Sleep
“Fresh eyes will soon open and close, and open again. Wondrous sights lay ahead. And yet a fleeting thought wonders if it will all be worth it…? To sacrifice the complicated wonders of all that was, for the unknown ahead…”
The red-head spoke, thoughtful and musing, nowhere near as concerned as his words might imply. The raven haired figure sitting by his side gave a soft hum.
“...It will. Eyes are meant to close…at least for a time.” red-gold rimmed eyes turned upon the ginger sitting to his right, before looking ahead at their view once more. “New eyes will gaze upon a new world. That’s how it’s always been, that’s how it will be.”
“Is that what you know…?” a smirk pulled on the others lips, blue eyes with a faint glow looking ahead, the glow reflecting brighter as he did so. “Such is the gift of the Lofty, eh?”
The raven haired figure grinned smally, and let out a soft chuckle. “Not everything to know of what is and what was, was left behind in obscure scripture, Rhapsodos. Though I suppose I’m still thankful for your tireless efforts to gather all scripture left on these matters.”
“I couldn’t very well let such divine and obscure poetry be lost completely, not without the chance to record it to memory before it was forgotten to time and change.” the red-head’s eyes flicked in the others’ direction. “Valentine, you know me better than that after all this time.”
“I do.”
Silence of voice followed, though in their shared quiet, the world before them was erupting in howls of wind and chirps and shrieks of energy. So much life laid out before them, coiling in its natural chaos, and the Champion and the Squire simply sat to observe together in peace. They’d kept company like this for years, and now was no different.
Vincent could distantly remember when it started. When his last friend of those prime years had finally returned to the planet, it was around that time. Vincent had returned to the ruins of Midgar, long since lost to time, decay, and new life. It was nothing like how it began. He’d seen its beginnings as it was built, and had seen it fade into a beautiful afterlife. And now, it was emptier than ever, as he wandered through overgrowth and thriving nature.
It was warm, green and full of color with flora and light abound, fauna running here and there. But it was missing a specific warmth. A flame. Red.
That’s what it was missing. And on the first anniversary of his promise to Nanaki now fulfilled alone, as Vincent Valentine knew he would one day endure, he expected the green to be devoid of red forever more--what red he provided did not matter, he wasn’t there to regard, appreciate, and remember himself. His red was deep and heavy with the past, it was a red to be worn as a burden of the past and how it marked his memory. But the red of a friend…
It was something he never expected to see again. He had found it hard to understand completely how he’d acquired the ones now gone, and the world had continued to change as he stood to the sidelines. Vincent Valentine would not find himself collecting another friend again.
That is what he believed. But despite his absolute absence of intent and effort, he would acquire one nonetheless.
He found red returning into his life, that same day as he exited the flow of vines and brush, reaching the highest peak of the crumbling ruins of the former world-power. And there the red stood, having made a visit of his own, but when he turned, it was with an expectancy Vincent had not understood.
The rest was, truly, history
“It’s good to see your concept of waste has vanished, finally.” Genesis Rhapsodos spoke, stirring Vincent back into the present, pulling him from his deep reflection and back to the life writhing around them.
A small grin still on his lips, red eyes glowing with gold flitted in the red-head’s direction. “You’re reflecting a lot right now, aren’t you…?” he questioned, his tone amused and almost teasing.
Genesis scoffed. “And you’re rather comfortably at ease, are you not?” he countered. Long red locks whipped about with a sudden intense rush of wind. A glow in the air seemed to pass between them, but they paid it no more mind than if it was a firefly fluttering off into the night sky.
“Does our trading places unnerve you, Rhapsodos?”
“Not at all. I suppose I’m simply fascinated, at a time like this.” Genesis admitted.
“Hmm…” Vincent nodded, and he could understand that, feeling much the same. The world had been coiling for some time now, and here before them, it was uncurling and twisting anew. They sat together at a precipice of change, and so many long and difficult and wonderful years had led up to this moment. The known, and the unknown of it all. And all Vincent could feel was peace. He was content. He was at ease. He was…. satisfied .
There was a time, he would’ve never imagined him feeling any of that at a time like this.
“So, you did it all? Just as you promised?” Genesis questioned when the silence dragged until another divine howl tore through the skies.
“I did.” he confirmed, taking a breath, and letting it out with a wave of ease, his lips curling into a crooked smile over fanged teeth. “And no, I didn’t rush myself. I accomplished all I promised, and I made sure it was genuine.”
“Good.” Genesis remarked with a stern tone. “Because I know you did not share every effort with me, every time. Rather sloppy of you, knowing I wanted updates.”
“You wanted me to use you as my diary every time I laid a shell to rest, is that it?”
“Yes…! I do think I earned that; with all my efforts to support and motivate you, it was the least you could do!”
“ Shaming me was motivation? ”
“ It’s not my fault you have unique reactions to being shamed, Valentine. ”
Vincent just chuckled, shaking his head. Black strands fell around his face, but despite the absence of the red bandana that had once wrapped around his forehead and through his hair, his long strands of raven did not completely cover his face--a benefit to the misshapen horns that had developed over the centuries, he supposed.
“When shame is a constant, one has to adapt.” Vincent reasoned, only to earn a scoff.
“It’s only you and me now, Valentine, why bother denying your little special joys anymore, hmm?”
Vincent chuckled again, short yet a little louder, lips pulling over fangs again before they vanished behind thin lips. Another silence followed, like a soothing wave rushing onto shore, settling and soaking the sand before receding once more.
“Would you like to fulfill my desire, Valentine?”
His red-gold gaze flickered to the red-head, lingering longer and more completely now. He raised a brow before questioning, “What desire is that?”
“The only one you have denied me, of course~. You must complete the exchange fully.” Genesis explained, as if it made his meaning so clear. But glowing blue locked with golden red, and fine warm skin tugged into a tender curve of full lips. “Record every shell you laid to rest upon my eternal parchment. I promise you, this won’t be lost to time.”
“My records won’t be nearly as important compared to the others you’ve collected to carry on.”
“They will be to me.” Genesis remarked rather swiftly, firmly, and seriously.
Vincent blinked, considering that seriousness and how earnest his demand was. Though he had certainly evolved as a man, in countless ways, one thing had barely changed; he truly didn’t care about being the center of attention. But, he couldn’t very well deny the Champion of Gaia, at such a vital moment, now could he?
He could, actually. It was more than within his power.
But Genesis returned a warm red to that endless green, so so long ago, and had kept that red warmth in his life even as Vincent’s was a push and pull, give and take of connection and seclusion, of freedom and personal condemnation. This was the least the content Squire could offer, no matter how ridiculous he found it.
“It wasn’t so many scattered layers and shells, like you might’ve expected for more, and not always just…shells embodying every heavy feeling. It was like…opening a locked pool and letting it empty.”
“It took time, but I opened the way and allowed it nonetheless, and was better for it.” Vincent began to explain, and he felt the other turn to face him completely. Vincent’s gaze stayed ahead, watching green and blue wind and twist and flow in a beautiful dance.
“I did set intentions, when I decided to begin…to relinquish specific heavy feelings, and an item that would hold the memory with it. Of course, it was perhaps foolish to attempt to plan it out with stages, as…well, each stage had gotten rather jumbled. I’d lay one feeling or memory or item to rest, and then another sensation or thought would stumble forth needing to be released as well. It wasn’t the most elegant process.” he scoffed.
“It didn’t need to be.”
Vincent’s lips tugged softly, and he nodded. He took a breath through his nose, and let it back out slowly. “Alright then…”
The first release and discarding of the shells happened to be in Nibelheim. Perhaps it wasn’t the only influential place he’d ever dwelled, but it was certainly a nexus of so many parts of who he’d been and who he became, for things done to him and for choices made, no matter if they were right or wrong. He remembered waltzing into the town. Like Midgar, it had vastly changed. There were so many corners to it that had advanced, and yet some that had stayed the same. Foundations had been toppled and rebuilt once more, different from his time there as a Turk, and even different from the new face built by ShinRa over what formerly fell. Memory of those that had changed the world and passed through these mountains still lingered, if only by story and the presence of Vincent himself and Nanaki as reminders, while they still could.
The descendants that lingered now were barely connected to the true roots of the town, but those that had mingled and grown certainly kept the heart of Nibelheim pumping. Summers were rough, as the temperature wasn’t enough to deter the fiends, fiends that had gone through a few generational mutations since Vincent had last seen any familiar face walking the cobblestone. Winters were harsh by nature, but fiends were lesser then, and those of Nibel origins that had migrated back many years ago endured.
He admired observing how much the details had changed, but the core continued, as if passed along, heart to heart, will to will. This land had been ruined, and scattered, but it had put itself back together even so. It made the absences he felt there a bit easier to take.
After he had ensured his presence would not leave a disturbance to the townspeople, given it had been about a decade since he last visited, he began his short journey through the mountains--it was not a place he himself had wandered much, but it would seem now was the time to do so.
There were greater depths to his connection to Nibelheim than just his varied pains. But in nearly every way, this place had been a new beginning. He wandered through the mountains for time unmeasured until he found the cave he had reformed within after facing Omega for the first time. He had felt, in those days when he could finally live and breathe once again, just as he felt then upon his present return now so many centuries later, that the former inhabitant of the grotto inhabited it once again.
Wandering there, he could only think of how strange it was, being a Vessel of a Weapon whilst having evolved into a new form of being. There were times, reflecting in his power as Chaos’ Vessel, as the Squire, that he could almost feel that demonic figure there like he used to. It was sometimes hard to tell if it was a phantom sensation, or a true echo. Chaos might always be there, and yet he would never be as he once was. All of the purpose was left squarely on Vincent’s shoulders, as the other consciousness was in a state akin to slumber.
He’d only come to partially accept that responsibility, of purpose, a couple of centuries or more after it was cemented as unchangeable reality. He hadn’t wanted it, and wasn't truly willing to accept it in the beginning. Because why must he continue to exist just to have the intentions and consequences of the desires of others to be forced upon him, mentally and physically, and eternally? It was so near his last straw, given how long he’d suffered similar hardships.
Standing before the crystal that no longer held visage nor echo of that beautiful woman, taking in its glowing light and looking to his reflection in the water before it, he considered all these feelings. Now was the time; he could no longer hold them back, nor the memory of rage and upset, and bitter despair. Because of course, it was just another reminder that Vincent would go on living, bound to a planet that would get emptier and emptier until he himself was completely alone. He’d have to reap it all, cutting ties to the rock that would die away eventually, and then…well, then he wasn’t sure. He was still learning the purpose of Chaos and Omega, as the being had never truly been clear and conscious and willing enough to make its pattern of existence clear, only its main purpose.
Would he follow along, and watch a new world unfold before him? New life, a new planet, New Gaia, where he was the last twisted memory of what came before? He might still have the company of the Champion, but he was still making sense of what role he would have in his life and in this world.
Ironically, it was with shared research between himself and his persisting new ally in eternity, that they uncovered more scripture left behind by the Cetra, and there they were both left…confused. Vincent being bound as an eternal Squire seemed possible, but not absolute. Another possibility was that he was simply there to purify the tethers of energy as he cut all ties away and returned the energy where it belonged, to be carried off into the stars. But the purpose of Chaos was release and send off.
He was not meant to follow. Or so it seemed.
There had been a despair that swam within Vincent Valentine, as he could not truly decide what fate left him feeling the most empty. He abhorred the idea of eternal life, never to rest, never to stop, never to end. But then, to unearth scripture that told a tale that such a fate would never happen? That he would fulfill his duty and cease? It should have been a relief to him, and yet, he had been somewhat disappointed.
He couldn’t understand WHY he was disappointed. It was what he had wanted for years. It was what he had slowly been accepting he’d been denied, and here it was, like a gift promised to him. And he was upset…? Perhaps it was because he’d already endured the hardship of accepting eternity and giving himself over to such an idea. Perhaps it was the curiosities that had begun to grow that he would now be denied exploring. Or perhaps, simply, it was the idea of fulfilling a purpose only to come to an end. He could serve his role, reaping life to send it to the next age of this Lifestream. He finally trusted that he could commit to this responsibility forced upon him, by Chaos, by Hojo, by Lucrecia. And he would live on to see it all again, perhaps better than before.
Instead, he would simply be…done. He could not even sit and savor his accomplishment, he could not exist in the satisfaction of finally fulfilling a tailored purpose. He was simply meant to do, and then rest.
Had he not rested enough?
Rage followed these feelings, as he glared down into the pool. And yet as he saw himself in that reflection, a ripple or two seemed to flow forth, leaving behind the fleeting visage of Chaos himself. There was glee, as if amused, perhaps taunting, and then glowing gold eyes shut.
Glee…? Was Chaos taunting him in petty victory? No, no…that glee was something else.
And suddenly, with the flickering rage and mental run through all the ways in which he’d been the dumping ground for others’ mistakes and responsibilities and expectations, and feeling the despair mixed with anger over being violated, of being robbed of choice, he was reminded--between him and Chaos, he was not the only one.
Chaos’ existence and how it had been bound to Vincent had never been Chaos' choice, nor was it natural. He was meant to rest alongside Omega. They were meant to be bound and balanced, stirred together to fulfill their fate, and that had been violated. Just as Vincent had been forced to bear the beast, the beast had been forced into the cage that was the gunslingers corpse reanimated.
This wasn’t exactly a grand revelation. On a technical level, he’d recognized that. He had, ever since his ordeal with Deepground unearthed his nature and his past. But, whether a Weapon could feel naturally or in a human fashion or not, he had experienced first hand, the demon could FEEL. And he had felt just as wronged and violated as Vincent. Perhaps more, in ways that Vincent could never fully grasp.
But now, Chaos was at rest. That glee…perhaps it was the closest he could feel to joy, to have returned where he belonged, to the state he was meant to be. Vincent may still be left with the baggage and the weight, and that was Vincent’s hardship and frustration to bear. However, he accepted in visits before, and especially now during this intentional trip, that he could bear it. It was his turn.
Vincent paced the pool, feeling acceptance surge through his core, like a bubble of air bound below the crushing weight of unforgiving waters. And yet, it surged higher and higher, despite the threat of coming apart, of ceasing into nothing, until finally it breached the surface where it belonged. It was only a part of it, but the acceptance had begun.
He blinked as he stood in a corner of the grotto, feeling drawn away from the crystal this time. It was a spot he’d always felt rippled with a strange energy, but it was never strong enough to draw him in previous visits. But he wandered towards it now. Small, scattered crystals that had been unearthed and had grown over once more lay before him as he moved to kneel.
“I feel…something…here…” he found himself muttering into the silence around him, and as if to answer, the strangest echo came over him. He saw without seeing, and heard without hearing not just the voice that once spoke apologies and regrets like a cursed recording from the crystal in the pool in the distance…but a man's voice.
Words about…something not going anywhere… The man sounded amused, carefree, and wise with age.
Vincent’s heart ached, eyes burning.
“...Father…?”
Yes, of course. Tied to the memories here, tied to Chaos given how the demon’s energy had taken him directly, it didn’t matter how the echoes stayed tethered, or how he stirred them. It was just another memory for him to hold now, and then relent. Fate was a cruel thing, but it was a funny thing as well. Deepground had unearthed Lucrecia’s truths, when it came to her crimes against Vincent and Chaos, but the involvement of Grimoire came later. Vincent had nothing but time on his hands, so why not unearth the secrets he could when they lingered over him so heavily? He’d done it for his head mates, as trapped within him as he was with them, and so with time, he had decided to return to the revelation he’d so easily been tossed aside for Lucrecia’s sake--that she’d lied to him, and hidden her involvement with his father and their work, and what she’d known of his passing despite it being a heavy mystery for Vincent for so long.
Chaos…the planet…Lucrecia…Hojo…his father… It was all so heavy.
Vincent was on his knees then, taking deep but labored breaths. He was here to release. Genesis Rhapsodos, the chosen Champion of the planet, had referred to this process as discarding shells, or shedding the weight. Discarding what once served, but now only dragged him down. It was easier to describe it that way, then the more blunt explanation of laying parts of Vincent and his hurts and woes and guilts to rest.
But that's what it was. And in this moment, as he was allowing feeling and memory to flow forth as freely as he could manage. It was strange, and it wasn’t easy, as such things had never flowed smoothly from him. But then, a thought occurred to him. He had been remade once already, but there was one thing left within him that no longer served any purpose. Something that, once upon a time, served as a balance between himself and the immense energy that had been bound within him; the power and purpose of Chaos, of the darkness and the divinity bound within it and his capabilities, were now completely Vincent’s. Chaos was finally at rest. Vincent no longer had a need for something to tame that singular beast.
He pressed a clawed hand to his chest, rubbing there at his aching core, but slowly feeling and coaxing that energy. The intent and effort of his hand was much the same as though inserting and removing materia from equipment, except removing such from himself was far more painful than he remembered (and the last he’d experienced this, it had been harsh but quick, at the hands of Rosso). But it was necessary. And Vincent certainly wasn’t unused to pain. It was a relief to endure it by choice now.
Focusing his intent and will on the orb placed within him, clawed fingers pressed against his closed flesh. All effort went to coaxing it forward with mana and will, his skin not budging or scarring and yet feeling as if it was being carved and pulled outward and inward, burning and freezing all at once. He breathed heavily in and out, in and out. The Protomateria had become so bound within him, the resistance was no surprise, but Vincent continued.
Flickering visions of Shelke projecting her and Lucrecia’s will together, to return the materia to him in his time of need, passing through his memory. There were flickers of memory he wasn’t sure were his, or more bound to the materia itself, of thrashing around, of suffering bound within a tube, drowning in green and filled with dark rage before the materia’s beaming light seemed to ease it all or tamp it down. He saw Rosso standing him down, before tearing it from his core in one fell swoop.
They had been bound for so long now, and yet here Vincent was, determined to remove it forever.
To remove the security, remove the memory, remove the weight and the cruelty, to remove the guilt and hate and shame. To remove the key that had locked the whirlwind away through so much. He had to remove it all. He took another breath and sighed.
He thought of Hojo. Hate would always be bound to his thoughts of that man, no matter the years between his crimes, his death, and the present. Passion and brilliance he could admire, but reckless abandon, cruelty, and disregard in the face of all his passions was something he could never forgive. And he didn’t need to. But Hojo and his actions…they were moments, terrible as they were, that came and went. He was no longer here, nor did his crimes and cruelty still exist in Vincent’s life. Not really.
He felt the thick heaviness in his chest, felt it driving further forward.
He thought of Lucrecia. There was a thickness he had to swallow down as he remembered her bright eyes and her kind smile and her eager energy. He remembered the hours spent sneaking away for picnics, or tucked away in the libraries or labs in the middle of the night with her gushing about a new aspect of her current project, and how she had tapped into such potential with her latest theories. He had witnessed the passion before, he’d lived with it yet never held it no matter how much he tried, but to him at that time, taking in her words and her thoughts was akin to bathing in the light of stars he’d always observed and admired, caught a glimpse of the harm yet in the beauty as well. At that time, it was only the beauty. And then he remembered, too late, what the light of gleaming stars truly were, and his proximity left him in the wake of the horrible starburst and resulting black hole.
He remembered how she had snapped, as he spoke out against the plans with her pregnancy, when he had questioned her conviction. A moment he had too swiftly relented into believing had been over the line and beyond his rights to speak on. Too late he would recognize that whether it was his right or not, he had reason to speak out against it. And he could never say how fair her lashing at him had been. Had it been so wrong, to be concerned, and to ask…if she was sure? Was she angry with him for doubting her? Angry with him disrespecting her plans? Angry that he dared to think he had a right to any of her decisions? Or was she truly upset with herself? Because this wasn’t the first upset between them--months before, he’d seen his father on her computer in her office in her lab, and that entire encounter that had been brimming with confusion, hurt, and betrayal turned into a regret that haunted him for years to come. Had he not found that, what would they become? Would she have been saved? Would she even have gotten pregnant for that experiment? If she had, could he have had the influence to stop it, without paying the price of his life, a payment that resulted in nothing? Would he have gotten answers about his father? He’d been so concerned about losing her, so worried about how he could’ve harmed what they had, and her, that his own needs fell away. The father that science had stolen from him, sitting right there on his lover's computer, and not a single answer had been given from the one who should’ve given it.
He could not even hold blame towards her knowing how guilt could consume one in a time like that, but there was a choked blame even so for how she could’ve, and maybe should’ve done more…that he had deserved more than she’d managed back then. And beyond all that, there was a mourning for the what ifs. He remembered how things changed, how they both distanced themselves from one another, and yet he still caught moments where he could see the shine through the life-sucking void that surrounded the team in ShinRa Mansion. He regretted many things from that time, though very rarely was it regretting ever being there and being with her. A rare low moment allowed such bitterness to overtake him, but it could never linger long. Foolish, or his distant human nature, he found he simply couldn’t abandon the feelings and care wrapped up in the coils of all that pain and darkness, at least not all at once.
The heaviness in his chest seemed to sear with a cruel chilling sensation, vibrating with energy and he huffed through the pain and discomfort.
The stars back then had been beautiful. They had been cruel. And they left him scarred with light and darkness all their own. He could accept that now. Because not only did he make mistakes, so did they. She had tried, and tried, and she had hurt herself, and hurt Vincent, perhaps even his father (he would never know), and she had hurt her son, and the cycle would go on, leaving her with endless regret that would echo until she at last faded. It was what it was, and this was what remained. Vincent, with his memories, and the feelings they all left him with.
His clawed fingers curled a bit more, as if coaxing the materia further by hooking his grasp on it, and he could feel it breaching his body with a searing heat-like sensation, tugging and pulling against the unnatural process. Nothing about him had been natural, not for a long, long time.
He thought of his father again, wondering how long he’d spent in this cave. He’d learned about his time working with Lucrecia, studying Omega and Chaos together. He remembered him talking about his projects, as a kid and a teenager, but he was sure by the time he had built up to this subject, Vincent himself had ensured a distance between them. He could only wonder, would his fate have been the same, had his father not passed? Or had he not ensured the distance and disconnect? Would Chaos have been returned to his resting place, or used with more intent than what Lucrecia managed in desperation? Would his father have prevented any of it, or found himself just as curious as the others to pursue other avenues of experimentation? Did his father recognize…how he mattered to Lucrecia? Unearthing the nearly lost notes Lucrecia had left behind, with Reeve’s help, had made so many things so clear.
He felt the protomateria slipping, as if resisting, and he gasped. But he did not let up, urging it out.
His father had been so brilliant, and so wonderful. He was a man of strong will and determination, and deep passion, with mostly decent patience. Vincent had admired and loved him so wholly, and whether he recognized it or not, that admiration had flowed through his life to reflect in others. But sometimes it was disappointing and difficult to experience how everything he adored and looked up to his father for, was also all the things that dismantled his life and crumbled so many choices before Vincent let himself realize he had them as well. Vincent knew now he had the chance and choice and influence to take action back then and he should’ve made his stand sooner. But it seemed like the first woes preceding the curse that would haunt him from there on. Science, the passion it’s many branches brewed in those that committed themselves to it, was something he had grown to hate wholeheartedly. He could simply act indifferent, but at his core, exposure to prolonged theories and tests and projects left him with bile and venom in his mouth, in his throat. His affection and admiration, and perhaps a blind nostalgia for something he once loved reflected in Lucrecia and her own passion and work was the closest he’d gotten to accepting it again. And look where it had gotten him?
It was not his father’s fault. It was not Lucrecia’s fault. It was not even solely Hojo’s fault. They were figures, they were cogs, influential figures and moments; they were only there to bring life and potential to their ideals and theories and in ways, they succeeded. In others, they failed. Perhaps Vincent could have done more to keep his distance, but he hadn’t. Because perhaps, though he had never committed to understanding this, it was just a fact of fate. Then again, perhaps fate was not involved at all. Perhaps, despite the bleak future he knew he would endure, he wanted to prove there was something worthwhile in what had possessed so much of his life.
His father had already been lost by the time he stepped into Nibelheim for that last assignment, and yet, he was a ghost around every corner. Through mourning, through love, through blame, through hate, through work that could not be stopped, Vincent had never left him behind and found himself somewhere with others clinging on in their own ways. He would’ve given anything for things to have been different between the both of them, now. But it couldn’t be, and he could only accept what was. He had told himself he’d let go of the man, and all expectations and ties, and yet Grimore’s ghost hung over him, and still did. The weight may have shifted, but he was never fully gone. Perhaps he had not truly tried to release him, until now. The heart of the spirit could be held, but the weight of the memory must be given up. Vincent had to accept that now. Even if he couldn’t release all of it at once and be free of this, he could finally begin to.
Vincent was no longer breathing--he didn’t need to do so, not the same way other naturally living humans did. But every muscle but those in his arm and some in his chest was tensed and mostly unmoving. The gleaming light of the protomateria, however dimmed, was shining forth from his chest, but not yet free.
He had not recognized his eyes had been shut tight, in all his reflection and effort, but it opened now, as he thought of his friends. Friends and allies and loved ones that had wandered and left this place many a time, some more than others. Friends he would no longer see visiting this village, lingering in the town of Nibelheim or traversing the mountains with him. It was a truth, now, that he could no longer deny, or overlook as he had for years. Some friends, some allies, may have stood steady beyond this place, but this was where he found one life ended, and another would begin years too late.
Yuffie. Reeve, and Cait Sith. Nanaki. Cid. Barrett. Aerith. Tifa. Cloud. These were souls, that by time and by his own nature, he never would have found himself intertwined with, and yet he had been. By cruelty and grace, they had found him, and he had found them. And even as they were gone now, he would never regret having seen a single face, or having allowed himself to become familiar with every one of them. Perhaps it was the nature of such deep bonds, or perhaps it was his Weapon-gifted powers, but he still felt them…like a soft breath in the back of his mind, when his thoughts would drift far enough and his flickering feelings of mourning would come and go. Even the Turks, a reflection of his past, of the life he once had and could have continued, he found them flitting through his mind until memory centered on familiar yet tired eyes. Veld…he remembered, being found in the depths of ShinRa Mansion. He remembered wishing he could follow the man and leave reality behind, but instead yearned to hide away in that coffin once more. He remembered a promise to return, never fulfilled. There was disappointment, but then, what would he have done?
He had been where he was meant to be. He could accept that, and even believe that, now. Because every hardship, every pain, well…it all eventually gave way, did it not?
With a heavy shift and a sharp pain like a gunshot to the chest, Vincent sighed out the breath he’d been holding, and observed the glorious Protomateria in his hand. It flowed with light, with energy, looking like a galaxy itself, but all together different. He took careful breaths, in and out, clawed thumb caressing the curve of the orb.
“You hated this, didn’t you?” He asked the silence, but he knew, somewhere bound in the ties still connecting their energy, Chaos could hear him, or at least sense him and his intent.
He remembered how horrible it felt, being without this and left to Chaos’ whims stronger than ever. His head mates had never been easy to control, certainly not when he never committed to control them in any way that wasn’t simply containing them and himself. He did not recognize how he must work WITH them. But to him, being without this materia, it had felt like he would become his own hell. Everything he hated and feared about himself, and he was left to suffer it.
And yet, there had been another feeling within him, though not his own. A relief, and a release. It was like shackles being cast away, like taking a sleeping beast that had been bound in a cage awake and suffering, and releasing it to the world. Hell could have been reaped, yes, but it was only what was natural. Slumber should have been the only thing to stay Chaos’ hand and will, and yet the same hand that had stirred him and tore him from his other, his equal, his fated, was the same to bind him in a flesh coffin without choice or chance for anything but a fleeting tantrum once stirred properly.
“..Too little, too late, perhaps… But, at the very least, I can put one more thing to rest that they disturbed.” Vincent spoke to the Void once more, digging away a bit of dirt and fresh crystals. From what he understood, it was unlikely anyone could or would even try to travel this direction to this cave these days, and with clearer lessons on the formation and nature of materia, perhaps it would be more unlikely any fools would wander here looking. This materia had no purpose to truly serve now, and if it did, he imagined the energy resting here would find a way to ensure it did.
He lay the orb amongst its long lost neighbors, and moved to sit upon both knees. He bowed his head, eyes shutting once again, just trying to accept the strange feeling of something lacking in his chest. It was lighter, and yet colder.
His mind focused on gratitude, acceptance, and a conflicting mix of regret and forgiveness. He considered all that had been done to him, and all he had done. He had survived the consequences. Not how he ever would’ve preferred, and at times he knew he would still find it hard to be at home with all that he had become. But he survived, and finally, he was beginning to want to live beyond the consequences and what had birthed them. He would be shifting this heaviness out for some years to come, but already, he was feeling a bit of relief.
“Thank you…” he spoke his last words to the Void, and with a last shapeless, wordless sort of prayer, he would leave his vow to carry the rest of what was left to him, now that he was letting go of what was no longer necessary. He would live on, survive, in whatever way shape or form was to come, and though he didn’t yearn for the moment he would have to end and purify what life was left of Gaia, he had finally accepted that would be his gift and burden to bear.
With that, he stood, and left Chaos’ grotto, and as he exited the mouth of the cave, the rush of fresh air left him feeling embraced by the life of a setting sun. He’d done what he’d come here to do, and he would continue this release until it was done.
Next, he returned to town. He did not intend to make this visit many more times, to the ShinRa Mansion, if ever again. But he entered it like an old home. Standing in the foyer, he took in the ruin that had overtaken it, too. Even from the outside, the walls had cracked and crumbled, giving way in so many corners, half of the building having crumbled the second floor down into the first.
He could hear the chirps of birds, singing to the sun from their nest in the crumbled wood. He looked towards what he knew was the now useless elevator down to the depths of the facility below the mansion. Rain and rot and time had brought decay and deterioration to many paintings and books left behind here, at least those that had not been raided years before. Furniture was scarce, or broken into next to nothing.
The place was certainly projecting its fate--to be once grand, but now broken and empty and pointless, like everything that had once thrived here.
He marched his way to the elevator shaft, and with shifting of dark energy and the specter of his cloak, he was wrapped in red and shadow and surged into the air and down through the shaft, weaving his way around and through the wreckage to find a clear enough path in the halls of the facility.
Once he stood on his own two feet once again, he looked to and fro. Moss and other growth covered what parts of the walls weren’t crumbling under the weight around them. There wasn’t an ounce of power left down here, but Vincent had no need for it, rather adept at utilizing his own unique development of night vision.
He listened for the sounds of monsters, for the sense of them, but even tapping into his chaos-gifted abilities, there was little sign of living fiends left. The few he could feel were small and seemed to mostly linger on this level of the basement facility, while the bigger beasts wandered pointlessly further in the depths. He could somewhat sense their movement, their energy, and both were rather low. It would take a great deal to reach those below, but perhaps he just might wander their way before he was finished here. It might be their time to rest, if they were doing nothing but wandering.
There was a sudden urgent gurgled noise of glee, coming from his former ‘room’. He knew that sound, despite not hearing it in so long. With a small grin, he wandered off towards the room with doors hanging off the hinges. Inside, he was greeted by at least three different Dorky Faces, of varying size. One immediately tried to lash out at him defensively, though the attack was simple enough to swipe away with the gauntlet-bound forearm.
“Really?” he found himself remarking dismissively. The other Dorky Faces seemed to fly and twirl around the defensive one, and he could almost understand their reaction and even partially understand their noises as a form of scolding. Did they remember him, he wondered…? At least one of them felt familiar, in energy.
Many a fiend wandering these halls had been his neighbors, once. Perhaps they had never bonded like he had with actual humans, but there was a sort of…respect, amongst monsters. It was a respect he held even when he had hated himself. He stood against and took care of those that went out of control, a risk to security and those beyond the mansion when he was awake and wandering, and those that weren’t, he left to their devices.
He saw no reason to disturb these three--he was invading their home, anyways, so it was understandable they would react in varying ways. Instead, he let them be, and simply stepped further in to stand before the coffin. He was surprised to see it was still mostly in the same place, but what shocked him was what little damage it's gone through.
There had been some shift in the foundation, clearly, as the stone floor had been cracked with such sudden force to have torn up through the bottom of his former resting place. Fitting, as he had no intention to use it again, and seeing it ruined was almost like closing a chapter to a book. And yet, such an end was softer than it looked at first glance.
Small as they were, there was greenery, some plants that did not need sunlight to survive, though he couldn’t quite place what kind that would be. But there, in the center of the coffin, the little bit of life was thriving in spite of its surroundings. Or perhaps because of them.
He sat with that plant, and the coffin, for some minutes to come. It was the Dorky Faces drifting down to nudge at his shoulder and face that finally drew him out of it. The one by his face, also the one that had attacked him, made a desperate little noise, and then a far off whine from below this level reached his ears again.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.” he stood, and gave the floating fiend a reassuring pat as he passed it by. They followed him until he found the door that would lead him deeper. Half the walls were caved in or scattered rubble. He saw no reason to waste time crouching and climbing, and he shifted into specter form once more, soaring and weaving through the rubble, following the energy and the cries deeper and deeper.
When he finally found the beast, wounded he could only assume by former collapses of foundation and rubble, it was limping about in one of the training halls. Halls where once, monsters and test subjects alike were let loose to massacre one another, with the intent to train and grow and die to feed more tests. He could sense other small, weaker fiends beyond this point, but he was rather sure they were trudging through their days, if not last hours and should be left to rest on their own. This creature before him, a failed experiment no longer benefiting from healing factors or beneficial mutations, was the one that was most important.
“You’re tired…aren’t you?”
The creature snarled, wincing and then huffing and snarling again. It was on the defensive, sensing the threat Vincent could pose, but not having the proper instincts to back down against a threat it couldn’t defeat, it stood its ground.
“...This has gone on too long… Perhaps you could’ve lived these long years in better comfort, if you hadn’t been made the way you were. Tell me…does it hurt…to live?”
His answer was a long and deep roar, a noise that surely drained and pained the beast, as shown by its stagger when it finally finished, and the pained groan that followed.
“As I thought.” Vincent remarked. “...Let me free you. You cannot leave these walls. You’re not meant to. But if you allow me, I will make this quick.”
The beast howled again, louder and angrier. It stood its ground, strange mutated mounds upon its back weighing it down to one side, but then it charged. It knew what Vincent intended, it could sense the most clear intent. Perhaps it knew death was inevitable. But it would not die without a fight. Perhaps because that was all it knew and remembered.
And Vincent gave it that. He dodged quite a few attacks, allowing the beast to swipe and claw and attempt to bite. He was wearing it down, and giving it its chance to exert its will for the last time. It managed to knock him back into a wall, and effectively pinned him, with the mutated growth extending too many arms to hold Vincent’s right side against the wall. With another yell, it raised its other claw, and Vincent raised his own left, and shoved it gauntlet-deep into the beast's chest, before pulling it back out.
The poor creature stared in shock and gurgled its last breath. Vincent watched the twisted life fade, before the mass fell backwards upon the ground. He stood over the creature as it began to fade to wisps of stream energy. He shut his eyes, and the seconds passed until the creature was completely gone. He opened his eyes and took his leave. He messily cleaned his left arm, and took flight once more. He did not shift back until he was at the front doors to the mansion once again. There he stood, feeling a heaviness, a heat like the nights of shifting from monster to monster, out of control and in agony, weighing down upon him in a sudden rush until an animalistic cry of rage and undefined emotions tore from his depths and spilled from his mouth. The sound was long, and haunting certainly to any who could hear. And then, he walked out those doors.
The monsters were changing, and those that could not change, had faded or would with time. He was witness to that. If he allowed memories to flow, he could envision the scientists and the ShinRa employees that had once wandered these halls. He could remember the good and the horrible times here. But just like that which Vincent was working to release, this was just another shell. There was no life bound to these halls like there used to be. All it was, was a carcass for beasts to feed on and hide within. There was no curse left in those halls. Finally, he could see, in all the ways he’d yearned for, for a long time, it was empty.
Finally, he could let it go, too.
He made his way back through Nibelheim, after assuring he’d cleaned himself properly. He spoke fleetingly and reassuringly with one of the now-elders, and wondered what was once the grounds of the homes of Tifa and Cloud. They had since been torn down and built into something completely different, but he still remembered.
He missed them dearly.
And so, he left Nibelheim, finding that emptiness and lightness were still in disarray inside him. He would simply have to get used to it, as it was only the beginning.
“Hmm… Sometimes I forget just how much of a nexus that damned town was.” Genesis found himself remarking. Vincent noted he seemed more focused on his own memories, combined with what Vincent had shared and implied to have endured there in his retelling of his ‘therapeutic’ visit. One could be miffed by what seemed like a self focused reply, but Vincent knew Genesis better than that.
“It certainly was. It's been a different town and place for a long time, we just weren’t there to watch it change.”
“Hmm, I suppose.” Genesis sighed. “...It does sound as if you worked through quite a lot there, though it sounded like some of it was still stubbornly clinging for a while?” Genesis scolded.
“It did, but that’s to be expected. I did scream as you suggested, however.”
“Quite the release, wasn’t it?” Genesis encouraged, grinning faintly. But he glanced at Vincent again. “...I’m glad you were able to take that time and begin to let go of all of that… I have my own regrets there, but mostly…it was a series of bad choices with words and actions, and a massacre that ensued that I know now I had a hand in bringing forth… But you…”
“I had quite the story there, even parts I had not realized existed.” he finished, glancing back to Genesis, catching his eyes. “It took a while for the relief to be greater than the release, but when it did, I could feel the shift in myself. Leaving so much behind there was just the start.”
“The start of some rather proud growth that you may have never accomplished, if I’d not been there to advise you~.”
“Likely not.” Vincent conceded playfully. He perhaps would have, just at a vastly slower pace. He reached acceptance far slower when left to his own mind before.
“And did I get a thank you?” Genesis asked lazily.
“Would you like me to continue, or no…?”
Genesis shot him a look, before fighting a smirk and rolling his eyes. “Continue.”
It was some centuries later. Vincent knew where he must spend time and put forth efforts next. He tried to accomplish this sooner, quite a few times. He even wandered through what had once been home many times, as it continued to change before his eyes; he watched as it was echoing back to something like its Republic days, and yet shifting forward into something new once again. But, being ready to truly dig his fingers deep into his roots took more time than he was willing to admit.
And yet, once he finally made the committed decision, it only took a weekend visit in Junon for him to finally manage it.
His family home had, surprisingly, gone mostly untouched. He’d employed a caretaker some time after Meteorfall, reclaiming it from the city council and returning it to something akin to his memories, though not so absolutely that he’d find himself melancholy upon every visit; somewhere between familiar and personal, with the heaviest past tucked away in the basement. But those he’d left to care for it, and those that had followed after (associates and family) had passed and moved on a century ago. The city still thrived, even if it had evolved beyond the society he’d known from his childhood, and what he’d gotten used to after his awakening. Upper and Lower Junon were still present, but there was a greater attempt to open the two sections of the city, and even during W.R.O.’s time they had been slowly but surely repurposing all of the ShinRa property, like the lift and elevators, the buildings, the academy and so on. And so Vincent’s childhood had simply gone forgotten.
Vincent observed a brilliant city that stood self-sufficient and independent, and beautiful in ways he missed from his youth, but unlike in his youth there was no longer an ominous pressure pressing through every corner of it that was simply accepted as natural or immovable. It was long overdue, perhaps, but it was a strange comfort to experience as he walked the streets of Upper Junon. He arrived just in time to be walking the main street as the sun was rising over the horizon. The glittering, yellow-gold shine across the water was soothing to witness, leaving a familiar tranquil air about his walk.
He used to take runs along these same streets when he and said streets were both younger. Taking a breath in and out, it left a bittersweet fondness in his chest, swirling with the scent of the sea in his lungs. Looking down at the docks, he remembered the singular hookie dare he’d joined in on with his fellow academy graduates. They’d taken an old abandoned boat and went on the shortest adventure ever; it hadn’t been used for years and next to no one remembered who it belonged to, but it had been a constant subject of discussion and debate over who it belonged to, when it was from, and most importantly, how well it could run if at all.
One of the more reckless classmates had suggested they steal it, and take it as far as it would run, feeling so sure they would be legends for doing so. That was a failed assumption. They got quite a bit of flack from Professors, from city elders, parents and dock workers. But there was also that hidden pride and respect that had been earned amongst his reckless group of five that had manned the boat out almost all the way towards Fort Condor before it started taking on too much water.
The swim back was…lovely. But, it was invigorating as well. One of those moments where Vincent had acted so beyond his own instincts, assumptions, and expectations, and enjoyed it.
Vincent chuckled, and took a turn down the street. He took a winding path through the upper city to make his way towards what once was the main hall of the academy. He was met with the Community Hall, with Junon citizens filing in and out lazily to meet their early morning tasks.
“Ah! Mr. Valentine, it’s been some time! We have breakfast, if you would like? Can we expect your company today, or just passing through?” he was greeted by a man in his mid thirties, so young and full of energy and determination so early in the morning. Vincent knew him to be one of the event and club coordinators, especially for the youth here, but he had his hands in everything. He was certainly a man determined to serve as one of many beating hearts of this city, and Vincent admired him.
“Hey, Jonathan, and no thank you--I’m not quite hungry.” he answered the offer, before giving an explanation for the rest. “What you can expect is something between--I won’t be able to participate in anything today, but, I will be around. …Running a few long-overdue personal errands.” he explained honestly.
Jonathan seemed to nod in understanding and acceptance. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. It’s good to see you!”
Vincent inclined his head with a faintest quirk of his lips, his only return of the sentiment, before he wandered onward. From the main hall of the Community Hall building, he made his way through what once were their study halls, libraries, and conference rooms. What he would see now were rooms repurposed for the homeless and troubled youth. The library still functioned similarly. The conference halls had been repurposed as activity rooms specifically for training on different skills. Some rooms still functioned as what remained of the W.R.O.’s facilities, working company aid and resources and such.
He wandered the library, noting the updated curriculum, and was rather sure he could count how many volumes had been discarded or replaced since he’d been at school here. It was a good thing, surely; there had been too much outdated content, as well as most of the volumes present there had been ShinRa sourced and published. It was good. Necessary. And another chunk of the world that was carved up, removed, or forgotten.
He had spent most of his time here, in his first year and a half at the Academy, and though he expanded his presence to other parts of academy life and outward, it was still a place that had become just as familiar to him as his own home.
The familiarity, now, was only barebones. The faces had changed, it was all dressed in a new age.
He fingered through a couple of the older books he knew had been present in his time, all those years ago, noting the history and fiction that was kept and what wasn’t. Then he collected some of the newer volumes, ones on history, and science, and how studies and records had expanded and refined in the past few centuries. Strange to read tales of a time you lived through so deeply.
Onward he went, heading to the next floor. Classes, left and right. He passed what was once his math class, and it stood now as a workshop space. He peaked in on an English class currently in session, observing, and fighting a smirk at the memory that this had once been a chemistry classroom.
He finally arrived at what had been repurposed into the event hall, but had previously served as the grand auditorium. There weren’t many people here, as the hall wasn’t currently in use. He wandered between pews and other chairs, down an aisle, until he made it to the stage.
There, hands planted down before him, he looked the stage over, from one end to the other.
He remembered walking the stage upon his graduation. His mother and grandmother had big smiles, a few tears, and hearty cheers. He’d grinned softly, but earnestly upon catching sight of them. Then his eyes had shifted to Grimoire and the grin had fallen immediately. He was graduating with plans to join the Turks afterwards, and he had just ended his last few weeks with what most regarded as a reckless, idiotic prank. He was not surprised to be witness to his father’s disappointment, and yet still, something had felt as if it’d crumbled in that moment.
Vincent let out a soft breath that was almost a sigh, shaking his head. The relinquishing of blame and hurt that he’d started in Nibelheim had come a long way since then, and yet there were still layers he was working through. His fathers’ look was steady in the back of his mind, persisting in ways he wished it hadn’t, but then he let it be. He let the disappointment linger, then the guilt, the ensuing anger and upset go.
He accepted where he was now, but he knew he must mourn what never had a chance to be. Would he have felt more hopeless and without direction if he had stopped trying so hard for his father’s approval sooner? Or would he have been happier, and more fulfilled? He had never felt completely unfulfilled. He found ways to set goals and achieve them. He had proven himself again and again. But, there was always a feeling, a belief, that he was letting himself fall short of greatness or something that SHOULD be. It was a deeply frustrating existence.
He knew it was because he had put so much effort within his life, into trying to be what Grimoire wanted. Even as he evolved to learn he must give up earning absolute satisfaction and recognize what he didn’t want out of his life, it didn’t change that he’d spent so much of that life convincing himself what was always meant to be his existence; to be the prodigal, only son of one of ShinRa’s greatest and brightest, continuing on the Valentine legacy with breakthroughs and brilliance abound. To abandon that, after so much heart and hope and time had been sacrificed on both sides, it left an emptiness he felt he was constantly having to try and fill and never truly believed he did.
He would succeed. He could accomplish many things, but those accomplishments would never be all it could be. He would never succeed in putting forth all the effort he had at his disposal, and so he would not achieve his absolute best.
That’s what he had learned to recognize far too late that he’d let himself believe. Below the surface, at the edge of awareness guiding all his actions and reactions, his choices and his hold ups, it was there. But, he was beyond that now.
Now, he recognized he’d sacrificed his happiness and sense of self, just to hold on to something intangible with his father. Grimoire should have offered more, as he was capable of doing. He should not have let his pride consume the caring and supportive man he was at his core, at least not in regards to his son. But then, perhaps that was just who his father was, wholeheartedly. Brilliant minds such as his, and others within the science community, were never the types to relent and give up on how they see the world.
Vincent wondered what life he would’ve led if he’d followed any other path. Could he have allowed himself to become an artist? He recognized he had and still possessed some skill, and to create and express through such a form, it had been therapeutic and enjoyable at times. Then there was the desire to be a novelist; he had adored the stories shared with him as a child, of myth and fantasy, of monsters and the misunderstood. There was a time in his life where every night was a new story, written within his mind as he faded into unconsciousness. Now and again, he would make note of those stories when the morning came, but not always. Even his curiosity stirred during his internship with his father--studying what he could of the abnormal until he could understand it as normal, investigating and using science, logic, and reason to forge a truth. He had believed it was something he could hold drive for, but the desire had flickered out in such a complicated fashion, it was difficult to recapture.
He had never felt a burning, driving passion for any of these things. But he had also never allowed himself the chance to develop such. Even now, he did not commit to the pursuit of any of it except perhaps the study of the abnormal. He had been a unique asset with the W.R.O. when it came to their investigative endeavors, given his unique inclinations bound to his headmates, his own branching knowledge, and his experience as a Turk. He continued such work now, even as the W.R.O. had become something changed, even if it kept its core.
But it still wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be, and Vincent had to accept now that -that- time had long since passed. He had all the time in the world to pursue anything he chose, and perhaps he might, but it would be to feed his interests when it came. There was no longer anything to prove, or a purpose to accomplish.
No, his purpose had evaporated and then expanded beyond anything he could’ve ever expected. His only important purpose, now, was to serve as Squire to Omega, when the time came, and by extension and choice, watch and aid the planet until that time came. That was another thing he must accept. He could mourn what he had stopped himself from being, but he must let it go, too. The time had come and gone, for him to explore exactly as he would’ve wanted.
But, perhaps, even if he would never feel as if he accomplished some expectation, even if he never filled the hole left from his youth that he was sure could never truly be forgotten, he could ease it. By giving himself a chance to flex his capabilities and potential, and to be able to see just what he could create, big and small, he could perhaps forget that hole was even there.
He looked over the stage one last time, before straightening up and letting out a soft breath, and taking his leave. Next, he made to exit the city, and head for the scattered woods just across the cliffs of Junon, on his way to walk some familiar paths.
Every step wandering down the dirt path through the cliffs and hills towards the woods seemed to bring a heaviness. It started in his shoulders, but soon, it settled, coiled atop his chest. It was no surprise to him, every step bringing him deeper and deeper into the woods, the pronounced detail of the dirt road vanishing more and more. It was there but time had brought changes and growth so much over time. The look of nature around him was gratifying and bittersweet. Every overreaching branch, every shift of dirt and earth was a symbol of progress, as well as proof that the past would be buried.
He crossed a fork in the road, taking a left that was closer to looking over the sea. He was glad to see some of the boulders were still standing; time had worn away at them a little but the bigger ones seemed to still hold strong. His grandmother, Genevieve, would take him to these cliffs and these boulders and the rocky, treacherous paths that lead onward some afternoons. She’d tell him tales about his grandfather, about their ancestors and the trials they’d crossed and overcome, and the legacy they left behind. He would climb and jump and maneuver across the rocks, big and small, as she weaved each tale. He remembered, in his mind, he used to imagine the great feats he could accomplish as well. With his grandmother's voice telling tales and cheering him on in his daring efforts, he believed he could do anything. He also believed he should at least try to do everything he could. Valentines were a legacy, after all.
The wind was whipping his hair about suddenly, more intensely than ever. Vincent looked out over the waters after he had moved to sit upon one of the stones. He used to believe standing on it made him so tall, his back to the trees to the path he came from, the branches and leaves bending to flow with the wind. Black strands whipped through the air until finally, he removed the red bandana from his forehead.
He looked at it, for only a second, before taking his hair back and binding it into a messy and somewhat loose bun, tying the red fabric to keep it together.
He stood once more, stepping across the rocks with a grace that was like floating, before returning to the path to continue deeper into the trees, dipping into the woods.
The rising sun filtered warmly through the green and yellow leaves, casting a soothing shade across the area. He weaved through a tree or two as he moved deeper, but the woods had never been thick, though it seemed as if they might’ve grown a bit over the many years. The wind was whipping through branches and leaves again, as if it were searching for him.
He found one of the bigger trees, a rare breed but still local, however few they were. He sat at its base, looking up into the shining green above him, watching the wind cast the colors about as it weaved with the work of the sun.
His mother used to love painting here, in places like this. He knew this would be quite the vision for her to capture; the green and gold of nature flowing like the ocean. He used to sit and watch her paint for hours, helping to point on details she might want to capture, though he preferred to stay silent and observe what SHE saw, and how she chose to recreate it. He admired her talent immensely, and often found himself envious.
She encouraged his efforts all the time, and he would join her on occasion in creating. They ended up more abstract or unsatisfying, but she encouraged him anyway. He knew he would’ve wanted to continue honing his skill, but as he got older, it just seemed like something he couldn’t waste his time on.
He should have given himself more of a chance, he knew that now. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been a celebrated artist, but he was sure he could have at least created things he could enjoy and be proud of. Perhaps, someday soon, he could find something worth his efforts to work on again. He gave it up so long ago, but that did not mean he couldn’t reconnect with the talent and the desire again, right? He knew his mother would be happy.
He considered the view a little longer, before shutting his eyes to simply exist with the tree for a few minutes longer.
When he opened his eyes again, catching the scent of a specific flora in the air, he found himself grinning. Immediately, his mind supplied the name of the flora and when its blooming seasons were. His parents had been driven differently, and through their life together, they may have begun to butt heads on what they found most important, but even so, they were so similar. Their passion, their drive to make something with that passion, to achieve things. And their analytical views of the world, the curiosity and the appreciation of it all.
His mother analyzed it with artistic creativity. She didn’t just regard the world for what it was, but what it could be, how it felt. His father analyzed with intellectual curiosity and understanding; he looked at the world before him, and sought to know what there was to know, and dig into that which was asking to be discovered. He encouraged the study of the simplest things.
As Vincent looked left and right, he could recognize what his father would have to say of the shift of the earth in just the last century or so, or the few but present migrated breeds of flora given a few of the scattered trees and flowers he’d spotted on his way here. He would take Vincent on simple trips, never anything strenuous as he had been rather young, but still looking to stoke his curiosity. He’d had him study animals, stones, the plants and the trees, even the flight patterns of the seagulls flying overhead.
He had adored each chance to see the world how both of his parents saw it, always striving to develop his own unique view and yet he had never believed he’d succeeded. Perhaps another deep-seeded issue, that he had never achieved that level of individuality either.
But as he stood once more, he had to remind himself, he had. He had developed his own curiosity, even if it was more focused on that which was never considered, skating the line of realist and pessimist. He had his own creative way of thinking, even if verged on the darker, less thought of side. He held wit and interests and talents all his own, though some of them may have never been properly expanded upon beyond what was useful as a Turk. But he saw the world in his own way; he saw its darkness, and its beauty therein. He saw its brilliance, and the corruption intertwined. He had always felt an awareness and a draw to the chaotic, only to hate himself when fate brought him nothing but that.
He always had a conflicting attitude towards fate, but too much had fallen apart right into place in such specific ways for him to deny it completely anymore. He was who he was, and he felt and believed and adapted how he did because it was how he was meant to be. He could be weighed down by misfortune, but fate or not, he had long since accepted that every soul he had been trapped with inside this reanimated shell was meant to live alongside him. If not for purpose, then for the simple fact that, with time and healing from the shared trauma, he would be the one best suited to understand them.
Because he did.
Galian Beast, just a wild beast bound up and restrained. He worked, now, to give the creature freedom to run in the Wilds when it was safe, or when a sizable foe presented itself, he would allow him free to tear it apart. Vincent may not have been a beast like him before, but now, he was, in part. And he could not deny how those feral urges and aggressive spells didn’t align with his own emotions far too often. Galian was simply a freer form of expressing all that was seemingly beastly.
Death Gigas, aggressive by design, not by heart. There was the yearning to tear things apart, to destroy, if only to ease the feeling of living as something torn and tearing forever. The creature was an amalgamation of death, pain, and corruption and yet was not always defined by its birth. Vincent understood having to sit in that urge, that inclination of monstrosity, knowing it was not all of you, but also knowing it was not an absolute absence. It couldn’t be, when tied also with a deep sorrow. He did his best to ease Gigas’ struggle as well, allowing the same freedom when aggression was stirring and settling deep enough in its consciousness and connection to him. But, not only that. There were stirrings he felt outside of battle, outside of being in the presence of others. There were times, Vincent would allow him to take over simply to walk the earth. Through woods, trudging mountains, walking abandoned shores--he even greeted Cloud once, who had been a patient sport. Gigas missed him almost as much as Vincent did.
Hell Masker was…a far more unique experience. His aggression and desire to tear and scar was so deep in his core. He sought to destroy, as if it were more than instinct, but his reason for existing. Vincent had spent years seeking to understand, and could only imagine somewhere in the Masker’s origins, it was simply a way of life. Survival, or simply desire. He was a figure Vincent liked to release always on his terms, but there were quite a few vicious beasts that were faced with the Masker’s madness. Beyond that, when he would stir too loudly, Vincent did his best to find somewhere safe for him to…tear up a bit before letting him free. And every time, it seemed to allow him to settle and rest for quite a while.
Each figure simply yearned to feel and be, to seek their desires, if only for a time. And being a man finally allowing himself to do the same, or trying to, he was not going to deny them. This shell was his to begin with, but it was no longer solely his own.
Chaos, before he’d been lost to rest within the planet with the consciousness of his equal, had…never felt stable enough to be allowed free. He knew the demon had felt great resentment for being bound, but looking back, Vincent was sure that beyond experience through Vincent’s shell and a few moments of curiosity, he never would’ve been inclined to walk freely like the others so often. It was not his purpose, it was not how he was meant to exist. He was to rest, until it was time to cleave this planet of life. Beyond that, there was nothing more for him to exist for, and he was content with that--if forced otherwise, he certainly would’ve painted the world with his chaos for the simple fate of walking freely.
Even still, despite the occasional sense of him reaching out, or still being distantly connected, Vincent could almost…miss him.
As the sun was now high up in the sky, he made his descent back down into Junon, and his feet were drawing him home. Home…it didn’t completely feel like that anymore. Like many things, it was an echo from days passed. But that is what he must exist in, at least for the time he had left to stay here. The night would be enough.
The heaviness was still coiled in his chest, and greater than before. Perhaps he just needed to lie down.
He re-entered the old Valentine estate, and took in the dust and minor mess of the place. Some of it had been moved around and changed and stripped down, but most of it was as close to what it was from his youth as possible. He needed to rest, but first…
He made his way down the hall, towards the kitchen, and found a closet. Thankfully, one of many things was still in place; an array of cleaning tools, including a broom, mop, duster, etc.. And so, he got to work, hair still helpfully bound back out of his way.
It took some time to work through the entire house, every floor and most every room, save for its basement and a few spare rooms acting as over-packed storage now. He was fairly thorough, memories flickering as he lingered in every room and tended to it, casting away the dust and dirt, and most of the cobwebs. He saw no need to disturb that which was still in use, however.
It was nightfall by the time he finished, stowing away the cleaning supplies and turning back to take in his work. It was clear, less stuffy, no longer weighed heavily by the passage of time. He marched through the foyer, through the living spaces. He wandered through the kitchen, through the studies now half empty, and then finally he made his way to his room.
This was the only room that seemed to still be put together in the same form as it once had, as it seemed to have stayed closed off for some time until today. Trinkets were still on shelves, with books not yet sold or packed away. The bed was still present, with one of the same pairs of sheets and pillows from his late teens. The dressers, the instruments in the corner, it was all still there. As if, when the last few Valentines still lived here, they had made the choice to keep it as it was. Vincent could only wonder who was the last to take care of it; his grandmother, or his mother, before it became too difficult. Guilt coiled in his chest as his heavy body finally settled into his old bed. He didn’t disturb it anymore than laying atop the sheets. He lay flat on his back, eyes up to the ceiling as he allowed the sorrow and regret to join the guilt for a moment.
His mother and grandmother had lost enough, losing Grimoire. And then he added more, with his death or absence, depending on what lies ShinRa was told by Hojo and then told themselves. It as not his choice and intent, and he could argue back and forth over whether he could have dragged himself out of that coffin and out of that basement to return home, but whether he would’ve had the strength in his reanimated body and whether he would’ve been okay returning a living corpse to his grieving family, it couldn’t be changed now.
But he was sorry nonetheless.
His hands rested across his chest in a lazy fashion, eyes opening, and closing and opening again. The longer he lay in the distantly familiar bed, somehow the heavier he felt. He would’ve thought resting his body would begin to relieve the sensation. He took in a deep breath, and released, and then a deep breath, and then released again.
The heaviness persisted, and the negative emotions swirled like a growing vortex. He didn’t really keep track of the time, he simply existed in the space of this place, body barely relaxing, before finally he sat up once more. This isn’t where he wished to linger and rest. He stood, and marched on to the next bedroom.
His grandmother's room was the second best kept room, most things still the same, like her bed and rocking chair and her dresser. Her book shelf was empty, boxes in one corner, and he was unsure where her published works and other property had been stowed. With a sigh, he marched slower over to the bed. He sat upon it at first, nearer the foot of the bed. He stared at the rocking chair, as if he could almost see her there in it.
He blinked, and moved to lay across the foot of the bed. He didn’t bother trying to fit, he was not trying to sleep. He just needed to rest his mind and body. He breathed in and breathed out.
There wasn’t a single familiar smell. He hadn’t realized he’d been hoping to catch the smell of her clothes, the whiff of her perfume, the aroma of her books. His eyes shut, sensing honing in. He could almost feel something familiar, almost catching the last layer of scent, but it was just out of his reach.
He would’ve liked to have embraced in a hug, one last time, before he knew he’d no longer have the chance.
His eyes stayed shut longer this time, heaviness taking him deeper and deeper into the bed, it felt like. As if he were to linger there long enough, he could sink into unimaginable depths. He began to think he should move before it took too strong a hold, but then a wave of her scent hit him, and it dragged him down deeper. He rested there for another hour or so.
When the scent finally seemed to dissipate to where it could no longer keep hold of him, his eyes blinked open slowly, and then completely. Funny, he almost felt something close to drowsy. At least, he thought he did. Or was it simply this mental and emotional drain affecting his body? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever been genuinely drowsy--any amount of fatigue was usually a call to recharge, which never took more than a few hours for him to sit or recline somewhere to rest, he could almost be meditating. He couldn’t truly compare it to the sleepiness he’d experienced when he still lived as a man. A gloved hand came to rub over his face, and with a sigh, he stood. His messily tied up bun bobbed weakly as he walked with less soundless flow than usual. His feet were heavy.
Up the stairs he went, up until finally he reached his parents’ master bedroom. He looked it over with just one glance. Save for the bed and its sheets, as it was lacking pillows now, everything was barren. Barely a trace of his father and only a few of his mother.
He stood there in the doorway staring at the bed for a long time. The heaviness made him feel as if he could topple over into the room if he took another step, and yet it rooted him in place right now. There was no scent to catch, nothing to draw him forth except for choice. Some of the last memories he had, of being in this room with its former inhabitants, involved him going to rest or sit in the middle of the bed, between his parents.
The idea of parents seemed so foreign, now. The emotions and thoughts bound to those bonds were still present, but just the term…the simple title and dynamic seemed so distant. Strange to imagine, a creature such as him could’ve ever existed in such a helpless state to have needed parents. He had long since forgotten what living with that dynamic felt like. He was a man, and then a machine, and then a monster, and finally a simple morbid memory.
He had no need for any of this anymore.
One foot drifted forward, and then another, and another, until he found himself climbing into the bed. It was a slow movement, every drag of his foot like moving a tree trunk, but it was steady at least. And once more, he lay on his back, now in the middle of the grand bed that…should feel much smaller than it used to, yet it didn’t.
His eyes didn’t look upon the ceiling long, soon shutting as he lay there with his hands crossed over his chest.
He did not need the memory of arms around him to cradle.
He turned on his side.
He did not need the memory of his mothers gentle hand petting through his hair.
He curled faintly into himself.
He did not need his father lazily yet continuously cradling his hand, thumbing now and again.
His clawed left hand flexed then curled, tucked under his chin.
He did not need any of this anymore, he hadn’t for a great many years. And yet he allowed the reminder, the ghost of the comforts and the warmth flicker in as strongly as it could, binding to the heaviness still gripping hold of him. His eyes stayed firmly shut, and before he knew it, and beyond his actual intentions, Vincent Valentine fell asleep in his parents' empty bed.
When he awoke, it was easy. His eyes fluttered, weakly opening, but there was no urgency. His body felt more at ease, despite some of the still constant aches and pains. The heaviness was gone, though he imagined it lingered like a cloud, not far. When his eyes finally opened and took in the room half drenched in peaking sunlight, he felt the shift. It was hard to describe and he saw no reason to. What once was, what could’ve been but had been abandoned, and what never could be was simply laid there in that bed. He had not slept that deeply in a very, very long time.
He stood from the bed and as he did, the messy bun finally gave in and came loose, the red bandana released from its ties. He took it in hand…and simply continued to hold it. It was not returned to his hair, nor his head. Finally, he took his exit from the room, descending the stairs, and taking his leave from the Valentine estate. His raven locks whipped about freely across his face, taken up by the wind now and again.
It didn’t take him long before he arrived at his favorite spot overlooking the docks--a space found at the edge of the Upper Junon platform, where one could climb down through the supports to an assortment of beams with a walkway. There he leaned against the steel railing, watching soft waves in the distance and the flow of the water rushing in and around the stones and the platforms of the shore and its docks. The ebb and flow of it all, of the water and the wind picking up and dying down around him seemed to soothe something he had not realized needed soothing.
He shut his eyes, taking in the sounds, the scents, and the feelings. He let out a breath, and looked down at the bandana still gripped in his hand. He thumbed over it, wondering how long his father had used it, adorned it as his ascot or a bandana himself, before Vincent had made such prolonged use of it. Even that wasn’t originally by choice, simply left to him with the rest of the garb he most often adorned now. It was left to him by someone who did not, in those last moments, truly see him. This had not been his, nor had it been his choice to claim, but he had made it his own nonetheless because…so how could he let it go?
Now, he would find out. He raised his hand. The wind caressed through his hair, across the back of his neck and his face, and when the rush of air seemed to whip his hair higher, his fingers finally released.
The sea air took it up, up into the sky, higher than he expected, only for him to watch it glide down and then pick back up again. .
He loved them. He missed them. He wished he’d had that one last chance to tell them, all of them, especially Grimoire, how he loved them.
Red weaved through the air towards the push and pull of the sea like a fated path, and Vincent turned his back, not needing to see where it ended. It was gone, unbound, and that was that.
Climbing back to the top, Vincent ran a hand through his chaotic hair--and there he felt that which he’d only noted on occasion and still had a habit to ignore, but would no more. Horns, small and misshapen as they currently were, were growing from his hairline. He’d been feeling them grow for some time, and yet, stalled. Had it been his mind, or the coverage, that had held them back? It mattered not, now. Nothing would hold it back and with that, he took his leave. He never knew a simple piece of fabric could hold so much weight, until he was without it.
Vincent looked on at the eb and flow of green, smiling just faintly at the similarity of it, before he glanced towards Genesis, hair falling around fully formed horns now--one of many growths, along with both clawed hands, the prehensile tail he’d had to learn to control, and the adaptive wings currently draped at his back in a familiar, cloak-visage. Glowing blue eyes had been locked on him, unwavering, for the past few minutes of this tale of his visit to Junon, and it left Vincent curious. “...Were you expecting more or less, given the familial subject matter?”
“Mm.” Genesis made a noise, finally lowering his gaze. “I’m not quite sure, if I’m honest--I’d lost my concept of family years ago, there wasn’t truly anything to hold on to. I suppose your soft little tale was soothing, to such a bitter heart as mine.” he remarked with dramatic sarcasm, turning his chin up, waving a hand in the air with a roll of his wrist.
“Mm, certainly.” Vincent just nodded. He knew enough of who and what Genesis came from, and he certainly didn’t blame him. But Genesis made clear he was no hypocrite, as even as he spoke with implications of hardships and the weights of emotions that were once involved, he was unbothered by them. No matter when it was, he had faced his demons and his past, and had shaped himself into something free of all that does not serve him. Or at least, that was the masterful performance he put off. Vincent trusted the facade for the most part, but…Genesis also seemed the type to hold on to at least a few things, for one reason or another.
“It sounds as if you were getting more used to the process at that point.” Genesis remarked with the faintest praise. “Were you surprised, to recognize how much you’d still been holding on to?”
“A bit. I’d made myself believe certain things were no longer important, if they’d ever completely been. I learned otherwise. I’ve visited many more times since, and each time, it’s felt less and less like home, and more like a trinket holding a memory to look at. It was easier to simply begin to care more for the progress of the people than the mark of the memory.” Vincent explained.
“You’re certainly more expressive this evening than usual. Reflection and nostalgia loosening that tongue?” Genesis questioned with the faintest smirk. It was not something he’d complain about, but far be it from him to let a moment to poke at the other to pass.
“Perhaps I’m just enjoying a final conversation.” Vincent answered directly, red and gold flicking in the others’ direction.
Genesis sighed dramatically. “Don’t ruin it. You still have a last tale to tell, don’t you?” he dismissed.
“I do. But I’ll savor speaking with a friend as I do so, and you certainly can't stop me.” Vincent told him easily. With that, despite having been sitting partially reclined all this time, he decided to lay flat on his back. Above, the stars looked brighter than ever, when not dimmed and blocked by the white and green threads flowing overhead.
“As I’m sure you know all too well, in your own experiences… I just miss them. ”
Vincent walked the unspoken path he’d marked with his presence many times before. This land took him in when he was troubled, when he was analyzing the current problem he faced, when he was distancing himself, and even when he was reflecting fondly. Perhaps it was the energy of stewards past, or perhaps it was the silent emptiness, but Vincent felt welcome nonetheless as he walked through the Forgotten Capital once more.
The sky above was dimming to night, singing out its last light, and so the glow of the forest and the flora growing here painted a unique vision. He didn’t wander too haphazardly, not feeling the need to waste time. Finally, he made it to the familiar, sacred waters. Were they once so sacred when the Cetra wandered here? Had there been other purposes within it before, or was the purity and importance only given when their last child was laid to rest there? One of the things he wondered about, before letting the questions fly away.
He looked over the expanse of water, how the light reflected and danced across it, perhaps even through it. He blinked his eyes shut, then took a seat by the water, as if it were a friend he intended to comfort with his silent presence. Except now, the roles would be reversed.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Aerith…” he remarked, voice low and soft. “The last time I was here was before Nanaki’s passing, and then a month after, I believe. His pups are thriving, and they still remember me. They’re fending well on their own, however, and they have no promise to keep like their father so…for Nanaki, I just watch from afar.”
And he still did. It had been a few months since he’d last seen them, but he knew they were well.
“...You may be surprised as to why I’m here. We may not have had a lot of time to know one another, when you were here. But, you’ve learned plenty from me since that day.” he confessed to Aerith. Her energy used to be felt so strongly, especially when he’d visit, intently, either thinking of her or speaking towards her. It was nowhere near as strong as it had been in the beginning, he was very sure that as time marched on, Aerith’s energy, despite the half Cetra blood, had begun to dissipate and merge as it was meant to.
Thinking of it, he narrowed his gaze, and wore a sad smile. “...I’ve begun to wonder… Are you still here…because I am?” he questioned, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. The idea was…touching, and made him feel things he could hardly describe. He was the last of her friends still living, but their time had been so short…and she had to know, his time may never end.
“You’ll have to rest, soon. Alright? I want you to. But, before you do, perhaps you can gift me with your audience one last time. I…want to talk about all the others, if that’s okay.”
He sat there a moment longer, only to see something he questioned only to recognize it was fleeting, but real--a green sprite of spirit energy fluttering out of the waters as they shuddered, before dissipating. Aerith would put forth such effort just to ensure he knew she heard him, loud and clear. He chuckled, the noise a bit shaky, but he nodded.
Then, he slipped into the shallow end of the waters, resting there, feeling the water and how the energy rushed through him, and how his own Weapon-Gifted energy guarded against the impure, like a light and playful dance back and forth, but the boundary never crossed more than the Void could allow.
“Reeve…I know you perhaps never got to know him properly, Aerith, only knew his Cait Sith…” he started, “but strange as it was, given the beginning knowing him, he became a good friend. A very good friend…” a clawed pair of hands drug through the water, cupping it, raising it up, before letting it flow back down. “He did his best to right the wrongs of ShinRa in the ways he felt best, and supported the world to become something better. He knew that utopia was impossible, but he tried. And I watched him succeed many times.”
He couldn’t remember the last casual conversation they had as friends, without any impending end. They had once been plentiful, then scattered, then plentiful again. He was there the moment he passed, but he had been there the week before. He’d aged well, and strong. Vincent had promised to watch over the organization with him gone. Though he was confident in his chosen commissioner, he was sure Vincent was an invaluable asset. He might mock the way in which Reeve painted Vincent like some tool bound to the company, but he promised all the same.
“Hmm…I hope he and the others are at rest but, if you can hold these words just the same.” he addressed Aerith’s energy again, before shutting his eyes.
The visage of Reeve, through the ages, calm and stressed, firm but patient, young and determined and old and fulfilled. Vincent smiled weakly.
“...You were a friend I had not realized I needed in the ways you stubbornly managed. To keep me busy, to fulfill a way of existing that had become familiar and comfortable, and helping this world in its recovery. You, like many of the others, stood by me when I most needed it. I will hold that, and you with me, Reeve. Thank you.”
A breath in, and a breath out.
His eyes blinked open, and the weak smile lingered. “The Cait’s were kept up as long as your successors and I could manage, but they weren’t the same without you. But they rest now, in a lot of familiar places. We’ll see how they stand against time.”
His golden-covered fingers moved through the water, flexing and relaxing once more.
“The Organization stood longer, and is still standing, albeit in lesser forms. But, you would be proud. You made the first steps to the path that led out of the ruin we were all living in.” Vincent had to relay that fact, no matter what consciousness was left. “We knew there would be some depths to the damage that couldn’t be changed, but the planet has healed so much, and the generations that followed have evolved. Mistakes can be made, but every century, we draw further and further away from the hell we’d been steeped in… And you were a great part of what made it right, my friend. I’m glad I was able to see that for us both.”
The gauntleted hand sank below the waters then, settling with the rest of him as he sat against the edge of the pool, just a bit above his waist. He reminded himself, there wasn’t enough Self left to the life his friends were now a part of in the Lifestream. But, that was fine, as he was simply giving more memory to join the flow.
He turned his gaze to the glowing trees surrounding the area, then to the temple constructed from natural shells formed in this land. Memory flashed so suddenly, to the moment Cloud began to carry Aerith to her rest. He, Cid and Barret each offered to help, but Cloud simply did it himself. There was no comment, no word that could be said, just action.
Cid and Barret had always been…unique men to call friends. Perhaps not men he would’ve ever sought out any level of connection with in his former life, much like most of their group, but they had marked his life nonetheless. Their volume, their intensity, their passion was what had lasted.
“You overcame quite a bit, Cid, even if it took you time to do so. You made your passion into something to help the world, in time. I always admired that.” he spoke to the water. Loud memories of Barret persisted, though, and he fleetingly laughed. “I admired your persistence, Barret… As the rules changed around you, as right and wrong became less black and white, and as the world was waiting for a new sustainable future, he never stopped fighting. I would say at times it was foolish, and a step back would’ve been a better plan, but…that was simply you, and you proved me wrong. Your passion was admirable, too.”
He was silent a second before finding the words. “I may not have shown my appreciation, as often as I should have…but the support you both offered meant a great deal. I wasn’t always sure what I’d done to deserve it, but it was accepted nonetheless. I can only hope I offered it back in equal measure.”
Considering such, hoping that he had given back what Barret and Cid had offered in their friendship, his mind flitted to Marlene, and the time he spent watching over her and Denzel, and Yuffie as well as the group had gotten a bit close over time, with Shelke as well. They would always seem like children, to his mind. Never his, but bound to him by others nonetheless. Well, save for Yuffie, and Shelke over time. One had grown into a persistent but fond annoyance, no matter how old she had gotten, and the other had followed her own way while paying tribute to her sister's work. Yuffie and Shelke had become such powerful, driving forces in the WRO, and changed the world in their own ways. With science, with international connections, and so much more.
“You each made your family proud.” he remarked, feeling the gratitude to have witnessed all four of them achieve a full and happy life. It had been…heartbreaking in a completely different way, knowing they had passed as compared to losing the parents of the two siblings. Each loss proved to him that it wasn’t just the sentiment of who they were a reminder of that had bound his care to them, it was genuine all it’s own.
He did not look forward to experiencing the same with the pups, when the time came, but he knew he would endure. He could only hope he could be by their side, as he had been for Nanaki (he was rather lucky to have been present for half of his friends passing, though not all--and simply thinks to the awareness Chaos’ left behind power allows him when it relates to life energy and death). He and Nanaki had held a simple friendship, but none of the others could match the specific form it took. Neither of them were human, really, and both of them were set to face the world with the promise of leaving it changed in their absence, they were set to live in it longer than all others they would come to know. Though now, perhaps that wouldn’t be exactly so, in Vincent’s case. They didn’t always talk at great length and if they did, it was more likely to be Nanaki speaking his mind and woes. Vincent might’ve always approached their promised meetings with an air of it being a favor to the often troubled beast--it was even a joking point--but it mattered just as much to Vincent.
“I know I’ll never see you there again, Red…but I will find myself at our place again, and I will find comfort there just the same. Thank you, for filling some of my long years with your company. I would not have found such otherwise. I was honored to offer that to the end of your years.”
He watched the water for a time, remembering the early years of fulfilling that vow--many times, it was at the bar, Seventh Heaven. And every time, Tifa had been there with a smile and a special on the house for both of them. He admired her strength, in every form it took; physically, emotionally, and through so many choices she made. She did her best, to support and boost and comfort every soul she saw that needed it. It was an attribute few had, and fewer held on to in the face of the world they had been living in back then, but she managed it. Often to her detriment, but even that, she conquered, albeit with the support of Cloud, occasionally Vincent himself, and Barret encouraging her.
“I’m rather lucky to have lived in your warmth, Tifa. Only you could love as you did; a friend, a neighbor, your children, your most important people… Thank you, for deeming me worthy… No. No, for seeing what I couldn’t, and never giving up on the day I would see it as well.”
He raised a gleaming golden claw, dripping wet, observing the claw, flexing it to where he could see the nail straining underneath the leather. Then he found himself shutting his eyes once more, and they stayed shut for a time longer.
It was strange, the people who could linger in his life, despite the distance and the changes that brought them apart and away. He was reminded of the rather…unique dynamic he’d developed with one of the last lingering echoes of the heart of the Turks, Tseng. They’d opposed each other at times, during their journey, but their paths had crossed often and they held familiar ties, specifically to the likes of Veld. Even beyond the senior Turk that had once been his partner, Tseng had managed to remind him not only of the flaws of his former life, but the worth and pride there, too. He might’ve changed, in some ways, but he would never not be a Turk. He made sure to repay that past, and the still-living pride of theTurks, helping when he could. And then there was Veld, the one who had shown him the way. The one who had stood by his side through many trials and growth. His only partner within the Turks. Their lives had grown and changed, died and been reborn over the expanse of so many years and there were so many times Vincent felt they had drifted too far. There was hurt, there was loss, there was confusion. But they still found their way back to one another. Their time was shorter than he would’ve preferred, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“It’s strange, to be the last of the Turks… To carry you all, in a way, to the end. Veld…I may still surprise you yet.”
He smiled to himself, eyes fluttering open again as the distant vision of the copper-haired agent, grinning, flashed through his mind before fading, a deep beat of his heart fading with it. His eyes turned up to the stars, then.
The sky was absolutely clear--not a single white wisp in sight.
“You always…seemed to be there…even when the distance and time was long.” Vincent’s thoughts seemed to flood out loud then. “A call away, a trip away. We weren’t always waiting, but we…didn’t need to. One of us reached out, the other simply met them as needed. You were perhaps…a friend I never expected I’d find, and one sorely needed. I fought myself to be the same to you. Cloud…” the name spoken, after so long, shifted a heavy weight through his chest, bringing a lump to his throat. His eyes fluttered with warmth, but they stayed upward to the stars. “Thank you, for…sharing your darkness, ensuring I never completely locked myself away in mine. I would have stayed only the monster and forgotten the man, were it not for you. We were able to realize how we could exist as both, together.”
His eyes shut, water dripping into the pool, his fond smile now only the faintest curve, but the swell in his chest was flowing out with such a strange sudden burst. It felt as if it spilled from the center of his chest and joined the waters before him.
Whether it did, in any true form or not, it felt so for Vincent. He supposed it shouldn’t feel like a surprise, that this process became more clear, every time he went through it. There was a release of heavy emotions, and the cementing of precious memory. He knew now, he could hold those memories without having to grip so tight. He could look ahead, especially now that he’d stumbled into what he could only claim as another friend as well. He chuckled, finding it fitting…that he’d find himself in the company of such a vocal, opinionated ally who couldn’t seem to give him the distance he’d gotten used to. Now that he had none to keep him company as he used to, instead he would now have Genesis. What would his fallen friends think of him now? Making friends outside of an apocalypse.
With that, finally, he let himself dip underwater. Eyes wide open, he turned his gaze downward, to the surprising depths that could be found further out into the pool, beyond the shallow corner. The light of the city around the pool could only reach so far, but there was a depth that seemed endless. He knew better, but the longer he stared, the more he knew.
“Aerith…” he spoke, releasing air underwater, but he didn’t care. Perhaps she would hear him just a bit more clearly here.
He had no more words, simply gratitude, fleeting guilt for not having done more to prevent her fate, and acceptance that her path was one she had to take.
“Thank you.”
He sought to rise to the surface once more, but just as he began the brief swim, there was a surge of energy and light. It reached for him, with intent, and there was a fleeting assumption of a threat, the Void preparing against the planet's energy. It wrapped around him, gripping him, and Vincent began to struggle, ready to find a way to fight back. But, then he felt it taking hold of something…something that had begun to slumber more and more. Something…some things that seemed ready for what took hold of them then.
Suddenly, he felt as if he were being pulled apart, and he struggled again. But the pain did not come. Why was there no pain? There were parts of him being grasped, and tugged apart, tugged free from his core, why was there no pain…?!
Coughing and taking on water, there was a pulse in his head as he looked to the depths that the lifestream energy was returning to, and with it…strange wisps of energy of varied shades of red, three of them. The green shined bright, and in the depths, he saw the free-flowing brunette hair curling and flowing in the waters depths, and the green eyes smiling up at him. It was only a moment before she vanished into darkness. With her, the three red wisps followed.
With a last strangled choke of water, Vincent broke the surface, crawling to the shore where he lay on his side. He choked and coughed up water, catching his breath and reeling. Aerith…? That had been her, she had…reached out to him, taken from him--but why? Why would she do that? What had she done to him?
As his chest rose and fell, heaving to recapture the breath he’d lost, no matter how much he needed it anymore, and he felt lighter than before. Lighter than he would’ve even have imagined. He even felt almost…empty.
His heart, his core…his mind, there was so much….gone from it. He choked again, eyes stinging and brows furrowing as realization hit him like a truck.
Galian Beast.
Death Gigas.
Hellmasker.
They were…put to rest. Aerith had reached out to him, and taken the head-mates Vincent had come to trust the constant presence and feeling of for years. She had taken the last constant, the last company he could have in his loneliness. She had taken them.
“W-why…?” he spoke to the pool, which seemed to hold less of a glow than it had before. Moving to his knees, he looked into the pool, but saw none of the energy. Right hand moving to his chest, he shuddered. “...Why did you take them…?!”
But there was no answer. All he’d been left with, was her smiling visage, her comforting energy, before she took his fellow monsters to put them to rest.
Was that it? The monsters robbed of life and forced back into it inside Vincent, they were allowed to rest, as he would go on living? Was this meant to be a final judgment? That was a thought, bound to the past wrapped up in his assumption that he deserved some sort of punishment for something still. But again, he remembered her face, and he knew Aerith wouldn’t do that to him. And that had absolutely been Aerith’s energy, a last intense surge.
So why had she taken them? Did she believe he no longer needed them? Was it for them, or for him? Because now, he was alone. Now, he was empty.
Now you are free.
It was weak, certainly faint, and far away, but he knew it was real. And he could only sit in the silence and his slowly returning thoughts as he questioned what exactly that freedom meant.
Vincent had found himself lying on his back, observing the familiar stars once more, as he finished his tale. That emptiness of that day had been harsh, it had been a lot to get used to, enough that he for a time had been bitter while trying to be thankful. But now, he was just…himself. He was Vincent, fate's Vessel for Chaos, the living Squire left to serve the purpose of ushering Omega on at the end of it all. He was Vincent, a man who had given himself in all the wrong places. He was a monster, who only began to scratch the surface of where and how he belonged once he had claws and fangs to tear his way to it.
He was Vincent, who had finally chosen to live years giving all that had been taken from him, and who had found peace and simple satisfaction in finally existing as just…Vincent. After so long, he had been able to define, on his own, who that truly was.
“And you are simply going to continue to leave me in suspense with your ominous ‘why’s’ and ‘freedom’ bullshit.” Genesis remarked with a heavy sigh.
Vincent grinned softly. “And save you the long struggle I endured living with the questions myself? I’d rather give you an experience, Genesis.”
“There are far better ways to do that, Valentine.” the red head scoffed, smacking Vincent’s shoulder.
He shook his head but still kept his gaze upward. “I was free…free to carry on, undefine, unbound. I’d been well on my way, but it would seem Aerith could see more than me. No surprise. I suppose she saw it as a final step. I’d gotten so familiar, so comfortable with each of those…beings within me, I didn’t want to consider how I was growing to depend on them.”
“Hmm, and I thought your friends were all about encouraging your ability to depend on others.” Genesis remarked.
“They were,” he confirmed, “and she was no different, even in death. But, me and the others had served our purpose for each other's existence. I had reason to live on. They didn’t. It was time.”
Silence filled the space between them then, Vincent’s eyes falling shut for a long moment, before Genesis decided to speak up.
“And how long did it take you to accept that?”
Golden-red gaze flitted to Genesis, and he shrugged. “Half a decade or more, I suppose. I was still taking my time to grow.”
“And now?”
“And now what?”
Genesis scooted closer, to look Vincent in the eyes better. “And now how far have you grown?”
“Is that concern I detect in your voice? And your eyes as well.”
“Answer the question, Vincent.”
“And now the first name--”
“ Vincent. ” Genesis nudged more persistently, clearly not taking his easy dismissal. Perhaps it wasn't a complete dismissal, but he clearly didn’t want to ignore or deny this subject matter. “You have had so much time to grow and reach whatever goal of peace and comfort in yourself and your life, and I would like to know if you fulfilled that goal--”
“This matters a great deal to you."
“Yes!” Genesis remarked, leaned over him more then, glaring down at him, eyes burning blue with the rush of emotion. “You don’t have the time left to continue trying to achieve that, so I need to know if you did.”
Vincent propped himself up on his elbows, black hair falling around horns softly, and his glowing gaze at ease despite the others intensity. “Is this your responsibility, Genesis? Is that what you think?”
Genesis sighed, not moving, staring Vincent down as there was only a short reach from one another now. “...You think I’m wrong to care…?”
“Not at all. I treasure the fact that you do,” he remarked, “and I don’t take it for granted. I never have. I just don’t believe that you should hold on to this in any way, no matter what my answer is. You helped me, pushed me, ensured I started taking the steps I needed. But even if I failed, that wouldn’t be on you.”
A red-leather grasp took hold of Vincent’s chin then, tugging it urgently, before the redhead sighed, shaking his head. “Enough… Stop trying to make things easier on me and just answer the question. I won’t carry any damned guilt, I just need to know, and I need to know now.”
Clawed fingers wrapped around Genesis’ wrist, firmly yet softly, gaze not wavering. “I did, Genesis. It wasn’t all at once, and I took my time changing with the shifts in my life. But I achieved that peace, that satisfaction… I’m content. I…brought myself to this point, because I realized I deserved that. So, thank you.”
Genesis stared at him for a time longer, still firmly holding the other's chin, holding his gaze. Finally, after a brief caress of his thumb, he released his chin. He barely drew back, though kept his gaze steady on Vincent. “You know, I am the younger of the two of us, should I really have been the one teaching you…?”
Vincent leaned up more, quirking his head. “Are you going to feel better, knowing I reached this place at the end?” he asked calmly. “Does it make it easier? What’s ahead?”
Genesis laughed, but there was a thick layer to the sound as he shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. But I needed to know just the same.”
“I’m happy, Genesis. I’m…ready. Are you?”
“No. But, also yes.” the redhead sighed, and Vincent watched a single tear trailing down the side of his face as he grinned and turned his gaze to the vision ahead.
Expansive green wings had been stretching and growing, but were preparing to beat down to take to the stars. The adorned specter had been prepared, and was swirling with the life energy of eons and eons of Gaia’s growth. The shell had reached its peak, and together with one another’s support Vincent had reaped and collected and cleansed what was left to culminate into Omega as he was meant to, and Genesis had prepared for his trek as Champion, joining Omega to seek where to plant the new world.
The last night was falling right before their eyes. Vincent was feeling more and more willing to shut his eyes, where Genesis himself wanted nothing but to keep them open.
“Talk to me.” Vincent coaxed patiently. “I’ve told my tales, tales you act as if you intend to carry on to another world, though I can’t imagine who’d be interested. Now it’s your turn.”
“I have no tale, none that I haven’t already told you.” Genesis dismissed.
“Then just tell me what you’re feeling…what you’re thinking. Speak what’s left on your tongue. Or else you’re going to regret it, when you go.”
Genesis scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t act as if after all these centuries together, you’re not tired of my voice--”
“Not at all.”
Genesis sighed, shutting his eyes, a bittersweet grin on his lips. “Alright then, have it your way… I’m…overwhelmingly excited to be a witness to the new life that will begin ahead. I will stand in the foundation in the founding of a world, and help leave behind the words and tales of this one to guide the life that is to come.” he began to share, and Vincent was silently, patiently listening. “...I’m mourning the idea as well. All that was, will never be again. There is a cycle to life, but there will never be another Vincent, another Zack, another Sephiroth, Angeal. Cloud, Tifa, none of them. The beasts and the animals will forge anew. I am meant to simply know the worlds that live, thrive, and die, and watch it all begin again. And here you thought you’d be cursed with immortality…” he chuckled.
“Well, it was hard to know how my story would end. There is still a question.” Vincent reminded Genesis, propped on his elbows to observe him as he spoke. “Just as we can’t know whether the heart of the Lifestream will see fit to create its failsafes again, we can’t know whether my end is finite or not.”
“Don’t speculate to me now.” Genesis dismissed, shooting him a heavy look. “I prefer you when you’re pessimistic.”
Vincent chuckled.
“Do you not yearn for any…specific fate…?” Genesis questioned then.
“I thought we were taking time for you to speak your piece.” Vincent pointed out immediately, and Genesis could only glare.
“Are you refusing to answer again?”
“I’ll answer only after I’m sure you’ve said all you needed to.” the raven haired figure stared upon him, and eventually Genesis turned to face him again.
“I’m sad for all I’m leaving behind. I’m…content, in all I’ve been able to witness and do, for all I was gifted the chance to become. I yearn to see an even more glorious world ahead when Omega births the new world. I foresee a great loneliness ahead, and it weighs upon me, but perhaps I feel just a bit guilty that…I don’t think it would be too hard to endure, knowing more will come to fill that loneliness...” he continued. “I believe I can manage it. Weiss and Nero may be a part of this voyage, but it’s unclear whether they’ll continue as conscious Weapons, or whether they’ll settle into the fate that had been meant for Omega and Chaos to begin with. I’m ready…I’m ready, I’m just sentimental I suppose.”
Genesis turned his eyes to the bursting wings beginning to beat, and he felt the draw that the growing surge was bringing. He was bound to the energy beginning its slow but certain ascent, and would follow it to the ends of the universe. But for a moment longer, he returned his gaze to Vincent. The last vision of this world he would ever have, and what a beautiful vision he was to behold.
Asymmetrical horns jutting from long, raven black hair. Shining red eyes rimmed and flecked in gold. Pale skin marked in lines of black, painting his own unique vision of his existence as part of the Void, much like he’d witnessed marking Nero. Clawed fingers rested over Vincent’s midsection, left forearm only marked in golden metal wristbands and ringlets, gauntlet having faded out of necessity and sentimentality a long time ago. Scarred and otherworldly flesh exposed to the dying world above, only enough to drape cloth over one shoulder, reminiscent of his old cloak, and pants adorning his lower half. A tail he’d witnessed expressing a great deal of emotion, from whipping with rage, to coiling with intrigue, and curling in sadness…now it lay resting, at ease.
The beautiful monster before him was simply a vision of that. Ease. He’d grown since they’d truly met in more than just passing, again and again and again, and now he would rest here in the crumbling shell of the planet he had served. And how he embodied it…with his sadness, his anger, his regret, his guilt, his passion, his persistence, his willingness to change, his transformations, his acceptance to the flow of fate…his acceptance to the flaws and perfections in everything, and the love therein.
Genesis stared at Vincent, as the vessel simply smiled smally and warmly to him, and he smiled back just the same, giving a faint sniff to hold back the warmth in his eyes. “Fucking bastard, you are…”
Vincent chuckled again. “You certainly made the end a gift I’d never have imagined possible, much less worth me accepting.” he told Genesis, reaching up to lay a clawed caress to the others jaw and chin, fond and tender. “Thank you. Don’t let this go to your head, but I’m rather sure you saved me from myself.”
“You would’ve found your way.” Genesis dismissed, leaning into that touch, a touch that still held a certain warmth and that familiar darkness that was the Vessels power…though it felt weaker than he was used to. It was fading, no longer needed.
“Who’s to say?” Vincent thumbed his cheek.
“Will you answer me now…?”
Vincent nodded, taking a moment to find the words. His hand lowered then, resting over his abdomen once more. “I…want both, to be honest. I’m tired, Genesis. In the worst and best ways, I’m tired. And I can fade into the end knowing I fulfilled all I needed to, and even things I didn’t. This body and mind has done enough.” he explained. But the fond content smile on his lips trembled, and his eyes softened.
“...And yet, I don’t quite want it to end yet. I should feel like I’ve lived too many lifetimes, and yet right now, it seems as if I could just begin again as I did before. You’re to blame for that,” he accused, earning a smack to the chest before he went on, “and I cannot even find the words to describe how curious I am for all you’ll see ahead. There is so much I’ve let go, but I had begun to wonder over the idea of…what it would be like to welcome in the new. And to keep you company, as you did me. I’m not so willing to let you go, despite my experience with the practice.”
“My, aren’t you the sap…” Genesis sighed, face in one hand for a moment and Vincent noted he was specifically keeping his face turned away. Trying to hide away the tears, perhaps…?
“I’ve given up believing or expecting any result. I know I must accept it…but that’s your answer. I want both. It’s just how it is.”
“I don’t want to leave you.” Genesis laughed, voice thick. “I know I must, and I’m willing to do so now…especially knowing I’m leaving you like this…as you should be…happy, fulfilled…no longer weighed down by the world around you, but one with it. I can be bitter that neither of us could ever pull a clear answer from what consciousness of Chaos you could reach anymore, or even either of us trying to pull anything from Minerva, the abstract figure she is… But perhaps this is the one thing I can choose not to let go of.”
“Genesis--”
Blue eyes shining with tears turned to Vincent then, and Genesis was smiling. “You can’t very well stop me. …The tired Vessel of the Squire, against the Champion of Gaia. There’s nothing you can do about it. I will carry Vincent Valentine with me to the ends of the stars, and beyond that. Somewhere in the dark whispers of the world, you will be there. You will be felt, even if never fully known beyond myself. The twisted complexes, the dry wit, the painfully raw heart, the dramatic flair I’ve always admired…the beautiful beast you became…”
Genesis moved to hover over Vincent, causing the man who’d been lowering back to the ground more and more to lay flat once again, eyes upward to his last precious vision. His eyes were heavy with weariness, but he wasn’t done looking upon that warm, freckled skin, marked distantly by wounds of the past but no less beautiful. Red hair fell like a curtain to one side, mingling in the raven strands splayed across the ground.
“I’ll carry you, Vincent. Your fate won’t have to matter…you can rest now, and I’ll carry the rest, love.”
One of his last breaths in and out, and Vincent sighed, a trembling smile tugging at his lips. “Omega’s ascent, Genesis….”
“ Shut up. ”
Red-leather bound fingers caressed that pale-gray face and Genesis pressed his warm lips to Vincent’s. A rather chaste kiss, compared to years and years of others’ they’d come to experience together, but no less lacking in the depth of emotion he was intent on displaying with it. His lips moved, just faintly, and Vincent pressed back as he just faintly turned his head into the kiss.
As their lips parted, those red-golden eyes stayed shut, contentment on the man's face as Genesis raised back over him. His chest was heavy, and he knew it would continue to be as he would carry this weight, like he promised. But he could do so. He removed a glove and caressed Vincent’s cheek, over his jaw, fingers wandering down to his chest and resting between his breasts. “Hmm… Sleep, my dark beauty.” he spoke, sarcasm mingling with heavy emotion. But his words achieved what he intended, leaving a last amused grin on those pale lips.
The darkness was a soothing balm to Vincent, even if the shift of energy and everything around him left a deep chasm in his awareness of his surroundings. He felt the warmth of Genesis rise away, leaving behind only a last breath heavy with love and sorrow, before that took flight with the flap of a singular wing. Omega’s flight, no matter how its form had changed with its own new Vessel, sounded immense as ever. Its form may be smaller than its true self, but it was no less the Weapon to carry life onward than it was before. The growing beat of its wings sounded like the howling of winds, harsh and deafening. It resounded in more and more rapid waves of sound. Distantly, perhaps still through the gifts of Chaos, Vincent could almost hear a song of cries and hymns--the life he’d finished collecting was singing its path into the stars and it was breathtaking.
He even felt the other specter bound to Omega’s Vessel, the one that held the spawn-energy of that which still existed within Vincent. Genesis’ unique power was drawing away rapidly as well, to follow alongside the vessel of life. The energy was surging upward and out, and with it, it felt like the breath, the energy was being sucked out of Vincent. And he let it flow out, knowing there was no need for it. As the energy was seeping out, his body seemed to sink deeper and deeper into earth below him. Whether that was only a sensation or truth, it didn’t matter. The world was crumbling into a husk, no longer serving any purpose but to fade and drift and cease, and Vincent was ready to finally rest and fade with it. The cold was consuming him, the silence growing louder and louder.
It was the last tug of energy, of life from his lungs, that brought voices almost forgotten. Even as he almost opened his eyes, there seemed only darkness. But the darkness wrapped him tight, like a knowing embrace as the words washed over him.
At first it was a buzz of voices, undefinable yet fleetingly familiar in some of its fluctuations. The only words he could pick out were, Vincent, proud, happy, we’re here, I’m sorry, rest, and so on. That is, until one rang through louder.
Look at you, as if the echoes of voices could giggle, that sound mingled with the words of Aerith as her voice was the loudest thus far, you’re amazing, Vincent! You are free, and you are so strong, and the life you carried on will be wonderfully changed for the better for all you’ve done. Thank you.
Silence only wrapped around him for another second, before-
My dear, beautiful boy .
“Mother…” Vincent sighed. That voice, he had truly forgotten, and to hear it again, he was overwhelmed with a heavy happiness.
Sweet boy… You did so well…and now it’s time to rest. I’ve missed you .
The embrace of darkness tightened around his body, a body far beyond what Shion Valentine would’ve held in her lifetime, and yet there was almost a warmth there that reminded him of it.
“I missed you…too…” his words were but a whisper, volume barely there as he felt his body weakening, lessening. Was he wasting away, losing sensation? It wasn’t clear but, there was no pain, so there was no need to fight it anymore. There was nothing to fear.
My son.
Grimoire’s voice was strained, and yet it seemed to try to persist stronger than any of the others.
I’m so sorry…and so proud. It’s time to come home, Vincent .
There was no air left in his lungs, but Vincent breathed out the last of the life left in him and with it, everything faded softly and absolutely.
Darkness. Numbness. Nothing more, just the shells of the past left to fade into space, as the cycle soured its way across the universe to its new beginning.
Vincent Valentine’s eyes were shut.
It was done, and so was he.
Time to rest.
.
.
.
“...Oh, Vincent…”