clung to them like cobwebs, blond hair, blue eyes, unnatural green—omens of ruin.

The mountain swallowed them quickly. Clouds thickened overhead, muting the sun, the air colder with every step. The sharp scent of Mako seeped from the rocks, sour and metallic.

The path wound higher; vegetation thinned into bare stone, jagged and cruel. Wind swept down the slopes, keening like a voice too old to form words.

Two hours into the climb, they reached the bridge.

It spanned a black chasm, with ropes frayed and planks gray and brittle with age. The wind howled through the gorge, making the bridge groan as though alive.

Cloud frowned, unease twisting in her gut. Zack edged closer, voice low. “This?”

She nodded once.

Luke’s knuckles whitened on the rope. “That doesn’t look safe.”

Tifa laughed, a little too brightly. “It’s been repaired since the last time it broke.” She spun to face them, arms wide. “Don’t worry, I’ve crossed it plenty of times.”

Zack raised a brow, skepticism rare on his face. “We go one at a time. Even ShinRa wouldn’t sign off on this death trap.”

Tifa rolled her eyes but stepped first, light-footed, though Cloud noticed the tension in her shoulders.

Sephiroth followed, every step measured, his gaze dissecting each sway, each knot, each strain of rope.

Cloud and Zack moved after that, steady but cautious, their boots creaking against the planks.

Luke trailed last, breath ragged, his grip on the ropes so tight his fingertips had gone bloodless.

Halfway across, the bridge groaned. A low, splintering sound that crawled up Cloud’s spine.

“Keep moving!” Sephiroth called, his voice even, but his hand shifted subtly toward his sword, as though he could cut through the very air if it betrayed them.

Tifa had just reached the far side when the sharp crack of splitting rope shattered the thin calm. One of the main lines snapped, lashing back like a whip. The entire bridge lurched violently sideways.

Cloud’s stomach dropped. The planks beneath her feet tilted toward the abyss, causing her to sprawl to her knees. The wind tore at her hair as she gripped the rope rail, splinters dug into her gloves, biting her palms.

“Shit!” Zack cursed, clutching the other side as the bridge swung like a pendulum. Boards split under the strain, one giving way with a deafening crack and tumbling into the darkness below.

Tifa screamed as the sway threw her backward. She skidded across the planks toward the edge until a black gloved hand shot out. Sephiroth caught her by the arm, his other hand braced around the rope like an anchor driven into stone. Muscles coiled, his stance unshaken despite the chaos.

“Move!” he barked, eyes narrowing as he gauged the angle, the weight, the inevitable collapse.

Cloud forced herself upright, heart hammering. The bridge tilted harder with every swing, threatening to tear free entirely. Zack met her eyes, nodding once. Together, they timed the sway, one desperate gamble.

“Now!”

They leapt as the bridge pitched, throwing their bodies toward a jagged outcrop of rock. Cloud slammed shoulder-first into stone, pain flaring white-hot. Zack rolled beside her with a grunt. Alive.

A scream split the air behind them.

Cloud twisted around in time to see Luke lose his grip. His hands slipped on the slick rope, eyes wide with terror as he flailed.

“Luke!” Zack shouted, reaching back instinctively. Too far.

The Class Two tumbled into the abyss, his cry echoing long after his body vanished into the mountain’s black throat.

Cloud pushed herself upright, brushing rock dust from her uniform, heart hammering. “Shit.” She exhaled, trying to regain her composure. She glanced up, “I think…” She pointed shakily toward the slope. “They landed near the ledge. We can reach them from there.”

After scrambling along a narrow path, they found Sephiroth steady on his feet, Tifa trembling but unharmed save for her lost hat.

The General’s gaze flicked up, finding Cloud first. “Sorano,” he said, scanning her. “Are you hurt?”

“Fine.” Her voice was steadier than she felt.

Tifa watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. The General’s stoicism had cracked, if only for a heartbeat, and only for her. The resemblance itched at the back of Tifa’s mind. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Too familiar, and yet not.

Tifa then glanced around, only then realizing someone was missing. “Wait, where’s the other one? The Class Two guy?”

Cloud’s jaw tightened. “He fell.”

Tifa’s eyes widened, flicking to Sephiroth. “Shouldn’t we?”

“There’s no time,” Sephiroth cut her off, voice like steel. “He’s gone. We move forward.”

A shaky breath escaped her. She looked at the abyss, then back at him, unsettled. “Right…”

But before she could linger, she looked up at the gaping hole where the bridge had been. “We were supposed to enter from above. Now we’ll have to take these caverns,” she said, pointing to the honeycombed mouths dotting the cliffside. “Like rabbit warrens—winding every which way.”

They climbed higher, the path narrowing until it opened into a vast and shimmering cavern. The walls glowed crystalline, veined with green and blue light, as though the mountain itself breathed. Each footstep echoed, swallowed by the hush.

Cloud trailed her fingers along the stone. It was warm, almost soft. The colors shifted beneath her hand like liquid fire. She pulled back sharply.

Tifa smiled faintly. “The townsfolk call it a mysterious cave. They say the Lifestream t.”

“It’s Mako,” Sephiroth corrected. His voice was quiet but weighted. “This mountain is rich with it. That’s why ShinRa built the reactor here.”

The tunnel spilled them into a vast hollow at the mountain’s heart. It wasn’t a cavern so much as a cathedral carved by something greater than hands. The ground sloped gently toward the center, its surface smooth as glass and rippled like water. The stone shimmered with impossible colors—opal blues, greens, rose, and violet—flowing together as though alive. It wasn’t solid, nor liquid, nor air, but something between all three: a living medium that seemed to breathe with the mountain itself.

High above, a round opening in the ceiling poured sunlight through drifting mist, scattering it in shafts of silver and gold. The light struck the hollow’s heart, where a fountain rose—but it wasn’t water that flowed. Liquid light surged upward from a vein in the earth, rising in a slow, endless cycle before dissolving into vapor. It cascaded like smoke made of color, curling and vanishing into the ground again.

If you reached toward it, it clung faintly to your skin—an electric touch that sank into your palm and faded, leaving behind a trace of pale green luminescence that slowly winked out.

Cloud felt her breath catch. The air thrummed—disorienting, sacred. For an ordinary human, it would have been overwhelming: too much light, too much life.

Beneath her boots, faint symbols began to pulse in rhythm with the fountain—runes spreading outward from the center like a vast compass etched into the floor. The light beneath her feet beat softly, like a heartbeat. She and Sephiroth saw them clearly—the ancient sigils of the great summons: Shiva, Ifrit, Ramuh, and others too old to name. The lines intertwined in living patterns of power, breathing with the same pulse as the mountain.

It was beautiful. It was alive.
And it was waiting.

Both Sephiroth and Cloud stood at the mouth of the cave in reverent silence. Tifa stepped in and walked around, looking about in awe.

Zack’s jaw dropped, and he dared to breathe, “What is this place?”

Sephiroth swallowed and drew a slow breath, his voice low. “One would call it a Mako fountain,” he murmured. “Pure… untouched. I’m surprised ShinRa hasn’t claimed it.”

Cloud stepped closer, reverent. The surface clung to her fingers—neither solid nor liquid, but alive. Something stirred deep in her chest. “No,” she whispered, her voice meant only for Zack and Sephiroth. “It’s not Mako. It’s the holy ground of the Valkyries.”

Sephiroth’s head inclined once in agreement, solemn. 

“It’s beautiful,” Tifa breathed, circling the fountain. “But if the reactor keeps draining, won’t this place dry up?”

Cloud hardly heard her. The glow reflected in Sephiroth’s eyes. They stood still, transfixed, as if some ancient memory rose between them—something only the two of them could see.

When she lifted her gaze, Sephiroth was watching, green locked on blue. The silence between them was heavy, a mix of recognition and resignation.

Tifa straightened, oblivious. “So this is… where Materia comes from?”

“Yes,” Sephiroth said, composure snapping back around him like armor. “Condensed Mako forms Materia. Rare to see it raw like this.”

Cloud tilted her head and pulled out a processed green materia from her pocket. “Then why does it give magic?”

His eyes flicked toward her. “Because the Planet’s wisdom answers only those with its blood. Descendants of the Valkyries. Of the Cetra.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s why it answers us.”

Tifa faltered. “So… anyone could use it?”

Zack glanced between them, sensing the shift in the air. The place called to their blood—he could almost feel it himself.

Cloud’s reply was soft, careful. “Two thousand years, and still their memory lingers in all of us. Echoes in the blood.”

Tifa paled, “Are you saying, this is…” She looked around, “The Valkyries ground?” 

Cloud’s reply was soft, careful. “Two thousand years, and still their memory lingers in all of us. Echoes in the blood.”

Tifa paled. “Are you saying this is…” She looked around in awe. “The Valkyries’ ground?”

Cloud turned her piercing gaze on her and nodded solemnly. “It is. The Nibel Mountains were their home. This is their holy ground.” She flicked her eyes toward the beam of light above.

Tifa swallowed hard and nodded shakily. “Right.” 

Behind her, Zack leaned close, keeping his words for the other two. “So it’s true. This place isn’t just Mako.”

Sephiroth gave the faintest nod, but his face was unreadable.

Zack exhaled, glancing back at the fountain. “Magic… mysterious power, huh?”

Sephiroth gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “A man once told me never to use such words—said there’s no such thing as mystery, only data. I still remember how furious he was.”

“Hojo,” Zack guessed.

Sephiroth’s jaw tightened. “A man fumbling in Gast’s shadow. He seeks to dissect what he’ll never understand.” His gaze lifted to the fountain, reverence etched in every line of his face. “But this place belongs to the Valkyries. Not to him. Not to ShinRa.”

Cloud watched him, her heart stirred by the same call echoing through his voice. It was not power he sought, but belonging—to the Planet, to their ancient kin.

They left the Valkyrie hollow behind, the air tightening as the path narrowed to a jagged cut in the mountain wall. Soon, the structure rose before them, iron and rust bolted into the stone, the ShinRa seal stamped like a scar. The reactor wasn’t the largest they’d seen, but it loomed all the same, a parasite hunched against the cliffside. Pools of raw Mako glowed sickly green around its base, fumes curling like smoke from an open wound.

Sephiroth halted, issuing orders without hesitation. “Fair. Stay with the guide.”

Tifa bristled. “What? Why should I…”

“Only authorized personnel,” he said, the edge in his tone brooking no argument.

Her protest rose into a stomp of frustration, sharp enough to echo against the cliffs. Zack leaned against the railing, smothering a grin at her fit.

Sephiroth ignored them both and ascended the corroded steps with Cloud at his side. The metal groaned beneath their boots. Inside, the reactor was all shadows and steam, machinery thrumming on autopilot, chains and pulleys swaying gently as if the building itself still breathed.

Cloud scanned the room, brow furrowed. “Nothing looks wrong.”

“Not yet.” Sephiroth’s eyes moved with clinical precision. “The report said the leak was internal. Below.”

A single rusted plank bridged to a stairwell that spiraled down into the reactor’s throat. They crossed in silence, the air growing heavier with every step.

At the bottom, the sight stopped them both.

Rows of pods stretched into the shadows, each the size of a man twice over. Glass windows glowed with an eerie green-blue light, casting warped shadows across the metal floor. A staircase led upward to a platform and the sealed bulk of a door set into the far wall.

Cloud’s voice caught. “This isn’t like any other reactor…”

The light painted her pale, her eyes wide with unease.

Sephiroth mounted the steps slowly, his boots echoing on the metal. At the top, he paused, fingers brushing the corroded plaque bolted above the door. The engraving was faint but clear:

JENOVA.

His breath stilled.

Cloud joined him, her gaze snapping to the letters. Her heart lurched. “Jenova? Here? Why…” She tugged at the door, rattling the wheel until it clanged, unmoving. “It won’t open.”

Sephiroth’s voice dropped to a murmur, almost to himself. “Jenova… here?” His gaze swept the chamber, pieces falling into place. “Of course. Nibel Mountain—sacred to the Valkyries. And she was one of them.” His lip curled in a quiet snarl, fists tightening at his sides. “Hojo. He’s behind this.”

He turned from the door and descended the stairs with controlled precision. His steps drew him to one of the pods. The valve hissed where a pipe had split, a thin stream of Mako bleeding out like lifeblood.

“There.” He gestured. “That’s the source. Shut it down.”

Cloud moved to the crank he indicated, straining until the wheel screeched, its metal grinding against metal. The hiss cut off, leaving the chamber in an uneasy silence.

Sephiroth lingered before the cracked pod, his reflection warped across the glass. “Why did it fail?” he murmured, almost to himself. The Mako’s glow painted his face in shifting greens, cold and ghostly. He reached out, pressing a gloved hand to the surface. The glass trembled faintly beneath his touch—alive, or remembering.

Something inside moved. His breath caught. Then, softly—like a word he’d rather choke than speak:
“…Hojo.”

The name hung in the air like venom. His voice dropped lower, trembling with rage and disbelief. “Even this… twisted mockery, all in pursuit of Mother’s favor. You’ll never stand beside Gast.”

He drew back, the mask of control cracking just enough for Cloud to see the fury beneath. Turning to her, he gestured sharply toward the chamber. “This system—it condenses and freezes Mako. That’s what we were told. But think, Cloud.” His eyes burned into hers. “What happens when Mako is refined even further?”

Cloud’s breath caught. “…Materia.”

“Correct.” A weary exhale. “Normally.” His gaze cut back to the pods. “But Hojo…” His voice hardened. “Hojo filled them with something else. Look.”

Cloud hesitated, then leaned toward the nearest window.

Her breath caught. Floating in the green was a figure, once human, twisted beyond recognition. Limbs warped, face collapsed into something bestial. It shuddered faintly, as though trapped in a nightmare.

She reeled back with a gasp, stumbling onto the grated floor. “What, what is that?” Her voice was sharp with disgust.

Sephiroth’s reply was measured, but beneath it coiled fury. “Standard SOLDIERs undergo Mako exposure. Changed, yes, but still human.” His hand swept toward the pods, green light staining his fingers. “These are something else. Saturated. Drowned. Until humanity itself ruptured. Hojo’s creatures. Monsters born of Mako.”

The words dug under her skin. Cloud swallowed, then forced the question that chilled her most. “And you…didn’t he do the same to you?”

For the first time, he flinched. His hands rose, covering his head as if to block out the thought.

“Sephiroth?” She stepped toward him, alarm sharpening her tone.

His shoulders shook once. “No… no…” His voice cracked. Then his hand found Masamune’s hilt. In a flash of steel, the blade cleaved across the pod, glass shrieking as it split. Green fluid gushed, splattering the floor. The warped figure inside slumped lifelessly.

“Sephiroth!” Cloud cried, her voice cutting through the clangor.

He froze mid-swing, Masamune trembling in his grip. The fury bled out of him until the great blade sagged low, its tip dragging against the metal floor.

Breath ragged, he stared at the broken pods. “…All of them were human, once.” His voice was quieter now, raw and strained. “They don’t deserve it. Am I going to be like them?” 

Her voice was fierce and breaking at the same time. The sight of the creature had cracked something open inside her. “You’re not a monster. You’re not. You’re kind, you’re mine, I love you. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”

His eyes flicked to the sealed door—“JENOVA” etched deep into the metal, glowing faintly under the green light—as something cold stirred behind it.

Cloud had never heard him sound so young.

He searched her face, something unsteady flickering in his gaze. At last, he exhaled a long, bitter sigh. “Since I was a child, I’ve known I was… different. Special.” His jaw tightened. “But not like this.”

Cloud’s hand lingered on him, steadying. “Yeah, we are different,” she said softly. “You and I. Not like Zack. Not like the rest. We’re Valkyries. We’re here for a reason. Don’t forget it. Jenova is here.” She glanced up at the door. “And we’ll put an end to this.”

His eyes lifted to the sealed door marked with her name. The green glow painted his face, hardening his features. “Yes,” he said at last. “You’re right. It’s the Planet we must save from all of this.” He sneered, “We’re going to stop Hojo. No more of this…” He spat, “Experiments of his.”

The chamber shuddered. One of the pods convulsed, rattling against its bolts as sparks spat from severed wires. The glass bulged outward.

A scream, raw, inhuman, ripped through the metal room. The creature inside thrashed, the Mako boiling around it. With a violent crack, the pod wrenched free, toppling sideways. The glass burst.

A thing clawed half into the open, body warped beyond any shape that could be called man. It shrieked once, a sound of pain more than rage, before collapsing in a twitching heap. Steam hissed. The stench of burnt Mako clung to the air.

Cloud’s breath hitched. Her stomach twisted. No. Not him. Not like him. She stumbled forward and pressed herself against Sephiroth, hiding her face in his chest. Her voice was fierce and breaking at once: “You’re not a monster. You’re not. You’re kind, you’re mine, I love you. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”

For a long moment, he stood rigid. Then his free hand lowered, palm heavy and steady against her back. His eyes never left the dying form on the floor.

Too much. Too much for one day. Hojo’s truth was filth, and now the proof rotted at his feet.

Beyond the ruined pod, the sealed door loomed, its engraved name catching the green light: Jenova. Something stirred behind it, an invisible pull, insistent and cold. Sephiroth’s chest tightened. He could not name it, but he dreaded what waited there.

At last, he tore his gaze away. His voice was quiet, even, as if forcing discipline back over the storm. “The flow is cut. The pods will die off. The reactor is shut down.” A pause. “We’re leaving.”

He led her out.

When they emerged into the mountain air, both were pale, shaken, their silence louder than words. Tifa frowned at them, baffled, but Zack caught the weight in their eyes and fell in step without pressing.

“What happened in there?” he asked at last.

“Later,” Cloud murmured, her voice frayed.

The descent passed in silence. Back in Nibelheim, Tifa stalked home, sullen that she’d been kept at arm’s length. Sephiroth vanished into the inn without a word, the door slamming shut.

Zack stayed. He found Cloud facedown on her pillow, her shoulders shaking, whispering broken fragments: Mako, monsters, Sephiroth. He sat beside her until exhaustion stole her voice and she slept, her cheeks still wet with tears.

Hours passed. Zack had tried jokes, stories, even stubborn silence, but nothing eased Cloud’s tears. At last, she cried herself into exhausted sleep, her breaths hitching even in dreams.

He lingered in the doorway, jaw tight, then turned down the hall and hammered on Sephiroth’s door. “She needs you,” he snapped through the wood. No answer. Only the faint sound of pacing on the other side. The rhythm didn’t stop.

Grinding his teeth, Zack returned to Cloud’s room. He sank onto the edge of her bed, watching the faint rise and fall of her shoulders. His gaze caught a glint in her hand.

Carefully, he lifted her fingers. A ring—simple, yet beautiful—white gold cradling a small green Materia chip, flanked by two clear stones that caught the moonlight. Inside the band, etched in Sephiroth’s own hand, were the words: Mín dróttning, Ástin mín.

Zack’s chest ached. He slid it back onto her finger, letting her hand rest gently against the blanket. So Sephiroth had given it to her last night, maybe, before everything cracked. Proof of love, of intention. Of a plan that now seemed impossible.

He looked at the wall that separated the two rooms, listening to the steady tread of boots as they moved back and forth. Pacing, always pacing. Zack’s fists clenched. Tomorrow, he’d shove that ring under Sephiroth’s nose and knock sense back into him if he had to.

But tonight, the silence felt like a storm coiling tighter, waiting to break.

The next morning, light spilled through the shutters. Cloud sat up, clothes still wrinkled from the night before. She hadn’t changed. She hadn’t slept much either. She hurried out of the room and into the General’s room.

Sephiroth’s room was empty.

Panic crawled under her skin as she searched the inn. She found Zack leaning against the post outside, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Where is he?” she demanded.

Zack tilted his chin toward the far edge of town. “Locals said they saw him head into the old mansion. Haven’t seen him since.” His mouth pressed thin. “We’d better find him. The longer we stay here, the worse this feels.”

Cloud nodded, and together they crossed the silent square and pushed open the mansion’s doors. The air inside was stale, heavy with dust. Each step echoed too loudly. They searched room after room, the house creaking like it resented their presence, until Zack led her to a small study in the west wing.

“I swear he went in here,” Zack muttered, pointing.

The floor told the truth: faint footprints pressed into the dust, leading straight to a wall. Cloud pressed her palm against the stone; it clicked. The panel shifted aside, revealing a stair spiraling into darkness.

“I’m going down,” she whispered, and before Zack could argue, she plunged into the gloom.

The air grew colder with each step, damp stone closing in until she burst into an underground cavern lit by sterile lamps. At its heart, Sephiroth. He paced before rows of shelves, book in hand, voice low and feverish.

“…An organism, apparently dead, found in a two-thousand-year stratum. Professor Gast named it Jenova because…”

Cloud froze. “Sephiroth, what are you saying?” The words felt wrong here, heavy with a rot she couldn’t see.

He looked up, eyes too bright. “Jenova was the last vessel of this alien virus. The soul that fell with the meteor. They killed her… or thought they did.” His fingers clenched around the book. “Cloud, Jenova has been dead for two thousand years, but the virus sustains her body. She shouldn’t exist, and yet she does. She must be destroyed.”

Cloud reached for him. “Then let’s go. Now. Before…”

But he had already turned, flipping through brittle pages. His voice dropped lower, muttering to himself more than to her. “Jenova, confirmed Ancient. No, wrong. She was a Valkyrie. Ancients are the Cetra.” More flipping pages, “Jenova Project approved. Reactor One authorized for use…”

His steps carried him deeper into the archives, shadows swallowing him. He stopped halfway down the aisle and bowed his head, voice breaking. “It can’t be. Jenova. Lucrecia. And now me. If I…” There was a tinge of fear in his tone, “If I carry it too… I can’t..”

“Sephiroth…” Cloud’s whisper shook.

He gritted his teeth. “Professor Gast, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you die before I could know?”

Cloud took a step forward, hand outstretched. But when she drew near, his voice cut through, cold as steel.

“Leave me.”

It struck harder than a blade. She froze, the warmth between them splintering into frost. For a moment, she thought to argue, but the look in his eyes, distant, consumed, stole her voice.

So she obeyed.

Hours passed in that mansion’s hollow halls. She lay in a guest room waiting, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her mother’s warnings pressing against her chest. Below, she could hear the faint scrape of boots pacing endlessly across stone. The sound of a man unraveling.

Zack was gone, out to soothe the villagers, he’d said, but the emptiness of the mansion told her nothing would be soothed here.

When she could bear it no longer, she rose and headed down the dark spiral staircase. 

To be Continued in Interlude: Last Order

Chapter Text

Green eyes glinted in the dark as Cloud’s footsteps faded above. A door closed, sheets rustled. Silence settled over the mansion’s lower halls. He waited, savoring the quiet, until he was certain she slept.

Then he stepped from the shadows. No sound marked his passing, only the shift of cold air as he entered the hidden study.

Sephiroth sat at the desk, a book open but unread before him. His mind was elsewhere, the words a blur. His chest tightened with regret. I’ve been too harsh. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her. I’ll tell her everything, and I’ll trust her. She deserves that much. He exhaled slowly, steadying his resolve, at last choosing honesty over silence.

And then the door creaked.

Another presence moved into the room, and when Sephiroth looked up, his eyes widened. The figure in the doorway was… himself. Same height, same hair, same angular face, but twisted. Where his own gaze burned with restraint, this one’s gleamed with malice, the pupils sharp and hungry.

“Don’t bother,” the double drawled. “Those books won’t save you.”

Sephiroth rose slowly, his hand sliding toward the sword. “Who are you?”

A chuckle, low, mocking. “Not who. What. I am what Hojo made, what he loosed. Your shadow. Your replacement. You’ve reached your prime, and now you’re nothing. My turn.”

Their clash was instant, steel shrieking in the confined space. Shelves splintered, papers whirled. Sephiroth’s strength met equal strength, each strike answered, mirrored, mocked. But when the double struck barehanded, the blow sent Sephiroth crashing against the far wall.

Dazed, he pushed himself up, only to feel his hair wrenched, his body dragged like refuse across stone. The double’s grin widened. “Still useful, though. You’ll open the way for me. Mother waits.”

Sephiroth’s eyes snapped open when the chill hit him. He was in the reactor’s forbidden chamber. The air reeked of Mako, the floor trembling with its pulse. And above them, behind the armored glass, Jenova’s husk loomed, silent, watching.

The impostor shoved him to the ground. “Here we are. Home. She and I will finish what you never could.”

Sephiroth staggered upright, fury lighting his face. “Hojo’s madness made you. A clone, nothing more.”

The double tilted his head. “Hojo only opened the door. Something else stepped through.” His smile sharpened, almost reverent. “The Mother you could never understand.”

Sephiroth’s grip tightened on Masamune. “Then I’ll end this now.”

But the other laughed, catching the blade with unnatural ease. “End? No. You’re not the Last Son. You’re only the trial. I am the heir.”

They collided again, the chamber ringing with every strike, sparks scattering into the abyss below. Sephiroth fought with all the precision of a master, yet unease gnawed at him; the double was not merely his equal but his reflection, each move anticipated.

Then, a slip. Masamune twisted free. With one swing, the clone struck true. Pain tore across Sephiroth’s chest, stealing his breath. His grip failed, and he staggered back, the edge of the chamber giving way beneath his boots. 

The world slowed. In the rush of agony, fragments of his life burned through his mind: Freya’s blessing, the weight of prophecy, the vow he had meant to make. And Cloud, her laughter, her fierce stubbornness, the warmth he had pushed away only to realize, too late, he needed most.

I should have told her. I should have trusted her.

His last word was a whisper carried into the depths. “Cloud…” The green closed over him. For an instant, so brief it could have been imagined, the current bent around his body like a shield. Then the Lifestream swallowed him whole.

Above, the impostor leaned over the railing, eyes alight with cruel glee. “And thus the false Son falls. Mother, wait for me. I will be the true ruler of this world.” With a final glance at the chamber, he turned and strode back toward the mansion, the echo of his laughter trailing behind.

Zack had returned and was sitting in the office near the hidden passage, restless as ever. He’d been watching over things all day, pacing, checking the stairs every so often. Cloud came in again, weary-eyed, her face drawn.

“He seems different,” Zack muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Doesn’t even notice when we come and go anymore. Like we’re ghosts.”

Cloud nodded faintly, her stomach tight. “I’ll try again.”

She descended the steps, each one heavier than the last. The closer she came to the lab, the stronger the dread pressed against her chest. It was in the air, sharp, invasive. And then she heard it.

A laugh. Hollow. Wrong. The sound made her knees weaken. She shut her eyes, trying to smother it with memory, the warm sound of his laugh before, the gentleness she knew. But the echo coming from below was nothing like that man.

Steeling herself, she pushed into the adjoining office.

He was there, sitting at the desk, hands on a stack of papers. Not reading. Not writing. Just staring, as though the answers were bleeding into him from the reports. Slowly, his head turned.

“Who is it?” The voice was flat, cutting.

She flinched. Then his gaze sharpened with recognition, but no warmth. Only disdain. “Hmph. Traitor.”

Her breath caught. “Traitor? What are you talking about?”

He rose, the movement deliberate, and turned his back to her. “You ignorant traitor. I’ll tell you.” His tone was cold, hollow, words too rehearsed, too detached to be his own.
“This planet once belonged to the Cetra. They wandered the world, guided by the Planet’s voice. In return, they were promised the Promised Land.”

Cloud blinked, stunned. Cetra? Her pulse raced. Why wasn’t he speaking of the Valkyries? He knew their history. He had wept over it with her. This wasn’t right.

“But some grew weary,” he continued, his voice hardening. “They settled. They took from the Planet without giving back. They are your ancestors.”

Her throat tightened. No. My blood is Valkyrie. He knows that. He knows.

Cloud’s heart pounded. Not once had he said Valkyrie. Not once. Whoever this was, it wasn’t speaking with Sephiroth’s soul.

Her eyes darted around the office, grasping for answers. Reports were shredded across the floor. Books pulled from shelves. And against the wall, a great glass cylinder, open, still glowing faintly blue. Her gut twisted. Something else had been let out.

“What does that have to do with you?” she demanded, forcing her voice steady.

He slammed a hand to his brow, fingers digging deep, as if something warred inside him. “Don’t you see? An Ancient named Jenova was unearthed two thousand years ago. She became the Jenova Project.” His voice wavered, then steadied, colder. “The goal was to create one with her power. The power of the Cetra.”

Cloud’s heart pounded. Not once had he said Valkyrie. Not once. Whoever this was, it wasn’t speaking with Sephiroth’s soul.

For a flicker, his eyes lifted, and she saw it, the real him. The man she knew. Her Sephiroth. Hope surged.

“I am the one they produced.”

The glint vanished. The words dropped like ice.

Cloud staggered back. “Produced? No… you were born.”

“Yes.” He turned away, his coat sweeping behind him. “Professor Gast created me. ShinRa’s genius. And now, I will see my mother.”

She froze, horror catching in her chest. “Mother?”

Before she could move, his arm lashed out. Pain exploded as she struck the wall, the world tilting into black.

Above, Zack sat bolt upright at the sound of the crash, his gut telling him something was very, very wrong.

Cloud stirred, groaning as stone pressed into her cheek. She blinked into the dim light of the basement office. Papers lay scattered, the desk overturned. Her body ached where she had been thrown aside.

A chill clung to her, not from the cold stone but from something deeper, unnatural, suffocating. Something was wrong.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms, forcing her breath steady. The room was empty. No trace of him. No sign of what had passed.

Sephiroth was gone.

By the time she reached the courtyard, her breath caught in horror.

The town was ablaze. Orange fire clawed at the night sky, swallowing rooftops, licking higher until it turned the heavens themselves a deep, unnatural crimson. The air stank of ash and Mako.

Cloud’s steps faltered as her eyes caught on the familiar shape at the edge of the square. Her home. The roof sagged beneath tongues of fire, beams collapsing inward as smoke curled black against the night. She froze, breath strangled in her throat.

“Mom…” The word was a broken whisper. There was no saving her. No miracle waiting in the ashes. The woman who had raised her, who had given her blessing only nights ago, was gone.

Her knees threatened to give way, but she forced herself upright, teeth clenched against the rising sob. Duty clawed louder than grief. Freya’s prophecy rang in her ears: Destruction will fall by the hand of a Valkyrie. She had thought it meant her, that she would be the one to doom her own people. But staring at the flames devouring her childhood home, she understood. The words had been true, just not about her.

“It wasn’t me…” Her voice shook as she looked up toward the mountain, where Sephiroth’s silhouette burned against the fire. “It was him. One of us. And if he can destroy, then I must stop him.”

Her gaze snapped upward to the mountain path.

Sephiroth stood there. Wreathed in firelight, his silver hair whipped upward with the heat, his black coat snapping like a banner of war. Villagers lay cut down at his feet. He turned slowly, the flames curling around him as if they bowed in reverence.

His green eyes locked onto hers.

For an instant, she prayed, 'Please, remember me.'

But his lips curved into a grin, cold and alien. A shiver lanced down her spine.
“Sephiroth…” she whispered, voice cracking.

Then he turned, striding straight through the wall of fire. Gone.

“Cloud!” Zack’s shout carried over the roar of the blaze. He was sprinting toward her, soot-streaked and frantic.

She pointed to the burning square. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Zack coughed, shaking his head. “Something hit me, knocked me out cold. When I woke up, the whole place was on fire.”

“There!” Cloud gasped, spotting a figure across the square. A man staggered under the weight of another slung across his back.

Zack’s eyes widened. “Uncle!”

“Zangan,” Cloud breathed, relief flooding her.

The martial arts master halted when he saw them. “You’re still sane?” His voice was rough, disbelieving.

Zack bristled. “How the hell could I be sane in this?”

“It was Sephiroth, wasn’t it?” Cloud asked, her throat tightening. She wanted to deny it, but the flames said otherwise. A tear broke free, hot against her ash-streaked cheek. Everyone called him a hero… but what stood on that mountain was no hero. Quietly, into the fire’s roar: “What do you want, Sephiroth?”

Zangan tilted his chin toward the mountain path. “You want answers, head there. But more pressing, help Tifa.”

Zack spun on him. “What about Tifa?”

“She’s looking for her father. Went straight to the reactor. Sephiroth’s there too.”

“What?!” Zack’s face blanched. “That girl, reckless as ever, she’s no match for him.”

Zangan’s voice was grim. “She’ll be cut down. His opponent should be a SOLDIER. Someone like you.”

Zack squared his shoulders. “Then she’s got one. And Sorano.” He turned to Cloud, pressing a bag into her hands. His voice dropped. “Take Uncle and the wounded out. Get them to the chocobos. I’ll catch up.”

Cloud recognized the weight instantly; the tome was inside. She clutched it close. “I’ll see it done. But… please. Keep her safe.”

“I will.” Zack’s eyes hardened with resolve before he dashed toward the mountain path.

Cloud steadied Zangan as they led the injured man beyond the flames. Just as Zack had said, a small clutch of chocobos waited at the outskirts, stamping nervously but refusing to flee. Loyal creatures, bound to their riders.

She hoisted the dying man onto one bird, his body wracked with coughing fits. The blood told her he would not survive the ride. Her chest clenched, but she pressed the satchel into Zangan’s hands.

“Take this. There’s a book inside; give it to Tifa. Tell her… if anyone ever asks for it, she must hand it over. No matter what. But swear it, never let ShinRa get it.”

Zangan studied her sharply. “I know you. You’re that kid from town, aren’t you?”

Cloud swallowed, closing her eyes. “Yes. My name is Cloud Strife. But to everyone else, I’m Sorano Borough, a SOLDIER. Don’t tell Tifa. She mustn’t know.”

Before he could reply, she turned and sprinted back into the burning town, flames reflecting in her eyes.

Zangan stood in the firelight, clutching the tome to his chest. His expression was heavy, shadowed. “So it comes to pass. The little cursed town, destroyed at last.” His gaze drifted to the mountain, where flames crackled in the darkness. “If they bring Tifa back alive… I’ll be gone before ShinRa arrives.”

The mountain of Nibel loomed like a black sentinel in the late hours, its slopes glowing faintly with the sickly green of Mako. Shadows writhed along the cliff face as if alive. Behind her, the roar of the burning town was faint, but to Tifa every crackle of flame felt deafening.

“Father? Father, where are you?” she called, breath hitching as she sprinted up the path.

She stumbled to a halt at the Reactor’s gate. A body lay sprawled before the steel steps, Masamune planted in the earth beside it.

“Father!” Tifa fell to her knees, gathering her father’s head into her lap. His hand trembled as she caught it, desperate to anchor him.

“Hang on, Father, I’m here. Please, ”

“Tifa…” His voice was little more than a rasp. His fingers twitched toward the Reactor. “Run… get away.” His breath rattled once more, then stilled. His hand slipped from hers, lifeless.

“No… Father, no!” She shook him, her cries lost to the night, until her tears ran dry and fury took their place. She lowered him gently to the ground, rising on shaking legs. “It was Sephiroth,” she whispered, her voice flat, then lifted her gaze to the Reactor, crimson eyes burning.

She wrapped her fingers around Masamune’s hilt. The blade sang as she pulled it free, too heavy but steady in her grip. “Sephiroth. SOLDIER. ShinRa. The reactors. All of them.” She slashed at the air with wild precision, grief and rage melding into one. “I hate them all!”

Inside, Sephiroth ascended the stairs, his steps unhurried, each echo swallowed by the pulsing green light. Before the massive door, he placed his palm against the cold metal. “Mother,” he murmured, almost tender. “I’ve come for you.”

Behind him, footsteps pounded. “Sephiroth!” Tifa’s voice cracked with rage. “How dare you kill my father, and everyone in Nibelheim!”

She lunged, and Masamune raised in both hands. Sephiroth caught the weapon with a single palm against the hilt, the strength in his grip forcing her to a halt. He lifted her easily from the ground until her feet dangled.

Her crimson eyes widened as his jade-green gaze seared into her, cold, merciless, inhuman. True terror bloomed in her chest.

His lips curled in a faint smirk. Then, with a sharp twist, he wrenched Masamune free and slashed across her torso. Tifa’s body tumbled down the steel stairs, hitting the bottom with a sickening thud. Blood pooled at her side; her breath came shallow and broken.

Sephiroth turned away, his scoff soft and disdainful. The chamber door hissed open as though yielding to his presence. Sword in hand once more, he stepped inside, vanishing into Jenova’s glow.

At the foot of the stairs, Tifa stirred, wincing as agony lanced through her body. Her vision blurred, but she saw the stars through the jagged roof above, the same stars she had once stared at with Cloud from the old well. Her lips moved in a whisper, “When I’m in danger… you promised you’d come. Cloud…”

Hands seized her shoulders. A voice shouted her name.

“Tifa! Tifa, stay with me!”

Her eyes fluttered open. Wild dark hair, sharp eyes, concern etched across his face, “Zack…”

“You were hurt by Sephiroth, weren’t you?” His tone was grim as he scanned her wounds. He pressed a glowing green orb to his palm and let the magic flow. Warm light seeped through her battered body, knitting bone and closing flesh, though not completely.

The bleeding slowed, her breath steadied, but Zack frowned. “It’s not enough. Moving you will tear it open again. Hold on. Just hold on.”

Tifa winced, her face pale. “You only came here to investigate, right? That’s why I led you to the Reactor. That was all it was supposed to be… so how did it turn into this?” Her voice cracked as tears slipped free.

Zack felt a stab of regret. The mission had never made sense. Why send the most powerful Elites for a leaky, backwater reactor? Any Class Two could’ve handled it. The thought had gnawed at him since they arrived. Orders were wrong from the start. Hojo’s stink was on them.

“Tifa…” he murmured.

Her fists trembled. “I hate ShinRa. I hate SOLDIER. And I hate you all.” The words fell like stones, her crimson gaze hard with grief.

Even Sephiroth had taken this assignment because of Cloud, because he had wanted to propose in her hometown after gaining her mother’s blessing. Zack’s jaw clenched. Something in ShinRa’s orders had been twisted from the start.

He rose, lifting the buster sword. “I won’t ask you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But I can at least atone.” His boots struck the steel as he strode up the stairwell. He swung once, and the heavy door blasted open, revealing the inner sanctum of the Reactor.

Green light poured out, alive and eerie. At the far end of the chamber, Sephiroth stood before the sealed mask of Jenova, hands pressed reverently against it.

“Mother,” his voice echoed, low and tender, “let’s take this planet back together. We’ll find the Promised Land… you and I.”

Zack’s gut churned. “Sephiroth!” he shouted, rage spilling into his voice. “Why? Why did you burn the village? Why did you hurt Tifa?”

Sephiroth didn’t turn. His lips curled faintly. “Mother… they’ve come again. These useless creatures who stole your world. With your wisdom, you should rule. But they clung to it, and they made you suffer. You don’t have to sorrow any longer.”

He reached up, tore the steel mask free, and cast it aside. The tubes ripped loose with a hiss, revealing a towering glass chamber. Inside floated a pale, alien woman. Silver hair drifted in the fluid, one eye faintly glowing, the other closed. The plate above read simply: JENOVA.

Zack’s breath caught. The true face of Jenova, the Valkyrie who had stood against the Calamity two thousand years ago, was consumed by its curse. The mother of Lucrecia Crescent, and by bloodline, Sephiroth’s grandmother. His stomach turned. Why would Sephiroth call her Mother?

“At last,” Sephiroth whispered, voice trembling with awe, “we meet.”

Zack’s disgust boiled over. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Sephiroth turned then, smirk sharp as steel. “Traitor.”

In a blur, he leapt, Masamune flashing. Zack met him head-on, the buster sword sparking against the longer blade. Their clash shook the chamber, sparks scattering across steel.

“You, ” Zack grunted as they locked weapons midair. Masamune pressed against the Buster. “I trusted you, Sephiroth!”

“Trust?” Sephiroth’s laugh was cold. Upside-down against the ceiling, green eyes gleaming, he pressed harder. “I am the chosen one. The ruler this planet deserves.”

“You’re not him,” Zack snarled, realization dawning as the air around them shimmered with a strange wind. He shoved back. “You’re not the Sephiroth I know!”

The silver-haired man pushed off the ceiling, forcing Zack downward. Their blades clanged as they ricocheted through the chamber like lightning.

“This world will return to the Cetra,” Sephiroth declared, his voice ringing with fanatic conviction.

“Cetra?” Zack faltered, wrong. It should have been Valkyries, always Valkyries. The dissonance chilled him.

Sephiroth pressed the assault, his strikes fueled by unnatural strength. A slash tore across Zack’s arm, blood spraying as the Elite was hurled into the alcove. His body slammed against the stone, breath knocked out.

Sephiroth landed lightly at the chamber’s heart, sneering down at him. “You were never my equal.” Turning back, he pressed his forehead to the glass, hand resting on the pale figure within. “It’s all right now, Mother. I’ll finish what you began.”

The glass groaned under his touch. A crack splintered across the surface, liquid hissing free.

Sephiroth stiffened suddenly, eyes widening in shock. A lance of pain erupted through him. He looked down. The tip of a blade jutted from his chest, blood staining his coat.

His voice was a low, furious growl. “…If Zack is broken… then who… is this?”

The blade tore free of Sephiroth’s body with brutal force. A voice rang out, angry, female, trembling with pain.

“Give me back my father. Give me back Tifa. Give me back this village! I used to admire you, Sephiroth… you bastard!”

The wound staggered him. He dropped to his knees, blood soaking his coat. For the briefest moment, his eyes flickered, confusion, memory. A girlfriend? The spunky girl with blue eyes, laughing in the sunlight… But the image slipped away like smoke, devoured by the hollow laughter that tore from his throat as the attacker fled down the steps.

Cloud was already moving. She dropped to her knees beside Tifa, hauling her out of harm’s way and laying her in the shadow of an alcove. “Tifa!”

The girl blinked up at her, dazed and bleeding. “Cloud… you came. You promised, you’d be here when I was in danger…”

Cloud’s chest clenched. Tifa’s blurred vision had mistaken her for the boy she remembered, not the SOLDIER before her. She forced a small smile. “Sorry… I’m late.”

“Don’t worry,” Tifa murmured, closing her eyes. A faint smile lingered on her lips.

Inside the chamber, steel shrieked. Sephiroth slashed the glass with Masamune, shattering the cylinder. Fluid cascaded as Jenova’s pale form spilled forward. With one savage swing, he severed her head. Holding it by the silver hair, he staggered toward the exit, his grin feral in the green light.

Cloud froze. At the top of the stairs, he stood silhouetted, Jenova’s head dangling from his grip. His eyes locked onto hers, lips curling. “A petty little human…”

Zack’s voice rasped from the shadows, weak but urgent. “Cloud… finish him.”

Her breath caught. Tears stung her eyes. To be told to kill the man she loved, no, the thing wearing his face, was a torment beyond words. But deep down, she knew. The real Sephiroth, her Sephiroth, was gone, lost to the Mako, or stolen by whatever darkness twisted his double.

She took up the fallen buster sword, its weight heavy as grief itself. Her knuckles whitened. “Sephiroth!” she cried and charged.

But he was faster. Masamune pierced through her chest, the shock stealing her breath. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled her back into the chamber, her body striking the steel.

“Did you think a mere human could defeat me?” His voice was venom, ringing with power not his own. He drove the blade into her again, hoisting her aloft like a broken doll. “Know your weakness.”

Cloud hung on the sword, blood dripping down the steel. Her head lifted slowly, eyes blazing through pain. “My weakness? My family. My homeland. My love…” Her voice broke, then sharpened like steel. “But the Planet never belonged to the Cetra. It was the Valkyries’ gift!”

Her hands gripped the blade. Old training met older blood; the blade was agony, but leverage is law. With one last surge of strength, she forced herself down its length, feet striking the floor. Using the sword as leverage, she twisted, flinging him sideways. He smashed against the wall, still clutching Jenova’s head to his chest.

His expression faltered. Her glowing blue eyes pinned him with fury, and something in him recoiled. “Who are you?” he rasped. Then, softer, almost reverent: “I’ll have you… someday.”

Cradling the severed head like an infant, he turned once more. With a final, lingering glance, he leapt into the abyss, swallowed by the seething green Mako below.

Cloud collapsed, vision blurring. Her lips parted on a whisper, “Sephiroth…” Then the darkness claimed her.