As the skies darkened, the fevered battle between the clichéd facets of good and relative evil raged on. After withdrawing his bloody sword from yet another person who used to be an ally, Cloud lifted his blue eyes to the greying sky, then flicked his eyes down the ground stained liberally with the blood of his enemies and friends alike. It was somewhat a shock to him to see their blood mingling seamlessly, practically indistinguishable other than the color of age. He supposed that it really wasn't such a shock. He had seen Sephiroth bleed, and if that man wasn't evil, he didn't know who was. His blood was the same color as Cloud's. Shaking his head as though that motion could dislodge the troublesome thoughts stuck in his head, he turned back to the battle before him, around him and above him.

As he pivoted, blazing pain spread from his side. He looked down to see a knife buried in between his ribs, the pale fingers of a man clenched around the hilt. "Damn you, Strife," the anonymous man whispered before his fingers slid from the hilt and landed in the think mud with a soft slap. Cloud stared queasily at the mud in question. It was thick and almost cloying, yet the heavy clouds above him had yet to rupture and release their spoils over the battlefield.

As a drop of a dark liquid fell to the ground, Cloud realized that the mud was made of blood and various other bodily secretions. The world began to spin, and he looked at his feet long enough to see the large puddle of blood forming there. He fell to his knees, and looked up. In his moments of internal speculation, his friends and allies had almost completely cleared the battleground of their opponents. His vision grew blurry, and he heard running footsteps, the only thing he could was a mane of fiery red hair. Warm arms wrapped around his torso as he fell, or rather slumped, to the ground.

He felt a hand on his chest, heard vague garbled words, but for all his strength and determination, he couldn't will his eyes to open. A secretive warmth began stealing over him, making his limbs heavy and his thought more muddled. Opening his eye for a moment, he saw the crystal spheres of water falling from the heavens, and he could barely feel their insubstantial touches on the exposed flesh of his arms and face. Now he thought he knew why rain was called Heaven's Tears. Reno forward, worry etching lines on his angular face. "Are you leaving?" His tone was heavy, and resigned, as though he already knew the answer. Cloud opened his mouth and said in a hoarse voice, "Yeah, I guess so. The current's pulling me along, Reno. The river has passed my time." Tears slid down his friend's face as he nodded. "Take care of yourself," he murmured. Cloud let his eyes close, and without a second thought, he let the darkness that was yearning for him embrace him in its arms.

As the day after The War for Everything, the morning dawned a dismal, gloomy steel grey. Reno stood up from his desk and stretched, his back and neck stiff after a sleepless night. He threw a glance to his desk where the eulogy he had been asked to write sat completed, merely waiting for the funeral of the man who had saved their world more than once. Minutes passed quickly, and soon it was time for the funeral. Reno grabbed the sheet of paper and headed out into the chilly air.

When he reached the memorial sight, he smiled faintly. Even with the day being less than ideal weather, the river flowing past the stone tombs looked chipper and lively. Fitting, considering his speech. He chose an inconspicuous seat near the front so he wouldn't have to pass as many people when it was his time to speak. After what seemed like a few moments, but was really the better part of an hour, Tifa concluded her speech and said softly, "As much as it hurts to move on, we better hurry and read his eulogy before it rains. Come on, Reno."

Reno ascended the stairs leading to the podium and cleared his throat nervously. "Most of you people here knew Cloud as well or better than me. But some strange reason, I was someone he always came to when the world was beating him up. He had a love for the water, in any form. He once told me that one of the things that really soothed his was sitting by a river or a stream and listening to the melody of the water. So based on that knowledge, I wrote his eulogy. Think of him and remember what he put himself through to save you." And so saying, he began to speak in a different tone, the words flowing off his tongue like, well, water.

Time flows on, like a river void of emotion. Memories swirl in the current, sometimes flashing like the scales of a fish, sometimes dull and grey like stones tumbled by the water's passage. But what happens when someone dips their hand into the treacherous water? Will they live on to tell others of their experiences? Or will the water swallow them and drag them to the bottom where their bones will decorate the sand like so many scattered fragments of wood. For that's all we really, isn't it? Little bits of driftwood, bobbing along with the current, being pulled in all directions by conflicting emotions and eddies in the liquid gemstone of life.

No matter how hard something tries to halt the flow of such a mighty river, they are doomed to failure. Even if it's just the small fragments of human solace grazing the bed of rounded memories, there will be survivors. In this majestic river, there are few who dared to fight the current. Of course, they disrupted the flow, but the change was temporary, like ripple pulsing outward on a mirror-calm lake. That's the way his outward image was portrayed. His emotions rarely floated to the surface and disrupted his calm surface. On some days, the top of his lake would be smooth and calm, but underneath, thoughts and emotions whirled and fought, whipping the water into a frenzy. If someone were to tap the façade, they would unleash a torrent of outpouring emotions. Like a dam in flood season, so too would his emotions overwhelm his defenses and pour from him, occasionally shattering the barrier he had thrown up against the world. This was the life of Cloud Strife. Just like the brightly colored pebbles on the bottom of a lake, and the trees bordering it, and the sky above it and the air around it, so his friends enriched his life. Let him stray from your thoughts, but never out of memory, because if it weren't for him, many of us wouldn't be here to enjoy the fine sea of opportunities that is now open to exploration.

Reno finished, and nodded his head once. "And so it shall be," he murmured. In the silence after his speech, everyone could hear exactly what he said. With a loud crash, thunder roared over the congregation, and rain began to bucket down. In spite of the noise, almost everyone heard what Reno said as he joyfully turned his face towards the heavens and spread his arms. "Let the rain fall, for it was his favorite."

Yeah, not my best, but I was inspired. Sorta. Anyway, Normal fans, I'll try to update, but my Normal muse died. Sorry, guys! I'll see if I can't resurrect it one of these days. Another few reviews won't hurt the prospects…Review if you like Final Fantasy, or Reno, or Cloud, or Zack. If not, they'll desert you. I'm serious. X3