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The world shifted around him in hazy, fractured hues - colours that bled into one another, bending and warping as if reality itself were caught in a current. Cloud drifted through it, weightless, ungrounded. The air was heavy, thick with something he couldn’t name, something that pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
It was quiet.
Ahead of him, through the mist, he saw her. Aerith, kneeling at the altar, her hands clasped in prayer, bathed in the softest light. A faint rainbow glow surrounded her, casting gentle ripples through the air like the surface of a still pond disturbed by an invisible wind. She looked peaceful. Untouchable.
Cloud tried to step forward, but his feet dragged through water. He looked down. The cold lapped against his legs, soaking through his boots, the water rising slowly with every breath. The surface shimmered with the reflection of rainbow-coloured light, distorting his movements. His legs felt heavy, like the water was pulling him under, though he couldn’t tell if it was shallow or deep. He couldn’t tell anything.
The soft chime of something small, something fragile, echoed in the air. Aerith’s materia, tumbling from her hair, bouncing once, twice, before plummeting into the dark depths below. The ripples spread out in perfect circles, and the sound - the soft, ringing chime - seemed to stretch on and on, a gentle green glow that reverberated in his ears long after the materia was gone.
Something was coming. He tried to call out to her, to warn her, but no sound escaped. His throat tightened. His chest burned.
A flash of silver.
Sephiroth’s blade descended from above. He saw it - felt it - before it struck her, slicing through the air, through Aerith. The world slowed to a crawl, her body crumpling as the sword impaled her, the sound of it sliding through her flesh sickening, visceral, echoing in the emptiness around him.
Cloud reached out to catch her as she fell forward, but his arms felt heavy, weighed down by the water, or maybe something else? Sephiroth’s cruel laughter echoed in his ears. He couldn’t move fast enough. Couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save her.
Couldn’t he?
No. That wasn’t right. He had stopped it, hadn’t he?
He saw it more clearly now. Sephiroth’s blade halted in mid-air, rainbow light bending all around them. Cloud’s sword was raised, fast enough to deflect the blow, fast enough to save her. Sephiroth stumbled back into the mist, defeated. Aerith smiled up at him from where she was cradled in his arms, her green eyes soft with gratitude.
He’d made it in time. She was safe. He’d saved her.
But that didn’t feel right either. His arms felt slick with something hot and sticky. Viscous red poured out from the gaping wound where her heart had once beaten. It coated his hands, the metallic scent cloying in his throat. He blinked and the water around him darkened, waist-deep and stained red as it rose higher and higher, cold and oppressive, threatening to engulf them both.
He couldn’t tell where the warmth ended and the cold began. Couldn’t tell where the water ended and the blood began. His fingers clenched and unclenched, trying to wash away the stickiness, but the sensation clung to him, too real, too raw.
Aerith’s body felt heavy like lead. Limp. It was her blood that soaked his hands, that still dripped into the dark water below.
No. This wasn’t real. She was smiling up at him just seconds ago.
Panic seized at him as he watched himself lower her into the water, her broken body disappearing beneath the surface, swallowed by the dark, murky depths. The rainbow aura fracturing around him, blinking out as it was engulfed by darkness.
He could still smell her blood. Still hear the chiming of the materia her mother had given her as it sank deeper into the abyss. Tears stung his eyes. Hot. Sharp. Blurring his vision. He felt the truth of it, unbearable and undeniable.
She was dead. He’d failed her.
Warm hands cupped his face now. Beautiful brown eyes danced in his vision but he couldn’t see who they belonged to in the oppressive darkness that had enveloped him. He blinked rapidly, but his tears didn’t stop, didn’t cool, didn’t fade. His fingers tingled. His eyes burned. His mouth was dry. His chest tightened, suffocating him from the inside out.
Aerith was dead.
Just like mom.
Just like Zack.
He tried to scream, but the sound never came.
Instead, another sensation pulsed through him - foreign, unsettling. It crawled under his skin, like a song twisting in his veins. A presence winding through his bloodstream. Seeping into his muscles. Wrapping around his bones. Taking root in his cells. Every beat of his heart seemed to carry it further inside. Deeper. Stronger.
“My puppet.”
The words weren’t spoken aloud, but he heard them anyway. They sank deeper into his flesh as the water dragged him further into her darkness. He tried to swim up but his arms and legs were tethered to her. Invisible strings pulled him out of his body as the cold swallowed him whole, dragging him further away from himself. Static roared in his ears.
He didn’t want this.
His bloody hands thrashed through the inky black, but there was nothing to grasp on to. No refuge, no escape. He was out of his own reach, his body a speck on the horizon now, barely recognisable. Panic seized him. He was sinking - sinking further from who he’d been, further from the ones he loved.
Alone down here. Always so painfully alone.
He screamed, calling out for someone, anyone, to notice him, to save him from the cold and suffocating nothingness, to catch him before he lost himself entirely.
Suddenly the soft, rainbow light that had surrounded Aerith enveloped him once more, colours twisting all around him. The static in his mind grew louder, rising in pitch with each pulse of his heartbeat, and with every watery breath.
“Cloud...”
The voice was soft. Melodic. Aerith’s voice. She wasn’t gone. Wasn’t dead. She was still here, wasn’t she? Still out there somewhere, praying for his safety. For everyone’s safety.
“Whatever happens... don’t blame yourself.”
Her words echoed in the air around him, weightless and ethereal. A gentle plea, carried on yellow petals that danced in the rainbow light.
And then he felt them again. Hands.
Tifa’s hands.
He could feel them on his face, warm and grounding. Her fingers traced the edges of his jaw, her palms soft against his skin, and for a moment, in the glow of her beauty, the chaos receded.
He blinked, and his tears returned. Heat, sharp and overwhelming, stung his vision. He couldn’t stop them. He wanted to wipe them away, but his arms were still tethered, threatening to drag him back under at any moment.
“Cloud, look at me.” Tifa’s voice was fragile, trembling, full of something he couldn’t quite grasp. “This wasn’t your fault.”
He looked at her through watery eyes, his chest aching with a pain that radiated outward, like something deep inside him had shattered.
Her thumbs stroked his cheeks, clearing them of his own tears while hers continued to fall freely. Her hands were sticky with Aerith’s blood too, her touch gentle but insistent, pulling him back into himself. “This wasn’t your fault Cloud. You couldn’t have known what he was planning.” He wanted to believe her. He wanted, so badly, to let her voice anchor him, to take comfort from the warmth of her presence and reassuring words.
But it was his fault.
Aerith’s blood was still on his hands, wasn’t it?
The water was still rising, wasn’t it?
He could still smell it. The copper tang of it. Fresh. Visceral.
He heard his name again, but this time softer, more distant, like it was being carried away on the wind. He blinked, and the world spun, twisting and breaking apart. Suddenly he was falling again, the ground beneath him dissolving, the water rushing back in, surrounding him, engulfing him, filling his lungs, leaving him weightless, untethered.
The light - the soft, rainbow light that had surrounded Aerith -flickered one final time before fading into nothingness.
And then, in a haze of blinding pain and static, he was gone.
Cloud’s eyes flew open.
He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light as the nothingness was replaced by something more tangible. Something solid. His chest heaved as he breathed in cool, smoky air, his heart racing in time with the distant howling wind. The dying embers of a campfire fire crackled softly beside him, the meagre warmth of it teasing his cheek. It felt wrong. Too real. Too quiet.
He stared up at the icy cavern roof, trying to focus. His head pounded, a deep, throbbing pain that sent sharp pulses of static behind his eyes. Lifting a hand, he pressed his aching fingers into the hair at his temple, but it did nothing to stop the lancing pain there. The dream, the water, the unsettling scent of Aerith’s blood - all of it clung to him, making it hard to breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself it was just a nightmare, willing it all to fade away. But the pounding continued.
He reached out instinctively with his other hand, expecting to feel the weight of water dragging him under, but instead he found his arm weighed down with something soft and warm. In fact, his whole side felt warm with the reassuring weight of something, no, someone pressed up against him.
Tifa.
She was tucked up against his right side, head on his shoulder, legs tangled with his beneath her blankets, and her right hand pressed flat over his chest. His own arm was wrapped securely around her back, holding her to him. The firelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the faint worry lines that marred her expression even in sleep.
Her warmth spread through him, pushing the last remnants of his dream into the far recesses of his mind. Even in sleep, she was beautiful.
But why was she sleeping here. How did he get here?
It was becoming more and more frequent these days, the disturbing sensation of waking up with no idea where or when he was. His eyes roved around the cavern, taking in his surroundings more clearly. He was stretched out on Tifa’s bedroll. The remnants of last night’s fire flickered softly in the centre of the room. A soft, dawn light shone into the cave through an opening high up on the icy walls.
The others were scattered around nearer to the other fire on the far side of the cavern, fast asleep. Only Nanaki and Barret’s bedrolls were empty. Keeping watch perhaps?
Cloud’s attention returned to the sleeping woman at his side. The warmth of her body anchored him, keeping him from floating off into the dark, from drowning in the thoughts that constantly tugged at him, threatening to pull him back under. He could feel peace in her arms. Safety, even. But the fire’s dying embers flickered weakly against the cave walls, and the quiet... the quiet was too much.
“You’re falling apart.”
His own voice echoed in his head. Or was it Sephiroth’s? He wasn’t even sure anymore. But what difference did it make? They were telling him the same regardless, weren't they? That he wasn’t fit to lead. That he couldn’t even hold himself together, let alone the group.
Last night...
His breath hitched as pieces of it came back, disjointed. Punching the wall, the sharp sting of torn knuckles, blood smearing stone. Tifa wrapping her arms around him, the only thing holding him together. He hadn’t meant to scare her, hadn’t meant to lose control like that, but he’d been drowning under that unbearable weight. Guilt. Failure.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but it did nothing to stop the flood.
He’d broken down in front of her. The one person who still believed in him. Tifa. He was supposed to lead the team, supposed to protect them. Protect her. He’d been the one giving the orders, telling them they had to keep moving, to push harder, faster. And for what? Where had it got them?
His face burned with humiliation. The others... Barret, Nanaki... they had to have seen it, or at least heard it. They must have. The kid’s gonna get us all killed if he don’t get his shit together. That’s what Barret has said. Hadn’t he?
Cloud’s heart pounded against his ribs. He felt the beginnings of panic rising in his chest. Had Barret really said that? Or was that something Sephiroth had whispered into his mind when no one else was listening? Was Barret even there?
It didn’t matter. They were all thinking it. How could they not?
“You’re breaking. And they all see it.”
Tifa shifted slightly in her sleep, her arm moving to wrap around his waist, and Cloud’s breath caught. He shouldn’t be holding her like this. He shouldn’t... shouldn’t let himself get too close. Her warmth made it difficult to think straight. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, blown apart by the need to stay near her, and the need to pull away before he could hurt her again.
Again.
The word was like a knife in his gut. He felt sick.
Yuffie.
She'd almost died because of him too. The images flashed before him, her slight form crumpled on the ground, blood smeared across her arm - so much blood - her eyes closed, barely breathing. He’d charged into that fight, reckless, unthinking, and she’d paid for it. She’d looked so small. So fragile.
She was still a child and she’d almost died.
Tifa had been right there, practically begging him to slow down, to think. She’d said Yuffie needed rest, that they all did. He’d pushed them too far, hadn’t he? Kept them moving, kept them fighting... because he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t slow down. Couldn’t ignore the call. If he stopped, even for a moment, the thoughts would catch up to him. Sephiroth would catch up to him. Manipulate him again. Make him hurt them again.
He was weak, and he’d nearly gotten Yuffie killed because of it.
His fingers twitched, brushing through Tifa’s hair while his thoughts spun, disjointed. His mind couldn’t settle on anything for long, like flipping through pages of a book too quickly to understand the words. His failure with Yuffie blurred into the memory of his breakdown. The memory of the breakdown bled into the memory of...
Aerith.
The knife in his gut twisted. She’d stayed behind. That was all. She’d stayed behind to pray for them, to stop Meteor, to protect them all. That’s what she’d said, wasn’t it? She’d needed to stay behind. To pray.
Cloud squeezed his eyes shut against the static, pushing the scent of her blood to the back of his mind. Just a nightmare.
Why hadn’t she told him she was planning to leave them? If she’d known what was coming, why hadn’t she said something? Warned them? She’d seen him lose control before, seen him give Sephiroth the Black Materia... maybe she’d stayed because she knew.
Because she knew what he was becoming.
Because she knew they couldn’t trust him.
“You’re just a puppet.”
The realisation hurt. She’d left them. Left him... Was it because she’d seen what he really was? The danger he posed? That had to be it, right? The others had seen it too, hadn’t they? They all knew.
He knew they all whispered about him when they thought he wasn’t listening... that they cried when they thought he wasn’t watching. All of them. Even Tifa.
They thought he didn’t notice, but he did. Since Aerith had stayed behind, they’d been different. Sad. They kept things from him now. Hid their conversations, spoke in hushed tones when they thought he wasn’t listening. He’d heard them – talking amongst themselves about the things he’d done. About the way he’d looked, the things he’d said.
“Do you think he’s alright?”
They thought he couldn’t hear them, but he did. And when he couldn’t hear them, he saw the way they looked at him. Tired, sad eyes. Barret had stopped making jokes at his expense. Even Nanaki had started avoiding his gaze.
They thought he didn’t notice.
They think you’re a danger. They think you’re losing control.
And they were right. He should get up, leave, put as many miles between them as he could. The gaps in his memory were growing - whole days slipping away, moments gone before he could catch them.
His breath came faster, the knife twisting further.
“The Black Robes. Roche. Broden. They were just like you once too.”
His future. He could see it clearly. The degradation. The unravelling. He was headed for the same fate. He would become like them. A husk. Mindless. Barely human, nothing but a puppet to Sephiroth’s will. That was what happened to people like him. That was what SOLDIERs were destined for. That was where his path ended.
He couldn’t bear it the thought of living like that.
Cloud’s arm tightened around Tifa’s sleeping form. He needed her. She was the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing keeping him from floating away, from falling apart completely. The only one who still believed in him. Without her...
Without her, who are you?
If it wasn’t for Tifa, would he even exist at all? She was the only tether he had to his past. She was the one who’d reminded him of the person he'd once been. But... if she hadn’t been there, hadn’t found him in Midgar... would he have even remembered? Would he even be Cloud Strife?
What if everything he thought he knew about himself was wrong? What if Sephiroth was right? What if he really was a puppet?
“Am I even... human?”
Tifa sighed then, nuzzling her face into his neck, her breath warm. He leaned into her, breathing in her scent, letting it ground him, just for a moment. She was still here. Still with him. Still holding on.
He loved her.
He’d always loved her, hadn’t he? That much had to be true. He could remember it - the promise he’d made to her, back in Nibelheim, when they’d sat under the stars together. His promise to protect her. He’d always felt this way. Always. Even when he’d forgotten everything else, when everything had been clouded over, he’d remembered that. His love for her had been there, buried deep, waiting.
His fingers brushed through her hair, gentle, careful not to wake her. For a moment, Cloud lingered, soaking in the warmth of her body pressed against his side. But the moment couldn’t last.
His hand froze mid-motion when he felt her shift, her fingers twitching slightly against his chest as she stirred from sleep.
Tifa blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering as her eyes opened. For a moment, her expression was soft, drowsy, as though she hadn’t quite processed where she was. But then the awareness crept into her gaze and her cheeks flushed a soft pink. She immediately started to pull back away from him.
“Oh...” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but laced with panic. “I didn’t mean to—”
He felt her hand slide away as she pushed herself away from him, but before she could fully retreat, Cloud’s hand reached for her wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around the soft skin without thinking. “Wait,” he whispered. It was barely more than a breath, a plea, and his grip was light, almost hesitant. But it was enough to stop her.
Tifa paused, blinking down at where his hand held hers, her lips parted in surprise. She glanced back at him, her brows knitting together in confusion. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to... fall asleep on you like that. I was just...” She trailed off, clearly uncertain how to finish the sentence. “I should move.”
“No.” Cloud's voice came out rougher than he intended, but he didn’t let go of her wrist. He didn’t even know why he was holding on so tightly - only that the thought of her pulling away, of losing her warmth, filled him with dread. He needed this. “Stay. Please?”
Tifa’s eyes softened, but she still hesitated, clearly unsure. "It's okay. I don’t want you to feel like you...”
“I'm... sorry,” he interrupted, his grip on her wrist loosening, though he still didn’t let go entirely. He averted his eyes, unable to face the confusion and guilt swirling inside him. “About last night. I... I lost control.”
The words came out like broken glass, sharp and jagged, cutting him with each syllable. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, how to tell her about the mess inside his head, the weight that had come crashing down on him the night before, the flood of emotions he hadn’t been able to stop.
Tifa didn’t say anything right away. She remained still, her wrist still cradled in his hand. He chanced a glance at her face, expecting pity or frustration, but what he saw instead was... concern. Real concern.
“You don’t need to apologise to me,” she said finally, her voice gentle but serious. “We all have moments where it feels like it’s too much. You don’t have to carry all that by yourself.”
Cloud closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I should be able to though. I’m supposed to be holding us together.” He exhaled, finally releasing her wrist to rub his hand over his face, as if he could somehow wipe the humiliation of last night away.
Tifa didn’t immediately try to reassure him this time. Her silence stretched between them, heavy with thought, and he felt her shift slightly, her hand coming to rest on his stomach.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s okay to struggle, Cloud. We’re all dealing with so much right now. God knows I’ve had to fight my own doubts.” She paused, her eyes searching his face for a moment. “But you’re still here. You’re still trying. You haven’t given up.”
Cloud let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not so sure about that.”
She took his hand gently, pulling it away from his face, her thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into his knuckles.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”
Cloud’s fingers tightened around Tifa’s, his thoughts tangled and heavy. To his surprise, he found that he did want to talk with her. No - needed to... but the words were like loose threads, slipping through his fingers every time he tried to pull them together. His breath came uneven, the weight of everything pressing harder on his chest. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, or if it would make any sense once he started.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he muttered, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. “I’m so tired of trying to make sense of all this. My head... none of it fits together.”
Tifa stayed still beside him, her gaze soft and patient, her fingers warm in his. It only seemed to make him feel worse somehow. The silence stretched, and Cloud fought the urge to run a hand through his hair again, feeling the frustration rising, familiar and suffocating.
“It’s like... no matter how hard I try, everything just gets more... tangled. The more I think about it, the less it makes sense.” He looked away, his voice thready with the effort of admitting it. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. Half the time I don’t even feel like I’m really here.”
Tifa didn’t speak. She just listened, her presence steady, her thumb making soothing circles in the palm of his hand, anchoring him, even when he felt like he was drifting.
He wanted to say more, to explain how everything inside him felt broken beyond repair, how the memories - the pieces of himself - kept slipping further away. But the words stuck in his throat, his chest tightening with the frustration of it all.
He sighed. It was heavy with exhaustion. “Everything’s so... scattered. And I’m tired of trying to hold it all together. I’m tired of pretending I know what I’m doing.”
The admission hung in the air between them, raw and exposed. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel, how he had no control over any of it—over himself. He was supposed to be stronger than this.
He could feel her hesitation, the weight of what he’d just said sinking in. Eventually she exhaled softly, her voice gentler now, more uncertain. “I... I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. But I know one thing. You’re not alone in this. No matter what happens... I’m gonna be here for you.”
He felt the weight of her words settle over him, warm and steady and heavy with implication. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to admit it—to ruin the moment by saying it out loud—but the truth was determine to claw its way out of him. “You might not be able to stop me, Tifa. If I lose control again, if... if Sephiroth gets to me again...”
Tifa’s breath hitched and she pulled back a little, her eyes searching his face, and for a moment, she couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in her eyes. It was just a brief second, but it broke his heart to see that look on her face. He hated being the reason for it.
His gaze drifted to the dim light creeping in through the cave’s mouth. The fire had dwindled to faint embers, but the quiet crackle of it did nothing to calm his mind. The thought of the Northern Crater loomed over him like a shadow. Sephiroth was there, waiting for them.
What would happen when they got there? What if Sephiroth reached inside his head again, twisted his thoughts, made him do things... things he couldn’t stop? The cold stab of fear hit his chest with force, smothering the small glimmer of hope that Tifa's warmth had instilled there.
He thought of Roche—how it had happened so quickly. One moment, he’d been himself, and the next, he’d changed. His body, his mind—it had all unravelled in front of them. His voice had twisted, his eyes glazed over, and then... it was like he wasn’t even human anymore. Just a shell. Cloud swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat as the memory resurfaced. He could still see it: the empty look on Roche’s face, the way his body had shuffled when there was nothing left of him.
It had all happened so fast.
What if that happened to him?
The Northern Crater was a step closer to the end and the thought of stepping into it sent a shiver through him. He could feel the pull already, like a echo in his veins, calling him closer to the darkness. The closer they got, the harder it became to fight. What would happen when he stepped inside? What if he lost himself completely, right there in front of them. And if he lost himself there, if Sephiroth took him over... What would the others do? Could they stop him? Would they want to? Would Tifa?
He fingers clenched tighter around Tifa’s. It wasn’t fair to put them at risk like that. He couldn’t let himself be used to hurt them - hurt her. It had happened before, and it would be so easy for Sephiroth to do it again, especially when he was so close. Too close.
“I need to talk to the others,” he muttered, the weight of the words pressing down on him. He forced them out, even as his throat constricted around them. “They should know what’s happening with me before we reach the crater.”
Tifa’s eyes were still on him, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. His heart pounded as he said it aloud, the fear of what he might do rising to the surface like a dark current threatening to pull him under. When she spoke, her voice was low. Cautious. “What do you mean?”
Cloud swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry as he tried to gather the words. His chest tightened, his grip on Tifa’s hand firmer than before. He had to say it, even though the very thought of it made him feel sick.
“You saw what happened to Roche.” His voice was rough, a quiet murmur that barely held together. “He changed. Right in front of us… one minute, he was there, and then… then he wasn’t. It wasn’t him anymore.” He paused, the memory twisting in his gut. The emptiness in Roche’s eyes, the way he’d moved—like a puppet, strings pulled taut. “That could be me.”
He could feel her shift beside him, but he couldn’t stop now.
“I can feel it… this pull. It’s getting stronger. And when we get to the crater…” His voice faltered, the weight of it pressing down on him, choking the words before they could escape. “What if... what if I turn on all of you? On Barret, Yuffie, or Nanaki? What if I do something... and I can’t stop it?”
Tifa was still. Her silence heavy, waiting, listening. Cloud forced himself to continue, even as his heart pounded in his chest, the fear rising like a tide. “I won’t be able to control it. Not if Sephiroth gets inside my head again. I could hurt you. All of you.”
He squeezed her hand tighter, a desperate attempt to ground himself. His voice came out in a shaky breath. “And if that happens - if I lose control – I need you to stop me. You… you and the others, you'll have to...”
Tifa inhaled sharply. He felt her fingers twitch, pulling back slightly, as if trying to process what he was asking. He knew it wasn’t fair to her - to any of them - but he couldn’t let them walk into that crater without understanding what could happen. What he could become.
“I can't have Sephiroth use me against you. Against any of you." The words came easier now - his fear spurring them on. "If I turn on the group… you'll have to stop me. Whatever it takes.”
Tifa pulled back fully now, her whole body stiffening. Her eyes widened, fear mixing with disbelief. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Cloud, no. You can’t ask that of us....”
“Tifa...” he cut her off, his voice firmer now, though still quiet, as if afraid the others might overhear. “You’ve seen what happens. You know what I’m capable of.”
She shook her head, eyes wet with angry tears. “No! You... you can’t ask us to just... put you down like some fiend that wandered a bit too close to town. You’re our friend! We’ll find another way.”
His jaw tightened. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to more than anything. But he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at him. “I’m asking you, Tifa. Please.” He interrupted her, his voice rough but insistent. “You’ve seen what happens to people like me. SOLDIERs. We... degrade. We... we become something else. I don’t want to end up like them. Like Roche and Broden. I... don't want to live like that.”
“Cloud, stop,” she said sharply, sitting up slightly. "That isn’t going to happen to you."
“You don't know that!” Cloud’s voice cracked around the words, frayed with disbelief. He shook his head, his grip tightening on her hand as though the physical contact could anchor him to something solid. “The things I’ve forgotten... the things I’ve done...” He trailed off, lowering his voice, mindful of the others still sleeping nearby. “It’s getting worse. You can’t know it won't happen...”
His words hung heavy in the air, weighed down with uncertainty and fear. Tifa blinked, her brows knitting together as she looked at him, clearly struggling to find the right response. She looked like she wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but his words seemed to hold her back.
But then her eyes became rueful and distant. “Aerith... Aerith knew”
Her words were soft, but they cut through the noise in his head, catching him off guard. “What?”
Tifa’s voice wavered slightly. “Aerith always knew. I don’t know how, but she did. She said... what was happening to you was different.”
Cloud’s breath hitched at the mention of Aerith’s name, a sharp pang of grief threading through his chest and a burst of sudden pain blooming behind his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to say that. The image of Aerith smiling up at him from the altar - bathed in soft, rainbow light - flashed through his mind again. Her smile, soft and knowing, haunted him.
Tifa’s voice grew quieter, tinged with sorrow as her eyes found his once more. “She could sense it. She said you weren’t like the others. That whatever was happening to you, it wasn’t the same.”
A tightness gripped his throat, and he squeezed his eyes closed, feeling the weight of Tifa’s words settling over him like a balm. How had Aerith known? How had she seen through everything when even he couldn’t? Why hadn’t she told him? His chest burned with anger and the guilt of her absence.
Tifa sniffed, her voice thick with tears. “She always knew more than she let on, didn’t she? I should’ve asked her more... I should’ve...”
Cloud’s heart clenched as she started to cry, her grief spilling over for a moment, tears falling freely. For a moment, his own pain fears took a backseat. His hand moved on its own accord, brushing away the tears that slipped down her cheek.
“Tifa...” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as his thumb lingered against her skin.
She blinked, as though startled by his touch, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a shaky breath, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Nanaki knows it too,” she said, her voice still trembling slightly but filled with a renewed determination. “He told me... all the Black Robes have a certain scent. Roche had it before he changed. Even Broden had a hint of it back in Kalm. He said you don’t have that.”
Cloud froze. He looked at her through blurred vision as the weight of what she was saying - the relief of it - began to sink in.
“He... he really said that?”
Tifa nodded, her hand finding his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Yes. He’s sure of it. You’re not like them. You don’t have that scent. You’re won’t end up like that.”
Cloud blinked, trying to process that. Nanaki could sense it? Could tell he wasn’t like Roche or Broden? The fear that had been gnawing at him, ever-present and suffocating, began to ease—just a little. But the question still lingered, burning at the back of his mind.
“Then why is this happening to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Why do I keep losing myself to him?”
Tifa looked at him, her expression soft but unwavering. “I don’t know why this is happening. But I know that you’re still you.”
“I don’t feel like me anymore,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he looked away. “I barely recognise myself these days.”
Tifa took his face in her hands, forcing his gaze back to hers.
“You’re the boy who lived next door to me." she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re the boy who carried my cat home every time she ran off. The boy who followed me up a mountain when everyone else said it was too dangerous and ran away." She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "The boy who made me a promise under the stars.”
The memories flickered in Cloud’s mind. He did remember.. all of it. And yet...
“I’m not that boy anymore, Tifa,” he whispered. “I’m not... I’m not the same.”
She pressed her forehead to his, her thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks, grounding him. “You’re still you, Cloud. Maybe you don’t feel the same, but I see you. I know who you are. And no matter what happens, no matter how lost you feel, I’ll find you. I’ll bring you back, no matter how far you feel like you’ve drifted.”
Her words, so simple and so certain, cleared the doubt clouding his mind, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, Cloud felt the tightness in his chest ease. She believed in him. Even when he couldn’t believe in himself, she still did.
I don’t deserve you, he thought as his own hands came up to frame her face. He pressed his lips to her forehead, whispered words of gratitude into her skin, his breath warm as he lingered there for a moment longer, breathing her in.
Eventually he pulled back slightly, his hands sliding down around her waist as he pulled her in close. She didn’t resist, her arms wrapping tightly around him as she rested her head against his shoulder once more with a deep sigh.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the quiet sound of their breathing the only noise in the otherwise silent cavern. The embers of the fire flickered faintly, casting dim, shifting shadows across the walls.
Cloud held her tighter, his cheek resting against the top of her head. He wasn’t sure how long they lay like that—minutes, maybe hours. But for the first time in days, the overwhelming pressure of his thoughts - the static in his vision and the noise in his head – it all seemed to fade, replaced by the steady warmth of Tifa’s presence.
He closed his eyes, letting himself have this. Just for a moment.
Tomorrow, they would reach the Northern Crater. Tomorrow, they would face whatever Sephiroth had waiting for them. But for now, for this fleeting moment, he let himself hold her close, let himself feel the weight of her in his arms. For a moment, the chaos in his mind stilled.
For a moment, he allowed himself to believe her.