a/n: my apologies for the long delay! my job unfortunately ate my whole life for a few months. i will be returning to regular updates from this point forward. this is a bit of a slow-paced chapter, but we'll be back to my typical breakneck speed next time haha

Zack sidled up next to him as they weaved through the labyrinthine streets of the slums.

"So? What do you think?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. What did he think, indeed? His cynicism had predisposed him toward expecting the worst. It had been no small feat to conceal his surprise when he saw that she was, for all her quirks, an average girl — sharp and sociable, pretty, pleasant.

The scent of rosemary danced with the smell of sulfur. She hadn't remembered him — or, if she had, she hid it masterfully. This single meeting had made clear that she was skilled at burying her vulnerabilities like seeds beneath the soil.

She had been breaths away from asking a question, one she felt might offend him. His mind swam circles around the possibility of it, of what it could be. He stowed his curiosity away for the next time they would meet.

People tensed around them as they approached the Sector 7 train station. Their muscles contracted, eyes shifting in distrust and disgust, as though he were the sole arbiter of their misfortune. Gone was all the reverence of the upper plates, supplanted by skepticism. Such scrutiny was humbling, in a way. Had his destiny been the slightest bit different, he might have ended up as one of them, casting aspersions upon his oppressors as he grasped for some abstract raison d'etre to cope with his existence.

"Hey, you good?"

Zack's voice tethered him back to the present. They had reached the platform. Thrust out of his thoughts, Sephiroth crossed the threshold into the train car as Zack followed suit.

"Do you need my approval to continue seeing her?" he asked, answering the initial question. He curled his hand around the rail and gazed out the window at the city. "That's a burden better suited for your parents."

Zack grimaced. "By the time that happens, we'll be married with kids!"

Sephiroth clenched and relaxed his fist. Though they were clearly said in jest, something about those words singed him. Marriage, children. Haughty assumptions to make for such a fledgling dalliance.

"But she's really something special," Zack cooed. "Who else could grow flowers in the slums?"

Yet, couldn't begrudge the boy his enthusiasm. Limerence had been a privilege not afforded to him and the time to experience it was long past. The train car ascended, speeding toward the upper plate, moving further and further away from her.

It should have been enough. It should have been enough to see her happy, healthy, and safe within the confines of the church walls.

Skyscrapers glimmered in the distance, their panels tinted pink and purple in a reflection of the nascent sunset. Had she seen a sunset? Had she seen rain, snow, hail? She was safe in her church, but at what cost?

The intercom announced that they had reached the Upper Plate 1 train station. Please disembark at this time. He turned to regard Zack for the first time since they boarded. His initial lovestruck expression had been supplanted by one of unease.

"You look troubled," Sephiroth noted.

"Do I? Weird. Guess I was spacing out too." He chuckled stiffly and scratched the back of his neck.

"I thought Angeal might have taught you better than that."

His eyebrows creased in confusion. "Huh?"

"Touching one's neck is the most glaring tell that someone is lying."

"Was I doing that? I didn't notice."

"You can't let your guard down." He paused before taking a step toward the platform, away from Zack. "Not even around me."

It's the same sky.

It's difficult to comprehend and even more difficult to accept. Nothing has changed from the past five times. The contours of the clouds haven't changed; the veiny cracks in the earth trace the same patterns they always did.

Aerith backs away from the dust-caked window and retreats into the bed, wringing her hands. She's never been one to sit around and do such a thing, but it's as good an option as any given the circumstances.

She's tried to talk to the Planet. She's begged, chastised, apologized, questioned, mourned — all to no avail. The Plant's voice dropped to a distant cry dipped in honey: thick, murky, indecipherable.

She traces the stitching of the cotton quilt with a fingertip.

Should she return to the City of the Ancients? Would he no longer expect her to go back? Is that a risk she's willing to take?

Should she recount her story once more? Stay silent? Go north again? Remain where she is? Should she fight?

Should she wait for death?

She grips either side of her head and writhes between the sheets at the assault of questions. A kernel of despair, once minuscule, grows unfettered — it grows until the fleeting thought crosses her mind of whether permanent death has become the preferable path.

She jams the backs of her wrists into her eyes. How could she even think of succumbing to those thoughts? There's still so much to live for. So much to fight for. The only person who wins if she loses her balance on the precipice is him.

Aerith throws the sheets off the bed and strides past Cloud, the old wood panels crooning beneath her feet, before venturing out into the light. The scent of pine and dust clings to her clothes and percolates into her pores, inextricably intertwining itself with her.

She can't stop a quiet "oh" from escaping her lips when it's Vincent loitering by the front of the house — not Tifa nor Barret, like she had expected. He leans against the fence demarcating the village from the rest of the desert. His headband casts a grey hue over his eyes, rendering them a dull red, devoid of luster. The sudden thought that Tifa's eyes still sparkle even in the shadows crosses her mind. A frown flashes across Aerith's lips. She's suddenly grateful that he hasn't averted his gaze in her direction.

"We were worried you wouldn't wake up," he says bluntly.

"I'm not that delicate." She rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "Cloud wouldn't be able to hurt me like that."

He raises an eyebrow, still without looking at her. "You're sure of that?"

The image of his trembling hands — the quivering blade — lingers in her mind's eye. Her gaze flickers briefly toward the ground.

"I'm sure," she says solemnly.

"Either way, we'll be discussing our next move at the graveyard."

"That's pretty grim, isn't it?" she says, feigning concern.

"It's only grim if you make it out to be." Vincent removes his weight from the fence and stands up straight. "When Cloud gets up, bring him there."

"I have to wait for him?" she asks, surprised at the indignation in her voice.

Vincent turns to face her with raised brows. She realizes now that this is the first time she's ever truly looked at him head on. The knowledge that he's harmless does nothing to soothe the prickling sensation darting across her nerves, spurred on by the intensity of his stare.

"I think you'd be a much more pleasant sight for him than I'd be," he intones.

A blush blooms on her cheeks and fades as quickly as it came on. She opens her mouth to protest, but finds herself wanting for words.

"...We'll meet you there," Vincent says, shifting his gaze toward something behind her before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

The door had creaked open while she was preoccupied, revealing Cloud in all his harried glory. He squints at the light — a stark contrast from the darkness of the room drenched in pine and dust.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," she says with a smile that she's sure is lackluster.

He folds his arms across his chest and looks off toward the graveyard where the others wait for them. She has studied his face during this exact moment so many times now, yet it's only just now that she notices the faint darkness under his eyes, a light wine color that matches the bruises festooned across her stomach and thighs.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks. Cutting straight to the chase, as he's wont to do.

"Not very. Maybe a half hour before you got up." She offers a noncommittal shrug.

"Are you all right?" He grimaces, as though he's quashing the urge to appear concerned.

"Sure am," she says. "What makes you ask?"

Something shifts in his gaze. A flash of pity; a dash of distrust. Aerith finds herself shifting her weight from one leg to another and squirming under his scrutiny. It's not his opinion of her that concerns her. No, it's the glimpse of something that churns her stomach — something that looks very close to —

remembrance.

She laughs. It's a tense and hollow sound, laden with static.

"Keep staring at me like that and I'll have to see it as an invitation," she says, suppressing her suspicions. If there's one thing she can consistently enjoy, it's teasing him.

"You're different." The strain in his voice informs her that his neutrality isn't as organic as it seems.

It's in her nature to deny and deflect, but she's not as sure of what her nature is as she once was. He can't possibly remember, but some part of him knows, even if it's on a molecular level far beyond the realm of conscious thought.

"Maybe you're right." She slides her bangles up and down her wrists. "Maybe I'm different."

Hurt flashes in his eyes. Had she not spent as much time around the members of Shinra's army as she has, that hurt would have been hidden behind the glow.

"Is it — "

"No," she says, severing the line of thought before it can fully form. "It's not because of what happened."

Whatever his bones and blood may recall, what just happened to him is far removed from what just happened to her.

The urge to run is almost too great to resist. The urge to run from him, from them, from everything, it grips her — but she can't outpace fate. It will come for her in the north, in Midgar, in the dry desert sands and the emerald green grasslands.

"Are you lying?" he asks, disguising the accusation as an innocent question. Just as he's done before, unaware of it though he is.

"Is it worth asking a liar a question like that?" she teases, smiling despite herself. "I'm not lying, but it's not like I would tell you if I was."

He mimics her smile, setting off a spark of relief in her. "Maybe I'm starting to trust too much for my own good again."

Again. It's difficult to believe that there was ever a time he wasn't so cagey, so mired in secrets. It might be one thing that explains the spectrum of battling emotions that crosses Tifa's face when she thinks no one is watching.

They walk in tandem, their fingers occasionally brushing. That once would have been a balm on her wounds and worries, but the evanescent intimacy of his touch is gone too fast for her to appreciate it. It's temporary — as all things in her world are. When they reach the cemetery to join the others, it's the same as it always was. Cid draped on the fence. Yuffie leaning against one headstone. Nanaki curled up in front of another. All of them trapped in the ironclad prison of time, whether they're aware of it or not. Aerith hops up onto the fence, swinging her legs against the post beneath her. Cloud stands near the opening in the fence serving as an entrance, mirroring Tifa's austere expression and pose.

Barret clears his throat, drawing the group's attention.

"Now that we got the rest of our folks here...what's our next move? Sephiroth's got the Black Materia…"

Their images morph and distort before her. Their features grow indistinct, hazy. They fade into silhouettes of grey, shadow puppets portraying their parts in a grotesque play.

She checks out from their conversation — one she's heard too many times — and retreats into her line of thought from before Cloud's waking. She takes stock of her allies. There are the eight scattered about before her. There's Tseng, who may be dead and disposed of by now. She bunches up the material of her dress into her fist.

Who else? She once had many more people she could count to be by her side. People who swore to protect her, and she would return the favor. Those people are gone, and the collective abyss they left in their wake swallows slivers of her each day.

"So," the voice of Yuffie begins, indistinct and distant, "we're stuck. Where do we go now?"

Her eyes widen. Someone's been there all along. The only other person who understands the Planet as intimately as she does.

She slips away amid the shuffle and throws herself to the arid winds of time once more.

The trek to Cosmo Canyon is markedly more perilous than the journey to the north. She loses track of how many times she switches caravans, how many times she gets lost, how many times she has a near brush with desert creatures that could eviscerate her in seconds if they so desired. By the time she arrives at the foot of the stairs leading up to the valley, her eyes burn and her limbs move languidly.

The weathered wooden gate peeks out over the edge of the steps and against a backdrop of brilliant yellow — the last vestiges of daylight. The gatekeeper keeps vigil as always, eyes narrow with duty and skin leathery with age and sun. Making efforts to stifle her labored breathing, she ascends past the highest step and stumbles over to the gatekeeper.

"Hello, sir," she says amiably, hoping that he recognizes her. For her, it's been so long, too long to quantify; for him, it's been a mere few days.

The gatekeeper tilts his head to the side. His dark eyes widen briefly - she stifles a sigh of relief at the gleam of recognition.

"Ah — you're one of Nanaki's companions. What brings you back here?" The man folds his arms across his chest. "And alone, no less."

"I need to speak to Bugenhagen. It's...important," she says, trying to strike a balance between urgency and opacity.

The man scrutinizes her before turning to leave.

The wait is agonizing. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, all too aware of the passage of time.

When the gatekeeper returns, it's with Bugenhagen in tow, bobbing along as he descends down the slight slope leading to the staircase carved into the mesa.

"Another visit? I'm more popular than ever, it seems," he says with a hearty chuckle. His eyebrows shoot up in recognition upon setting his sights on her. "Ah, so it is one of Nanaki's friends. You're the Cetra, aren't you? Aerith. You're by yourself, I see."

"I had to come alone," she says.

He pauses, hesitating. "Nanaki…"

"Oh, he's fine," she assures with a rueful smile. "They're all fine."

"That's perhaps more concerning. Come, come. You have many questions, I can see that much."

She follows him up toward the precarious cliffs where he's made his dwelling. It feels as though months separate the visits — it's only been days, as far as he's concerned. She looks down at the village center from her vantage point on the highest shelf. The sunset stains the settlement in hues of rich ruby red. She tugs at her collar; her stomach lurches. A red so blinding, so reminiscent of blood, it reminds her — it reminds her —

"Ms. Aerith?"

The pungency of iron, the dull glow of Mako —

"Come back to us, Ms. Aerith."

The sensation of a bony hand on her shoulder tethers her back to the earth. When she turns to face him, his brows are furrowed, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening in concern.

He shakes his head and quickly conceals the pity that flashes across his features. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

"I can't fathom the horrors you've seen."

She silently trails behind him as they approach his modest home. He can't fathom them, but he's the first to recognize them. She appreciates that.

When they reach the front door, he turns the knob and nods, signaling for her to proceed ahead of him. She takes him up on that and crosses the threshold into the quaint dwelling.

He gestures toward the stools lining the wooden table and she duly hops onto one of them, folding her hands in her lap. A stale silence falls over them.

"For you to run from your friends all the way back here...something must be terribly wrong," he says neutrally. The subtle invitation to elaborate isn't lost on her.

She came all this way and it's only now that she asks herself why. Something stops her from revealing her plight even to someone so sage, someone so attuned to the Planet's possibilities. What was she expecting from him? Answers? Guidance? Empathy? Sympathy? Something in between, an amalgamation of all those things? She purses her lips.

"You're like me — you understand the Planet," she says before adding hastily, "kind of. And you've been living on it a lot longer than I have."

"I'm too humble to say whether the former's true, but I can't deny that second part." He strokes his chin pensively, hesitating.

The stale silence stirs, ebbing and flowing in thick and weighty waves around them as she gathers her thoughts. Bugenhagen waits patiently, studying her as she moves her arm to rest her elbow against the table and rest her face in the palm of her hand.

"I used to hear the Planet's voice. I used to hear the Ancients. Now all I hear is screaming. Even when I block everything out and listen — all I hear is screaming." Her confession spills forth from her lips like water from a spigot, frantic and fluid. She pauses, allowing her words to ferment, before adding, "That, or it's so quiet that I can't understand it."

It's as good of an introduction to her dilemma as any.

"If I were to lop off your arm right now, would you be able to calmly tell me what was wrong?" Bugenhagen asks, floating from the table to the window by the door. The red light has faded, supplanted by the dusty taupe of dusk. He flicks the switch by the door and the lamp above her comes to life.

She blinks, considering the question. For as many times as she's experienced comparable pain, she never lived much longer thereafter to speak of it.

"I'll go ahead and take the liberty of answering that for you. You wouldn't be able to," he says. "Even Shinra's finest soldiers could only scream. The Planet is no different."

The sun has completed its descent into the horizon, leaving them alone with the night. The moon hides from humanity, leaving but a void in its wake. The warm light of the lamp above them does nothing to scare away the solitude of eventide. She hops off the stool and saunters over to Bugenhagen's place by the window.

"The Planet knows when the end is near and can only behave accordingly," he continues. "Try as you might to understand them, those screams may only turn into whimpers."

"I can't stop until I save it," she says, resting her fingers against the glass.

He mistakes it for simple determination. There's no choice involved.

"It might already be lost," he says, grief tinting his words.

Indignation bubbles in her chest and boils her blood. She runs her hand up and down the length of her arm until her skin is saturated with touch, numb to it. She isn't sure what she came here for, but it certainly wasn't for the suggestion that there's no hope.

She stands up straight and juts her chin out. "I don't believe that."

"There's no stopping a man who thinks he's something more than that," Bugenhagen says.

Aerith catches sight of her image in the glass pane. Dark circles span the circumference of her eyes. "It wasn't always that way."

His thin, grey brows shoot straight up. "Oh?"

She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Someone I knew used to work closely with him."

"You know something about him that the rest of your friends don't." He pauses for a beat, awaiting her confirmation.

Her fingers hover above the center of her chest. A phantom pain presses on her ribs. Her eyebrows crease together in vexation.

"I thought I did," she admits.

He falls silent, seemingly comprehending the implication of her reticence. Outside the window, the stars sparkle with unusual brilliance, anxiously compensating for the absence of the moon. Their reflections shift in the lens of Bugenhagen's spectacles.

"Everyone has something sleeping inside them. Even you, Miss Aerith. For some, that something never wakes up. For others, all it takes is the shadow of an idea, or emotions eclipsing their reason."

"What can I do?" she asks quietly.

He turns to her, the star-studded lenses concealing his eyes. Wrinkles run through his face, rivulets of time.

"If you have any hope of overcoming madness, you must either tame it or meet it where it stands. Brute force or simple cunning will not do."

She puffs out her cheek. "That's pretty cryptic."

He places a hand on his chest and throws his head back. "Ho ho hoo! I didn't take you for a woman who wanted the answers handed to her."

"Hey! That's not what I meant," she objects, planting her hands on her hips.

His cheeks flush with mirth. "Now, now, I know that. Your heart is telling you to show him reason and you want to hear that it's the right thing to do. Am I wrong?"

She bristles. He read her as quickly as one would an open book. The itching, paranoid thought that the others might be able to read her as well crosses her mind. Aerith turns her attention back towards the window and swipes her finger across the thick layer of dust caking the sill.

"If you fail, what shall you do?"

"Try again, or try something else," she says without missing a beat. "But I guess I wanted to know...if it really does all rest on him."

Bugenhagen regards her with something that can only be described as the cousin of pity. "It appears that way, but you might be able to bring him back to us."

Her eyelids flutter shut, her soul soaked in a potent mix of memory and debility.

"Sleep, Miss Aerith. The Planet won't crumble while you slumber."

She opens her eyes and he gestures to the sofa. The prospect of sleep seduces her and she nods with a grateful smile.

It's only when she's settled in and he's begun to float away that she hears, all too quietly, him muttering under his breath.

"Bring him back...back to what?"

Sleep is an elusive pleasure that night. Aerith wakes up just as the midnight blue hue of the sky morphs into a glaucous canvas, still before dawn. Her head falls back onto the pillow. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing her body to salvage the last few precious minutes of rest that she can afford before she makes her next move.

But her body doesn't obey and her perfidious mind can't stop itself from churning through the possibilities of what's to come. She groans and throws the blanket off to let it drape over the sofa. She wanders toward the window. The sky grows brighter and richer with each passing minute.

"You're quite the early riser."

She doesn't turn her head at the sound of his voice. "There was a lot on my mind."

The sunrise sweeps across the canyon, painting it in colors that Aerith hardly knew existed before escaping Midgar. The village awakens slowly; people mill about on the cliffs below. In the distance, silhouettes of birds sail across the saffron skies.

"It's so beautiful," she says, voice cracking with awe and anguish.

He hovers over to her place by the window.

"Protect it, Miss Aerith."