#beneathstrangestars

Tifa snapped to attention. Was that… Aerith’s voice? The lump in her throat worsened. She’d lost her dear friend over a year ago now, but the pain was still fresh, a wound that kept reopening. Aerith’s family came from a long line of mages, and she possessed magical powers. She’d even been investigating the cause of Mako poisoning before she—before she—

Tifa squeezed her eyes shut. If only Aerith were really here, she’d know what to do. Tifa thought she heard her voice sometimes, in her dreams, but she chalked it up to her imagination playing tricks on her mind and the grief over Aerith’s loss getting to her.

Still, it was worth a shot. “Aerith, if that’s really you, please, you have to help me.”

His dreams, Tifa. You have to get inside his dreams. It isn’t too late, but you have to hurry.

Tifa wiped her eyes. “Get inside his dreams?”

A kiss should do the trick, I think. Tifa could’ve sworn there was a playful lilt to her friend’s voice.

Tifa’s face flushed hot. “A kiss? Aerith, are you just teasing me or is this actual advice?”

Why can’t it be both?

“But he doesn’t know how I feel. I haven’t gotten to tell him yet.”

I know, but you will. Just kiss him, and I’ll help with the rest.

Tifa gazed at his face. This was not at all how she’d expected their first kiss to be. His skin was so pale and sickly that she wanted to nurse him back to health, not kiss him. But if kissing him would help, if there was a chance it would wake him— 

She leaned down and hesitated for a moment, then gently pressed her lips to his. They were so cold and dry, and she hoped he would awaken soon so she could give him something to drink.

A moment later, a deep heaviness settled over her body. She felt like she was falling, falling, falling into a deep darkness, yet she wasn’t afraid. There was a sense of urgency, yes, but she also felt like someone was watching over her and guiding her along the right path.

At long last her feet hit solid ground, then she took a moment to gather her bearings. The green mist surrounding everything slowly dissipated, and a scene from her childhood unfolded around her: dusty desert and withered plants, towering mountains and plunging ravines. This was a Nibelheim ravaged by war, the dying groans of a kingdom in need of respite. While Cloud was royalty at the time, you hardly would’ve known it by looking at him or his home.

“Mom?” a young boy’s voice said. “Who’s that girl?”

Tifa smiled fondly, for she remembered this moment well. Cloud was just a boy, and he wore clean but plain clothes and held tightly to his mother’s hand. Tifa saw her younger self cowering behind her mother, her white dress and face dirty from their travels. Her father, meanwhile, had a giant scowl on his face as he surveyed their surroundings.

He never did like Nibelheim. Tifa supposed it wasn’t surprising.

“This is Princess Tifa,” Cloud’s mother said. “Her family is helping us, and we’re helping them.”

Cloud thought over this information for a few moments, then stared at Tifa some more. Tifa’s mother gently nudged her towards Cloud.

“Um, hello,” she said shyly, then curtsied. “My name’s Tifa.”

He bowed slightly. “I’m Cloud.”

“Cloud,” Tifa sounded out. “Like in the sky.” She stared at Cloud’s eyes. They were very blue and very different from the eyes of the people in her kingdom, hers included.

“Uh-huh.” He scowled and scratched his cheek. “What’s Tifa mean?”

Tifa frowned at this. No one had ever asked what her name meant. She looked to her mother for help.

“We named her for many things, Cloud,” Tifa’s mother said, and the scene blended from this one to a quiet moment between mother and daughter. Warm summer rain blanketed the world outside as Tifa’s mother carefully brushed her hair by candlelight.

“Balance, because that’s when we’re at our happiest,” Mom said, and Tifa stared at her reflection in the mirror and nodded. “Beauty, because inner beauty influences outer beauty.” With this Mom tied a big red ribbon in her hair. “And compassion, because it’s important to be good to other people.”

Tifa nodded again, and Mom smiled. “And most of all, we named you Tifa because—”

Before Mom could finish what she was saying, the scene faded away, and Tifa was surrounded by darkness. A deep ache throbbed in her chest. Mom was long gone. Had died when mother and daughter alike were still so young. Not because of something epic or dramatic like war or poisoning or palace intrigue. No, just ordinary sickness that all too often claims lives before their time.

Mom, Dad, Aerith… why did they all have to die when Tifa lived on? She clenched her fists and fought the lump in her throat. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, and Tifa had to ask herself why them and not her. What was so special about her that meant she got to live and they had to die. Even Cloud’s mother was dead now. She and Cloud were the only two people alive in a sea of ghosts.

For now, anyway. Tifa couldn’t give up, Cloud was counting on her. She felt that tugging on her heart again, and green lights lit the path and led her through the darkness till presently she spotted a slightly older, slightly taller Cloud. He wore a black dress shirt and black pants with black boots, and his hair was a little longer than it had been in the previous memory. She called out to him, but he neither turned towards her nor acknowledged her voice, so she ran after him.

As the craggy rocks and foggy slopes of Mt. Nibel materialized around her, a clack-clack-clack sounded out from beneath her feet. She paused and grabbed the handrails of the rickety bridge, swaying back and forth as the bridge swung to and fro. This bridge led to Mt. Nibel, and it was all too easy to lose your footing.

There, up ahead on the same bridge. She saw Cloud going after… after her. She wore a black dress and veil with her hair pinned into a harsh bun. Her steps were slow, her movements trancelike.

“Mom,” she heard her younger self say as she clung to a red ribbon. “I’ll see you soon…”

Mom was dead.

Tifa’s memories of this time were clouded by grief and a strange obsession with Mt. Nibel. The towering mountain was mysterious enough that she thought crossing it would mean she got to see Mom again. Stories from her kingdom spoke of holy mountains where the boundary between the living and the dead merged and people could see loved ones long gone. But what she didn’t know was that Cloud had gone after her.

“Tifa!” his younger self cried as he steadied himself on the bridge. “You can’t go up there, it’s dangerous!”

Tifa turned to look at him, and her eyes were glassy and swirling with green. “But Mom…”

“She’s gone!” Cloud cried. “She’s gone, and she isn’t coming back!”

Tifa’s face scrunched up. “But I wanna see her again.”

“But you can’t! And if you try, you might—”

Tifa slipped on one of the loose slats, and Cloud gasped and grabbed her hand. For an agonizing moment they both teetered on the edge of the bridge. Tifa’s present self reached for them, her heart racing. It didn’t matter though. They went tumbling into the dried-up ravine below.

Cloud cushioned her younger self’s fall and took the worst of it himself. Tifa’s present self couldn’t help but be moved by the selfless act. Why hadn’t he ever told her about this? Especially because—

His younger self woke up to the sounds of her father and his men nearby. They were moving as quickly up the mountain path as they could, and Cloud called out to them. “It’s Tifa, she needs help!” he said, his voice rough and scratchy. He coughed and coughed but kept calling for help. The men carefully moved into the ravine towards the sound of his voice.

When at last they found them, her father took in her limp body cradled in Cloud’s arms, and his face went bright red. “What have you done?” he shouted. “You could’ve gotten her killed! You foolish, reckless boy!” Her father lowered himself into the ravine and snatched Tifa from Cloud. “You stay away from my daughter, understand? I don’t want you seeing her or talking to her again!”

Cloud hung his head and wouldn’t meet her father’s eyes. “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

Her father left with her unconscious younger self, and his men followed after him after a brief discussion about what to do about Cloud. In the end they left Cloud behind in the ravine. Tifa wanted to shout at them all. How could they leave him when he was clearly injured himself? A cut was etched across his cheek, his pants were torn at the knees, and he was cradling his arm. All because he’d cushioned her fall, and yet he didn’t say a word to defend himself.

“Cloud, why didn’t you ever tell me?” she said sadly. And how did he get out of here—

Footsteps sounded out from the direction of the mountain. Tifa squinted to see if she could make out who it was. Maybe her martial arts teacher Zangan? But no, once the figure was close enough, her stomach recoiled. Tall build, silver, chin-length hair, sickly green eyes, and a sharp white and black uniform with leather gloves. Lord Sephiroth, but not as she knew him now. He was still a teenager, but presumably a part of Cloud’s mother’s guard already.

“Cloud,” he said as he lowered himself into the ravine, his voice slippery smooth, “are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Cloud mumbled. He tried to sit up, and his face twisted into a wince, putting an end to that claim. He always had been one to hide his pain beneath a tough guy act.

“Here, let me help,” Sephiroth told him, then reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a potion bottle swirling with green liquid. “Drink this, it’ll heal your injuries and restore your strength,” he told Cloud, and Cloud nodded and did as he was told.

Tifa thought, for a moment, that she spotted a flicker of green go through Cloud’s eyes, but then it was over and his eyes were back to their normal blue. Or at least, the blue they’d been when he was a child. Sephiroth picked Cloud up and carefully carried him out of the ravine and down the mountain and back to his mother.

Was it possible Sephiroth had been poisoning him for much longer than anyone had previously suspected? That potion was suspicious. Maybe Sephiroth’s machinations had been going on for much longer than anyone knew.

Well, there was only one way to find out. She spotted another version of Cloud, this time with his hair in a low ponytail and wearing loose-fitting, casual clothes and boots. Green lights lit her way, and she followed after him.

The years that followed the mountain incident had been fraught with tension between her father and Cloud’s mother. Her father blamed Cloud for Tifa’s week-long coma, and his mother was furious how her father had left Cloud in the ravine by himself.

“He was injured and you just left him there!” Tifa once overheard his mother shouting at her father in one of the rooms of Nibelheim Castle. “If it weren’t for my loyal guard Sephiroth, he could’ve died! Is that any way to treat the crown prince of the land that’s sheltering you?”

“Is dragging my daughter to that dangerous mountain any way to treat her? It’s a miracle Tifa didn’t die that day!”

Cloud had refused to clear his name from the allegations. All Tifa knew was that she was to avoid him. Then her father told her to pack her things because they wouldn’t be staying in the Kingdom of Nibelheim any longer. So they’d left and wandered from place to place seeking shelter from allies like Gongaga. But the war against Wutai raged on, kept her and her father and their people from going home, and drove them back to Nibelheim several years later.

The frosty years of distance between her family and his family could’ve been avoided if only Cloud had defended himself. So why hadn’t he?

“Seriously, Cloud, why didn’t you say anything?” Tifa wondered aloud as she followed after the memory of his younger self. “Did you blame yourself for what happened?”

What do you think?

She gasped. “Cloud? Is that you?” She halted and glanced around, searching for his current self, though the younger Cloud was getting away. The first time she’d heard his real voice since entering this place, and he sounded so tired and weak.

Keep searching for me. I’m closer than you think.

“Right.” She ran after his disappearing younger self, the scenery from Mt. Nibel fading away around them. So he knew she was here. Where was here? His mind? His heart? If his consciousness was stirring, was he awakening?

At last she caught up to his younger self, but the moment she reached for him, her hand went straight through him. He turned, and his eyes had a little less blue and a little more green than before. The scenery unfolded around them, the sky outside matching his eyes and the dress of her younger self as she climbed through the open window. A midnight rendezvous at the very tower their current selves were in now.

As her younger self approached his younger self, the stars shone brightly in the heavens above, casting their silver light into the tower and illuminating Cloud’s face like a lamp held to a book. A rare night of peace and respite, a warm summer’s evening so long ago.

Tifa smiled fondly at the memory. For while their parents had kept them separated, fate was a stubborn, mischievous thing and had brought them together again. She could only hope it would be on her side this time too.

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A/N: This story was written for Beneath Strange Stars: Cloti Big Bang 2022. A big, big thank you to the other Team 2 Members, Tiny Little Robots for her beta work and Mars for the beautiful art! You can see the art here.