His dreams never came easy. Sleep was difficult, he often woke in a haze, bleary eyed thinking that a friend, a lover, a loved one, would be sitting at his feet. If there was one thing he was incapable of... it was letting go. The grip the past coiled around him was stifling. He had fallen into the dark of it underneath the starlight, knit in all of his grief; he rarely gave this memory any room to speak the truth it needed to. The stone hewn walls dimly lit by the green glow of mako; flickering, casting warm translucent shadows, only vaguely illuminated what this place once was. Still is. His birth place. Sephiroth's birth place. The origins of everything. Of loss, of grief, gilded with hope, love and strength. Buried as deep as the rest of ShinRa's secrets, the basement held so much horror, so much pain, so much suffering; and the damp smell of mold mixed with the almost sewage-like scent of processed mako, burned his eyes and nose. This place was burned into him like a brand, it had remade him, killed him, resurrected him and built him into what and who he was. It was this place that gave him all of his strength, his power, the battle prowess he had needed to both survive and stop the destruction that Sephiroth and his father wrought through their willful malevolence and machinations. A place he had tried to forget, tried so very hard- until it broke him, and he fragmented over and over, becoming a dangerous mixture of experience, a shattered mirror that reflected his childhood, the girl he wanted to notice him, the man who became his best friend, the monster that reconstructed him; and none of them at all. His mind had been too fragile. They were right to not choose him for the SOLDIER program. Instead, he became a labrat, with Zack, always facing him; while he drifted in and out of consciousness, his best friend promising him over and over with his expression that they'd get out of here some day. But the days turned to weeks turned to months- and they both lost count of how many passed. Between the screams, of Hojo stripping him down to his bones, of injecting, mixing, surgically enhancing; shushing him with his concoctions to force him into the darkness of unconscious mind and thought- he could not remember anything of the outside world. He would be taken from the room, same as Zack, only to be returned to his tank, after sedation or waking long enough to feel the ache of each part of him being refined through Hojo's hands. Only did it refill once a day for feeding and relieving them both. He couldn't recall much of it. Zack was keeping the time of it all, observing, waiting for the right moment; It all feels so vivid. So wildly real that when he has this nightmare... he is frantic. He nearly chokes when the mako invades his lungs as he comes to; he is wide awake, and in panic punches the glass over and over. One. The tank shakes. The pipes shift with a terrible metallic sound. Two. It begins to buckle. Three. Spiderweb cracks travel across the surface and connect in the center. Four. The mako begins to leak from the fissures and then he slams his feet into the weakest part of the glass, causing it to shatter; it all rushes out with him and he coughs, gasping, falling on his knees, his chest aching, his eyes bright with the infusion in the low light; White hot rage burns in his fingers, he rises after he catches his breath- and flips over an entire desk, all of its notes, glass beakers, lamps and burners and needles; tearing books from shelves, overturning the jars lining them, he picks up the end of the familiar oak desk that "the professor" would sit at- with great ease and slams it into Zack's tank. It connects with his prison, wood splinters, the legs break off one side, but he lifts it again and slams it hard in succession again and again until it gives way. He never wanted this. Not for him, not for Zack, not for Tifa- and having known he killed Sephiroth was not enough back then. He will never go through this again. Never.

He drops the broken desk and goes about destroying everything within reach. There's a commotion outside the door, he can hear the guards, but.... this is his nightmare, isn't it? So as the door opens, he waits behind it, lets him enter a little- and slams it into the first guard, knocking him back with a yell He can hear a gun being cocked. It's fired. He dodges their bullets effortlessly- He picks up a unbroken jar and slams it into their head with brute force when they attempt reloading with shaking hands. He can hear their neck snap as they crumple to the ground.

The second guard has no time to yell for help. Cloud grabs the end of his rifle and uses its weight to slam it into their chest. Ribs shatter and break under the force, he grabs the barrel, flips it around, and uses the heel of it to connect with his face under his helmet; the second falls flat on his back. Both begin to evaporate at his feet in swirls of green particles and light; they're dying and he doesn't care. They're complicit. One of them fed him. The other hauled him to and from the surgery suite. No matter how much he screamed or cried there was no escape. There would be no mercy here either. But it's... strange. He'd expected to wake by now... his knuckles are bleeding, and he can feel the sting, it must've been from the glass- and then it dawns on him. Maybe he's not dreaming at all. In the corner of his eye, a man with shock of black hair, pale skin and hollows of eyes where twin stars sit looks stoically on; he does not move, he does not smile- Cloud blinks and he is gone. Strange, that... he shakes his head. Zack. That's right... Zack! FUCK. He turns on his heels then to see his friend alive, he goes to him and kneels, offering his steady hand to his shoulder and tries to bring him to his feet; the ache returns to him, in a way he can never rid himself of; He had died so long ago, but Cloud lived on for the two of them... bearing his legacy at his back with the weight of all that came with it. Freedom did not come without cost. Neither did becoming a hero. He had come to embrace both and what they had meant; but if he can save anyone... right now... it's him. "Can you walk?" He asks with urgency; "There were only two... but there's more upstairs. We have to move."

Cloud wasn't one to take on many merc jobs anymore. He preferred to stay close to home, he had a son to care for, a business to manage; after all of his travels, his wanderlust had calmed and he was content to live between the bar and the church; Reeve had called on him to help with a wayward fiend that troubled him. It wasn't his usual gig these days, but fighting came naturally; and he would be compensated for the time he spent out in the plains. It was said the wolf "The White Terror" had been spotted roaming and killing livestock east of Edge; it wasn't typical for wolves to come this close to the city. There were no longer high walls to protect them from beasts now, they had the WRO and his friends if needed to face the stronger ones the military wasn't as equipped to handle. Already four men had died trying to fight it. As people moved further away from Midgar, having survived the worst of things, the natural habitats of fiends was being somewhat disrupted; But he had slain that wolf years ago. It couldn't possibly be the same one. He remembered that fight well; but he thinks it's entirely possible such a strong creature must've had offspring at some point. If they'd been cubs back then, it would make sense they were full grown and ready for the fight; What concerned him was that it had been spotted in two very opposite locations, both were a distance enough away from each other it would take some doing to track down; so he thinks that there must be more than one. That wolf had originally been set apart from other packs, it was dangerous, and aggressive; He decides it's better to take a bird than Fenrir for this trip; visiting the ranch out there would be a good idea. It'd been a while since he'd been there, and he'd bred several for racing; his best was a gold one named Lily. She was a an S class he didn't normally get a chance to spend time with; raised by hand from a chick by him, he was proud of his work. After he does that, he begins the arduous task of tracking it down. He thinks he could handle it on his own for the most part, but the last time he'd faced it, he'd done so with the help of his friends; He's got the help of a device now, showing him previous sightings, so he's able to follow the map; pausing only occasionally to reorient himself. His bird has a fright when they travel closer to the old mako pipelines near the barren cliffs near the city. He soothes her, frowning, looking ahead, and he can see a clear streak of white not far off; He dismounts, checking his gear, drawing his sword and moving to creep through the long grass that's started to grow in thick to get a better look. The wolf senses him, raising its head, it must've caught his scent. It races towards him with a roar and Cloud springs to his feet to try and counter whatever attack it tries to hit him with. And it hits hard. The fight isn't an easy one, but his body remembers his footwork expertly; back and forth they go and he takes a few heavy hits to his shoulder and right arm. This isn't good. He backs off to try and heal himself, but the wolf doesn't stop, snarling and snapping with open jaws. It howls, and it pierces his ears sharply, he staggers back wincing; he should've definitely asked for backup. He's feeling that now. He's sure he'll make it out alive, but it's going to be hard; His head is pounding from the attack. Fuck, he might have to run and come back to this, which he really doesn't want to do.

@royalarms ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

丅here was a stillness when he slept, sometimes a gentle soft memory; a life half lived… or something else that shook his soul to the firmament of his being.

Fire raged hot against his skin, smoke stung his eyes, and the glint of a silver blade shone gold; reflections of the destruction in it. He had had this nightmare often, the screams of his mother ringing in his ears, the embers crackling and reaching a shrill fever pitch, as ashes rose high up above. They obscured the stars and his vision. Only one thing laid ahead of him. 

He blinks, the memory warps into something else; so much blood from her seeping through his clothing. She smiles up at him as the light leaves her vivid green eyes, her chest grows still, the warmth is leaving her and; He is trembling his his sleep, murmuring her name; but a hand comes to rouse him and eyes immediately open as he reaches for his sword out of reflex. But there is a stranger beside him; and he stares at him perplexed; his heart thrums in his ears and his breathing has picked up out of anxiety. The nightmare still sits behind his eyes like he's seen an unwelcome ghost. He doesn’t know what to say. Words don’t come and the soft glow of the mako in his eyes glints in the dark, illuminating the blue behind it, ever the fighter; he doesn’t know if this man is friend or adversary.

There is a lull in between the peace and mundanity of what’s become his every day life. He stirs and wakes to an empty room; he showers, he dresses, he pours himself coffee Tifa has left for him on the counter- he never thought they’d ever cohabitate or be good at it in the past. But he’d not known what to do with himself or where to go after the destruction and chaos left behind in Meteorfall’s wake.

He knows he’s too distant with his friends, but it isn’t that he doesn’t care; it’s just… difficult.

Zack and Aerith didn’t want him to live half of a life, they wanted him to be happy, to find a way to exist without the burden of guilt at his back; On days like this, when the sky is grey; deepening with the promise of rain- he feels them most. Tifa had sent him a text saying she had errands to run and had taken the kids with her. ‘Sounds good. Have some stuff to do today too. Deliveries. I’ll be back by dinner.'

He heads out to greet the day, rather than missing the sun- the rain always washed away whatever it was he was feeling. He could feel her and him in it, sometimes, he could even see them; together or standing alone- a glimpse in the mirror, the corner of his perephial , an echo tending to flowers, a voice in times when he felt like he was slipping back into himself.

He had done exactly what Zack wished, carried on a legacy, his legacy, the proof he existed and left behind something and someone worth every bullet he took. 

He feels at home on the road, revving the engine of Fenrir, tearing down through the streets of Edge; so much of the debris from the last fight had been cleared away- people were starting to settle down again. They were getting married, making homes, having kids- but he…

He couldn’t imagine doing that. He couldn’t just leave their memory behind. So he never does. He never can. 

The plains are a welcome reprieve from the bustling of the city, it’s quieter, a release. Growing green things now, the animals are returning, the birds sing; flowers grow, the trees shoot up in places that had once been dust and cracked dry earth. A herd of wild chocobo try to run after him, side by side with his bike- he slows to let them pass on ahead.

He comes to the hilltop where he had lost him. He was like the sun, who could smile despite every pain he endured, who never found his life lacking or took anything for granted. He had saved Cloud. He pushes the kickstand down with his foot, dismounts, overlooking the land, the remains of Midgar seem so small in the distance. It had been a bitter sacrifice. It that had splintered him into hundreds of shards, until he could no longer remember who he was… or what had happened. Now, he’s learned that it’s important to cherish the memory, to honor the dead, to love them anyway.

He handles lilies from underneath the compartment in his bike then with care, moving past the boulders that obscured that last stand. The currency of heroism and hope had been paid in full- and he had held a tiny candle of hope in his chest, that one day, he’d see him again. He’d have so much to tell him; this is where he comes to speak to the air- it’s cathartic, even if no one is truly there.

He’s surprised, even though he shouldn’t be, that lilies are now springing up around the edges here- almost in the exact spot where he’d bled out.

“Dunno where to start… Sorry it’s been a while.” His voice comes soft, he lays down the flowers he’s brought, though there’s no headstone, nothing to commemorate, or indicate anything happened here; His sword rests in the church now. A symbol of his acceptance, but not of the ability to let go. “It’s been harder lately… I’ve lived on, like you and Aerith wanted, but… I always feel like I’m missing something. Maybe I’m becoming a ghost too. It isn’t that… I want to die, though, I have a future… and the kids, Tifa, the others, they need me. I understand the threat is never gone. It’s silent for now… but there. I guess that’s where I feel it most… I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop..”

He exhales, his eyes look up at the sky now, studying the darkening clouds, he presses them closed as the rain washes over him; “I miss you. You always knew what to say, what to do, how to do it... You were braver than I was. I can’t fill your shoes, Zack, I’m trying to, but… I’m not you. I did what I could but…”

𝔸 memory of distant water, the smell of salt air and mist that clung to the damp of his face. He gazed up through the fog, a child, reaching towards something faintly shining in the distance. 𝔸 woman’s laugh, his mother’s cry, a scream; an all consuming silence that gnawed at grief and loss. 𝕋he ship that had taken him to Midgar was taking him somewhere else, the boat rocked with the threat of a storm looming above; but the clouds above bore down on him until they were a thick smoke that choked out the light he couldn’t reach. 𝔸 memory of fire, burning against his skin, burning the villagers; the sickly sweet smell of human flesh roasting in open air, mixed with embers from wood and pine sap- an awful combination he could never scrub from his mind.

𝕋here is a pain in his stomach, gutted, falling down into a slick pool of his own blood; there is a pain in his chest, a blade narrowly missing his heart; there is a gunshot and he feels it pierce it through where the blade hadn’t.

𝕋he light is there again and he fumbles towards it; “W-wait… Don’t go…” 𝔸 woman still laughing, the echo of what might have been, stinging his ears and eyes; ℍe is a little boy, then he is a man, he is holding a sword, then his hands are tied;  he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe; he felt like he was burning up from the inside but frigid ice had replaced his blood. 𝕋he smoke had found his mouth and pried its way inside; he gasps himself awake, chest heaving; to find all is calm, quiet and well. It is deep into the night and he looks around himself frantic, his hand immediately reaching to grasp the hilt of his sword out of reflex. 𝔸 stranger is here now. “…Who are you?” ℍe demands against the faint flicker of a lamplight, “How long have you been there? Show yourself.”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰||𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝙳𝙼𝚂 / 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐||▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰ ▰▰▰▰| ✎ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊 》 𝙻𝚒𝚝 》 𝙰𝚄 》 𝙾𝙲s 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎》 𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 ||▰▰▰▰ ▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰||🇸‌🇭‌🇮‌🇵‌🇸‌ 🇼‌🇮‌🇹‌🇭‌ 🇨‌🇭‌🇪‌🇲‌|▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰ ▰▰▰▰||》 ᴄʟᴏᴛɪ + ᴄʟᴇʀɪᴛʜ + ᴄʟᴀᴄᴋ / ᴢᴀᴋᴋᴜʀᴀ + ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ《||▰▰▰▰ ▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰└─────━┿──┿━─────┘▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

┌──═━┈⊲ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ⊳┈━═──┐ [𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜] | [𝙱𝚒𝚘] | [𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝] | [𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜] | [ᴄᴀʀʀᴅ] | [ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛs] ⊳╭ ── ╯└─────━┿──┿━─────┘╰── ╮⊲