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There laid a corpse on the grass.
Now, this in and of itself wasn't especially remarkable. As a SOLDIER First, Sephiroth had seen plenty of corpses, an unfortunately large portion of which having been caused by him. It was merely that he had not been expecting to encounter any dead bodies today — it was rare they all had a day off at the same time, and the closest they usually got to corpses during those precious few days were actors in some play Genesis would inevitably drag them all off to.
(As a side note, it legally couldn’t be called a day off since that generally implied an agreement from the higher-ups — in reality, it was already a bureaucratic nightmare to get a free day for one SOLDIER, without even mentioning the logistics of coordinating those to coincide. Thus it had instead been established for years that sometimes the Firsts took a simple mission that required a mere Third or two, only to return days later, refreshed and, if they were close to Costa del Sol, coincidentally tanned. Sephiroth took far too much pleasure in the red face of the president as he sputtered about, blustering but all the while knowing he could do very little to stop them.)
They had gone out to the cliffs outside Midgar that day. Experience gave him the knowledge that what at first would be an intense spar away from the usual gawkers would likely soon devolve into what could only very generously be called a fight, and was more akin to puppies playing around. (Even if he would never acknowledge that anywhere outside of his own mind. He had his dignity.)
Either way, there was a corpse.
He had spotted the man when he had been scouting ahead for a fitting clearing. From a distance he seemed merely asleep, if in an uncomfortable position, but when Sephiroth cautiously drew closer the man’s chest didn’t seem to be rising. A light press of his fingers to the wrist revealed no heartbeat. There was no blood on his clothes, nor on the sword that laid on the man's other side. Sephiroth would have assumed poison if it were not for his peaceful expression, unmarred by any pain. It looked as if he simply fell asleep and never woke up.
“Sephiroth? Did you find a place already?”
Sephiroth didn’t have time to call out a warning before Zack dashed out of the bushes.
“Holy shit, is he dead?”
“Who is dead?” Angeal and Genesis were quick to join him in a circle around the corpse.
Genesis sniffed as he toed the body. “Well, this certainly puts a damper on things.”
Sephiroth bowed to examine the corpse. Male, blond hair cut at varying lengths, circa twenty years of age — no, hold that thought, his half-opened glazed eyes possessed the remnants of a mako glow on par with any First. Assuming the research Hojo had done on the effects of Mako on the lifespan of rats could be replicated in humans, the man could have been anywhere from the actual twenty years that he looked to almost forty, if he had been part of the first badge of experiments. That would also explain his height, approximately five and a half feet, which Sephiroth noted as abnormally short for an Enhanced.
His clothing bore a resemblance to the SOLDIER uniforms, but he had never noticed anyone like him in the ranks. Based on the massive sword he carried with him, he wasn’t someone you could easily overlook either. He absently wondered if he could have used it when he was alive — he would have liked to spar with him. It was always such a shame Angeal refused to use his own Buster Sword.
He was the first one to register the small threads of an unknown green energy coming up from the ground. Sephiroth promptly jumped backwards, pulling the others away from the rapidly expanding wisps.
Though the energy grew, it did not try to spread around the clearing, instead focussing on the corpse. A faint voice, multilayered and abstractly female, consisting more of ideas and concepts than actual words, whispered into their minds, Reluctant-Hero-Champion Mine-Fallen-Tired-Mine-Mine-BELOVED . The green light curled lovingly around the young man, twining through his golden-blond hair and swaddling him in the warmth that was mirrored in Her declaration.
She was silent for a second to gather Herself, straining to form clear words. No need for a Hero here. Rest now. Her tone turned regretful as she unravelled again, Too-Much Take-Care-Please You-Gift-Peace. The light enveloped the man one last time, as if in a final embrace, before fading away, leaving four dumbstruck men behind.
“Huh,” Zack said faintly. “Please tell me I didn’t hallucinate that.”
The corpse was breathing.
He was certain the man had been dead. The strange energy had quite literally breathed new life into the man. Had the man still been alive, Hojo would have been delighted.
Genesis stepped forward, spreading his arms wide as his face filled with a mix of awe and glee. “ Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds. .. I have always presumed myself to be the Hero, but I suppose I don’t mind being the Goddess’s Gift instead.”
Sephiroth hummed. “We will take him back with us.”
Maybe he would be getting that spar after all.
The ex-corpse did not wake up until twelve hours later, when they had long managed to smuggle him inside. The ever-present lights from Midgar shone through the window to cast deep shadows over his face. They had been taking shifts to make sure at least one person would be with him when he awoke, which at the moment was Sephiroth.
He had situated himself a solid three metres away from the man and put the man’s sword in his hand. If the man was anything like him, it would function to keep him from panicking and attempting to immediately break out. If he did make an attempt to run or fight, Masamune was not far away.
There was nothing to warn him that the man had awoken. No change in breathing pattern, no fluttering eyelids, nothing. Still, there was a niggling sense in his mind that assured him that yes, the man was aware and watching him.
He was prepared to wait until the man willingly showed himself to be awake, but it seemed like he wouldn’t have to be patient for long. A millisecond of tensed muscles was the only thing that warned him before the man shot out of bed at astonishing speed, twisted his sword, and put it to his neck.
The blade cut into his skin as he swallowed, the cut healing up fast enough that there was no time for a bead of blood to well up before it was sealed again.
He did not attempt to push the steel away, instead taking a gamble and allowing the man to take his time. He did not know what the man was looking for when he fearlessly met his eyes, but it must have been assuring because though he did not lose his hostile body language, at least he dropped the sword.
Right. What next? Introductions.
“I’m Sephiroth, in case you aren’t aware.”
The man seems to bite away his initial reaction, instead giving him a painfully dry, “Oh I know, believe me on that.”
Sephiroth was unbothered by his hostility. “And your name is?”
The man squinted at him. “Cloud Strife.” He seemed to brace himself for a reaction, though Sephiroth did not know if he expected a positive or negative one. That did not seem like a real name at all. A lie? If it was, he wouldn’t blame the man, waking up in a situation like this. But his worry seemed to suggest it was his true name, or at least a previously established alias.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Cloud bared his teeth at him. “Is it really?”
Hmm. This wasn’t going to be easy, no?
It was surprisingly easy to fold Strife into the ranks — a few strategically placed comments here and there that implied he had been part of a past cover-up was all it took for the Director to assume the man as one of them. Lazard had named him a SOLDIER Third of his own volition, effective immediately, to be assessed for possible promotion in a week's time from now.
Oh, the Turks looked at them side-ways, obvious in their distrust, but for all that they suspected some trickery was going on, they couldn't prove anything was wrong. How do you go about determining a cover-up? The best always left no trace behind, and no one could deny that the Turks were very good at their job.
But something had to give eventually, and the situation came to its head four days after Strife had been introduced into SOLDIER.
It was a quiet evening. Genesis was out on a mission, and with Sephiroth having stayed behind in his office for paperwork there were only the three of them present. Angeal was buzzing about in the small kitchen that came with his apartment, smiling at the sound coming from the living room where his student successfully managed to draw the stoic soldier into a conversation. Something about chocobos, he thought.
Strife stopped halfway through a sentence, and as Angeal quickly moved over the young man seemed to have gone stiff, his eyes unfocused and far away. A stray thought of a potential flashback made him look closer, but there were no signs of distress. Honing in on external stimuli then? Focusing his ears outwards for any disturbances revealed the sound of soft footsteps, still a hall away but drawing closer.
(How good must his hearing be, Angeal vaguely wondered in the back of his mind. He very carefully didn't think about how it reminded him of how Seph would stop talking in the middle of a conversation because three floors down something interesting was being shared. It was those moments that reminded him that for all they were the same rank, there was still something dividing them. Maybe Strife would — )
The footsteps stopped in front of their door, Zack already having moved over to open the door before the person behind it could knock. Tseng stood there, outwardly completely unsurprised by being expected. Face carefully blank, he nodded to Zack.
Moving past him without saying a word, he rounded the comfy chairs, coming to a stop in front of the table Strife was sitting at. Angeal took note of the fact he took care to stay in Strife’s view the whole time.
Tseng levelled him with a stern look. Strife matched his look with a blank stare of his own. Neither moved for an extended period of time. Zack watched on awkwardly from the background, not daring to interrupt. Angeal couldn’t blame him.
After it became apparent that Strife wasn’t going to fold that easily, Tseng sat down, placing the manilla folder he was holding on the table. Still without a word, he opened it and took out a bundle of papers and spread them out for easy viewing.
Stepping forward to join them at the table, Angeal studied them with a curious eye.
First, two versions of identification papers of one Claudia Strife. Version one showed her as having passed away twenty years ago, having walked out into the mountains and simply never returned. She was survived by no direct family, as opposed to version two — which was identical in every way, save for her having had an infant son at the time.
Right next to it, a full identity for one Cloud Strife, age twenty-one.
The picture was obviously taken from one of the many security cameras scattered around Shinra HQ but other than that, there was nothing to indicate this man had not existed until mere days ago. The papers were slightly yellow with age, the ink faded, a splatter of coffee staining the wrinkled edges. There was even a list of witnesses who would, if Angeal knew the Turks, likely swear up and down that yes sir, this man came by some time ago, always thought he was nice if a bit silent, anything else, sir?
Strife narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. “I don’t understand.”
Tseng gave him a look that was loaded with things Angeal could not discern, but which Strife obviously could, going by the faint relaxation of his shoulders. “We don’t have any reason to trust you,” the Turk began, “But if we are right, there is a good chance that you were hurt by the late professor Hojo. Making one of his dear experiments human is something he would despise, and there is very little we will not do to posthumously spite that man.”
He picked up another file from... Somewhere. He slid it over to Strife, who examined it thoroughly. “You are expected to report in room 37.TR1 in three days for assessment of your skills, both theoretical and practical. Based on the results you may be moved up a rank and a profile will be made to better assign missions fit to your skills. You may take a companion with you.”
He stood up, gathering the papers with him. Pausing in the doorway, Tseng spoke with a note of challenge, “Make sure our faith is not misplaced.”
It seemed they did not have to worry about the assessment.
Strife positively slaughtered the written test about tactics against various monsters and human opponents, making up for his lacking scores in bureaucracy and military ranks and conduct. The simulations used to put those scenarios into reality were cleared in the fastest time since Sephiroth himself, even beating his score in two out of the five.
Finally, up to three different spars; first against a Third, then a Second, and if Strife managed to beat those two, against a First as well.
A helmeted Third stepped forward and drew his sword, settling into a steady stance. Angeal thought he could recognize him from a class for new Thirds he had taught a while ago, but he couldn’t be sure. New SOLDIERs often changed greatly, especially if they were enhanced during puberty.
He did not have the chance to see if his fighting style would be able to knock a name loose, because the fight had barely been going on for seven seconds before the Third was sprawled on the floor, sword thrown to the other side of the room.
The SOLDIER Second, one of many Zack’s friends, lasted a little longer, but he too was laid out flat within half a minute.
Strife stood there, waiting languidly. “So, who’s up next?”
Before Angeal could motion Zack to step up, as the latest First to be promoted, Sephiroth made his way forward from the corner he had been observing the proceedings from. Though he outwardly did not show himself to be excited, his slitted eyes were dilated.
Strife eyed him as he settled into an anticipatory stance. “Are you sure about this? You know how it’ll end.”
Sephiroth gave a minute nod. “I know what I’m doing.”
They sprung into action without a single spoken word.
Their fight was beautiful — a push-and-pull, Strife more evenly matched with Sephiroth than he had ever seen anyone be, challenging him in ways even he and Genesis together could not.
Sephiroth pulled out moves he had never seen him need to use, ones he had only ever touched upon in practice. Still, Strife did not seem at all surprised and moved to counter them within milliseconds, not a single moment needed to decide on his counter moves.
The most terrifying thing was that they both seemed to be holding back. He didn’t know if they were being conscious of the fragile training room or if something inside them refused to go all out where others could see, but they treated this more like a fun game than something they needed to do to prove themselves.
A stab, and Sephiroth jumped back in time with a smirk on his face. A slash, and Strife gave a feral grin to match. They regarded gravity like it was a mere suggestion, using the walls as springboards.
It was only thanks to his enhancements that Angeal was able to follow their dance around the room. Strife had a very strange sword style; there was almost no reference to any formal style beyond what looked like an echo of Angeal’s own teachings. Almost if, like Sephiroth, Strife had to develop a sword style of his own in a trial by fire, with a sword that no other human being could use.
He could see Sephiroth improve by the minute. Evasive manoeuvres were switched out for parries and counter attacks as he lost his hesitation the longer Strife held out. Still, it turned out to not be enough.
The fight ended with Sephiroth on his back, sharp steel settling on his chest, ready to be shoved between his ribs if Strife so pleased. Sephiroth did not seem at all bothered at this vulnerability, looking like nothing as much as the cat who got the canary.
“Thank you for agreeing to participate,” Strife said bluntly as he held out a hand to pull Sephiroth up.
Sephiroth laughed breathlessly. “Always a pleasure,” he purred as he took the hand in his own.
Strife rolled his eyes in pretend-annoyance, but the corners of his lips were raised.
In his more fanciful moments, Genesis liked to compare Cloud to a mountain.
Once he had settled a bit from the tense young man he was when he arrived he could only be described as steady. Relaxed, reliable, and unmoving. Annoyingly unflappable. That was probably why he matched Sephiroth so well — he, too, never reacts as much to Genesis’ very justified dramatics as much as he would like.
It's admittedly a bit unsettling how they communicate. They have those conversations wrapped up in single looks, you know the type — the ones that only come after a whole life of knowing each other intimately, that are rarely found anywhere other than in twins, or maybe long-married couples. He and Angeal know each other well, have for more than a decade, almost two. Still, they can't reach the levels of synchrony that those two have developed. Worst of all, it only took those two one day and a conversation which Genesis tried his best — and failed — to find out the contents of. He hasn’t decided yet if he finds it disturbing or not. It probably should be, right?
But they are good for the other. It’s like they fill each other’s cracks — there was something about those two together that made them build off each other to achieve previously unreachable heights.
This had not gone unnoticed.
"So... I heard you and Cloud are sparring together, if you know what I mean," Reno said as he waggled his eyebrows.
Sephiroth tilted his head slightly. "Yes, we are. His unique sword style is a challenge like no other I have faced."
"No, no, like, you are 'comparing swords'."
When it failed to elicit a reaction from Sephiroth beyond a raised eyebrow, Reno mercilessly continued, "Come on, man. Pounding him into the ground? Going at it?"
"I do believe he is trying to ask if you two are fucking, my dear rival." Genesis did not even give him a chance to reply to that before he leaned into Reno’s space. “It’s even worse than that, I’m afraid. They are domestic. I caught them splitting two desserts without a word once. They have washed each other’s hair without it devolving into fun sex, head and shoulder massages are scheduled at nine o’clock after coffee, and they each know the layout of their kitchen drawers like the back of their hand.”
Reno’s grin was wider than should be physically possible.
Sephiroth found him on the roof of Shinra HQ, looking out over Midgar. Pollution prevented any starlight from reaching them, but with the streetlights burning brightly even an unenhanced person would be able to see Cloud sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the side, chewing on a piece of the bread he held in his hands.
He took his place next to Cloud, content to sit there with him and enjoy the company. Cloud didn’t acknowledge him other than to tear off a portion of bread, offering it to him without looking sideways. Sephiroth accepted it with a nod.
A period of time later, could have been minutes, could have been hours, Cloud finally turned to look at him. Sephiroth took a moment to enjoy the eye-contact, Cloud never hesitating to look Sephiroth in his slitted eyes, unlike so many others.
Cloud’s voice was clear in the night air. "I've already asked the others why they stayed here. Genesis said he likes the spotlight it gives him. Angeal remains because he refuses to leave his men behind, and Zack because he still wants to be a hero, and he thinks this is where he can do the most good." Cloud tilted his head. "It's you that I don't get. Why are you still here? You don't need to wait until you grow wings for you to fly away."
Sephiroth slowly blinked at him. "How dramatic."
"Hmm. Genesis rubbed off on me."
“He always has been a bad influence on otherwise fully rational men.”
It was quiet as Cloud handed him another piece of bread. He patiently waited as Sephiroth turned the question over in his head, slitted eyes far and unfocused. Why did he never leave?
“I have considered it in the past,” Sephiroth haltingly began, at last, “and I would like to leave eventually, that much is true, but for now… I suppose it’s a case of all that I have ever cared about being here. I have long since suspected that age will not reach me, or if it were to do so, that its touch would be so slow as to be negligible." Sephiroth turned to look Cloud in the face, "Your lack of visible ageing when you are under the same enhancements only confirmed something that I deep within already knew; that I have time. I can always fly away later, as you so aptly put it."
Cloud nodded minutely. “But not yet.”
“But not yet.”
There was an unspoken understanding between them. When you go, I will follow .