Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ In the Eye of the Storm ❯ Within You Without You ( Chapter 4 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

We were talking about the space between us all

And the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion.

Never glimpse the truth, then it's far too late, when they pass away.

 

We were talking about the love we all could share.

When we find it, try our best to hold it there.

With our love,

With our love, we could save the world, if they only knew.

          &nb sp;                                      &nb sp;                 --George Harrison

 

Soft morning light filtered through the porous nylon of the tent, illuminating the lone figure within. Tenuous waves of dappled sunshine flickered over his pale brow. He flinched, squinting his eyes to keep the unwanted intruder at bay -- he was so tired. The interior of the tent was still and quiet, nothing but the faint sounds of birds could be heard in the small clearing beyond. Morning's fragile dew hung over the camp, condensation dampening the walls of the tent. Tiny dollops of water clinging to the fabric, only to slough off at any given moment. The morning was cool and clear, only the slightest hint of afternoon warmth could be felt in the air. It promised to be a beautiful day, warm enough to be enjoyed but not so much so that it sent you running for the shadows. There alone was one person who did not feel the blessings of this day, who lay corpselike in a sick bed, his dreams full of dread and fear.

Visions of his past haunted him. Though he cared not to recognize individual memories because he knew if he did, he'd wallow in the abject loneliness that was his life and to do that would be submitting to weakness. And he could not be weak, they would not allow him to be and for his own sake he could not show it. He shoved away those things that made him feel anything but anger. Closed his heart and let hate settle where love belonged. Gradually inuring himself to those things that touched others, that made them human. What did it matter if others felt? They were human, not he. For him, the world was a black canvas. He saw no gray, no white, no color of any kind. There was only cold rage and pain. No joy, no love, no real sorrow. And in that ideation, there was a terrible flaw and he could sense it but could not grasp its meaning.

There was much he'd missed in his short life. Things he felt were kept from him. He'd never had even a remotely normal life and consequently he envied and loathed all those who did. Despite all his advances, his improvements on human kind -- no matter how intelligent he became. How strong he was. There would always be a missing piece and though he thought his heart dead to it, he searched for that piece. Vainly hoping that one day he'd find it.

So it was in his dreams that he sought out something beyond the veil of agony. Chasing after illusions. Always on the edge of his sight was the angel. She'd always been there in some form or another. But he'd never been able to grasp her. Was it his fault? His own lack of faith that kept him from her or was there more to it? He feared deep down that it wasn't him but her. That she didn't want to reach him because she could see him for what he really was. He was a monster. The scientists called him many things, but he believed none of them. He was no supreme being, no planet shepherd. His purpose had always been clear -- he was a killer. A comrade of death, as the angel was a comrade of life -- how could she see fit to show him mercy? Yet she did just that. He couldn't fathom it and so his mind groped in empty darkness for a solution.

Was it a dream? Another mindless rambling hope put there by a soul he thought long dead. There were many times when he was alone in the void that he wished he just wouldn't wake up. This was a dream, it had to be. The pain was there and if there was pain it could only mean that he'd been taken back. No doubt they were performing one more test to see how he'd react. Throw the boy a bone, show him what he doesn't have and once you see that flicker of hope that anything in life could be good -- steal it away. Watch him cry, scream, destroy, until he became a gibbering pile of flesh and bone or better yet. See if they could drive him right over the edge, until he lost all sense of reason. Let him tear the place apart for a few hours to gauge how strong he'd become. It doesn't really matter what he does, even if it's nothing. Because all his agony was worth writing down.

"I wonder what they have to say now?", he thought bitterly, quietly pressing down his consciousness. "Just let me stay here. Let this be the last time they have anything to write about."

From the top of the tent a crystalline drop of water fell down and wetted his pale cheek. Another dropped and another, shocking him out of the comfort of the void. Sephiroth's eyes fluttered as he opened them and with painful effort he lifted his hand to his cheek. Wiping away the water, he moved his hand to his burning eyes. It was too bright and his eyes seemed to be having trouble adjusting to it. Moaning with his hand covering his face, Sephiroth turned on his side tiredly. His body was awake and alive with pure agony, he felt a burning heat in his cheeks and his joints ached painfully.

Sephiroth took stock of his situation. Everything seemed to be in place, and he knew this because of the pain. It suddenly overwhelmed his thought, sending a shockwave of agony through his body powerful enough to make him curl into a fetal position. He gritted his teeth until the tremor passed, refusing to let himself cry out. Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away, daring to open them once more. This time his eyes adjusted to the light somewhat better and though his vision was still a bit hazy, he could at least take in his surroundings.

That he was in a tent, there was little doubt. He thought about moving but at the moment, his pain was too acute for him to even try. Contenting himself with what he could see from his limited perspective, he gazed over at the far wall of the tent. The first thing he noticed was he was apparently the only one who actually slept in the tent. His sleeping bag being the only one occupying the space. To his immediate right was a small cotton knapsack that looked as if it'd been filled to capacity. Next to the knapsack sat an empty metal bowl, its white surface gleaming in the morning light. Inside the bowl was a damp hand towel, carefully folded so that it sat neatly in the middle. Around the bowl were arranged a variety of small tins and bottles, as well as a mortar and pestle.

His vision blurred again and another series of painful cramps wracked his crippled form. Heat flared in his cheeks as slow fire crept through his veins. There was no way to stop the memories from surfacing, no way to keep himself from remembering. The void came for him and he was once more overwhelmed. Tired. He was so tired of living. I wish I were dead. How many times had that exact thought crossed his mind in his short life? Some would say too many, but he knew it was not nearly enough. He had been brought so close to death's door that he could see the wood grain. Yet he always came back, his body healed and without any scars to remind him how close he'd been to the edge. A combination of the mako treatment he'd endured his entire life and his strange birthright, which he knew so little of. In the dead of night, he sometimes wondered if he could be killed at all. He doubted his own mortality and it made him reckless.

Interruption. The sterile white lights of a laboratory rendered everything in bland whites and grays. This memory from his childhood was the same as all the others. They melded together to form a cohesive whole that was like a wound to his heart. A gaping hole that seeped his lifeblood and kept him from ever feeling anything real. Sephiroth could feel the straps as they chaffed the tender flesh of his wrists. Could taste the dry leather of the gag that was wrapped around his mouth. It kept him from screaming, but it also kept him from biting his own tongue off when the seizures came. You are nothing. No one. Not human. My specimen. My perfect killing machine. How well you've done your job.

Sephiroth felt so helpless, immobile in the dark void of his own being. He could feel the sterile touch of the scientists. The way they measured him, poured over him for data. The cold, loveless warmth of their hands as they cut him to time how long it took for him to heal himself, how he hated the feeling of human touch. He'd done everything in his power to avoid it once he had the chance. Covering himself head to toe, even going so far as to wear gloves rather than experience the repugnant feeling of another's skin next to his own. All over him, he could feel it.  It somehow felt different than the hands that had touched him before, gentler. No matter how tender it felt, how his body sang with pleasure, he revolted against it. Stop touching me.  STOP TOUCHING ME.  STOP IT.  STOP IT.

Sephiroth bolted upright with a gasp as the last tendrils of the dream wore off. It took him a moment to collect himself, to remember where he was and what had happened to bring him here. Though he was hardly sure of where "here" was. How long had he been out? The realization that he had no way of knowing bothered him. Every minute counted and he knew that ShinRa was already looking for him or his body. He was vaguely cognizant that it was the poison Tseng had shot into him that'd put him in such a state, wondering if it was made specifically for him. "How touching", he snorted at the thought. A sudden cramp seized and almost brought him back down; closing his eyes tightly he fought it. He had to keep moving, though where he might go was something he hadn't thought much about.

Wincing a little, he grabbed his sword and exited the tent to take his first look at the world around him. The morning was bright and clear, he shielded his tired eyes from the pristine glow of the summer sun. Scanning the vast horizon all he could see was a vast and empty wilderness. The view filled with fields that spread across the plain in pleasant green waves, only interrupted by the occasional grove of trees. The clearing in which he stood was near one such grove and it was apparently the thickest of the lot. He had, in fact, underestimated the forest behind him, for that was what it was. All that lay behind him lead to Kalm and away from Midgar, hence the abundance of life. The plain that stretched before him was that which was tainted by Midgar's filth or more precisely, all that was hardy enough to grow in ground gradually made unlivable by the mako pollution that belched out of the city at an obscene rate. At the moment, Sephiroth registered none of this, as he was more concentrated on keeping himself upright. Taking his first tentative steps from the tent, Sephiroth paused as he looked at the view laid out before him. He was free. The realization was sudden and earth shattering.

He didn't have anywhere to go, no appointments to keep and most importantly, no one to tell him what to do. He was his own man. His heart pounded wildly and he nearly fell over with the sheer joy the thought wrought upon him. Leaning on his sword heavily, he managed not to fall into a heap on the ground. He closed his eyes and let a ghostly smile grace his normally cold features. It was okay for him to feel, it was okay to enjoy this fleeting moment of pleasure, because his life was finally his own.

Sephiroth stood there for a long time, even though his legs screamed with pain and his strength began to run out. He would have this moment and extend it as long as possible. Past caring, he would stand here and enjoy his freedom even if it killed him. God damn it, he deserved it for all the years of torture and suffering, he needed to have this moment. It was proof that he was alive and that though not entirely human, that he was indeed a person. A person who craved his freedom, a person who could enjoy what everyone else took for granted. His smiled widened as he relished the thought.

Inhaling deeply, his long silver hair fluttered as a slight summer breeze came from nowhere. The clever western wind called to him through that breeze. Its voice beckoning him over far waters to move in its direction, pulling at him--stimulating long dormant instinct to obey his maker's voice. He had to follow the wind to the west, to the purple mountains. Beneath those mountains lay what he sought to finalize his true purpose. Though what that might be, the wind did not tell him. It only showed him that which he wanted most. The power to bring his enemies to their knees. The offer was indeed tempting, but Sephiroth felt himself hesitating. Had he heard this yesterday or the day before, he would have been overjoyed but now...he wasn't so sure it was power he really wanted. This new feeling of freedom had overwhelmed him and once experienced could not be erased. He didn't know what it was he wanted, but he did know now that he had a choice. The wind's whispers sounded to him like yet another set of rules to live by, one more thing telling him what to do.

There was so much of life he'd been denied. Now, lay an opportunity to make right all that had been wrong with his life. He'd never had a normal life and he didn't believe that it ever would be. Still, he had the choice to experience those things normal people did. A chance to no longer just envy a simple life, but to experience it. It was frightening to have so little in the way of direction as his life had always been regimented and controlled, down to the very second. He'd never had moments like this, where he quietly enjoyed the morning as it passed him by. It was a rush from one obligation to another. From the morning exam by the researchers, to kendo practice, to troop inspection and training, to the meeting with the department heads, to his psychological exam, another meeting with Shinra and Hojo, then the final nightly medical exam--his day in a nut shell--formerly. Of course, there was always the bi-weekly mako injection to break things up but that was beside the point.

These things were all gone, of the past, done with. The strings were cut but the clever west wind still tried to fill the void left by ShinRa. It was trying to repair those strings, set up shop as Sephiroth's new puppeteer and though he resisted, the west wind was awfully persistent. It was because he was weak, in body -- no matter how temporary, and more importantly, in mind. His one flaw, his rather unstable sense of self that allowed him to be so easily lead, the reason he'd stayed underneath ShinRa's yoke for so long. Just as he was about to break down and do as the wind asked, the sound of another distant voice broke through his reverie. The west wind stilled and no longer did its voice or its call seem so urgent.

Instinct buried, Sephiroth's eyes shot open and he tilted his head in the direction of this new sound. It came from the woods behind the tent, a singsong tune that drowned out the crafty west wind entirely. This new voice was real and more than likely had an owner. Probably the one who had been taking care of him, the one who dressed the wounds on his back and feet.  Whoever it belonged to was definitely female, her high voice lilting above the bower of the forest. She was singing, though he didn't recognize the tune nor the language it was sung in, all the same he was entranced by it. Her voice was

Mon Cher

Bien que les étoiles puissent tomber

Je vous attends ici

Mon Espoir

Bien que les cieux pleurent

Je vous attends ici

Bien que les rêves meurent

Vous sere....

The voice cut off abruptly as its owner came into view, her form emerging from the darkness of the forest. There was a pregnant pause as they regarded each other. Jade eyes gazing at emerald and back again. She was quite young but by only a few years, by his estimation. Her auburn hair hung past her waist and was wet as if it had just been washed. It managed to dampen the front and back of her thin pink dress, the fabric clinging to her slim body, pleasantly accentuating her curves. The dress itself was quite simple, a spaghetti strapped affair that looked to be perfect for such a bright summer day. It was startling how out of place she looked, pale and thin, like a little china doll. She looked so fragile that she might just break if touched, hardly the kind of soul one would think to find out in the wild places of the world. This slip of a girl had taken care of him over god knew how many days in the middle of a vast and dangerous wilderness. She was either crazy or possessed some inner strength that was not visible on the surface.

The pause that had so paralyzed them ended as the girl slowly approached him. She seemed apprehensive in her movement and at the same time, curious. The girl stopped directly in front of him, lifting her head up to gaze into his face. She was so short, almost miniscule in comparison with his six-foot frame. Once again he was amazed and tilted his gaze to meet hers, his face a complete and stony facade that gave away no trace of emotion. His eyes were smoldering, the only evidence that he felt anything. They spoke one thought, one of nature's rather large signs that said--leave alone. Her face, on the other hand, was an open book, as a myriad of thoughts and feelings could be pulled from it for reference. Wonder, relief, trepidation, awe and curiosity all flickered across it in a matter of seconds. She didn't seem to notice his disdain. He had given her a classic icy stare that would have paled most; even Hojo flinched underneath that gaze. The girl was quite oblivious to it, or maybe she just didn't care. So instead of taking his taciturn demeanor as a cue to leave him alone, she decided to engage him. Wonderful. Sephiroth cursed his own idiocy for not leaving sooner.

"You're awake!" She had stated the obvious and a sarcastic reply was on his lips, until she smiled. "I'm so glad! Are you feeling well?"

Eyes narrowed and without a word, he pushed past her as if she wasn't even there. He was glad of his freedom, glad that she had saved him from untimely death but this did not mean he owed her anything. He was not her friend nor did he want to be. She was one of them in his eyes, faceless nameless people who drifted in and out of his life. One of many who'd either helped him or hurt him; the difference was negligible as in the end they'd just leave anyway. The only constant in his life had been Hojo's hateful visage, though he was happy to relegate him to a footnote in his history, as of today. She too was a footnote, an interesting addendum to a story half lived, better left behind.

If he stayed, he'd put the girl in danger. ShinRa was hunting for him; he had no doubt about that. Any civilian that got in their way was expendable. Worse, ShinRa might even offer a large bounty for information that would lead to his capture. She might be tempted to trade his freedom for her profit. He wished to see none of these scenarios. There had been enough painful memories kept secreted away behind those jade eyes, enough sadness and loss to fill the pages of a thousand books. With his freedom, he only wished to see an end to misery, his own, the world's, whatever source it came from. He didn't want to be the cause, didn't want to be the victim. Friendship meant little to him, love a more distant thought than friendship. Such things were not for him. He was the odd piece out; he didn't belong and therefore would segregate himself from society. Better to live in solitude than to try to fit into a puzzle that you didn't belong to.

Trying his best to keep his gait smooth, he limped away from the girl. He must have cut a very pathetic figure hobbling along like a lame beggar, the image amused him and he would have laughed, had she not been there. Sephiroth didn't slow, even though he was tired, sore and wanted nothing more than to collapse on the ground and sleep for a week. He nearly laughed again, him needing sleep. Not letting it show, he soldiered forward as if bound and determined to conceal any weakness. This attempt to salvage his pride didn't work. His body was unable to push itself as it had before; too many of its resources had been depleted. Without proper rest, he wouldn't recover and on some level Sephiroth knew this but didn't care. The age-old recklessness in his character threatening to take his life once more, another challenge sent to death, begging it to take him.  Legs shaking, he stumbled and would have fallen had not the girl darted forward suddenly to grab his arm. This one action steadied him, allowed him to stand and simultaneously humiliated him. His eyes blazed neon as his ire rose.

"Where are you going?" She asked, obviously quite concerned for his welfare.

Sephiroth yanked his arm away with what strength he had left. As she staggered backwards her fingers slipped from his flesh, leaving warm trails of tingling warmth behind them. He shivered, replying to her query with quiet menace. "Don't touch me."

The combination of his icy tone and the luminescent danger reflected in his eyes stopped the girl cold. He needn't tell her what he might do to her if she dared to cross him, that look was enough. Finally the effect he'd hope to have on her surfaced. Fear. She stood in front of him, completely unable to move. Her emerald orbs as wide as saucers as she bit her lower lip, hand darting up to play with a stray curl. Looking down at her, it was if all the life in her had been drained or hidden away behind a secret door. It was disconcerting because she simply stood there, staring blankly into space. Not moving out of his way, which annoyed him more than her invasion of his private space had.

"Move."

Awareness crept back into her eyes and she slowly shook her head, "No."

His eyes widened in blatant disbelief. "MOVE." He repeated, his tone more commanding as he lifted his right hand as if to unsheathe his sword.

She noted his movement and the threat it entailed, but stood her ground, "No. You're still sick. You need to rest..."

Again he felt her feather light touch and he flinched, his hand hovering just above the handle of his sword. Anyone else would have been in pieces by now, yet she had managed to stay his hand. It was puzzling to say the least and he frowned as his mind swirled in confused thought. They stood there for what seemed like hours, mildly regarding each other. Neither sure what the other might do. A wave of nausea hit him suddenly then, finally unseating his normally unflagging strength and he reeled. Tightening his jaw, he fought the lightheadedness that came with the sensation. He desperately tried to remain upright, tipping back and forth as the nausea gave way to full blown agony. His sword slipped from his grasp and his head lolled back, eyes fluttering as he fought to stay conscious.

Reluctantly, he realized that he had no choice but to rely on her for continued assistance. He had to use the girl if he wished to keep standing and blindly, he grabbed for her. His hand clamping on her shoulder with little regard for her comfort, she made a squeak of protest but it was more for the strength of his grip, rather than the touch itself. She didn't shy away from the contact, as he would have, she invited it. Moving the hand she'd set on his arm up, so that it gripped his shoulder in return. His breathing became low and heavy, and he let more of himself slump onto her form, his head slipping down so low it nearly rested on her shoulder. The girl's body stiffened underneath him. He didn't much care, though it did bring him a detached kind of amusement to see her finally discomfited. He held onto her like she was the last foundation of the earth, a pillar that was standing between him and total darkness. Even more unbearable than this one girl was the thought of the nothingness and the nightmares it brought.

His eyes closed and he let the world fade away, not into nothingness but something else entirely. Into a memory of shattered silver glass, of things long forgotten, alien feelings that swelled up from within that he recognized as not his own. They came nonetheless, erupting into his consciousness like breaking waves on the shore. Sephiroth pushed them back with urgency, alarmed by the suddenness and ferocity of this emotion so unlike the rage he knew well. Once again, by sheer will power he held his emotions in check, just barely.

Where had this come from? His eyes snapped open and with a burst of energy he did not have, he stared at the girl. She had to be the cause of it. How one so insignificant as her could resurrect feeling in him, he did not know. But she had. Hadn't she? Looking more deeply, he saw that she was just as confused as he, as if she was experiencing the same thing. Her emerald eyes trailed his face with unabashed fascination and he felt uncomfortable under her gaze but unable to tear his own eyes away. A connection had been formed and he felt an odd bond of familiarity and a certainty that somehow, he had known this girl.

Racking his mind, he tried to remember the when and where of their meeting. Normally, his memory was flawless with such things. It angered him; the mystical did not suit his meticulously logical nature. He could remember thousands of faces of people he'd met at one time or the other. Most times, he couldn't place a name to a face, but it hardly mattered. If he saw them again, he would know where and when he had first seen them. Surely, if he had met this girl, he would have a recollection of it but it simply was not there.

The feeling, however, would not pass and his heart beat faster. He could sense that she had felt the same, her emotions just barely touching his. Winding their way from her mind to his like the flow of an overfed river. This dreamtime, this waking reverie, in it he knew that he'd in some way always known her and with this realization, a link had grown between them. Though he could not yet feel it. How did he know her? From when and where? The answers would not come, hiding themselves behind thick walls of impenetrable memory. And from the planet a whisper and a fragment of thought formed on his lips, "Isolde..."

The entire forest had gone suddenly quiet as the pair stood, nearly holding each other in the clearing. The earth underneath them pulsed, sending out directional waves of energy that shook the branches of the trees. An eruption of sound as all the birds fled the safety of their bowers and the sky became clouded as they took to flight. Sephiroth and the girl briefly broke eye contact to look up at the strange sight. It had broken the tenuous link between them and Sephiroth could now only feel the cold comfort of his own fury. He untangled himself from the girl, shoving her to the ground as roughly as he could. She hit the ground with a resounding thump, her face twisting in pain. Standing over her, his eyes burnt with accusatory rage. How dare she. Was all that entered his mind, that and making her pay for whatever magic she'd cast on him.

His voice low, he whispered, "What have you done to me?"

 

 

******************************************* *************************************************************************** *************************************

Author's NOTE!

Whew! Hope you liked this one. It took awhile for me to get it just right. A good bit of action in this chapter; though I constantly worry I'm pushing it too far. *sigh* Hopefully you'll like it, otherwise I'll cry. Okay, I won't cry but I will feel bad. Okay, enough guilt. I'll have more of Aeris's song later. It's in French--just an FYI. I wanted to give the Cetra their own language and as I'm not a genius, like J.R.R. Tolkein, who invented all his own languages. I have to go with what we have here in the real world. I think that if the Cetra spoke in any language, it would sound very much like the language of love, as French is so often called. A big hug and a kiss to Adrwynna Morrigu, who helped IMMENSELY in the writing of this chapter. Originally it went in a completely different direction and it just plain sucked. Thank god for people you can bounce ideas off of. I'm gonna hafta do a special drawing just for her in appreciation for her help! ^_~ Anyways, I'll be seeing you all!

Love,

Noa

 

PPS--It was brought to my attention that I may have screwed up the French in this chapter. Being that I must rely on translator services to translate my French, as I don't know the language very well. I apologize to our French speaking people who might be reading this. The services I go to are reliable--somewhat--but sometimes they don't exactly go for the most common way to say things. Book French rather than the more natural French a native speaker would use. I have to thank Izpalluzado for pointing this fact out. If at any time I do this again, please...for the love of god...tell me! Because I am respectful of other people's culture and would not like to get something wrong that might offend. Thank you!