By Junj
Disclaimer: The characters, items, places, etc. of Final Fantasy VII are property of Squaresoft, Inc. No infringement is intended.
Cloud Cover: The Giver of Life
Nibelheim.
It had all begun there, on that day, five years ago.
Today, it seemed to be nothing more than a ghost town, an empty
shell where there had once been life. The houses had long since
been abandoned, Meteor having scared their occupants from their
mockery of homes. They rose like tired soldiers, too weary to go
on, too proud to give up. The town was dead. The simple absence
of life wasn’t the only reason, though the missing children
that used to frolic about the old well seemed to amplify the
stark silence, which only punctured by the whistling breeze. This
town told the story of a great fire and a great genocide of its
inhabitants. This town told a tale of a loss of innocence and the
ending of life. This town spoke of the beginning of hell.
Nothing it could say would be anything new to the only man
standing amongst the houses.
"It always comes back to Nibelheim, doesn’t it?" A
soft voice carried on the wind that creaked about the houses,
blowing the old signs and the old shutters that had been left
open. The man pulled his black cape tighter about his shoulders
and bowed his head against the breeze. He was too tired to think
about it any more. He walked through the town, a lone traveler
through the past and present, searching for some meaning to his
existence. Everything was dead silent.
He walked steadily, despite the fact he dragged his left leg a
bit. Plodding past the well, he lightly dragging fingers about
it. The strong, old well. Always left standing. Always protecting
the town. In a way, the well was a lot like himself. The moment
of memory and nostalgia passed and he continued to walk towards
the gate. The sound of his footfalls was amplified a thousand
times over. At the gate, he stopped and turned back, squinting as
he scanned the town once more.
He could hear the cries in the wind, feel the heat of the flames.
Sephiroth.
He could feel his anger.
But it was over, a lost memory in his lost soul, and he filed it
back where it belonged, in a part of his life that existed five
years ago.
He turned to the gate and pushed it open. Walking with vehement
steps, he left town, heading towards the Nibel Mountains. It was
too late to fix the past. He could now only think about the
future. He had a promise to keep.
He had to try.
Before it was too late.
"This is degrading."
Reno stopped walking to turn around and face Elena, his features
cold with anger. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his
sunglasses as a lock of red hair fell over his nose, whipped
there by a small gusting breeze. Elena froze in her place when
she saw his look.
"Well, it is," she defended, scuffing one of her feet
on the dirt road. "We’re Turks! We’re supposed to
ride in cars, not walk until a hick comes by with a flatbed we
can ride on. Hitch-hiking sucks!"
Reno rolled his eyes and started to walk again, ignoring the
rants of his comrade. "Nobody told you to come," he
declared, his voice rising above hers. "You came by yourself
with no questions, no orders, no arguments, and no second
thoughts. You have a choice, you know. You don’t need me to
make all your decisions."
Elena frowned, grabbing Reno’s shoulder. He spun sharply,
knocking her hand away. He raised his hand, pointing at her.
"You can’t stop me," he growled. "I
don’t care what you do. You can jump off a cliff,
’cause I don’t need your help. You followed me on your
own accord so grow up and accept that."
Elena’s face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and
anger. "You look here," she ordered. "You’re
dragging us all on a wild goose chase just because you had the
gall to grow a conscience! Turks don’t have consciences. A
moral Turk. It’s a freakin’ oxymoron!"
Reno frowned, his brow furrowing. "You just don’t get
it, do you?" he asked, though the question was pure
rhetoric. He turned away from her. "Nobody gets it!" he
shouted, his voice echoing over the rolling hills. He shook his
head, laughing smally.
Elena leaned over to Rude. "He’s a crack," she
muttered. He coolly arched an eyebrow in response, opting not to
voice his thoughts.
Reno turned back to her. "O contraire, my sweet. I’ve
never been thinking more clearly. You see, we’re all
nothing. We used to be something but only because we worked for
Shinra. Nobody needs a freelancing Turk," he stated.
"But large corporations with protection and co-operatives
for their security need Turks. You see? Right now we’re less
than nothing. We’re the scum at the bottom of the
rent-a-cops’ shoes. I happen to be trying to get us back
into something, and you guys shoot me down!"
Rude shrugged. "I didn’t say anything against you,
Reno," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You
can do what you want. I’ll follow you. I’ve got nothing
better to do."
"Well, that makes me feel so much better," Reno
muttered, sarcasm thick on his tongue. "I see how important
getting back on the up and up is to you."
"Reno," Elena started, her voice rising in pitch.
Reno grimaced. "I hate whiners," he declared.
"Look you can follow me and my cracked up conscience, or you
can go back to brown-nosing the big shots back at Midgar. You
want in? Fine. You want out? That’s fine, too."
Rude’s lips twitched in a shadow of a smile, an
uncharacteristic show of emotion that was somehow out of place on
his dull features. "Count me in. Brown-nosing was never my
forte. I was always better at the bootlicking."
The other Turk frowned, holding up his foot and the shining black
shoe adorning it. "You can start here. I can’t see my
reflection in them anymore."
Rude looked dubiously at the ground. "I don’t know. I
may need some water, so I don’t dehydrate. Looks kinda dusty
down there."
Reno shrugged. "No difference to me." He looked back to
Elena, dropping the jests and returning to the subject. She
tapped her foot impatiently, her hands locked on her hips.
"Are you in?"
She looked off to the darkened skies in the distance, blowing a
lung-full of air out into the breeze with a heavy sigh. The skies
had been dark since this whole thing had begun. It fit her mood
to a tee. "Somehow, I don’t think you’re giving me
a choice," she stated, looking back to Reno. He gave her a
cocky self-assured grin, annoying the hell out of her even though
she liked that grin so – no, too – much. He was impossible.
"Yeah, I’m in."
He smiled widely. "I knew you’d see the truth of the
matter sooner or later," he said, beginning to walk again.
"Yeah. You start looking at something long enough,
you’re bound to make it true regardless if it’s a
lie," she muttered, falling into step behind him.
"What was that?" he demanded, though she was sure
he’d heard what she said well enough.
She sighed again. "Nothing." She could only imagine the
completely smug look painted on his features and the one of
contempt on hers.
"Well, that’s good," he declared, glancing up to
the sky as a bird flew overhead. "The Turks are dead, and I
think it’s high time we had a little resurrection."
Raindrops thrummed endlessly on the deck of the Highwind,
an infinite monotony that was easily symbolic of the current mood
emanating from the operations room below it. Wind whistled
endlessly over the wings and decks, cutting through the dark
clouds covering the sky, creating a swirling mist of black and
gray. Every now and then, a thunder burst bellowed in their ears,
a dangerously close lightning bolt crackling near the Highwind.
And every now and then a particularly gusting blast of wind
knocked the ship, screaming passed it with the ferocity of a
rabid animal. The entire stretch of heaven was filled with the
cries of the storm, the rage of the thunder and the pain of the
cold rain that was like tears flowing down from dry eyes. The
Planet seemed as though it had been ripped in two, a mirror image
to how she felt.
Tifa Lockhart stared blankly at the empty chairs around the large
table in the operations room, her throat constricting at the
memory of what had happened mere hours ago. The group was down by
four members, two of them dead. It was hard to believe that any
of them could actually die, the last battle with Sephiroth
seemingly symbolic of their own immortality. They weren’t
immortal anymore; one simple twisted plan of an ingenious man had
seen to that. The people of the world needed to be reminded of
death every once in awhile just to make sure they didn’t
start thinking that life was some kind of win-win game. People
lost all the time, but what a way to be reminded.
"Well, what do ya wanna do?" Barret asked, breaking the
thrumming monotony of the rain with his bellowing voice. He
sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin with his
one hand. "We jes’ can’t sit here."
"He’s right," Red XIII added. "We have to do
something."
Tifa sighed heavily, leaning forward on the table, her head
cradled in her hands. "We can’t do *&#$."
"We can find it."
She didn’t want to raise her head to look at him; she
didn’t want to see him standing there near the window
watching the rain like he was somehow looking right through it.
She didn’t want to look into his deep blue eyes and be
unable to find him. She didn’t want to look at a perfect
mannequin of her love and be reminded of how much she lost, of
how much she was losing right now with every glance she stole at
him.
She looked anyway.
"Find what?" Red asked quizzically, his tail twitching
with renewed interest. He didn’t seem to care that
Cloud’s eyes were always staring blankly through a person as
he talked, or, if Red did care, he didn’t show it.
Cloud didn’t shrug, didn’t sigh, didn’t move his
feet from the spot he was standing. He didn’t even shift his
weight from one foot to the other. He was like a statue forever
molded to the spot, unperturbed and indifferent. "We have to
find it."
"Jes’ look here," Barret growled. "We
can’t find anything if we don’t know what it is
we’re looking fer."
Cloud blinked and looked to the larger man. "You’ll
know it when you see it," he declared.
Barret snorted. "We’ll know it when we see it," he
mocked. "Ya know, I’ve had just about enough of yo
crap. First, ya jes’ leave Cid lying there like he was a
pile of dirt an’ then y’all like ‘you’ll know
it when you see it’. Damn. What’s with ya anyway? Ya
ain’t da man ya used to be."
Cloud didn’t respond for awhile as though he was trying to
muddle through what Barret had just said. Confusion flickered
across his features for less than a second before it was gone
behind that indifferent mask. "I have a job to do," he
said finally. "You can help me do it, or I can kill you. Am
I making myself clear?"
"You wouldn’t do that," Tifa interjected, her
voice tight with anger. "Stop it with your shallow
threats."
Cloud raised an eyebrow dubiously, his mask falling to show the
one emotion he seemed capable of having: anger. "Are you
sure I wouldn’t do something like that? I have a job to
do," he reiterated slowly as though he was mocking their
intelligence. "If you get in the way, I’m going to have
to be done with you, and if that means killing you, then so be
it. I’ll have no regrets."
"Cloud wouldn’t do that," she defended. "He
wouldn’t kill his friends just because they tried to stop
him from doing something."
"Well, I’d say that this was a little different,"
he snapped, ending the conversation. "We have to find it.
You know your options."
Tifa rose from the table, her face tight with her anger. What had
the Planet done to him? Why did it always have to be like this?
Just when she had had him back, he was snatched away. It was as
if there was nothing left in the world for them to have together;
so why did they have to be together? Let them find someone else.
So, was this a wake-up call or just another one of the cruel
practical jokes the Planet loved to play?
She walked quickly from the room, walking through the empty
corridors of the Highwind with no particular destination
in mind. She just needed to be alone right now. She couldn’t
stand spending one more minute with Cloud’s icy imposter.
She couldn’t stand one more trite question of "are you
alright" from Barret. She couldn’t stare at the empty
seat that Cid slept in during all the group meetings or the
lonely chair that begged for Vincent’s weary shadow to
darkened it once more. She needed to get away from all the
reminders of everything. How blessed it would be if she could not
worry about anything, think about nothing. Thinking hurt too
much. Worrying was worthless.
What price she wouldn’t pay for a long night sleep, a deep
slumber with no cursing dreams to haunt her mind. Something that
would let her wake up in the morning with thoughts of a new day
rather than of yesterday’s strife. Something that would let
her, for one tiny moment, let her forget all the troubles in her
world and just let her be alone.
Tifa collapsed against the bulkhead of the Highwind and
buried her face in her hands. She slid down to the deck, sobbing
in desperation. Who was she kidding?
She hated being alone.
Warm light flickered through the small kitchen, frighten the
shadows to only the darkest corners of the room. The crackle of
the fire seemed to chase away the distant rumbles of thunder
permeating through the air, creating a small shelter from the
torrents of wind and rain outside of the house. Though the room
was filled with the warmth of the fire and the soothing glow of
hot embers within it, she could hardly feel the pleasant radiance
blanketing her cool skin in its friendly hands. All she could
really feel was a pit of emptiness growing within her soul with
every minute the clock’s hands ticked by.
Shera wrapped her hands around a delicate tea cup, watching the
steam rise in tiny tendrils from the liquid’s glossy
surface. The scented steam tickled her nostrils with the cordial
aroma of cinnamon, but she could not feel comforted by its
therapeutic presence. Not this night, nor the night before. She
doubted she would ever feel truly content until he was knocking
on her door, or simply barging in the room in his normal brash
idiom. She had felt this way for days, a simple gnawing feeling
curdling her innards whenever she thought of him. Ever since she
received his letter.
That damn letter.
It had been folded three times around a dark piece of crystalline
stone. She had thought it was over, had ended with Sephiroth. But
they were still locked in this war with those who wanted the
power to control. The black shining surface of this implacable
materia seemed to mock all those who fought the war as though it
knew what was coming to the people of the Planet. How she wanted
to take one of her numerous tools and just shatter that smiling
plane. But she couldn’t; it was needed. If only they knew
what they were getting into.
He seemed to know what was happening. She could tell that much by
what he told her… and what he didn’t. The materia he
had sent her didn’t seem half as bad as what he had actually
wrote her. And, though she had read the letter over and over,
muddling through sloppy calligraphy, she found herself wishing
she had never seen the wrinkled piece of paper or the horrible
penmanship. She didn’t want to believe what it said.
She snorted. Lies were so much easier to believe. Or she could
just read it as it was written, nothing between the lines. She
knew him too well to do that. What he had written was a sure
indication of something else. He had apologized to her.
He wasn’t coming back.
Already, as soon as that thought hit her mind, she felt the hot
tears brimming in her eyes, ready to spill forth at any moment.
They had before this night; the ink was bleeding through the
paper in too many places from her tears. Each time she read it,
she felt as though the ink would smear into illegibility from her
crying. She wasn’t a crier. She was strong, strong for him
and strong for herself. But without him, she was incomplete. Half
her strength died with him. She couldn’t be strong.
She wished she was wrong, but his words didn’t lie. He
didn’t think he was coming back. She could hear his hesitant
sigh that was indicative of any time he had something important
to say but had no wish to actually say it. She could see the
thoughtful – uncertain – look in his eyes he always had
when something was bothering him to an extent deeper than he
cared to show. She could hear the words that slowly sprang forth
from him, his mouth finally obeying his heart in what he meant to
say. Something he had never said to her, but she could hear in
the wind if she listened hard enough. The same words he had
written down with a pensive sentence. I’m sorry for
everything I’ve ever done to you and all the things I
haven’t. Her eyes landed on the scrawled letters. I’m
sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
He had never said those words to her, muttered under his breath
or shouted at the top of his lungs, but, somehow, though it was
innocently written there, she knew it was true. Maybe that was
why she had stayed with him all the years which had gone by. She
knew he didn’t mean anything by the shouting and the yelling
and the angry words. It was what hadn’t been said between
them that mattered.
And here they were, separated by hundreds of miles, but somehow
closer because of two words. I’m sorry.
They were finally together, and now he wasn’t coming back.
Shera fought the tears again. Ironic cruelty seemed to be the
story of their relationship, starting with that dreaded Tank No.
8 on the rocket. She hoped he was wrong. She needed him back here
at their old house in Rocket Town, in their un-mowed lawn in the
back, knee deep in weeds as they stared up at the glossy night
sky, slowly counting all the stars they could see. She wished he
would knock on that door and let himself back into her kitchen.
She wiped the tears from her eyes as she admonished herself for
indulging in childish wishes and blatant lies. He wasn’t
coming back. She might as well finish her cup of tea and go to
bed while she still had some semblance of peace of mind. If not,
she would be up all night with her grief. Why did he have to do
this to her?
Her gaze snapped to the door.
And a quiet tapping was barely audible over the rain.
Yuffie Kisargi waited impatiently, tapping her foot on the cement
walkway in front of the house. She was crowded underneath the
protective overhang of the roof, shrinking back around from the
pouring rain even though she was already soaked. She didn’t
like being wet. It was too… wet. It ruined her hair.
She knocked again.
The door slid open from underneath her poised knuckles, revealing
a young woman hugging a white terrycloth robe tightly about her
figure. Disappointment flashed across a sallow and pale face. Her
eyes were red and puffy, obviously from crying too hard and too
long over something that couldn’t be changed, and circled
with the dark shadows of insomnia. Yuffie inwardly cringed.
"Did I come at a bad time?" she asked, shrugging as a
cold drop of rain slid from her drenched hair down her back.
Shera sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "That
depends on what you want," she declared, no trace of scorn
or bite in her words.
Yuffie smiled smally. This was not a good time for her to be
here. "I’ll come back later." She turned and
prepared to steel herself against the pounding rain.
Shera watched as the young girl made ready to run through the
muddy streets back to wherever it was from which she came. And
then she was reminded of the letter once more. The description
fit. She took a stab in the dark.
"Wait," Shera said, halting the girl with a mere
restraining hand upon her shoulder. "I have what you’re
looking for."
Yuffie turned around slowly, her small smile of sympathy turning
into a huge grin of ecstasy. Could it be that this Shera, whom
the old pilot had spoken of so fondly, was more helpful than all
of the crazy coots in this entire town? Yuffie had a feeling that
she was going to like Shera. Short and to the point. Two
character qualities Yuffie admired most.
"You just said the magic words, Ms. Shera," Yuffie
declared, sitting through the doorway as the other woman beckoned
her through it. Maybe the rain wasn’t as foreboding as she
thought it to be. Things were looking very bright indeed.
"I hate rain," Elena whined, stomping her foot
indignantly in the muddle of mud in which she was standing. The
brown water splashed upward, drenching the bottom of her slacks
and splattering over Rude’s. The bald Turk glared at her
over the top of his glasses.
"I told you once, and I’ll tell you again," Reno
growled as he stepped over the puddle. "Stop whining,
Elena." He opened an umbrella up and stepped out into the
rain, the large arching shield preventing the immense drops from
hitting him. He stopped when no one followed him. He turned,
slightly peeved at the inaction of his comrades. "Are you
coming or what?"
Rude and Elena exchanged a quick glance. Elena crossed her arms
resolutely under her breasts, a grim look on her face. "You
ain’t gonna drag me out to see some redneck scientist,
Reno," she declared, her voice cold enough to freeze the
rain. "I’ve had just about enough of this crap."
Reno seemed unfazed by the bite in her voice, turning his gaze
calmly to Rude. Rude said nothing, not even a flicker of emotion
passing over his stone face to betray his thoughts. Reno turned
sharply, continuing on to the house that stood tall and proud
against the bleak background of dark and dreary rain clouds. He
opened the gate surrounding the unattended lawn and sauntered up
the cement walkway with finesse and clear-showing confidence, the
signature of a well-versed Turk.
He knocked softly on the door and heard a muffled reply from
inside the house. He took the time to fold up the umbrella now
that he was under the relative safety of the overhang of the
roof. After waiting calmly for about two minutes, the door opened
to reveal a face he had not had the pleasure of gazing upon in
two months. He smiled in greeting.
Shera frowned as she looked over the features of the red-haired
man on her doorstep. "Oh, it’s you. Not
interested," she said simply, slamming the door in his face.
Elena sniggered from behind him, making her laughter easily
audible to Reno’s ears. He silenced her with a withering
glare before knocking again. The door opened.
"Look here, Reno," she growled. "I’ve had
enough of Shinra’s dirty tricks and lies. No more Turks, no
more executives, and no more silly programs to waste the
tax-payers’ money on. Go away." She made a move to
close the door once more, but he stopped it with his hands.
"Ms. Shera, I’m afraid the situation is a little more
severe than that," he stated before she could spit him on a
barrage of harsh words. "Can I come in?"
She stared at him, disbelieving. "This is about that,
isn’t it?" she asked, her face suddenly pale. What had
she done?
His brow furrowed in curiosity. "If you’re talking
about the Black Materia, I’m afraid it is." How could
she possibly know what he wanted before he even asked? She was
definitely hiding something.
She frowned. "I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to
someone. A friend."
Reno silently cursed, breaking his gaze. "Who?" he
asked, shifting his position slightly so that he could look out
at the pouring rain.
"I don’t have to tell you anything," she said
stubbornly. "Shinra isn’t worth it. You
aren’t worth it."
Her words stung, but he didn’t let his impassive mask fall
from his features. "I don’t need to justify the actions
of the company to anyone much less you," he retorted, calm
severity in his tone. "But if it would give you some sort of
peace of mind, I’m not chasing this thing around the world
because Shinra wants to dip its greedy fingers into the pool of
power. It’s under new management now. I’m doing this to
stop the world from literally destroying itself because some
crack pot scientist tried to reach the Promised Land. I
don’t know what the Promised Land is, and you can be sure
that I don’t give a damn if I’m going to end up there
or hell or wherever. But I do know that I plan to be on the
god-forsaken planet for as long as humanly possible. I can’t
do that if the Planet ends up as a lifeless slab of rock. I need
to get the Black Materia, so I can do that. If it ends up in the
wrong hands, you can kiss this little cottage goodbye."
Shera looked unimpressed. "That’s very touching, Reno,
but I think that the Shinra’s hands are the wrong ones. What
have they done in the past twenty years to alleviate the local
populace out of their little holes of self-pity and other
blatantly worthless emotions? Nothing. If anything, they helped
to dig the holes just a little deeper and make the climb back up
just a little more slick and slippery. By the time the end of the
world rolls around, be it today or five hundred years from now,
we’re all going to be six feet under anyway, so what does it
matter? I gave it to the right people, and that’s all I need
to know for a good night’s rest."
Reno pursed his lips, a frown in his eyes. If only she could
understand, if only there was some way to make her see. She was
too damn stubborn; she had always been that way. There was
nothing in the world that could change her will. "My way
works best for me." It was times like these that just
made him want to slap some sense into her head. But physical
force would only deepen her resolve. If not with blows, then with
words.
He sighed. "Suit yourself then, Ms. Shera," he
declared, as though he was finally accepting defeat. She saw
straight through that ploy. Turks were not known for merely
walking away. "Of course, you shouldn’t expect your
gallant knight-errant on his tiny, trusty bronco to be home ever
again." He gave her a small, sad smile. "The wrong
hands, Ms. Shera."
He opened the umbrella again and stepped out into the rain. He
had gotten the last say whether or not she yielded to his ominous
premonition. His reputation as a Turk could not possibly be
slandered. Having the last word was always important.
"Reno, wait!" Shera called, her voice breaking with
indecision. Had giving the materia to Yuffie Kisargi been such a
good idea? Cid had often talked about her being a greedy girl,
willing to lie, cheat, and steal to gain any piece of materia for
her hometown of Wutai. Certainly, she was what he had talked
about being the wrong hands. She was clearly power hungry.
Shinra’s new management… Reeve wasn’t about to
destroy the world with a piece of materia, was he? He was intent
on righting the wrongs of the former Shinra presidents. What had
she done?
"I need a name, Ms. Shera," Reno said without turning
to look back at her. Playing right into his hands.
She glanced about with renewed uncertainty. She should have given
it to Cloud or someone from the team who was more reliable. If
Reno could get it to Reeve, then there would be no more problems.
Surely, Reeve was a reliable part of the old team. He had never
truly let them down before this. He was a responsible Shinra
executive. He could handle this.
"I need a name," Reno reiterated as though she
hadn’t heard him the first time. "Give me the name, and
I can make sure that this materia is returned to a place where no
one can ever get at it again."
Now or never.
"Yuffie Kisargi," Shera blurted, feeling as though a
heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but an even
heavier one had been placed on her heart.
"Destination?" he asked expectantly.
Shera looked down from the back of the Turk’s head.
"Wutai," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Only then did he turn back to her once, gratitude clear in his
eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Shera." He turned back to the
rain and started to walk out of the town, leaving the other Turks
scrambling through the rain to catch up.
Shera closed the door, tears burning her eyes. She had just
betrayed her friends in a selfish hope that her actions would
bring Cid home to her. She felt like she was less than the muddy
water filling the slimy holes in the dirt roads of Rocket Town.
She slid down the door, sobbing softly as she shrunk to the
floor.
"You did the right thing."
Her teary gaze met with a pair of softly glowing green eyes
hidden deeply within the shadows of a velvety black cloak. His
voice was coldly soothing as though he could feel the weight
suffocating her heart, as though this stranger knew what it was
like to have broken a promise by betraying a friend.
But his cold consolation could not help her feel better now. If
he knew how she felt, he would respect that. Thunder growled in
the distance, breaking the silence between them. The monotonous
rainfall continued.
© Junj, 1998
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