Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was never much involved in AVALANCHE’s missions—not really. While others raided reactors and disrupted Shinra’s grip on the world, Seluna remained on the fringes. Logistics, support, watching from the shadows. It wasn’t fear that held her back. It was something quieter. A sense that the world didn’t need her to be loud. And after the fall of the Sector 7 plate, after Midgar erupted into chaos and the tower fell in fire and thunder, she had no choice but to follow. Survival didn’t ask permission.

She was a slip of a girl, pale beneath the sun and small in presence, easily overlooked beside warriors and legends. Her hair the color of late summer wheat framed her face, though she nearly always tied it back in a high ponytail, save for the fringe that swept across her brow. Her features were delicate—cheeks faintly flushed, lips soft and small, the kind of face that was often overlooked but lingered like a whisper once seen. Her eyes, a cool shade of blue, carried the distant gleam of someone who spent more time observing the world than speaking in it.

Her fashion sense mirrored her personality—quiet, understated, and easy to overlook at first glance, but not without detail or thought. She wore a sleeveless blouse, off-white and faintly frilled, the high collar and delicate button trail giving it a faintly doll-like silhouette. Paired with dark shorts, a thigh belt strapped across one leg, and knee-high boots that bore the scuffs of many miles, she looked somewhere between a ghost from an old story and a girl still trying to find her place in one.

Now, in the heart of Nibelheim, that quiet presence found itself stepping through the echo of old memories. The group had returned here following leads from Cait Sith, whose internal scans of Shinra transmissions suggested that remnants of deep archival data might still linger in the town’s remaining terminals regarding the temple of the Ancients. But first, they needed access.

While the others fanned out to inspect the town, Seluna accompanied Cait Sith to the town hall. The little automaton hopped from her arms onto the ground and wobbled to a central console at the back of the room. With a small grunt, she pulled a storage crate from beneath a desk and set it beside the terminal so Cait could climb up.

“Much obliged, lass,” he said in his thick brogue, paws clinking softly as he stepped up to the keys. The screen flickered to life. "Let’s see what ol’ Shinra left behind."

Seluna stood beside him, watching the data scroll. Her hands remained folded at her front, fingers twining. Her eyes, however, were sharp—watching every flicker.

“There,” she said softly, leaning forward and pointing to a folder named "Manor."

Cait Sith hummed. "Might be a pile o' nothin’, but let’s poke around for fun."

The files opened. There were old security logs, equipment manifests, faded personnel records—and then, a brief entry.

VINCENT VALENTINE — Turk Division. Presumed deceased. No recovery. Report filed by Hojo, S.

---

A photo accompanied the line: a man in a black suit, brooding appearance with jet black hair.

Seluna stared.

"Wonder what happened to ‘im," Cait muttered, clicking onward.

She lingered on the image. There was something striking in his eyes—intensity softened by grief. But the moment passed, and Cait scrolled again.

“Blast it,” he said. “Access is capped here. Looks like we’ll need full clearance to crack this archive open. Might be somethin’ deeper in the manor.”

Cloud entered then, silent as snowfall. Seluna, startled, took a subtle half-step back, shoulders curling inward like she wished to fold herself away.

Cait explained the terminal’s limits. Cloud nodded, then turned to speak with the town hall supervisor.

It didn’t take long to deduce that Murasaki, the only keyholder to the manor, had headed to the Mt. Nibel reactor.

“Best get to him before dark then,” Cloud muttered, frowning.

Seluna stayed behind with Cait Sith while Cloud, Tifa, and Yuffie departed for the reactor. She sat quietly, eyes on the faded corners of the room, tracing patterns in the wood grain of the floor.

Nearly an hour later, as Cait messed around a bit more on the terminal, Yuffie’s voice crackled over through the screen from inside the reactor.

"Guys—we found Murasaki. He's… he's gone."

Cloud’s voice followed. "Killed in the crossfire. Wutai squad was involved."

Cait Sith froze. Then, more grimly than usual: "We need to get to the manor. Now. Before someone else finds out."

With Cloud’s team agreeing to meet them at the manor gates with the keycard, Cait, Aerith, Barret, and Seluna took off.

The Manor loomed as they approached—its broken windows like hollow eyes. Time hadn’t softened its edges. If anything, it had sharpened them.

Inside, they scoured crumbling rooms. Dust choked the air. Seluna walked with her arms close to her sides, eyes flicking to every half-open drawer, every disturbed chair.

An hour in, within the basement, they found their way to a sealed metal door—the terminal room. Locked.

Just as Cait huffed in frustration, Cloud’s group arrived.

"Still shut," Cait said. “Gimme a minute.”

Cloud nodded, but his eyes drifted to a side door. He stepped forward, pushing it open and peaking his head in.

The room beyond was unlike the rest. Not in decay—but in atmosphere. Gothic, grim, and cold. Ancient books lined high shelves. A massive wooden coffin lay at its center.

Seluna’s breath caught as she and the others followed him inside. Her eyes locked not on the coffin, but the dust-choked shelves. She moved past the others, trailing fingers over the weathered tomes. Fiction. Histories. Journals, one half-cracked open, filled with looping script.

As her fingertips brushed the paper, a sound stirred the silence.

A low, muffled voice from within the coffin.

"Who dares disturb my slumber?"

Everyone froze, looking around in confusion, ready for anything to pop out.

The coffin’s lid flew open with a thunderous clang, slamming against the floor. A blur of crimson shot upward—a figure hovering for a moment, suspended unnaturally above the ground, before descending in silence.

The man who landed before them was draped in a flowing red cloak, tattered at the edges. His hair was jet black, reaching past his shoulders, framing a face pale and sharp as cut obsidian. Eyes like bloodstained glass flicked over the room, assessing each of them with unreadable weight. One arm bore a golden, claw-like gauntlet, glinting beneath the low light. A heavy firearm rested in a holster against his hip.

Those burning eyes landed, finally, on Seluna.

She stood apart, one hand resting against the desk, her other curled around the edge of the journal. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Cloud stepped forward, voice even.

"Who are you?"

The man didn’t blink as his attention flicked back to Cloud.

"Vincent Valentine," he said after a brief moment, voice like velvet over broken stone. “I’m... security.”

Seluna's breath hitched quietly, her eyes widening slightly. The name, the face—it was the man from the terminal logs, the presumed-dead Turk. Her fingers curled more tightly around the journal's edge, but she said nothing, keeping the flicker of realization locked behind her eyes.

"Why are you here? Be brief," Vincent said, voice flat, gaze unblinking.

"Your terminal," Cloud answered.

Vincent turned without a word, stepping toward a nearby console. He retrieved a handheld scanner from the shelf beside it and reached for Cloud’s ID card. With a single swipe, the device blinked—then flickered. Vincent stared at it, brows knitting as the screen remained blank. With a sharp frown, he smacked the side of the device with the flat of his clawed hand as if to knock some sense into it.

Cait Sith climbed up beside him, clicking the screen and bringing it to the correct function. "Try it again, Cloud, will ya?"

Cloud scanned the card once more. This time, the screen lit properly.

"You have the authorization, at least," Vincent says, prompting the others to prepare to leave the room for the main terminal.

But just as Cloud approached the door of the room, Seluna’s breath caught.

Vincent had drawn his pistol, aiming it directly at the group.

“Cloud,” she gasped.

Cloud froze. The others turned just in time to see the barrel of Vincent’s weapon leveled at them, cold and unflinching.

"But you're clearly not Murasaki," Vincent said, voice low, almost bored. "Explain yourselves."

Cait Sith raised both paws. "Would love to, mate, but time’s short—an' we cannae go lettin’ our foe win the information war."

Vincent’s gaze narrowed. "Your foe? And who might that be?"

Cloud stepped in front of the group, buster sword raised defensively. Seluna, instinctively, stepped behind Tifa.

"Sephiroth." Cloud simply stated.

The name hung heavy in the air.

Vincent’s arm faltered. His gaze shifted, not to Cloud, but to the floor. Slowly, he holstered the gun.

"I see," he murmured. He stepped away from the group and toward the coffin, kneeling beside the lid.

"Then I’ve one more sin to atone for."

He stepped inside the coffin and pressed a button on the handheld device. A soft click echoed—the terminal room had been unlocked.

"The room is unlocked," he said.

Cloud lowered his sword, the others lowering their defenses as well.

Vincent stepped back into the coffin, adjusting the pillows like a man preparing for rest.

"Use it as you see fit... Mr. Murasaki," he added, voice nearly unreadable.

And with that, he lay back into the shadows, fingers curled over the edge of the lid as he pulled it closed above him, sealing himself once more in darkness.

The group exited the strange, gothic chamber in a hush, but Seluna lingered a moment longer, standing just inside the doorway. Her eyes rested on the coffin in which Vincent had vanished, and for a moment, the dust-choked air felt heavy around her. There was something unbearably tragic about the image of him closing himself back into that box, like the world had no place for him but a tomb.

He had been marked dead by official Shinra records, a name buried under bureaucracy and lies—and yet here he was, hiding in the shadows of Hojo’s former lab. Her gaze softened with something like sorrow. She didn’t understand why he remained, but she could feel the grief in his presence, a lifetime of silence folded into the way he spoke.

By the time she stepped out into the adjacent hall, the others had dispersed. Cait Sith had already booted up the terminal, muttering to himself while the others settled in nearby. Tifa and Aerith conversed near a bookshelf while Barret paced with restless energy, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

Seluna approached Cait quietly, about to ask what he’d found, when a voice rang out from the other room.

“Cloud? Hey, Cloud?” Tifa’s voice—tinged with worry.

Seluna turned and followed her into a side chamber. It was dim and cold, and glowing containment tubes lined the walls—pale green light bathing the room in an eerie, unnatural hue. Cloud stood in the center, eyes distant, entranced by something only he could see. Tifa gently reached out, guiding him away.

As they emerged back into the hallway, Seluna turned at the creak of an old door. Her breath hitched.

Vincent stood just outside the shadows, the crimson of his cloak swallowing the dim light. His arm was raised—his pistol aimed directly at her.

She froze, instinctively raising her hands, her mouth parting in shock as Tifa and Cloud stopped behind her.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to go in there,” Vincent said bluntly.

Before anyone could speak, Cait Sith rushed into the hallway, paws up and waving. “Och, it was an honest mistake! We didn’t mean anything by it—”

Vincent didn’t wait. He stepped forward, seizing Cait by the chest and lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Cait flailed, legs kicking, his voice struggling.

“Hey!” Cloud barked, stepping forward with his weapon drawn. “Drop him.”

Vincent paused, slowly turning, his gaze locked on Cloud with a hollow expression.

“Why should I?” he asked, voice like a taut string about to snap. “He’s trespassing. Like you.”

Cloud’s stance widened, the buster sword raised. “Save it. I’ve had a pretty shit day.”

Vincent took a slow step forward, Cait still dangling in his grip. “What a coincidence,” he said. “So have I.”

And then, without warning, he hurled Cait across the room.

Seluna acted on instinct. She dashed forward, catching Cait as he slammed into her chest with a heavy thud. She stumbled back, wrapping her arms around his frame, her breath knocked from her lungs. She eased him to the floor as Cait gave a breathy nod of thanks.

But the moment didn’t last.

Across the room, Vincent faltered. He hunched over, hands clutching his head as a groan of agony tore from his throat. Speckles of red energy began to swirl around him, wild and chaotic. The lights above flickered violently.

Then he screamed—a raw, guttural sound—and the red energy exploded outward. His body twisted, limbs distorting and cracking as they stretched, morphed. Flesh became claw, spine elongated, horns curled from his skull.

Where Vincent stood now loomed a monstrous beast—tailed, fanged, clawed. It bellowed, a sound that vibrated through the stone floor. Everyone stood frozen in horror.

Seluna clung to Tifa’s arm, her body trembling as her mind raced. Then suddenly, as she listened to the monstrous groans of this beast, the pieces began to click together—the file listing him as dead, the coffin, his hidden presence in the one place tied irrevocably to Shinra's darkest secrets. His isolation, his reaction, his suffering—it wasn’t random. She didn’t yet know how, but she was certain this had to do with Hojo. Another victim. Another experiment that had survived like the ones back in Midgar.

Barret, snarling, raised his gun arm. “You damn freak—!”

“No!” Seluna shouted, throwing herself into him, shoving his arm down with all her weight. Barret looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Wait!” she yelled again, stepping between the group and the beast.

The creature roared and swiped its massive claw, forcing the others to dive back.

Cloud raised his arm to counterattack—but Seluna grabbed his wrist. “Wait, please!” she said, her voice cracking.

Cloud hesitated, looking at her in disbelief.

She turned toward the creature. It groaned and clutched its head, pacing in confused, violent circles.

“He’s a victim!” she cried. “Of Hojo. This—this is what he does!”

Cloud’s teeth clenched. “What the hell does that matter?!”

“We have to help him!” Seluna shouted.

The beast lunged again, slashing through the floor, sending debris flying. Cloud threw himself forward to shield her, blocking the blow with his blade.

As the tremors settled, Seluna stumbled back, frantically scanning the room. Her eyes locked on the test chamber. “In there!” she pointed.

Without waiting, the group followed her lead, rushing into the small chamber as the beast struck again, claws rending the wall.

They sheltered inside, the glow of the tubes casting long shadows.

Everyone looked to her now, waiting.

“Just—let me try,” Seluna breathed. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were set with resolve.

Cloud’s expression was hard, but after a beat, he nodded once.

She spun on her heel and sprinted out.

The main chamber was chaos. Dust and red light swirled like a storm. The beast howled, stumbling, throwing its weight into the walls. Seluna shielded her face, eyes narrowed, and pushed forward.

“Hey! Vincent!” she called, waving her arms. “It’s okay—we’re not here to hurt you!”

The creature turned.

It roared, a deafening blast of sound, and began stomping toward her.

She stepped back quickly, heart pounding, searching for another exit—there was none.

The beast drew its arm back, claws curling.

In the test chamber doorway, Cloud moved to leap forward—but Tifa caught his shoulder.

“She needs to do this,” she said.

Cloud stared at Seluna, jaw tight.

Tifa looked on with a proud smile, trusting in Seluna's plan despite how insane it looked.

Seluna dodged the beast’s strike, rolling hard to the side as the creature’s clawed hand crashed into the floor where she’d just been. The force of the blow cracked the stone, sending fine dust and debris scattering into the air. She pushed herself up off the ground quickly, pivoting around the hulking form to circle it, breath ragged, heart hammering in her chest.

She stopped a few feet away, facing it again.

“Please, listen to me, Vincent!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. “We’re not here to hurt you—I don’t want to hurt you!”

The beast’s head twitched. Its tail lashed out violently, slamming into the wall with a thunderous crack. Seluna flinched at the impact as a chunk of stone broke away and fell behind her. But still she didn’t run. She stood her ground.

The creature turned, its burning eyes locking on hers. Its breathing was heavy, unsteady. For a moment, it seemed to hesitate.

Seluna straightened her spine, lowering her hands. A cautious smile began to curve her lips, despite the fear still clinging to her limbs.

“Vincent, please let us go,” she said gently. “We won’t be any more bother, I promise.”

The beast recoiled, growling low, and stumbled backward. Its clawed hands grasped at its head. The red energy that had flared during its transformation now pulsed in slow, desperate waves. Then, with a cry of anguish, it dropped to its knees.

Seluna’s smile faded into something softer, more reverent. She took a single, slow and hesitant step forward.

“We’re so sorry for intruding,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “We had no idea we’d be disturbing you. Can you please forgive us?”

The beast’s massive body sagged forward. Hands braced against the floor, it groaned again—but something was changing. That same red energy began to circle around its form, swirling with less violence now, more controlled, as though responding to her presence.

Before her eyes, the monstrous limbs began to shrink, the horns withdrawing, the tail retracting. The grotesque features softened, the body reshaping itself until the figure of a man—Vincent—remained in its place, crouched on all fours, panting into the cold stone.

In the other room, the group watched in stunned silence and awe. Slowly, they stepped forward, crossing the threshold to stand behind Seluna.

She stepped in close, crouching beside him, the echoes of his ragged breathing surrounding her like smoke.

She reached out, resting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“I think I know your story,” she said softly. “Former Turk. Hojo did this, right?”

Vincent sat up slowly, settling on his knees. He didn’t meet her eyes—only stared at the floor, chest and shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

“We stumbled across your file on accident, in the company database,” she added.

There was no response. Seluna studied him a moment longer, then curled her lip, her brows tightening in quiet sympathy.

“I don’t know what role Sephiroth played in all this—or why you locked yourself away in this place—but…”

She brightened slightly, voice hopeful. “Why don’t you come with us? We can stop them. Him and Hojo—together.”

Still, Vincent didn’t speak. He moved slowly, shifting his weight as he rose to his feet, unsteady but upright. Seluna stood with him, still watching him closely.

Then, without a word, Vincent turned and stumbled toward the adjoining room—the coffin chamber. Seluna’s shoulders sagged.

He reached the door, leaned against it as if the weight of his body were suddenly too much, and pushed it open. His knees nearly gave, his strength all but gone.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Seluna said softly, her hands clasped over her chest. “Cutting yourself off from the world—it only makes the pain worse.”

Vincent paused in the doorway. For a moment, he looked back over his shoulder—his expression unreadable, haunted.

“Get out,” he growled. “Now.”

And with that, he vanished into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Seluna stared at the closed door, the flicker of hope in her eyes dimming. She turned slowly, the others standing behind her in silence.

“That’ll be our way out,” Cait Sith said after a beat, pointing toward the far side of the room where another set of doors waited. “An’ now that we know where the temple is, let’s not bother the man any longer.”

One by one, they began to move.

Seluna remained for a heartbeat longer, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Tifa noticed and stepped close, resting a warm hand against the small of her back.

“You did your best,” she said gently. “I’m really proud of you for trying.”

Seluna looked up at her, the corners of her mouth curling into a quiet, grateful smile.

Tifa gave her a small nod and guided her toward the exit, Seluna looking back once more to the doors that isolated Vincent from the world.

Chapter Text

The airfield just outside of Nibelheim stretched beneath a gray sky, the wind stirring dust across the tarmac as the old hangar doors groaned open. Beyond them stood a vessel unlike any other—the Tiny Bronco, sleek and battle-tested, its frame gleaming faintly under the overcast light. At its side stood the man responsible for keeping it flightworthy, leaning casually against the hull with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, Cid Highwind.

They filled him in quickly—about the temple, the key, and the path ahead. Cid listened without much fanfare, but his nod said enough. Despite his gruff tone and perpetual scowl, he was already moving toward the cockpit before they finished.

“So,” he said, motioning them toward the open hatch, “where to?”

“Golden Saucer,” Cloud answered. “We’re after the Keystone.”

“Figures,” Cid grumbled, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “Strap in. Wind’s lookin’ nasty today.”

One by one, the group filed in. The Tiny Bronco was a tight fit for eight, but years of battlefield improvisation made close quarters feel almost normal. Seluna climbed into the back cargo space, settling in beside Cait Sith who bounced into the corner with a cheerful hum. Across from them, Barret and Red XIII braced themselves against the interior walls, their expressions unreadable as the engines began to whine.

Yuffie, Aerith, Tifa, and Cloud took the forward seats, closer to Cid. Bags were stowed. Belts were buckled. The soft hum of anticipation pulsed through the cabin.

Then Cid paused.

"Hm? A ninth?"

All at once, heads poked into the center aisle to see who was boarding with them.

There, in the open hatch of the Bronco, stood Vincent Valentine.

He was still cloaked in red, the high collar masking the lower half of his face, his black hair stirred by the rising wind. Cloud faced him directly, their stances mirroring one another in the cramped space between rows.

“You said that Sephiroth is your foe,” Vincent said calmly, voice low but carrying over the hum of the Bronco’s engines. “I have a history with him. Unfinished business.”

Cloud’s eyes narrowed. He studied Vincent for a long beat. The man looked half-ghost, half-statue—stone carved from loss and stitched together with fire. Still, there was no hint of deception in his tone. Just quiet gravity.

“Try to screw us over,” Cloud said finally, “and you’re a dead man.”

Vincent didn’t flinch. He gave a single, slow nod.

That was enough.

Cloud shifted aside, giving him passage.

Vincent stepped aboard, his movements silent but somehow heavy, as though the weight of what he carried threatened to drag even the air around him. As he neared the rear, Cait Sith perked up in Seluna’s lap.

“Hey now, make room for the new guy!” he chirped, hopping into Seluna’s arms with a graceless wiggle.

Seluna blinked in surprise, arms curling around Cait automatically like a stuffed toy. She held him against her chest, awkward but comforting, his round body soft beneath her chin.

Vincent took the newly freed seat beside her. He didn’t speak. His gaze remained forward, unmoving.

From up front, Aerith’s voice cut the silence.

“Cid? You think you can handle nine?”

Cid chuckled under his breath, cracking his knuckles as he gripped the controls.

“Ain’t gonna lie, that’s a tall order for most pilots,” he said with a grin.

Then, with a flick of switches and a confident push of the yoke, the Bronco shuddered into motion.

“But I ain’t most pilots.”

The plane rolled down the makeshift runway, wind screaming against the fuselage before the wheels left the ground. The sky tilted, then righted. They were airborne.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of engines and wind, the occasional creak of the aircraft’s aging frame. Seluna remained still in the back, chin resting on Cait Sith’s plush head, her arms wrapped around him in silence.

Then Vincent moved.

His head turned slightly, just enough for his voice to reach her ears and the others in the back.

“I wanted to say…” he began, his tone oddly uncertain, “thank you.”

Seluna blinked.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just attack me,” he went on, voice quieter now. “But… I appreciate it.”

She turned her head, looking up at him from beneath her fringe. Her eyes softened in surprise—she hadn’t expected him to speak, much less say that.

“I could tell you needed help,” she said gently, her voice steady. “No one deserves to disappear in lonely despair like that.”

She looked away again, resting her chin once more atop Cait Sith’s head.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on her. Her words dug deeper than he expected—pulling at something buried, something he’d thought long dead.

He studied her profile, the faint sadness in her eyes, the quiet strength in her voice.

And for the first time in what felt like decades, he let the corners of his mouth rise into the smallest, most fleeting smile.

Then he turned away, closed his eyes, and said nothing more.

The Tiny Bronco soared through skies of shifting gray, its wings slicing clean through the misty winds above the open sea. Below, waves shimmered with steel-blue light, churning between jagged coastal ravines as the aircraft carried its passengers steadily toward the Golden Saucer. The interior buzzed with the quiet hum of flight, an unnatural calm that hovered just beneath the threshold of tension.

From the cockpit, Cid’s voice rang out, half-growl, half-announcement. “Dunno if y'all heard—Wutai’s finally made a move on Shinra.”

The words hit the cabin like a jolt. Conversation stirred, the tension breaking open.

A debate broke out near the front—barbed and weary. The group went back and forth on the consequences of Wutai’s move against Shinra, whether it spelled justice or just another cycle of devastation. Words passed like sparring blades: convictions, fears, and hardened truths. Seluna barely shifted where she sat, curled in the rear cargo space with Cait Sith snug in her lap. Her cheek rested against the plush of his head, eyes half-lidded. The debate blurred around her—an echo, distant and dim. She wasn’t ready to process the weight of war—not yet.

Then Cait’s voice emerged from beneath her, low and serious in a way that pierced the quiet.

“If war is officially declared,” he said, “it willnae be long before borders start closin’. So, if you’ve got somewhere to be…”

He tilted his head slightly up toward her. “You might want to get a wee shuffle on.”

Vincent, who had been seated in still silence beside her, perked up slightly at the words. His eyes narrowed just a fraction as he turned his head, gaze flicking toward the front of the ship. Seluna noticed, watching him from the corner of her eye.

And then came the bang.

A loud, sharp crack erupted from the left side of the aircraft, the entire frame jolting violently. The metal interior rattled with a chorus of strained bolts and groaning panels. Seluna’s head popped up, her arms tightening instinctively around Cait Sith.

“Cid? Hey, Cid?!” Tifa called from the front, her voice laced with alarm.

“I heard you the first time!” Cid snapped, yanking on the yoke. “Just sit tight! Everything’s under control!”

It most certainly was not.

A sudden poof! and crackle of sparks burst from the right side of the Bronco, smoke trailing out like ghostly ribbons. The aircraft pitched, listing sharply to one side before lurching downward.

“Control my ass!” Barret bellowed.

The Bronco dropped—nose tilting, gravity surging. Everyone cried out as the weightlessness hit, followed by a sickening sense of momentum.

“Brace for emergency landing!” Cid shouted.

The rocky coastline below rushed up to meet them, the narrow channel of water slicing between cliffs becoming their only chance. Cid wrestled the yoke like a man possessed, trying to flatten the descent.

The impact came hard and fast.

The belly of the Bronco slammed into the ravine’s water like a boulder dropped from the sky. A massive plume of sea spray exploded up around them as the plane skipped once, then hit again, scraping along the surface before finally skidding to a sluggish halt near a stony outcrop.

Inside, chaos.

Seluna had been thrown forward in the moment of impact, her hands instinctively releasing Cait Sith as she slid in the cargo seat. Her shoulder collided into Vincent’s side, and her palm found sudden purchase on his thigh, bracing herself before she could be launched further.

For a second, there was only the deafening ring of silence that follows disaster.

Then breath returned. Bodies shifted. Groans and exclamations of pain echoed around the cabin.

Barret grumbled as he pushed himself upright. Red shook out his mane, growling under his breath. Yuffie rubbed her elbow as she laid sprawled out on the metal floor, glaring forward. Cloud and Tifa checked each other quickly.

Seluna blinked, realizing her hand was still against Vincent’s leg.

She looked up slowly. Vincent stared down at her, impassive, face unreadable above the raised collar of his cloak.

Realizing, she flushed and immediately jerked her hand back, sitting upright with rigid posture, her cheeks pink.

“Sorry…” she mumbled, eyes falling to her lap.

Vincent’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was calm. “No worries.”

Up front, Cid let out a long exhale as he leaned back in his seat, steam hissing from the console.

Everyone turned their eyes toward him in collective silence.

“Well,” Cid muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “A landin' you can swim from.”

The entire group, drenched in sea spray and soaked in indignation, stared daggers at the back of his head.

“Not helpin’,” Barret growled.

Cid shrugged. “Still alive, aren’t ya?”

But no one laughed—not yet. Not as the sea lapped gently against the Bronco’s ruined hull, and the reality of a downed aircraft began to settle into their bones.

The sun had shifted far from its zenith by the time the Bronco floated steady and battered in a sheltered cove, the high walls of the ravine rising around it like the jaws of a patient beast. Over an hour had passed since the crash, and while the worst of the chaos had settled, the atmosphere remained one of cautious recovery.

Most of the party had taken to the top of the Bronco’s exterior, using the ship’s hull like a sun-warmed platform as Cid toiled away on makeshift repairs. The salty wind stirred hair and clothes as conversations drifted in and out of focus, laughter rare but not entirely absent. Bandages had been applied, bruises checked, and tempers cooled under the open sky.

But not everyone was topside.

Inside the dim, warm-blooded belly of the ship, Seluna remained. She had found a quiet solace in the cockpit, her form curled against the Bronco’s central console. The pilot’s seat, worn but forgiving, cradled her as she leaned against the controls, eyes tracing the lazy drift of clouds outside the curved front window. The hum of distant ocean lulled the space into a kind of dreamlike silence, the Bronco rocking gently on the water beneath them.

She didn't think. She just breathed.

Behind her, further down the narrow aisle of the cargo bay, Vincent had folded himself into a quiet shadow. Nestled in the far rear corner, he sat with his back against the wall, his crimson cloak draped around him like a second skin. Arms crossed. Legs folded. Head tilted slightly forward.

Asleep.

Seluna noticed him when she stood—her body stiff as she rose from the pilot’s chair and stretched her arms above her head. The pop of her shoulder broke the silence softly, and she rolled her neck before turning toward the rear.

Vincent hadn't moved.

His expression, usually guarded and unreadable, was now tranquil in repose. The lines of his face softened in sleep. The sharpness dulled. The haunting gleam of his eyes hidden behind closed lids. For a man stitched from vengeance and memory, he looked strangely at peace.

A small smile touched Seluna’s lips. Not wide. Not full. Just a flicker of quiet warmth. She huffed a breath from her nose, amused by the fragility of the moment.

Just as she turned to step outside—to join the others and catch a sliver of sunlight—Cid burst through the top hatch with his usual clamor, dirt and oil streaked along his coat and a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, hell of a mess, but she’ll live,” he said, slipping down the short ladder.

Seluna stepped aside quickly, letting him pass with a nod. He flashed her a wink, dropping into the pilot’s seat like he’d been born to it, fingers already flicking switches and making minute adjustments with an expert’s flair.

One by one, the others trickled in. Barret ducked through the doorframe with a grunt. Tifa and Aerith followed, the former brushing sand from her gloves. Yuffie hopped in last, complaining about splinters on the Bronco’s exterior. Cloud entered in silence, surveying the group with his usual measured glance before settling near the back.

Seluna made her way toward Vincent’s corner. He stirred as she passed, the subtle shift of boots on metal rousing him. His head lifted slightly, eyes blinking open in a slow, feline way, as though unsure whether he had truly dozed off or merely dreamed it.

She sank down into the seat beside him without a word.

Vincent straightened his back, brushing a gloved hand across his face before resting his elbow on his knee. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. But the quiet that settled between them was companionable—no longer the silence of strangers, but the silence of two people who had shared something unspeakable.

Cid’s voice barked up front, suddenly louder.

“She won’t fly anytime soon, but she sure as hell’ll float. Should get us to Costa if the winds are kind.”

He slapped a lever forward, and the Bronco rumbled in response. The hull groaned as water churned beneath them. With a skip and sputter, the vessel picked up speed, skimming over the water with a surprising amount of grace for something so recently half-wrecked.

The ravine walls peeled away, opening the world once more to sea and sky. The scent of brine and salt hit the cabin, and the sun lit the space in soft gold. They were moving again.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low over Costa del Sol, casting its golden light across the surf-kissed harbor as the Tiny Bronco skimmed across the water and came to a lazy stop along the dock. Its patched-up hull groaned in protest, but it held fast—thanks to Cid’s expertise and no small amount of luck. One by one, the crew stepped out onto solid ground, stretching their aching limbs and squinting against the brightness that bathed the tropical port town in warmth.

The smell of salt and sand hit Seluna immediately, mingling with the faint notes of grilled seafood wafting in from the nearby boardwalk. Around them, the streets buzzed with life—vendors hawking fruit drinks, children laughing as they ran barefoot across the sand, and tourists milling about with wide-brimmed hats and camera spheres hovering beside them.

Seluna inhaled deeply, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag slung across her chest. She stepped away from the group, letting the others fall into easy conversation and half-hearted banter now that the chaos of the crash was behind them. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Vincent also stepping away—his movements quiet, ghostlike. He veered off toward the exit of the dock without a word, disappearing momentarily behind a crate of fishing supplies. It didn’t strike her as unusual; after all, she often did the same. Some people simply preferred quiet company over the press of voices.

From the group, Tifa’s voice floated over with a teasing lilt. “Well, look at that. We’ve officially got three loners now.”

Barret let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Whole team of weirdos.”

Yuffie twirled a pair of shuriken on her finger. “Speak for yourself, muscle man.”

As the others moved through the busy boardwalk, weaving through sunburned tourists and vendors selling novelty chocobo figurines, Seluna lingered near the back, taking in the sights. Her steps slowed as she passed a stall where a young boy stood beside his father, crying over a toppled frozen treat. Melted syrup stained the pavement like a pastel wound. Seluna let out a soft, empathetic giggle beneath her breath, her expression warmed by the simple, silly tragedy of childhood.

But then something crimson caught her eye.

In the reflection of a windowpane, she saw it. A flash of flowing red. Her brows furrowed subtly, and she turned her head just enough to see him: Vincent, at a distant but deliberate pace behind the group. His form half-shrouded in his cloak, the long coattail shifting in the breeze like a bloodied banner. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide, but his distance was... pointed. Watchful. A little unnerving.

Their eyes met. Brief. Passing. Just long enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze.

She quickly turned her face forward again, heart thudding—not in fear, but in a strange, breathless confusion. Before her, Cloud walked steadily alongside Tifa, who nudged his arm with a grin and made some joke about finally taking a break at the beach. He didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and Seluna felt that old familiar ache twist quietly in her chest.

Her eyes dropped to her fidgeting fingers. Then, without thinking, she clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, as though grounding herself.

Just then, Barret’s booming voice cut through the noise.

“We need to get to the Golden Saucer. The longer we sit on our hands, the more ground Sephiroth gains.”

Yuffie leaned back with a grin, shading her eyes from the sun. "Y'know, we could just snag a couple of those scooters and ride to the Golden Saucer like total badasses," she said, nudging Barret with her elbow. He snorted in response, muttering something about how he'd crush one of those flimsy things underfoot.

Their loud, uncaring voices drew attention. A passing fisherman, older and leathery from the sun, raised a brow at the group as he hauled in a net.

“You folks headed south?” he asked, his voice roughened by sea air. “Ain’t gonna happen. Shinra’s got the whole pass blockaded. Military presence is heavy after what happened at Corel.”

The group fell silent.

Cait Sith scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Figures, don’t it? Wi’ all our chaos an' the SRC stirrin’ the pot, Shinra's gonna be clampin’ doon on every bloody path they think we might take.”

Cloud exhaled through his nose. “Then we take the long road.”

Tifa blinked. “Through the Nibel region?”

Yuffie groaned. “Ugh. Not again.”

“Better that than trying to run a blockade,” Aerith murmured.

Red XIII tilted his head thoughtfully. “The long route it is, then. If we head east through Nibelheim, we can swing around and down through the mountains from the north.”

Seluna said nothing—but she felt her breath hitch at the mention of Nibelheim. They had only just left it behind, the ghost of its quiet streets still lingering in her mind. Her memories of home were tangled thorns—the loneliness of her childhood interwoven with the acrid smoke of destruction. And even with the distance growing behind them, she still felt the phantom itch of those familiar roads beneath her feet.

And somewhere behind her, she felt Vincent’s silent presence still lingering like a shadow trailing just behind her heels.

The plan was hastily agreed upon but carried an air of necessity: Cid would do what he could to repair the ship, maneuver it around the mainland, and rendezvous with the rest of the party further along their path. Until then, the group had no choice but to continue forward on foot, trusting in the map and the grit in their bones.

The road from the coast to their destination was unforgiving. They trekked across winding trails and uneven terrain, the once-thrilling scenery now dulled by the sting of exhaustion and the weight of silence. Mountains loomed in the distance like half-forgotten guardians, and the wind carried the scent of salt and dry grass. Each step was a dull reminder of their shared fatigue, their boots dragging through pebbled soil and crumbling roots. Packs dug into shoulders, the ache of travel settling deep into muscles and joints, numbing everything but the rhythmic beat of progress. Little conversation passed between them; words were precious, hoarded like water in a desert.

When night fell, it came quickly and without mercy. They made camp in a narrow valley where twisted trees clung to the hillsides like brittle skeletons. There was no fire to speak of, only the sterile glow of a chemical lightstick casting flickering shadows across tired faces. The ground was cold and unforgiving, the wind a persistent whisper threading through the branches above. Seluna lay curled in her blanket near the outer edge of the circle, her arms tucked tightly against her chest for warmth, but her gaze was drawn to the others.

Cloud and Tifa sat beside one another near the center, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they spoke softly to the group, laughter threading through shared stories of Nibelheim—childhood memories and long-lost ease. The rest of the party listened with quiet smiles, the sound of familiarity warming the camp more than any fire. Seluna watched them from afar, her eyes soft but wounded, the flicker of a smile never quite reaching her lips before she turned away to the sky overhead.

From a distance behind her, seated in the low shadow of a leaning rock, Vincent’s red eyes shifted to her. He followed the subtle line of her gaze to Cloud and Tifa, lingering on the two as his eyes narrowed slightly—not in judgment, but in something quiet and knowing. He looked back to Seluna, watching how she tried to seem unfazed, then slowly turned his face away and closed his eyes, sinking into stillness as if lost in a private, familiar weight of thought.

By the following day, as morning bled into afternoon, the spire-like outline of Nibelheim appeared to the party through the low mist once more along their journey. Its familiar, timbered rooftops and stone foundations greeted them with quiet solemnity. The town looked whole—too whole. Its restoration, a careful imitation of what once was, felt uncanny in its perfection, as though reality had been pasted over with a memory. To outsiders, it may have seemed quaint. To those who had known its true history, it was a haunting replica.

It was Aerith who broke the silence with a tentative voice full of fatigue. "Can we stop here? Just for the night?" Her words hovered for a beat before Cloud gave a slow, silent nod. One by one, the others echoed their agreement. They entered the local inn, doing their best to ignore the robed figures who staggered aimlessly along the village edge, their hollow murmurs muffled by drawn curtains and thick walls.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in the warm hues of dusk—bronze and rose stretching long shadows over the cobbled streets. The village, already quiet, felt even more dreamlike under the fading light. Seluna, restless and agitated by the close walls and the weight of unspoken memories, stepped out into the crisp evening air. Her feet carried her instinctively toward the water tower. It still stood tall, a ghost of the past, silhouetted against the deepening sky where stars began to pierce the veil of twilight.

She stood for a moment in stillness, her arms folded gently across her chest as she tilted her head to the sky. Her thoughts wandered, scattered among the constellations, when the familiar tingle of presence coiled along her spine. Turning her head slowly to the side, her breath caught in her throat.

Vincent was there. Half-shadowed, leaning against the rough outer wall of the inn. His arms were crossed, the folds of his crimson cloak blending into the darkness behind him. His face, framed by long strands of unkempt black hair, was still—eyes closed, as though in meditation.

"I—sorry," Seluna said softly, surprised by his presence.

He didn’t stir. "No need. I was only admiring the night. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the stars."

There was a melancholy in his tone—something quiet and distant, like the echo of a memory too painful to name. Seluna lingered, eyes fixed on him for a heartbeat longer before turning to leave. But something kept her rooted. Just as she took a step forward, she then turned back, curiosity rising like the tide.

"How long were you in that coffin, exactly?"

Vincent didn’t open his eyes right away. When he finally did, they were unreadable. "Not long enough."

His vague answer gave her pause. Not wanting to push him further, she turned her gaze skyward again, arms tightening slightly around her middle. "I used to love the stars here. Before Sephiroth destroyed everything."

That name landed with a weight that changed the air. Vincent’s head tilted subtly in her direction.

"I felt so helpless," she admitted, barely more than a whisper.

Silence followed. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just heavy. Vincent moved then, pushing off and away from the inn’s wall and down the dim path leading toward the edge of the village. His cloak swayed behind him like spilled ink. Seluna watched him go, tinged with guilt, unsure if her words had driven him away.

But before he vanished into the distance, he stopped and glanced back at her.

"I could use your help with something."

Her brow lifted in surprise. "Hm?"

He didn’t answer—just kept walking.

Heart suddenly light, she quickened her pace to follow. Her boots clicked softly against the cobblestone as she closed the distance, falling into step behind him. His presence was still imposing, his cloak and hair catching the wind in long, fluid motions.

They followed the worn trail just beyond Nibelheim, the path narrowing as it cut through the thickets and up toward the looming structure that rose out of the dark like a corpse wrenched from the past. The Shinra Manor stood ahead, its wrought iron gates twisted with age and framed by tall, swaying trees. Moonlight filtered in fractured beams through the canopy, casting latticework shadows that danced across the path. Seluna walked with her hands folded tightly over her chest, her eyes drawn upward toward the trembling leaves. There was no wind, and yet the trees rustled as though whispering secrets.

A worry lined her expression, and her steps began to slow as Vincent approached the manor gates ahead of her, and she watched as he pressed his hands against the rusted metal and pushed. The groan of the hinges was low and piercing, the sound dragging like nails across glass. It made her flinch, her arms tightening instinctively around herself.

“W-Wait,” she called after him, her voice barely louder than the hush of the woods.

He paused for only a moment, glancing over his shoulder. “If you’re too scared, you can go back.” His words were plain, free of cruelty but not softened either.

Seluna frowned, her brows knitting. But after a moment’s hesitation, she followed, quickening her pace to catch up, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow with a jittery rhythm. Her heart thumped in her ears, and she was so focused on scanning her surroundings that she nearly collided with Vincent, who had come to a silent stop at the steps of the manor. Her shoulder brushed against the crimson drape of his cloak.

She jolted back, muttering a soft apology, but he made no reaction, instead pressing the door open with one hand. The threshold moaned as they crossed it, and the manor welcomed them with suffocating stillness. The air was colder here, tinged with mildew and dust. The chandelier that once lit the foyer hung in silence above them, its crystal ornaments dull with grime. Flickering wall sconces offered the only light—dim, sputtering, and yellowed like an old photograph.

Vincent took a step forward, his boots silent against the warped floorboards. Seluna lingered behind, wringing her fingers together, her posture rigid with unease. She looked to him, lips parting as if to question his purpose—but before she could speak, he turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing.

“Listen,” he said.

Seluna stilled, tilting her head. “Uhmm...”

At first, there was only silence. But then, like a thin blade cutting through the quiet, came the sound—a soft, mournful wail, too human to be wind, too frail to be a voice of the living. It shivered through the corridors, distant yet close enough to chill the marrow.

She gasped softly and turned to Vincent. He met her gaze with a steady nod. “The inn’s manager said he’d heard crying. Thought the place was haunted.”

“Haunted?” Her voice was a whisper, pitched with disbelief and fear.

He shrugged. “That’s just what he said.”

“But—why not bring Cloud?” she asked, frustration creeping through her apprehension. “Why me?”

Vincent’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes lingered on her a beat longer than before. “Because you understand silence. You move in it. You listen and observe, like me. People like us... we notice the things others don’t.”

Seluna blinked, taken aback. The poetic weight of his words sat uneasily in her chest. It wasn’t flattery—he wasn’t the type. But something in her loosened. Her tense shoulders sank as she offered him a brief, slow nod.

He led the way, and together they approached the ancient elevator tucked behind a broken partition, its doors beginning to rust. As they entered and the lift descended into the belly of the manor, the distant weeping grew clearer, less like the ghost of a girl and more like the echo of someone trapped in time. Seluna’s stomach twisted with every passing foot below ground, the sound resonating like a bell rung underwater.

She pressed herself back against the wall, her eyes darting to Vincent. He stood like stone, unmoved, as if he’d known this feeling far too long to react anymore.

The elevator came to a lurching stop, its old mechanics groaning with the effort. The doors slid open with a reluctant hiss, revealing a corridor bathed in dim artificial light. It wasn’t the level Seluna remembered from their earlier visit days ago—it was colder, more industrial in design, and wore its haunted past like a shroud. The metallic tang of oxidized iron lingered thick in the air, mingled with something more organic and less pleasant—rot that had never quite left. The walls were paneled in brushed steel, dulled with time and stained with patches of dark discoloration that whispered of long-forgotten violence.

Vincent stepped out first without a word, and Seluna hesitated, her arms coiled tightly around herself. Her breath was shallow, the chill of the sublevel gnawing at her skin, coaxing goosebumps to rise along her arms. She followed at a distance, her boots clinking lightly on the grated floors, reverberating down the corridor like the echo of ghosts trailing behind. The walk to the next elevator—one of the few that descended even deeper—was a quiet one, the kind that wrapped around the ribs and tightened with each step. Vincent moved ahead with the same silent grace he always carried, expression unreadable, cloak dragging behind him like a shadow with weight.

When they reached the platform elevator, Vincent scanned his keycard, the machinery jolting to life. The two stepped onto the metal platform, which groaned under their combined weight. The descent began with a mechanical hum, the walls crawling slowly upward around them. Seluna glanced at them as they passed—blank surfaces that gave no hint of what waited below. Then her eyes shifted to Vincent, who stood rigid, arms crossed, his gaze locked on something distant.

"Uhm…" she began, softly, her voice barely more than a whisper against the drone of the elevator. "What do you think is making that noise? Do you really think it’s... a ghost?"

To her surprise, Vincent let out a quiet, short chuckle—dry and amused in a way that almost sounded human. It caught her off guard, and she blinked.

"Scared?" he asked, a hint of dry playfulness curling his voice.

"Uh, no...?" she replied, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty. Her arms hugged her middle a little tighter.

He turned his head slightly toward her, expression impassive. "I doubt it's a ghost."

"Oh," she murmured, her voice trailing. "I just wondered if maybe… someone got trapped down here. Like you. Maybe a woman?"

"Unlikely," Vincent said flatly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his voice. "A female staffer did once work here… but she’s long gone. Whatever this is… we’ll soon find out."

The elevator came to another shuddering halt. A set of grimy doors scraped open to reveal another corridor, this one colder and darker than the last. Vincent stepped forward immediately, his posture tight and focused. Seluna lingered just a beat behind, her eyes scanning the corridor uneasily. The place had the sterility of a facility, but not the peace of order—this had once been a slaughterhouse disguised as science.

"This floor is where he conducted his combat trials," Vincent said, his voice low but cutting in the silence. "Countless subjects were dragged here. Sacrificed for data. No names, no funerals. Just failure and disposal."

Seluna’s stomach twisted. The lighting along the walls flickered erratically, the bulbs lining the floor barely casting enough light to see where they walked. The grated steel beneath their feet groaned with age. She had to walk faster to match his pace, her boots echoing faintly in the long corridor.

Her eyes kept drifting to him—his back, his silhouette, the way he never once hesitated despite the history buried in this place. He walked like someone following muscle memory, not memory itself. She swallowed, the weight of curiosity bubbling to the surface.

"Uhm…" she started again, more cautious this time. "So… you said a girl worked here. What did she do?"

"Whatever the 'good professor' demanded of her," he replied without looking at her. "As their assigned bodyguard, I was not privy to the details of their research."

"So they were partners?" she asked, cautiously.

He said nothing.

"Well… if she was down here with him, then… I can’t imagine the terrible things they did together. Knowing Hojo…"

Vincent stopped.

He turned on his heel with sudden force, the red fabric of his cloak sweeping behind him like a snap of fire. His glare pinned her in place, eyebrows drawn and crimson eyes narrowed in cold fury.

"You don’t understand what you’re talking about," he said sharply, the low growl in his voice cutting through her like a blade.

Seluna recoiled slightly, lips parting to respond but no words coming out. Her heart thundered. The thoughtlessness of her comment came crashing down with guilt. She hadn’t meant to accuse—hadn’t even meant to imply.

Vincent looked away first, the anger draining as quickly as it flared. He sighed, weary.

"She was different than him," he said quietly. His voice sounded older suddenly, laced with a sadness that weighed heavy.

He turned back around and continued walking.

Seluna trailed behind, her head slightly bowed. "I’m sorry," she murmured.

"You couldn’t have known," he replied, not turning back. "It’s fine."

But the silence that followed carried the weight of memories neither of them could name, and the echo of footsteps was the only answer the corridor offered back.

The corridor groaned with the weight of silence as Seluna and Vincent continued deeper into the bowels of the Shinra Manor. The deeper they descended, the more the industrial chill gnawed at their bones, the air stale and laced with the iron tang of old blood and rust.

The sound—soft, wailing, and feminine—grew louder with each corridor passed. It was a mournful cry, haunting in its melodic cadence, as if someone had laced a lullaby with sorrow. Seluna hugged her arms around herself, her eyes flickering up to Vincent’s back.

When they reached a thick, sealed door, Vincent halted, his arm suddenly rising in front of her, stopping her short. She blinked in surprise, breath caught, watching the way his head tilted ever so slightly, the crimson band of his cloak catching in the low light.

He didn’t speak—but she heard it too. The cry had shifted in tone. Sharper. More desperate.

"It sounds like a girl," she whispered, voice shaky with hope. "Maybe she’s trapped—maybe we can help—"

The door shuddered open with a mechanical groan before she could finish. Compelled by instinct, Seluna stepped forward.

The room was vast, circular, and lined with industrial lights that cast distorted shadows across the steel walls. Once a combat chamber, now it felt more like a tomb. She took slow, cautious steps inward, her boots clicking faintly beneath her. The sound surrounded her—sorrowful, echoing, disembodied.

Behind her, Vincent’s boots thudded sharply against the metal as he strode in after her.

But then he stopped. His head lifted.

Something was wrong.

His crimson eyes darted upward—and he moved.

“Back!” he barked, lunging forward and seizing Seluna’s wrist, yanking her sharply into his chest. Just as he did, a monstrous form detached from the ceiling and slammed into the center of the chamber with a floor-rattling impact.

The rush of air that followed knocked Seluna’s hair back, and her knees buckled slightly from the shock. Her palm braced against Vincent’s chest, heart hammering. He didn’t flinch.

She looked past him, eyes wide as they landed on the grotesque creature now occupying the center of the room. It was reptilian in its gait, its skin pale pink and sickly, with six long, twitching limbs. Its eyes were a milky, haunting white. The creature’s mouth opened wide—not in a snarl, but in a sorrowful moan that curled the hairs on her neck.

“T-that’s what was making that sound?!” Seluna gasped, stepping back, her hand still trembling from where it had pressed against Vincent.

Vincent moved slowly in front of her, one hand reaching behind to draw his gun. “Another one of Hojo’s,” he said coolly. “A discarded failure, left behind. We have no choice but to put it out of its misery.”

But before he could aim, Seluna cried out, “I—I don’t have a weapon!”

Vincent glanced over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were wide, helpless, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She looked too small in the face of this horror.

His response was swift. He grabbed her arm again—not as roughly this time—and pulled her along the curvature of the room, boots pounding against metal as he led her to a small stack of rusting metal crates.

“Stay behind these,” he ordered, pushing her behind them. She landed on her knees with a grunt, her breath coming in gasps. “Do not move.”

She nodded wordlessly, pressing her back against the metal as the sounds of gunfire rang out behind Vincent. She peeked over the edge, her stomach lurching as she saw the creature advancing, tail swinging.

Vincent fired again—and then the tail lashed.

He took the hit to his side with a grunt and was flung back several feet, his body skidding along the floor. He clutched his ribs, groaning—and then it happened.

Red energy flared violently around him. His breaths became ragged, guttural. He dropped his weapon with a clatter as his spine arched unnaturally. The transformation overtook him in seconds: his form expanding, mutating, the beast emerging from within. Horns, claws, elongated limbs—everything shifted.

Seluna’s breath hitched. She ducked back behind the crate, teeth clenched, eyes wide. She watched in horror as the monstrous version of Vincent lunged at the creature, their massive bodies crashing like titans. Sparks flew. The clang of metal and flesh echoed off the walls.

His discarded gun skittered to a stop not far from her hiding place.

Seluna crouched low, her hands pressed hard against her ears as another wail from the monster rang through the air. Her whole body trembled, caught between fear and helplessness.

She hated it—this feeling. Like Midgar all over again. Like her time in AVALANCHE. Useless.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for something to change. Praying to a Planet she wasn’t sure still listened.

Seluna's heart thundered against her ribs, louder than the chaos beyond the crates. Her body curled in on itself, small hands clamped over her ears, shielding herself not from sound, but from memory.

The visions came like lightning—sharp, cruel. She saw herself as a child in Nibelheim: tucked away in the corner of a room as Cloud sat alone in the village square, distant and unreachable. Tifa, surrounded by friends, laughing in the sunlight. And there she was, Seluna, forgotten in the window of her home.

Then came the fire. Flames licking through wood, the sky painted red and ash. Tifa’s relieved face looming above her, pulling her from the wreckage. Then the slums. Cleaning up broken glass at the bar. Sitting apart from the others, a ghost at the edge of every gathering. The sound of laughter muffled, never hers.

And then screams. Smoke. The bar collapsing in fire as she was once again helpless to the cause. Gunfire. Cloud’s sword flashing as he fought—and her, pressed behind crates, behind walls, hands trembling. Useless.

The memory fractured, reality bleeding in. She blinked back to the present, her breathing shallow and fast.

Outside, the two monsters clashed—Vincent and Hojo's creation locked in brutal combat. But the enemy was winning. It was larger, heavier, its movements brutal and relentless. It swatted Vincent's beastly form with the ease of a hand swiping dust from a table.

Seluna turned, pressing her back to the crate, trembling. But then her gaze darted—there, just yards away, Vincent’s discarded gun. Its metal gleamed dully beneath the flickering overhead lights.

She froze.

And then—she moved.

Her body uncoiled like a spring. She burst from behind the crates in a full sprint, boots pounding against the metal floor. Wind rushed past her ears, and she gritted her teeth as the ground shuddered with the weight of monstrous limbs colliding.

She staggered. Stumbled. But didn’t stop.

As the fight neared, one of the beasts slammed into the wall, and the impact sent her reeling. She caught herself just in time, a cry slipping from her lips. But she kept going.

Her breath came in ragged bursts as she hit the ground, knees scraping sharply against the cold steel. Her fingers curled tightly around the pistol’s grip, metal biting into her skin with its unfamiliar weight. The world blurred at the edges, but through the haze, she saw Vincent lying prone—his massive beastly form momentarily stilled. The monstrous experiment loomed above him, its grotesque silhouette backlit by flickering lights, one of its massive limbs lifted high, poised to crush him in a single devastating blow.

Seluna didn’t think. She simply lifted the gun.

The weapon kicked like a living thing, the force nearly wrenching it from her hands as thunder cracked through the chamber. Her arms flew back with the recoil, the shot’s energy knocking her off balance. The sound ricocheted off the walls like a scream. And yet, it landed—striking the monster's side with enough force to make it falter.

The creature twisted, slowly, with haunting precision. Its clouded white eyes landed on her, full of mindless hunger and malice. Her heart leapt into her throat.

She gasped aloud, adrenaline screaming through her veins as she scrambled upright. The pistol remained clutched against her chest like a talisman as she turned and bolted, the thud of the monster's pursuit echoing behind her, each step threatening to shake the floor beneath her feet. But even in her fear, she knew—the shot had done its job.

Vincent surged forward, his monstrous form revived by the narrow reprieve. He lunged, claws gleaming, slicing deep into the enemy’s flank. His horns struck like daggers, burying into tissue and bone. Behind them, Seluna spun on instinct, her limbs trembling, breath shallow. She raised the pistol again, this time bracing her arms.

Another shot rang out, tearing through the thing’s leg. It howled—a warped, sorrowful wail—and stumbled, the sound of its pain reverberating in her chest like a second heartbeat. Vincent didn’t wait. He leapt once more, his speed blinding, ferocity unleashed. He drove into the monster’s back, his curved horns ripping into its throat with a wet, final crack.

The creature spasmed, a choked cry escaping before its body gave out completely. It crumpled to the ground with a weighty, tremulous thud, rattling the floor beneath them. Blood pooled beneath its contorted limbs, the silence afterward deafening.

Seluna remained rooted in place, her knuckles white around the gun. The acrid sting of gunpowder hung in the air, mingling with the copper scent of blood. Her chest heaved violently, lungs desperate for control.

At last, her arms fell. She lowered the weapon inch by inch, as if waking from a trance. Her wide eyes drifted to the corpse now still and crumpled across the floor like discarded refuse. Her legs gave out beneath her.

She dropped to her knees, metal meeting bone with a muted clank, and the chill of the floor seeped into her skin. The tremors hadn’t stopped—but neither had she.

For once, she hadn’t waited for someone else to protect her. She hadn’t stood on the sidelines.

But the battle wasn't won just yet—a low, guttural growl, rough as gravel scraping steel. Her breath caught. Her eyes snapped to the source.

Vincent.

Or rather, the towering, twisted form he had become. The beast that had just fought with primal ferocity now swayed unsteadily, claws curling inwards as it clutched its head with a pained snarl. His massive frame trembled. The glowing red energy that had consumed him now flickered and pulsed like a fever breaking.

She scrambled to her feet, her boots scuffing against the floor, and let the gun slip from her hands with a clatter. She hurried to him, arms raised slightly as though trying to calm a frightened animal. Her voice, small but unwavering, cut through the tension. "Vincent! Hey—it's okay! Just breathe! Breathe, you're safe!"

She didn’t flinch as she approached. Her eyes, wide with concern but absent of fear, stayed locked on his. The monster’s form sagged further, one arm collapsing to the ground as his claws scraped against the floor. A final swell of crimson light rippled through the space—and then it was gone. The beast’s silhouette twisted violently inward, collapsing in on itself until Vincent’s human form emerged from the shroud, gasping on all fours, sweat lining his brow.

Seluna froze for a moment, her chest tight with emotion, watching him push himself up from the floor with labored effort. Then, he lifted his head, and their eyes met—his red eyes dulled with exhaustion, but alive and human again. With a grunt, he tried to stand, bracing a hand on his thigh. She moved without hesitation, stepping in to loop an arm under his and lift with her modest strength.

Together, they found balance.

Vincent stood upright, his breath slowly settling, and Seluna stepped back to give him space. Her eyes didn’t leave his face. For a long second, neither of them said anything.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he spoke. “Thank you.”

A small smile bloomed on Seluna’s lips, warm and a little shy. She dipped her head, then bent to retrieve his discarded weapon. Holding it out to him with both hands, she watched as he took it and holstered it wordlessly.

His gaze wandered around the room, the aftermath heavy in every shattered tile and bloodstained wall. He let out a deeper sigh now, almost bitter. “He just left it here... abandoned it like it meant nothing.”

Seluna’s expression softened. She looked at the monster’s lifeless body, still curled as if trying to protect itself from a world that never offered it mercy. “I wonder why it sang like that,” she murmured.

Vincent tilted his head, considering. “An outlet, perhaps. A response to stress. An echo of whatever pain it couldn't contain.”

She nodded slowly, then spoke, her voice carrying that same thoughtful gentleness. “Poor thing. It must’ve been in agony down here for so long...”

A beat of silence. Then Vincent chuckled, low and dry, surprising her.

She blinked. “Did I say something funny?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “You just surprised me. Not many people are as observant as you. It's why I asked you to come instead of the others..”

Seluna’s cheeks flushed with unexpected heat, and she turned away quickly to hide her face. Her hands slid behind her back, fingers intertwining, a gesture half-childish, half-earnest. She faced the corridor now, the way back to the surface, but her voice was light. “Speaking of the others... we should get going. If I don’t turn up soon, Tifa’s going to assume something terrible happened and pull her hair out in stress.”

With a playful glance over her shoulder, she started forward, her steps lighter now, more assured. There was strength in her stride—earned, not assumed—and Vincent, watching her move ahead, felt the tug of a faint smile break through his usual grim reserve.

He said nothing as he followed behind her.

Chapter Text

The inn was quiet that night in Nibelheim, but Seluna’s footsteps fell even softer. Her boots barely touched the wooden floorboards as she returned, slipping down the hall lined with flickering sconces that cast shadows like ghosts of memories long buried. There was still a warmth to her chest from the encounter earlier, the adrenaline and intimacy of the fight beside Vincent stirring something that hadn’t yet found a name. But that flicker of warmth dimmed as she turned the corner of the hall and froze. Voices carried softly ahead.

She saw them just before they saw her—Cloud and Tifa walking side by side. Their voices were hushed but clear, filled with emotion. Seluna instinctively slowed her steps, her back pressing gently against the wall. Her hands curled over her chest, clutching the fabric of her shirt as if to ground herself.

"You didn't mean to hurt me," Tifa said quietly, a forgiving softness in her voice.

Cloud's response was low, remorseful. "I should've been stronger. I shouldn't have let him get in my head like that."

Their eyes locked for a long moment. In that shared silence, something passed between them—a fragile reconciliation only years of pain and companionship could birth. Tifa reached up and touched his arm gently. It wasn't romantic, not exactly. But it was close. Closer than Seluna expected.

She turned her face away and resumed walking, slow and cautious, her heart sinking in quiet reflection. By the time she reached the room, she found Tifa inside, bent down to unlace her boots, humming to herself. The warmth of her voice shattered the tension Seluna carried.

"Seluna!" Tifa greeted with a rosy-cheeked smile, spinning on her heels.

Seluna gave a small smile in return and gently closed the door behind her. "Hey."

"Where've you been?" Tifa asked teasingly, rising to her feet.

Seluna glanced out the window. "Just went for a walk. The stars looked... nice."

Tifa nodded. "I was just chatting with Cloud. You know, reminiscing and what not."

Seluna sat on the edge of the bed, hands folding in her lap. Her voice came quiet. "Sometimes I wish we were friends as kids."

Tifa's smile faltered, her shoulders falling slightly. She moved to sit across from Seluna. "I'm sorry. I was so mean back then."

Seluna shook her head softly. "It's okay."

Tifa didn't wait for a second chance to make it right. She grinned and threw herself beside Seluna, hugging her arm. "We’re besties now, so it’s okay."

Seluna laughed, the sound faint but genuine. That night, as the lights dimmed, they drifted off to sleep in peaceful silence.

The journey from Nibelheim had been long and winding—on foot, hitchhiking, and finally reconnecting with Cid, who managed to swing the Bronco around to pick them up at the edge of the Corel desert. No one spoke of Seluna and Vincent’s mysterious disappearance that night. Not Seluna nor Vincent.

As they approached the center of the entertainment dome, their boots tapped against tiled floors polished to perfection, the mechanical chirp of mascots and the glitter of artificial stars overhead illuminating their arrival. Cloud took point, the group's formation instinctive.

"We split up," Cloud instructed, his voice crisp as ever. "Look for Dio."

Seluna lingered at the back of the group, her blue eyes scanning the sprawling spectacle before them. The glitter, the gold, the illusions of joy—all of it washed over her. And then her gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, until it found Vincent.

He stood still, arms crossed as his narrowed eyes swept the area. What little of his face was visible carried an expression of faint annoyance, perhaps even fatigue. Just as his gaze flicked to meet hers, Seluna froze, caught in the act. Before she could look away, a hand suddenly slipped into hers.

"C'mon!" Tifa beamed beside her, flanked by Aerith.

"We’re going this way," Aerith chimed.

Seluna blinked as Tifa tugged her into motion, her hand still encased in hers. Behind them, Barret crossed his arms and grunted. "I better not catch none of y’all goofin' off while we're here."

Tifa and Aerith both turned and playfully saluted him before giggling and heading off. Seluna followed with a gentle smile, Tifa still holding her hand as they passed through the main gates and into the heart of the Saucer.

Tifa stopped at the center, hands on her hips. "Okay... where would Dio be...?"

Seluna's eyes flicked around, catching the glint of something odd. A sign. Her heart skipped. She stepped forward, pointing. "There. That sign. It says Dio and... Don Corneo?"

The three stared at it, reading aloud the gaudy lettering: "Battle Square Showdown: Tomorrow Night Only!"

"We should tell Cloud and the others," Tifa said, tone sharpening.

"I’ll find him," Aerith offered, turning and quickly vanishing into the crowds.

Tifa let out a long, dramatic sigh.

Seluna tilted her head. "What’s wrong?"

"Hmm? Nothing," Tifa said with a quick smile. She spun, spotting a vendor selling sweets. "We should get some snacks!"

Without waiting, she tugged Seluna along. After purchasing some chocolate-dipped pastries and brightly wrapped candies, the two wandered, ending up on the second floor balcony, overlooking the main thoroughfare.

Seluna leaned her arms on the railing, eyes catching the reflections of golden light that danced like fireflies across her vision. Tifa stood beside her, quiet.

It wasn’t like her.

Seluna gave her a soft nudge. "You’re quiet. I thought we were besties. Tell me what's wrong, please?

Tifa sighed, her voice small. "I try so hard to be liked... that sometimes I don’t even know who I really am."

Seluna blinked, the admission not much of a surprise. It was a trait she noticed very early on in their friendship during their time in Sector 7. She looked down at the crowd, voice barely above a whisper. "I do the opposite. I just want to disappear into the background."

Tifa looked over at her. There was sorrow in her eyes—not pity, but recognition. She edged closer until their arms touched on the balcony rail.

"Honestly... I'm starting to feel that way too," she said quietly. A pause. Then, a soft, shameful laugh. "I feel bad saying this, but... I think I’m jealous. Of Aerith and Cloud's friendship."

Seluna didn't speak at first. She only looked away again, her expression unreadable as she swallowed that familiar ache, hiding it like she'd always done.

Just then, Cait Sith’s squeaky little feet padded across the glossy tiles of the Gold Saucer’s upper promenade, his silhouette bobbing up toward the balcony like an eager child with a secret to share. Beside him, Aerith walked with a purposeful grace, her soft eyes lighting up as she spotted the two girls leaning against the rail. Cait was the first to announce their presence, his voice ringing out cheerily with that thick, whimsical brogue.

"There ya are! Been lookin' all over! Ta put a long story short—Dio an' that sleazebag Corneo are settlin' things tomorrow in the Battle Square, and guess what? We’re fightin' on Dio’s behalf tae get the Keystone!" he chirped, lifting his little arms triumphantly.

Aerith nodded beside him, her hands folded neatly. "It’s true. Apparently, Dio got beat up pretty bad by the Turks and doesn’t want to risk losing the Saucer by fighting Corneo himself. So, we’re the entertainment."

Tifa’s brows lifted. Seluna looked between them with a slight frown, the weight of their earlier conversation slipping into the background. Tifa offered Seluna a gentle smile, the moment shared at the railing dissolving like sugar in warm tea. Together, they followed Aerith and Cait Sith back through the Saucer’s glowing corridors toward the Ghost Square, where Dio had secured rooms for them in a delightfully over-the-top haunted hotel.

When they arrived, Tifa stretched her arms above her head, announcing with a yawn, "I’m gonna go walk around for a bit. Clear my head."

Seluna simply nodded, offering a small smile as Tifa waved and exited the room. Once alone, the quiet settled like dust in the corners. Seluna sat on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly combing through the hem of her shirt, her mind still turning over the thoughts Tifa had shared, and those she hadn’t dared say aloud.

A knock rapped gently on the door.

Seluna stood, cautiously approaching, and opened it—only to find no one there. Her brows furrowed until her eyes dropped to the ground. There stood Cait Sith, smiling broadly and waving up at her with a pair of crisp, glossy tickets in his paw.

"Hope I ain’t disturbin’ ye! Got a wee gift fer ya," he beamed. "Loveless play’s on tonight. Thought I’d snag a couple extra tickets—never know who might be wantin’ a wee bit o’ romance under the stars, eh?"

Seluna crouched down, folding her arms over her knees as she brought herself closer to his level. She accepted the tickets with a hesitant smile, turning them over thoughtfully in her hands.

"Hmm. Maybe I’ll take Tifa," she mused aloud.

Cait tilted his head, then scratched the back of his oversized head. "Er... 'fraid she’s already off with Cloud. Saw 'em headin’ toward the theater not five minutes ago. Looked like they were in a bit of a flutter too, if ya ask me."

Seluna’s fingers tightened slightly around the tickets. "Cloud and... Tifa?"

Cait’s ears perked awkwardly. "Aye...? But, hey now! Maybe ye could go with that tall, broody lad instead. Vincent, was it?"

Seluna stood back up, schooling her expression into a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Cait. This is... really sweet."

She closed the door gently, her back pressing against it as she exhaled. Her eyes dropped back to the tickets. Cloud and Tifa. Of course. She turned them over in her hands again, her thoughts drifting toward the earlier chaos in the depths beneath Nibelheim—the adrenaline, the danger, the thrill.

A new resolve lit in her chest. She straightened. "I don’t need a date. I can go by myself."

She stepped toward the door, hand reaching for the knob—just as it swung inward, nearly colliding with her. She stumbled back a half step in surprise.

There stood Vincent, his red cloak rustling slightly with his movement. One arm lifted as if he were about to knock, but paused now mid-air. His face was unreadable, though his voice was smooth and quiet.

"Cait Sith said you wanted to see the play with me."

Seluna blinked, her lips parting as she glanced past him down the hallway. Sure enough, just barely visible, Cait Sith was peeking from behind a support beam. The moment he saw her eyes, he ducked back with a startled squeak.

Her nose scrunched, then she faced him once more. Her thoughts scrambled, trying to think of anything to save herself. "He lied," she spit out.

Vincent looked genuinely taken aback, his arms falling to his sides. He looked away, almost sheepish. "I see. My mistake, then."

He turned, already stepping away. But her voice called out after him, unsure and soft.

"W-wait..."

He paused and glanced back.

Seluna stepped into the hallway, eyes cast to the floor. Her grip on the tickets tightened just slightly. "I... I don’t want to go alone."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned fully toward her, the weight of his posture easing slightly.

"Then it’s a date,"

Behind them, a barely stifled cheer came from somewhere behind the pillar.

Seluna’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look up. She just nodded once and turned toward the elevator at the end of the hall, her steps quiet. Vincent fell into step beside her, saying nothing, and yet somehow the silence felt... companionable.

Cait Sith, from his perch in the shadows, pumped a small paw in triumph. "Matchmakin’ genius, that’s what I am," he muttered to himself with a self-satisfied grin.

The Golden Theater loomed ahead, a dazzling marvel carved from red velvet and polished gold. Grand archways swept upward like wings, flanked by marble statues frozen mid-dance. Velvet drapes the color of fresh blood framed a broad stage shrouded in dramatic shadows, and above, crystal chandeliers glistened like starlight. Vincent and Seluna slowed their steps as they reached the entrance, heads craning to take it all in.

Seluna’s breath caught as her gaze traced the gleaming interior. She turned to Vincent, her blue eyes wide, only to find him already watching her. Their eyes met—briefly, silently—and he gave a small nod before continuing forward. She followed him down the crimson-carpeted stairs, the hum of hushed conversation and soft classical music surrounding them. They slipped into two vacant seats nestled in the middle rows, where polished virtual reality headsets sat atop plush cushions.

Seluna’s fingers curled around the headset as she lowered into the chair. But just before putting it on, her eyes strayed a few rows ahead—and there, unmistakably, sat Cloud and Tifa. They leaned close, heads angled together, faces animated in quiet conversation. A faint tightness coiled in Seluna’s chest. Her eyes dropped to the headset in her lap, and she began to fidget with its smooth surface before slipping it over her head.

Vincent glanced sidelong at her, catching the gesture. He said nothing, only followed suit, lowering the headset over his own face.

In an instant, the world around them vanished. The room melted away and was replaced by a breathtaking projection—an immersive reconstruction of a timeless classic. The stage unfolded into a war-torn city beneath a bleeding sky, fire licking the edges of ruined cathedrals. Lights and sound swept over them in waves. And at the center of it all, the heroine stood: tall, radiant, and unshakably graceful.

It was Jessie.

Clad in shimmering battle armor over a flowing white dress, she moved across the digital stage with elegance and conviction. Her dance displayed soliloquy, filled with longing and desperation, reenacting the most famous moments of the Loveless tragedy: a tale of love pursued in vain, of destiny defied and lost.

Seluna sat utterly still. Her fingers twitched faintly in her lap.

When the performance ended and the headset faded to black, she lifted the visor with trembling hands. Around them, the audience erupted in applause, cheers echoing through the grand chamber. Vincent removed his headset more slowly, his crimson gaze fixed on the strange, delicate device. He turned to speak to her—but paused.

A tear slid down her cheek, catching a glint of gold from the chandelier’s glow.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low but immediate.

Seluna sniffled softly and wiped the tear away with the heel of her hand, composing herself. "The woman in the play... that was an old friend. Jessie. She passed away not long ago."

Vincent looked down at the headset again. "So that was a recording?"

She nodded. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "She’ll live on forever through this, though. Isn’t that something? She looked so beautiful."

He watched her for a moment longer. She didn’t look up. She only stared at the visor, lost in thought.

But before either could speak again, the device in their laps pulsed with soft blue light. They hesitated—then the headset flickered back to life, this time without warning. Seluna gasped softly as the world reassembled itself again, this time into a simulation nearly identical to the very theater they sat in.

Only now, Aerith stood alone upon the stage.

She wore a flowing white dress, her chestnut hair loose around her shoulders, glinting with mako fire. When she opened her mouth to sing, her voice was ethereal—a lullaby sung by the Planet itself. Her song echoed through the virtual chamber, every note resonating in the bones. Soft strands of green mako energy rose from the floor like mist, swirling gently around the seated pair.

As Seluna looked to Vincent, she blinked. Their headsets were still in place, yet she could see his face clearly—unguarded, illuminated by the faint light of the illusion. Vincent was looking at her too, silently studying the same paradox. In this strange illusion, they saw each other fully.

She smiled, the kind of smile born not from joy, but from something gentler: awe, maybe. Peace. Unexpected understanding.

To her surprise, Vincent smiled back—only faintly, a whisper of expression across his somber features. Then they both turned their gazes back to Aerith as her voice reached its final crescendo.

When the song faded and the illusion dissolved, they slowly removed their headsets again. The stage stood as it had before, silent but glowing. Aerith was gone. The audience broke into hushed applause. But Seluna remained still for a moment longer, her breath shallow, her heart impossibly full.

Neither Seluna nor Vincent rose from their seats right away. The gentle rustle of others leaving stirred around them, and eventually, they too began to rise, joining the quiet flow of theatergoers moving toward the exits. They said little—nothing, really—as they walked, shoulder to shoulder yet surrounded by silence. The opulence of the Golden Theater dimmed behind them as they stepped into the corridor, now thinning with the dispersing crowd.

Seluna folded her hands in front of her, her smile faint but lingering from the last moments of the play. She breathed in slowly, trying to center herself. Yet as the crowd trickled out around them and their pace slowed, a uniformed staff member appeared ahead, directing the last few patrons.

"The Skywheel will be closing soon," he announced in a firm, professional tone. "Please line up ahead and have your tickets ready."

Vincent and Seluna looked at one another, momentarily caught off guard. Without speaking, they drifted forward in step, falling into the end of a line that had formed before the brightly lit platform. As they waited, it became immediately apparent that they were surrounded almost entirely by couples—some hand-in-hand, others laughing, some exchanging tender glances and soft kisses. The intimacy between the other passengers was unmistakable, casting a quiet awkwardness over the space Seluna and Vincent now occupied.

Their names were not called, but when the next gondola arrived, its ornate silver doors parted for them. With a mechanical hum, it halted and opened like a miniature ballroom on rails. They stepped inside, the space lit with warm, soft-toned bulbs that shimmered in the gold-trimmed glass. As the doors sealed shut behind them, the gondola lurched gently, then began its smooth ascent.

They sat across from each other, the silence falling between them once more like a blanket. Vincent’s arms were folded across his chest as he looked out through the thick glass window to the world beyond, while Seluna leaned slightly to one side, pressing her palm against the cool glass. Outside, the night stretched in all directions—an endless dome of indigo above the twinkling lights of the Golden Saucer.

As the wheel climbed higher into the sky, brilliant holographic projections danced through the air. Scenes of old plane dogfights and explosions of magical light swirled past the gondola like stardust, occasionally phasing through the carriage in a ghostly shimmer meant to entertain. Laughter echoed faintly from the other cars, but here, all remained still.

Seluna’s fingers slid along the edge of the window, her head resting lightly against the glass. Her expression was soft, thoughtful, her eyes tracing the projections outside. Vincent’s gaze, however, did not leave her. His crimson eyes, intense yet quiet, lingered longer than they should have. In the glow of the shifting lights, her profile was illuminated with delicate hues—pale golds and soft pinks flickering across her cheeks like firelight.

She looked peaceful, perhaps even content. And in that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t sudden or dramatic, but a subtle click—like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Vincent said nothing. He only watched.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, Seluna turned slightly. Their eyes met—not a collision, but a quiet convergence.

“I used to stare out at the sky every night as a kid,” Seluna said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, almost too faint for the cabin to catch. “Back in Nibelheim, when the night fell quiet and the adults were asleep, I’d sneak outside and just... stare. I used to think the stars would carry me away from there one day.”

Vincent’s crimson eyes shifted from her to the window. “And now here you are,” he said evenly, though there was something gentler in his voice. “Above it all.”

Seluna smiled faintly, her gaze still distant. “I never imagined myself like this. With people like this. Doing the things we’ve done. I never thought I belonged anywhere.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Then why don’t you carry a weapon?”

She blinked, the question taking her off guard. “What?”

Vincent's voice came after a pause, low and pensive. "Back in the manor... when you walked up to me the first time—when I was still a beast. You had no weapon. I could've killed you. Why don’t you fight like the others? Why don’t you carry a weapon?"

Seluna lowered her gaze again, her hands resting in her lap. “Because I’ve always felt... out of place,” she confessed. “Even with them. I’m not strong like Tifa, or brave like Barret. I can’t cast magic like Aerith or lead like Cloud. So I just... try to stay useful. Quietly. From the side.”

Vincent nodded slowly. “You weren’t trained?”

She shook her head. “No. Not really. I’ve always been more of an observer than a participant.”

A pause stretched between them.

“Why do you look at Cloud and Tifa the way you do?” he asked then, without warning.

Seluna’s head snapped up, color rising fast to her cheeks. “What way?” she asked, attempting to deflect.

Vincent looked down. “I know the look of jealousy. All too well.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught. Then, finally, she let out a sigh and leaned her shoulder against the side of the gondola. “Tifa and I weren’t friends when we were young,” she admitted. “She was outgoing. Everyone loved her. I was... quiet. Kept to myself. That made things complicated.”

“You’ve made peace with her now?”

Seluna nodded. “We’re close now. She’s wonderful. I love her, really.” She hesitated. “But yes, sometimes it’s hard.”

“Because of Cloud,” Vincent stated, not unkindly.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She looked down.

“I understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes, the kindest thing we can do—for ourselves and for them—is to set our feelings aside. Some threads weren’t meant to tangle.”

Seluna stared at him. Something about his tone told her this wasn’t hypothetical. That he, too, had once stood in the shadows of someone else’s light.

She looked down to her hands, the soft lines in her palms, the way they parted in separate paths, “You’re right,” she said softly. Then, after a moment, a small laugh escaped her lips as she looked up. “Thank you.”

Outside, fireworks burst to life in the sky. Brilliant blooms of red, gold, and silver exploded above the gondola, lighting their faces in waves of color. The sound was muted in the enclosed cabin, a distant fizz and thunder that filled the silence between them.

Seluna turned to watch the display, her features alight with wonder. Vincent, however, didn’t look away. He watched the way her eyes widened, the way her blond hair shimmered in the sudden light, the easy grace of her smile—a smile she never would’ve worn just days ago.

And for the first time in years, he felt something shift in his chest. Not a pang. Not a wound reopening. But a pulse—a heartbeat quickening in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He blinked, looking away before she noticed.

When the gondola finally rounded back to the station and the doors opened once more, they stepped out together onto solid ground. Seluna’s expression hadn’t lost its glow. Vincent’s remained composed, though the tightness in his chest lingered.

As they walked through the golden-lit walkways of the Saucer, Seluna cupped her hands behind her back, eyes drifting upward to the shimmering advertisements and lights above.

“I hope once this is all over, I can come back here and actually enjoy my time,” she said softly.

Vincent glanced down at her. “I’m sure you will.”

She looked up at him, smiling. Their eyes held for just a second longer than before, and Vincent turned away—his high collar obscuring the slight blush blooming across his cheeks as they made their way quietly back toward the hotel.

Chapter Text

The snow fell in a hushed, endless drift as the group trudged into Icicle Inn, the chill wind biting through even their heaviest coats. The passage of time since their journey began now hung heavy on their shoulders—grief, fatigue, and bitter cold settling into the hollows of their silence. Since that fateful moment at the Forgotten Capital, a shadow loomed over them that no fire nor warm hearth could burn away. Aerith was gone. Her laughter, her strength, her quiet wisdom—the spark she brought to their travels had been extinguished. And though no one dared speak her name aloud that day, her absence filled the space between every footstep.

Inside the inn, warmth kissed their frozen cheeks as the door shut behind them. A small fire crackled in the common room, inviting and golden, but no one stopped to linger. Boots stomped the snow loose at the threshold before each splintered off to their respective rooms. The group didn’t need words to agree that rest was their priority, not conversation. Even Barret, usually grumbling and brash, merely nodded as he disappeared down the hall. Cloud hadn’t spoken at all.

Seluna found herself walking beside Tifa in quiet tandem. Neither had the heart to speak until they reached the small room they were to share. Inside, the heat clung to their skin, a sharp contrast to the frost that still clung to their eyelashes. They peeled off their gloves and outer layers in solemn rhythm, the crackle of the heater filling the void where conversation might have once lived.

Tifa sat on the edge of her bed with her back to Seluna, fingers fumbling with the laces of her boots. Seluna hesitated as she watched her. Something about the slope of Tifa’s shoulders, the defeated curve of her spine, stirred something deep within. Wordlessly, Seluna crossed the room, sat beside her, and wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders, pulling her in. Tifa didn’t resist. She leaned into the embrace like a girl years younger, and Seluna rested her head softly against hers. No words. Just warmth. Just shared sorrow.

A muffled sniffle broke the silence. Tifa sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Y’know,” she began, voice cracked with exhaustion, “this whole journey… for all the danger, all the loss… it’s still been the happiest I’ve felt since I was a kid.” Her eyes were locked on the floor now. “I can’t believe I was ever jealous of Aerith. She was... so kind. So good. She had the most beautiful soul.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle a sob. “And now she’s gone.”

Seluna felt her own tears sting, but she swallowed them. She kept her arm around Tifa, fingers curling tighter as the weight of it all pressed harder.

“And Cloud…” Tifa whispered. “He’s not the same. He’s unraveling, and I don’t know how to help him.” She exhaled shakily, then sat upright again, her eyes flicking around the small room. A faint smile found its way to her lips, almost dreamy. “That night... before the fight with Corneo? When we were all together in the Saucer? I was so happy I could’ve just died right then.”

Seluna looked at her with soft curiosity as Tifa turned to meet her gaze.

“Luna,” she said gently, her voice taking on a bittersweet lilt. “I told Cloud how I felt. And he… we kissed.” Her laughter was awkward, broken at the edges with shame and pride.

The words landed like a stone in Seluna’s stomach. She didn’t react at first, only slowly withdrew her hand from Tifa’s. Her gaze dropped, unfocused, caught somewhere far away. Tifa didn’t seem to notice.

“It felt like a dream,” Tifa said, sighing. “And now that dream is over. I’m terrified.” Her gaze lifted, but Seluna hadn’t responded. “Luna?” she asked softly.

Seluna blinked as if waking, her smile faint and brittle. “Yeah... sorry. I was just thinking about that night too.”

Tifa tilted her head. “Oh, that’s right! You went on a date with Vincent, didn’t you? I never asked how that went. Is there something between you two?”

Seluna flustered. “Wh-what? No! It wasn’t like that. I just had an extra ticket. Didn’t want to waste it,” she said quickly, rising to her feet and turning her back.

Tifa raised a brow, sensing the shift. She stood, stepping forward. But before she could speak, Seluna turned to face her, something raw and questioning in her eyes.

“Why weren’t we friends back then?” Seluna asked.

Tifa blinked. “Huh?”

Then she lowered her gaze, contemplative. “Oh... I don’t know. I guess… I thought you didn’t like me. You were always so distant. And when I tried to talk, you just ignored me.”

Seluna bit her lip, shoulders sinking. “I guess I remember it differently. You always had everyone’s attention. And I—I thought you were mocking me.”

“No,” Tifa said quickly, stepping closer. “I wanted to talk. I just didn’t know how to get through. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seluna murmured. She hesitated, toe nudging the floor. “Tifa, I have to tell you something.”

Tifa looked at her curiously. “What is it?”

Seluna drew a deep breath. “When we were kids, Cloud and I were... kind of close. Before he started liking you. When he started focusing on you, it felt like I just vanished from his world. I think I resented you for that, because I really liked him.”

Tifa’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

Then realization dawned. “Wait… When Cloud joined us in Midgar, and you got so distant—that’s why?”

Seluna nodded. “Seeing him again brought everything back I guess. I’m sorry.”

Tifa covered her face. “And I kept going on about our relationship like a complete idiot… Please tell me you don’t hate me.”

Seluna laughed softly. “No. I don’t hate you. If anything...” Her smile faltered. “I think I hate Cloud. He acts like I never existed. Like our childhood didn’t matter. I know he remembers. And yet... he looks right through me.”

Tifa reached out, but Seluna stepped back gently.

“Maybe I’m just overreacting,” Seluna said. “But please don’t bring this up to him. It’s better this way. He’s made his choice.”

Tifa looked stricken with guilt, but she nodded.

Seluna grabbed her coat and slipped it on. “I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said.

Tifa helplessly watched her go, heart heavy, as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Meanwhile, just beyond the village's edge, the crunch of snow under heavy boots and the uneven tap of paws echoed toward a long-forgotten structure. Vincent and Cait Sith had wandered off toward an old Shinra relay station nestled against the mountain’s base—one Cait claimed hadn’t been touched since the early days of SOLDIER experimentation. As the warped metal doors creaked open with a low groan, the silhouettes of the mismatched pair spilled long across the dark, frozen floor: Cait bouncing with casual, uneven steps, and Vincent moving with silent, deliberate precision.

"Place used to be some kinda outpost," Cait chattered, his voice light and unconcerned as he navigated the icy interior. "Back when Shinra was tryin' to establish a link between Junon and some o’ the more remote dig sites. 'Course, once they scrapped the deeper pipeline projects—somethin' about seismic instability—this ol' relay was left ta rot."

Vincent swept a gloved hand over a nearby terminal, the dust thick and undisturbed. The hum of dormant machines whispered beneath the silence, eerie and half-alive. While Cait dug into old crates and rifled through crumbling papers, Vincent approached a wall lined with aging shelves, his eyes narrowing at a black-bound notebook wedged among rusted tools. He pulled it free, its pages stiff with cold and time, flipping through scrawled entries and scattered diagrams.

"Says here they were experimentin’ with prototypin’ weapons for hybrid-class SOLDIERs," Cait muttered, pawing at a cracked screen. "Magitek interfaces, materia-linked circuits… whole lotta failed tests. Guess none of 'em made the cut."

He popped open a nearby crate, digging past layers of dust-covered weaponry. "Here’s a busted buster sword, a rifle with no barrel… sheesh, what a junk heap. Ooh! What’s this?" He pulled free a sleek, albeit dusty, hybrid weapon—part rifle, part blade. With a flick of a claw, he pressed a trigger. The weapon sputtered halfway through its transformation sequence from gun to blade and jammed halfway.

"Hah! Look a' this thing! Poor guy can’t even pick a side," Cait joked. Then, with a dismissive shake of his head, he tossed it aside. It clattered to the floor with a hollow clang, landing near Vincent’s boots.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on the weapon. Something about its design—a graceful brutality, half-forgotten potential—drew him in. And as he crouched to retrieve it, his mind curiously drifted to Seluna. He turned the weapon in his hands, studying its joints and design. "This can be repaired," he murmured.

"Suit yerself," Cait replied, already bored. "I say let dead steel stay buried, but knock yerself out."

They continued their search a bit longer, uncovering little else but logs referencing abandoned trials with materia-fused enhancements and failed soldier augmentations. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the inn and its surrounding cliffs in warm amber hues, the pair stepped out from the relay and began their walk back toward the village.

Snow crunched beneath their feet as the lights of Icicle Inn flickered to life ahead. In the soft pink twilight, Vincent’s sharp eyes caught sight of two familiar figures: Cloud, wandering alone in a stiff silence, and Seluna, walking from the opposite direction. Their paths intersected, and Seluna passed Cloud with a fleeting glance, quickly averting her eyes. But Cloud stopped. Something in her presence stirred him.

“Luna,” he called gently.

She halted at the name, turning slowly, uncertain. Cait Sith glanced between them, then back toward Vincent, who stood still in the snow, eyes locked on Seluna. A moment passed. Then, in a burst of movement, Cait bounded toward Cloud.

“Oi! Spikey!” he shouted, interjecting just as Cloud turned back to Seluna. “Ye oughta hear what me an’ Vampy here found. That ol’ relay’s packed with old logs—SOLDIER messes, materia tests, you name it. Might be somethin’ we can use, yeah?”

Cloud’s brows furrowed, attention pulled away. As Cait kept rambling, pulling him along, Seluna turned, left standing alone now as Vincent finally approached.

Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, the red in her eyes unmistakable despite the twilight. She turned at the sound of his approach but said nothing. Vincent’s gaze softened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low.

Seluna looked away. "Just thinking about Aerith," she whispered. "That’s all."

She didn’t wait for a reply. Her boots crunched softly in the snow as she moved past him, vanishing into the deepening orange-blue dusk, leaving Vincent standing alone in the cold, the half-restored weapon hidden beneath his cloak, and more questions than ever clutched silently in his chest.

And then, Cloud gave Sephiroth the Black Materia

And Hell was bound for them...

Time had unraveled. Days passed in the disjointed haze of consequence and crumbling hope. Since the moment Cloud handed the Black Materia to Sephiroth—his mind shattered, his will overtaken—the world had teetered ever closer to collapse. Meteor now hung in the heavens like a vengeful god, an impossible sphere of burning light that outshone even the sun, its crimson glow devouring the blue of the skies. Where once the stars ruled the night, now only that accursed omen hovered, a wound in the firmament that refused to close.

The group had since taken to the deck of the Highwind, the great airship that carried them above a dying world, its engines roaring against the silence left in the wake of loss. They drifted—not just through the air, but through grief, through guilt, through the final chapters of their fight against fate. Aerith was gone. Cloud was missing. Tifa wandered in silence. And Seluna, more than ever, felt like a ghost in the margins.

She stood alone against the railings, the metal cold beneath her hands, her blond ponytail whipped to one side by the high-altitude winds. The dusk was melting into something alien: a golden, hellish sky under Meteor’s monstrous bloom. That light bathed her pale features in a haunted glow, made her small against the majesty of the end. She did not shiver, nor speak. She simply stared, as if waiting for the Planet to give her an answer.

Vincent stepped quietly from the interior of the ship, the breeze catching his cloak, the clang of his boots muffled by the hum of engines and distant thunder. He saw her silhouette framed in that unnatural sky and paused. There was something in the curve of her shoulders, the way her head bowed, that called to him—a soft echo of his own past. He approached, wordless, his presence deliberate but calm.

She heard him, but didn’t turn. Her voice, when it came, was a hush against the wind.

"I was helpless. I couldn't stop Cloud. I couldn't save Tifa..." Her breath hitched, but she swallowed the emotion with practiced silence. "Why am I even here?"

Vincent said nothing for a long moment. He moved to stand beside her, resting his hands on the railing as his gaze lifted to Meteor’s looming shape. The golden-red light glinted off his gauntlet, off the slope of his cheekbone, off eyes that had seen the worst of humankind and still walked among them.

"Not everyone is born knowing their place," he said at last, his voice low, like a requiem whispered in a cathedral. "And those of us who try to find it... don't always belong there."

She turned, brows gently furrowed. He didn’t look at her. The line stung, as if he'd dismissed her doubts outright. But then he continued, more quietly.

"I have no place here. Not in this world, not in this fight. I am... residue. A scar left behind by sins no longer living. And yet, I keep walking forward." He turned his gaze to her then, the intensity of his crimson eyes startling in the dying light. "Because sometimes, we must carve out our own place, not wait for it to be offered."

From behind his back, he drew the weapon.

It shimmered faintly in the dusk: a gleaming hybrid of gun and blade, its body sleek and mechanical, the metal an elegant composition of white alloy and silver etchings. Seluna turned to face him fully now, blinking as her gaze fell to the strange weapon cradled in his hands.

"This is for you," he said.

She stared, wordless at first. Her fingers hovered over the hilt as if afraid to touch it, like it might vanish or recoil. Eventually, her grip closed around the handle. It was heavier than she expected, but not unwieldy. She tilted it in her hands, studying the blend of form and function. The trigger caught her eye, but so too did the transformation mechanism, the curious hingework along the barrel and spine.

Vincent stepped behind her, gently guiding her arm out and pointing away from the ship. He tapped her thumb to a small switch near the guard.

With a soft click and a whirl of machinery, the weapon shifted. Plates unlocked and rotated, mechanisms folding out as the firearm blossomed into a curved, elegant blade. Seluna's mouth parted in wonder, a small laugh escaping her as she looked from the transformed weapon back to Vincent.

"I figured," he said, calmly, "you might prefer something that adapts. For ranged strikes, and close encounters. It suits you."

"For me?" she whispered, stunned. Her grip tightened around the hilt.

He gave a single nod.

"And if it means anything to you," he continued, looking again toward the horizon, "you’ve saved my life. Twice. That alone proves your place better than anything."

Her smile returned, faint but genuine, framed in grief yet not consumed by it. It carried the weight of everything she had endured and yet shone through, like firelight behind a cracked window.

"Thank you, Vincent," she said, her voice trembling with gratitude. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

He studied her for a moment, then asked, "When we save the Planet... what will you do next?"

Seluna hesitated, the question almost foreign. She had been surviving, not dreaming.

"I want to help people," she said finally. "Really help them. Not just hide behind others while they fight. I want to become someone who makes a difference."

Vincent's head tilted slightly.

"A hero?" he asked, the barest hint of warmth in his voice.

She exhaled a quiet laugh. "I guess so."

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly, a rare stillness settling across his features.

"Then you’ll need to learn to use that properly. I’ll teach you."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Mm." The noncommittal grunt of a man who’d already decided.

She smiled again, this time with a glimmer of hope beyond the despair. And above them, Meteor still burned in the sky—a promise of ruin. But now, in its ominous light, there stood two souls who had lived too long in the shadows, finding in each other the first steps toward something brighter than survival.

Chapter Text

The sky over Gaia was no longer bleeding.

Two months had passed since Sephiroth's defeat. Meteor was gone, erased by Holy and the collective will of those who refused to let the world die. But its echo remained in the scorched earth and the emptiness where once there had been a sky choked in crimson. The Planet still hurt, but it breathed. Slowly, like a wounded creature learning to trust again.

In the heart of the broken city, the slums stirred with signs of life. The top plates were all but annihilated, their skeletal debris now strewn across the slums like the shattered crown of a fallen king. Yet despite the ruin, the people of Midgar endured. While the heroes fought, the survivors labored. They had taken materials of what was once Midgar and moved them to start a new settlement in Edge. Seventh Heaven stood again—humble, crooked, but real. The door creaked open. The jukebox played again. A home resurrected in the ashes of what once was.

Inside, voices hummed in warmth: laughter, clinking glasses, familiar stories passed back and forth like firelight. But just beyond the doorway, where the last light of day kissed the skyline, Seluna stood alone, leaning against the railing at the edge of the bar's entrance. Her arms draped lazily across the metal, her blond ponytail brushing her back with the wind. Below, streets pulsed with effort: children carrying supplies, strangers sharing meals, scaffolding raised with shared hands. The birth of a new city.

Footsteps behind her broke the hush. Cloud emerged from within, his presence as weightless as a shadow. His steps slowed when he saw her, the back of her head bowed gently to the evening breeze. He hesitated, then approached, standing at her side. For a while, he said nothing.

"I just want to say... thank you. For fighting with us."

His voice was soft, almost unsure. Seluna exhaled through her nose, not turning, her expression unreadable. There was a long pause.

Cloud looked down. "I'm sorry I abandoned you. I don't know why I did it. I guess... I thought you were better off without a friend like me."

That earned a small huff of laughter from her. She leaned forward over the railings, her arms still draped, her eyes set on the horizon as the sun sank beyond the Edge skyline.

"Well, we're here now. None of that matters anymore," she said. "Besides, we were just kids."

Cloud gave a slow nod, watching the city come to life ahead them. He shifted, then glanced at her again. "Tifa told me about the fire in Nibelheim. How she saved you."

"Yeah, well, not every girl gets a knight in shining armor," Seluna said with a wry smile. "Lucky I had a princess to save me instead."

He chuckled under his breath, awkward and faint. Another beat of silence passed.

"If you'd like," he offered, looking toward her, "we could make up for lost time. Try again... as friends."

Seluna turned then, finally meeting his eyes. There was a tenderness to her gaze, something forgiving and distant at once.

"Of course. We'll always be friends."

But her gaze was already shifting, drawn by the presence of another. Down the street, Vincent approached—silent, composed, half a shadow in his dark cloak. He paused as he spotted the two at the railing.

Seluna’s smile returned, softer now, gentler. She looked back to Cloud.

"But I won’t be here anymore. I'm not needed here."

She turned to walk down the steps. Cloud started to speak, lips parting with unspoken thought, but she glanced back one last time.

"Take care of Tifa for me, will you?"

Then she turned away, descending the steps quickly.

Vincent waited below, still as dusk itself. As she approached, he gave the faintest nod. She fell into step beside him as they moved into the shifting heart of Edge, into a city created from ruin, away from the remnants of a past neither of them quite belonged to.

And behind them, on the railings above, Cloud lingered for a moment more before he smiled faintly, shaking his head. He turned and stepped back inside Seventh Heaven, where warmth waited. Where memory softened. Where healing—slow and quiet—had begun.

The night in Edge was quiet, painted in shades of deep blue and faint amber as the city continued its slow crawl toward rebirth. Streetlamps flickered on corners half-swallowed by rubble. Steam hissed from broken pipes, winding through the debris like whispers of what once was.

Vincent and Seluna walked side by side, their steps unhurried, deliberate. A cool breeze swept through the cracked alleys and open lots, stirring Seluna’s pale ponytail and tugging at the hems of Vincent’s long cloak. Slung at her hip, her gifted weapon gleamed faintly in the dim light—sheathed in a custom holster secured around a new belt, one that hung low over her shorts. It mirrored Vincent’s own gun in spirit: sleek, mechanical, made for a wielder who never quite fit in with the rest. She kept her arms folded loosely behind her back as they strolled, her smile relaxed, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed.

“Did you finish searching the whole building?” she asked, her voice soft as if not to disturb the calm that had finally settled over Edge.

Vincent nodded, his expression unreadable as always.

“And he was nowhere?”

He shook his head.

Seluna’s gaze drifted downward, watching her ankle-high boots scuff through the loose dust and broken glass scattered along the edge of the road. “Hmm... well, maybe Hojo went down with the rest of the Shinra infrastructure. Like Rufus.” Her brow furrowed a little. “I mean, didn’t Cloud kill him up there?”

Vincent gave a low grunt. “We can only hope.”

She gave a small nod, falling quiet as her thoughts pulled inward again. The streetlamps cast their shadows long and gentle across the road. It was strange, walking through Edge now—it was the same city, and yet different. The towers were gone, the oppressive weight of steel above no longer hanging over them, and the stars were finally visible through the gaps.

After a stretch of silence, she glanced toward him. “So… what will you do now?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, but there was something softer in the way he moved, less guarded.

“I had thought to travel,” he said at last, his voice calm and distant. “To see the Planet as it is now. Help where I can. But… I promised someone I would train them to fight.”

Seluna’s steps slowed a bit, and her eyes flicked up to him in quiet surprise. “Oh… well, it’s okay. You don’t have to.” Her voice faltered slightly as she looked down again, nudging the toe of her boot into a crack in the ground, embarrassed.

Vincent let out a rare, low chuckle—more like the ghost of a laugh than a sound.

“That was my way of asking you to come with me,” he said simply.

Seluna blinked, head snapping up toward him with wide eyes. “Really?” she asked, the word practically bursting out of her.

He nodded. “It was you who gave me the idea. This world… there’s still so much I haven’t seen. Too many things left undone.” His tone was soft, thoughtful, and for a moment it felt as if he wasn’t just speaking about the world.

Seluna’s face lit up with unrestrained joy. “Okay!” she beamed, her voice light with excitement. She turned slightly on her heel, her arms swaying as her thoughts swirled with possibilities. “When should we leave?”

“I was thinking… tomorrow morning,” Vincent replied, watching her with a kind of quiet awe.

She nodded, her ponytail bouncing lightly. “Sounds like a plan, partner,” she laughed, spinning on the ball of her foot with a carefree air. Vincent’s lips tugged into the faintest smile, his expression softening as he watched her.

They continued walking, side by side once more. No longer ghosts, no longer remnants. Just two souls carrying forward—not to escape the past, but to forge something new in spite of it.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived with chaos in its wake. The streets of Edge were already alive with noise—hammering, laughter, the groan of rebuilt scaffolding stretching skyward. Inside Seventh Heaven, the scent of brewing coffee mixed with steel and sweat. Vincent stood near the doorway, bags slung over each arm, his cloak catching in the breeze as Seluna burst from the hallway, hair askew and boots barely laced.

"Wait up!" she called breathlessly, skidding to a halt beside him. He turned slightly, brow raised, but said nothing. She adjusted the strap of one bag around her shoulder and looked toward the main bar area, scanning. "I just... need a second."

Tifa was already behind the counter wiping glasses as she prepped for another day. The jukebox hummed faintly in the background, playing something mellow. Seluna rushed around the counter and ducked through the small swinging door to where Tifa stood.

Without hesitation, the two women fell into each other's arms. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic—just a long, solid embrace that said everything words couldn’t. They held tight, reluctant, eyes shut against the inevitable.

When they finally pulled back, their eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the corners of their lips turned in a wavering smile.

"Promise you’ll write?" Tifa asked, voice caught in her throat.

"Of course. Every chance I get. Postcards, too. From everywhere."

Tifa rolled her eyes affectionately. "I don’t know why you won’t just get a phone."

Seluna grinned. "Writing’s more personal. Besides, you’ll be too busy with your big Strife Delivery business to answer my calls."

Tifa laughed, holding both of Seluna’s hands now. "Stay safe, okay?"

Seluna glanced toward the door where Vincent waited, looking half-interested as he surveyed the room.

"I’ll be in good hands," she said.

Tifa followed her gaze and gave Vincent a little nod of acknowledgment before pulling Seluna in for one last hug. As they parted, Cloud appeared from the back, leaning silently against the wall with his arms folded.

"Good luck," he said simply, offering her a small, genuine smile.

Seluna returned it with a wave before hurrying to Vincent’s side, her boots clicking against the floor. The two stepped out into the early bustle of Edge, the sun casting long shadows over the scarred cityscape. The world was not healed—but it was healing. And that was enough.

Time passed in quiet strides. Aboard a crowded ship bound for the North Corel settlement, Vincent and Seluna stood amid a sea of displaced travelers. The deck thrummed underfoot, and the ship’s hull creaked in rhythm with the gentle sway of the tide. All around them were families and loners alike, survivors of Meteorfall. Faces worn with grief, eyes searching the horizon for something like hope.

The cost of travel had been waived to help relocate the outlying regions—an act of goodwill and necessity alike. With the infrastructure of the old world in pieces, this was how rebuilding began. Slowly. One step, one crossing, one stranger at a time.

The interior of the ship was modest but comforting. Calming music drifted through the common areas. The scent of warm bread lingered near the kitchens. Muted golds and dark woods made the place feel like a sanctuary drifting over the sea. Vincent walked just behind Seluna as they moved through the main floor, both of them quiet as their eyes fell on the weary souls around them.

Without a word, they exchanged a glance—a silent agreement, born from the pain they’d seen and the things they could never forget. They would help fix the mess Sephiroth and Shinra left. They would make something better.

Later that evening, after settling into their small cabin, the pair made their way to the second deck, drawn by the scent of food and fresh air. The stars glittered above the waves like distant prayers. At one of the corner tables, a small crowd watched a game of Queen's Blood unfolded. A young woman with cropped hair and a calm demeanor leaned back with a satisfied smirk as her opponent groaned dramatically, his loss echoing across the deck.

Seluna watched with interest, a small smile curving her lips as she accepted the sandwich Vincent handed her. He followed her line of sight.

"You wanna challenge her?"

Seluna blinked, flustered. "Hm? Oh, no! I don’t even know how to play."

"It’s not that complicated," Vincent replied evenly as they sat. He took a slow bite of his sandwich.

Seluna raised an eyebrow playfully. "Never pictured you as a card game kinda guy."

"You’d be surprised," he said without looking up.

She chuckled, stretching her arms overhead before glancing once more at the woman across the deck. The seat opposite her was empty now. Seluna leaned forward over their table.

"What would it take for you to challenge her?"

Vincent met her eyes, then leaned back, pulling something from inside his cloak. A slim deck of well-worn Queen’s Blood cards.

"A smile," he said simply.

Seluna lit up like a lantern. Giggling, she stood from her chair and nudged him with her elbow. He followed without complaint, the flicker of something amused in his crimson eyes. Together, they approached the table.

Vincent's looming presence caught the woman’s attention almost immediately. She glanced upward from her table, her expression shifting from curiosity to surprise at the sight of the brooding man in red, half his face obscured by the high collar of his cloak. At his side stood Seluna—radiant and beaming, practically the living inverse of the stoic figure beside her. The contrast was almost comical.

"Can I... help you?" the woman asked, raising a brow, her voice laced with amused wariness.

"I'd like to challenge you," Vincent said, his voice calm and sonorous.

The woman leaned back, lips twitching into a crooked grin. "Oh! Well then, take a seat. The name’s Delly," she offered, reaching a hand across the table. Vincent stared at it for a moment but made no move to take it. Delly quickly withdrew, clearing her throat. "Right."

He simply nodded.

Seluna hovered behind him, leaning over his shoulder, hands braced on her knees with the kind of wide-eyed enthusiasm that made it impossible not to smile. She watched with fascination as Vincent casually shuffled his deck, his movements precise and practiced.

Once the cards were set, the game began. Seluna observed with curious delight, trying to piece together the rules as Vincent and Delly took turns laying down cards covered in odd little characters, many of them whimsical or bizarre.

"Ooh, is that a good one?" Seluna whispered. "Oh, that one looks cool! What did that just do?"

Delly’s smirk began to falter as the game progressed. Her frustration grew, becoming more and more evident with every card Vincent played. Seluna leaned closer.

"Wait... are you winning?"

Vincent didn’t look up. He drew one last card from his hand. "I already won."

He placed it down with practiced finality. Though there were still available spaces on the board, Delly scanned the setup multiple times, her lips parting in visible disbelief. Then, with a frustrated scoff, she leaned back and threw her arms into a fold across her chest, clearly conceding.

Vincent was nonchalant. He nodded once to her, collected his cards, and stood with the same grace and stillness he always carried. Seluna clapped lightly, eyes bright with admiration.

As Vincent turned to walk off, Seluna lingered for a second, waving and thanking Delly for the match before hurrying to catch up. She fell into step beside him, her hands clasped behind her back.

"That looked so fun! You’ll have to teach me."

He glanced sidelong at her. "I’ll add that to the to-do list."

They made their way back through the softly lit corridors of the ship to their cabin, where a new tension settled between them. It was a small room, barely large enough for two hammocks set opposite one another. The realization they would be sharing the space for the night brought a mutual silence.

Seluna glanced at her own hammock, then over her shoulder just as Vincent unbuckled his cloak, sliding it from his shoulders. She froze. Without the cloak, he looked entirely different—still dressed in the dark leather of his usual attire, but now strangely... bare. The shadows that always clung to him seemed a little less imposing.

He caught her staring. She straightened with a jolt.

"Oh! Sorry, I just... haven’t seen you without the cloak."

He gave a dismissive grunt and tossed the cloak onto his hammock before settling in, his body still and upright, staring at the ceiling. Seluna climbed into hers, the two of them suspended in the dim room as the gentle rock of the ship lulled everything into stillness.

Minutes passed. Neither of them spoke.

Then came the cold.

Seluna hissed softly, pulling her arms tight around herself as she shivered. The ship had offered no blankets or real bedding. She slipped from her hammock, her boots tapping gently against the metal floor as she searched for something—anything—to warm herself.

Vincent sat up slowly, his crimson gaze following her form as she crouched to rifle through a supply bag.

"Not quite a coffin, is it?" she teased with a faint, chattering smile.

He let out a quiet chortle, shaking his head as he rose and stretched his neck with a stiff roll of his shoulders. Then, without a word, he picked up his cloak and stepped toward her. She was still crouched when he draped the heavy red fabric over her shoulders.

"Huh?" she blinked in surprise, her hands reaching to grasp the cloak. She turned, eyes trailing up until they met his face just before he turned away.

He returned to his corner and leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit with one knee bent and an arm resting casually atop it.

Seluna stood in place for a moment, touched by the gesture. She smiled, wrapping the cloak tighter around herself, its warmth welcome and comforting. Crawling back into her hammock, she looked across at Vincent sitting in the darkness.

"You’re not sleeping in the hammock?"

"I prefer cold steel to swaying linen. Less nauseating," he murmured, head tilted back against the wall.

She smiled softly. "Well... sweet dreams."

Wrapping herself tighter in his cloak, she stared at the ceiling. After a beat, she brought the fabric closer to her nose, curiosity getting the better of her. She sniffed quietly.

"What’s it smell like?" Vincent asked without opening his eyes.

She startled, then hesitated. "U-uhm... dust. Mostly."

He smiled faintly, just enough to be felt rather than seen. The room fell into stillness once more, the only sound the rhythm of the sea and the occasional creak of the ship. Slowly, both of them drifted into sleep—each with the quiet warmth of presence, and something unspoken beginning to bloom in the silence between them.

Chapter Text

The ship lurched gently as it moored against the makeshift docks just beyond the outskirts of North Corel, its belly groaning with the weight of passengers desperate for new beginnings. As the ramp lowered, dozens of feet hit the ground, shuffling into the sun-bleached heat of the Corel Badlands. The terrain was as harsh as memory itself—cracked earth, golden dust, and old train tracks long overtaken by rust. Vincent and Seluna were among the last to disembark, their belongings strapped tight, their gazes steady.

A line of volunteer chocobo carriers waited just past the landing point—brightly plumed birds harnessed to rickety wagons fashioned from old mining carts and salvaged wood. The riders called out destinations, offering short rides into the settlement proper. Seluna climbed aboard one of the carriages, her legs dangling off the side as she looked out across the stretch of golden sand and jagged rock. In the far distance, like a faded beacon in a dream, the silhouette of the Gold Saucer rose from the horizon, its glint muted in the dry air.

"There it is," she said softly, a smile curling onto her lips.

Vincent, seated across from her, followed her gaze. The faintest curve ghosted across his mouth as he watched her. "Still standing," he murmured.

The ride was quiet save for the clatter of wheels over stone and the rhythmic hum of chocobos trundling along. The desert wind stirred Seluna's pale ponytail as they entered the settlement—North Corel, a patchwork of tents, weather-beaten buildings, and steel reinforcements bolted onto crumbling stone. Refugees filtered in from every edge of the continent, each face carrying a story etched in fatigue and perseverance.

At the town's inn, they dismounted and made their way inside. The place reeked of sweat and dry wood, its walls stained with sun and time. Behind the counter, a man in a dirt-smudged apron sighed as he slid the logbook across to them.

"One bed left," he said, barely glancing up. "A single. We’re at capacity. Folks been pouring in since Meteorfall."

Vincent and Seluna exchanged a look—equal parts exasperation and resignation.

"We'll take it," Seluna said with a sigh, scribbling their names in the ledger.

Moments later, they stepped back out into the heat-drenched street, the sun casting long shadows across the uneven ground. Seluna reached into the pocket of her shorts, rummaging through a faded pouch before grimacing.

"We're running low on gil."

Vincent folded his arms. "We could check the community board. Someone could be hiring."

The board stood nailed to the wall of the town’s makeshift general store, a sheet of rusted metal plastered with sun-bleached notes, scrawled requests, and worn fliers. As they stepped closer to examine the papers fluttering in the dry wind, a sharp voice cut through the ambient hum of voices and heat.

"What do you mean you haven’t seen him?! He was just here—he lives here!" A woman’s voice cracked with desperation. Seluna turned.

Across the road, just outside the settlement clinic, stood Delly. Her familiar cropped hair was slicked with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed red from either panic or the heat—or both. She gripped the collar of an older man who was trying, unsuccessfully, to calm her.

"Delly?" Seluna called as she and Vincent crossed the street.

Delly looked up, startled, then her expression buckled, relief fighting to surface beneath raw worry. She stepped away from the man and quickly strode to meet them.

"You two—you’re here."

"What's wrong?" Seluna asked with a look of kind concern.

"I... I need help," Delly replied, her voice breathless. She took a deep, shaky breath, eyes darting toward the dusty alley that led further into town. "It’s my brother, Milo. He lives here. I came back after... everything in Midgar, just to check on him, you know? And—gods—his place was wrecked. The neighbors said they saw a couple rough-looking men hauling him off two nights ago."

Seluna stepped closer. "Why would they take him?"

Delly hesitated, her lips twisting in guilt. "He’s... he's always been good at Queens Blood. Real good. But after Meteor, people around here started getting desperate. Gambling more. Betting stupid things. Milo got in with a bad crowd—started playing in backrooms, high-stakes games. Last I heard, he owed a serious debt."

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Do you know who they are? Where they might’ve taken him?"

Delly shook her head. "All anyone said was something about the old mining tunnels. You know the ones—abandoned after the Mako reactor blew. No one goes down there anymore. Too dangerous. But if he’s there... he could be in real trouble."

A silence stretched between them, the heat heavy and dry as ash.

Seluna looked to Vincent, then back at Delly, her voice firm. "We’ll help you find him."

Delly’s eyes widened with hope, her breath catching in her throat. "You mean it?"

Vincent gave a quiet nod.

The desert wind howled low and dry as Vincent and Seluna stepped beyond the edge of North Corel’s makeshift settlement. The sun hung low over the distant cliffs, casting long shadows from the bleached remains of rusted tracks and forgotten mining equipment.

"You shouldn’t underestimate that weapon," Vincent said quietly, glancing to Seluna as they walked. The silence between them had stretched long—contemplative and comfortable—until now. "It’s not just for show. If something happens, don’t try to be brave. Stay back."

Seluna glanced down to her side, her hand resting on the hilt of the trick weapon slung at her hip. With a soft click, she pressed the transformation button; the gun’s long form folded in on itself, mechanical segments locking and rotating until it reformed as a sleek blade. She admired it with wonder, the polished silver catching the sun’s rays as she tilted it.

"Let’s hope I won’t have to use it," she murmured.

"Hope rarely favors reality," Vincent replied, his voice tinged with a knowing grimness.

They continued along the old mining trail, the scent of rust and sunbaked stone thick in the air. The mine’s entrance came into view—a jagged mouth carved into the side of a ravine, metal beams groaning under their own age. Nearby, clustered beneath a crumbled outcropping, a trio of monsters skulked in the sun. Dust wolves—hunched, skeletal things with sand-hued fur and cracked fangs.

Vincent raised a hand to halt her. He unslung his Cerberus pistol with fluid precision and motioned for her to draw hers.

"Just breathe," he instructed, his voice low and steady. "Aim. Squeeze."

Seluna nodded, her fingers curling around the grip of her weapon. She clicked it back into gun form with a sharp flick, then mimicked his stance—though her arms trembled ever so slightly, both hands wrapped around the hilt. Vincent, calm and practiced, held his pistol with one hand, arm extended like a shadow cast in bronze.

The wind picked up slightly, a hot gust that swept through their cloaks and hair.

Together, they fired.

Vincent’s bullet struck true, clean and immediate. Seluna’s shot followed—less refined, but brimming with raw energy as a burst of lightning flared out from the barrel, arcing toward its target. A second bolt, tinged with fire, chased it through the dry air, landing with a crisp, sizzling impact. The wolves crumpled into dust and ash.

Seluna exhaled, lowering her weapon, awe dancing across her face as she giggled aloud.

"You did well," Vincent said simply, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

They stepped over the remains, entering the mine’s gaping maw. Inside, darkness swallowed sound. Crates and broken equipment littered the corridor, the silence punctuated by the occasional groan of old metal settling. Lanterns on the wall flickered weakly, casting faint halos of light.

Further in, the echoes of voices rang out. The path opened to a wider chamber where a handful of rugged men lounged around a makeshift table, dusty crates acting as stools. At their center sat a tall, smug-faced man with a dark complexion in a worn coat, his boot propped on the table, a deck of Queens Blood cards fanned casually in one hand.

The presence of outsiders was met with immediate tension. Men stiffened, hands subtly drifting toward blades, eyes narrowing. Vincent stepped forward, unfazed, his crimson gaze cutting through the dusty gloom.

"We’re here for Milo," he said, voice calm but unyielding.

The leader leaned back, unimpressed. "Oh? And who are you supposed to be? Bounty hunters?"

"Something like that," Seluna answered coolly, stepping beside Vincent, though her eyes scanned the room warily.

The leader chuckled dryly, eyes flitting over their weapons. "You two have nerve showing up here uninvited."

One of the men stepped forward, knuckles whitening around the hilt of his knife. Vincent’s hand moved like a whisper, Cerberus appearing at his side in a blink, aimed directly at the man's heart. The standoff drew immediate silence.

The leader didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised a single hand, palm outward. "Let’s not waste lives over pride. How about a game? You beat me in Queens Blood—Milo walks. Fair enough?"

Vincent didn’t hesitate. "Fine."

The leader smirked. "But just to make things interesting... collateral."

He snapped his fingers. Two men lunged for Seluna, grabbing her by the arms before she could react. Vincent turned sharply, gun raised, fury flickering in his eyes as he grunted, ready for action.

"Don’t," the leader warned. "She’s just insurance. If you win, she walks too. If not... well, I’m sure she’ll find other uses here."

Seluna struggled against the grip, but Vincent—his jaw clenched—lowered his weapon. Their eyes met, and he gave her a reassuring nod, Seluna relaxing in the restraint. He walked to the table and sat across from the leader.

The game began with a flourish. The leader laid his cards with practiced confidence, establishing early control. Spectators muttered approval as powerhouses and modifiers stacked into impressive rows. Seluna, restrained and watching with wide eyes, could feel her heart race.

But Vincent remained still. Focused. Intent. His placements were subtle—some even mocked by onlookers—but his calm never wavered.

Then the tide shifted. A hidden synergy activated. Vincent’s board lit with sudden reversals, capturing rows that had seemed long lost. The leader’s smirk faded into a snarl as he watched entire strategies crumble.

With a final, devastating card, Vincent sealed the match. The points tallied. The board cleared. And Vincent won.

The chamber was quiet save for the shuffle of cards being gathered.

The leader slammed his fist down on the table with a crack, the cards jumping from the force as his face contorted with fury. "You cheating bastard," he growled, standing so abruptly his chair screeched and toppled backward.

His hand darted toward his belt in a blur—but Vincent didn’t move. Cerberus was already drawn, the triple barrel of the gun aimed unerringly at the leader’s heart.

The room froze. No one breathed.

Vincent’s voice broke the tension like a blade through cloth. "I wouldn’t."

"I wouldn’t," Vincent said, his voice like ice.

The leader froze. Tension wound tight. Then—he exhaled and backed down, lowering himself into his seat with a grunt. "Take your damn prize."

The guards released Seluna, shoving her forward. She stumbled, but Vincent caught her, steadying her with a soft hand.

A door opened at the back, and Milo emerged—scuffed, dazed, but breathing.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Just move," Vincent replied coldly.

The four exited quickly, stepping into the scorching sunlight. The dry heat slapped them immediately, the brightness forcing a squint from Seluna as she scanned the horizon. Just a short distance away, near a tall cluster of rock, Delly stood anxiously pacing, her form stiff with nerves. She had followed them—far enough to stay out of danger, but close enough to come running.

The moment she spotted them, her eyes widened, her legs carrying her forward in an uneven sprint. "Milo!" she cried out, voice cracking with relief.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she threw her arms around her brother, pulling him in tight. "You idiot! If you needed gil, you should've told me! You’re lucky they didn’t kill you!"

"I didn’t mean to—"

"Don’t start!"

Seluna chuckled as Milo wilted under his sister’s scolding. Vincent glanced back at the mine, his expression grim.

"We should move. I don’t trust they’ll stay quiet."

Delly nodded through sniffles, holding her brother close. Together, the four turned and began the trek back to the settlement, the heat pressing in, but their burdens a little lighter than before.

"You idiot! If you needed gil, you should've told me! You’re lucky they didn’t kill you!"

"I didn’t mean to—"

"Don’t start!"

Seluna chuckled as Milo wilted under his sister’s scolding. Vincent glanced back at the mine, unmoved by the touching reunion. "We should move. I don’t trust they’ll stay quiet."

Delly nodded through sniffles, holding her brother close.

Vincent and Seluna led the way across the cracked terrain, their boots crunching over brittle earth, while Delly and Milo trailed behind, locked in a lively discussion about Queens Blood strategies. Milo’s voice rose animatedly as he recounted the blunders of his last match, gesturing wildly with his hands, while Delly scoffed and rolled her eyes, lecturing him on tactical positioning and synergy combos. Their banter echoed faintly across the wide, sun-bleached silence.

Seluna, however, remained quiet. Her eyes drifted sideways, catching a glimpse of Vincent—tall, ever composed, his cloak brushing his ankles with each step. Brooding, unreadable, and just as enigmatic as the day she'd first met him. There was something about the way he walked—steadfast and deliberate—that made her chest feel warm. She tilted her head subtly, studying him in silence.

Her thoughts wandered, carried on the heatwaves dancing off the sand. She remembered the night on the ship, when he had draped his cloak over her shoulders. She had claimed it smelled like dust—but truthfully, it had smelled of something more. Earthy and sharp, a little sweet with a hint of musk, like the dry woods after a storm. She had buried her face in it that night, her heart thumping stupidly against her ribs.

Blinking, she brought her hands to her flushed cheeks and smiled to herself, unaware that the rhythm of their march was about to break.

Vincent stopped abruptly.

It was so sudden that Seluna almost walked into him. The desert wind, soft but persistent, whistled between scattered boulders and sun-scorched hills. Everyone behind him stilled. Milo’s words faded mid-sentence. Delly’s laughter dried in her throat.

Vincent’s crimson gaze was fixed ahead.

Seluna followed his line of sight, squinting beneath the glare of the sun. Her eyes caught a flicker of movement—a figure partially obscured by the slope of a nearby hill. A long shadow stretched from its feet, too upright, too still to be a rock or trick of the light. Human.

"Vincent—" she whispered, but he raised his arm, halting her with the silent precision of a Turk.

He reached slowly for Cerberus, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly as he unslung the gun with practiced ease.

"Get behind us," Seluna whispered sharply to Delly and Milo, her eyes never leaving the shape by the hill.

The two did as they were told, crouching low and backing away, finding shelter behind a boulder near the edge of the path. Seluna unsnapped the holster at her side, her weapon already in gun form. She raised it, fingers adjusting their grip with measured care as she moved to Vincent’s side. Shoulder to shoulder, their silhouettes stood in sharp contrast against the burning sky.

Then, laughter.

It echoed from the hill—sharp and cruel, carried on the wind like a warning.

From beyond the rise, a group of men emerged with the swagger of jackals who believed themselves kings. Dust-covered coats flapped in the wind, and their weapons glinted faintly beneath the sun. They fanned out slowly, one by one, forming a semicircle around the group like a noose drawing tight.

Vincent’s expression darkened as the man at the center of the group stepped forward—taller than the rest, face scarred, with dark skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. A wicked grin split his lips as he surveyed the group.

"Leaving so soon?" he called out, his voice hoarse from heat and smoke. "Thought you’d sneak off without settling little Milo's debt."

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Seluna, by contrast, furrowed her brow and shifted her stance, her grip on her weapon tightening.

The man spread his arms, walking a few paces closer across the sand. "You beat me fair and square back there, sure. But you cost me a lot of gil, and I never did get what was owed. So unless you’re willing to cough it up..." He whistled, and more of his men stepped out from behind dunes and rocks, circling the group. "I’ll take it in blood."

Vincent stepped forward, angling his body protectively between the group and the encroaching men. "We’re not giving you anything."

The leader’s smile faltered. "Then we’ll take it."

It was chaos in an instant.

The men surged forward with a roar, brandishing crude weapons—pipes, clubs, jagged pieces of metal refashioned into blades. Seluna hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as the first of them closed in. She looked down at her gun, doubt flickering across her features. Shooting them—was that right? Could she? Would it feel the same as fighting monsters?

She clicked the release. Her weapon shifted with a mechanical whir, unfolding into its short sword form. She braced herself, holding the blade defensively as the nearest attacker lunged. She managed a deflecting swipe, her blade catching his weapon mid-strike with a spray of sparks. Another man circled her flank, and she twisted, blocking with the flat of her sword.

Around her, the world was fire and thunder.

Vincent moved like a reaper in red, Cerberus barking with vicious rhythm. Every shot was precise—limbs struck, weapons shattered mid-swing, attackers dropping with cries of pain. He barely moved his feet, rotating smoothly as if the fight were a dance he knew by heart.

Seluna ducked another swing, her blade catching the attacker’s forearm. Blood sprayed, her stomach turning at the sound of it. The man screamed and reeled back—but before he could recover, Vincent was there. He kicked the man hard in the chest, sending him sprawling into the dust.

Seluna stood panting, her blade trembling in her grip. Vincent touched her arm briefly—steadying, grounding—before turning his attention back to the rest. Within minutes, the bodies of the assailants littered the sand, groaning or unconscious.

Only one remained—the leader.

He was dragging himself backward, legs scrambling, blood on his brow. The sand clung to his coat as he looked up with wide, panicked eyes. Vincent approached with slow, steady steps, the long shadow of his frame stretching over the man like death itself.

The leader raised a hand, voice trembling. "Please—please, I’m just trying to live, like everyone else after Meteorfall. I’m just trying to survive! You wouldn’t kill me, man—you wouldn’t!"

Vincent leveled Cerberus at him without a word, the triple barrels glinting coldly. "I’m not above killing."

His finger brushed the trigger.

"Vincent!"

Seluna’s voice pierced the tension like a bell.

She ran to him, grabbing his arm gently, but firmly. Her expression was soft, pleading—not out of fear, but from the quiet insistence of someone who still believed mercy had a place in a broken world.

Vincent looked down at her, their eyes meeting. Her brow was furrowed, her lips parted, but her gaze was steady. She tilted her head ever so slightly—a silent request, not a demand.

His gaze lingered on hers, and after a long breath, he sighed, eyes closing for a heartbeat. Slowly, he lowered the gun and holstered it.

"You’re lucky," Vincent said, voice low and dangerous.

The man collapsed in a heap, gasping with relief as Vincent turned away.

Seluna stepped forward, crouching beside him. "There’s plenty of settlements taking refugees," she said, her voice gentle, but edged with strength. "If you want to do honest work, make a real life... find your place in one."

She stood, brushing sand from her knees, and walked back to Vincent’s side.

As the two turned and began to walk away, the man—still on the ground—called after them.

"Wait! What’s your name? Both of you!"

Seluna glanced back with a warm, confident smile. "I’m Seluna. He’s Vincent."

The man nodded, still breathing hard. "Tor," he muttered. "Name’s Tor."

Vincent and Seluna said nothing more. Together, they walked into the horizon, the desert wind trailing behind them, carrying away the last echoes of the fight.

Chapter Text

The sun was dipping low over the rust-colored horizon by the time Vincent and Seluna returned to the North Corel settlement. The wind kicked up dust in gentle swirls around their boots as they entered the outskirts of town. Behind them, Delly and Milo trailed close, their faces sun-worn but lightened by relief. As they crossed into the cluster of tents and prefab shelters, the sounds of evening life buzzed faintly—crackling fires, murmured conversations, the clatter of pots and pans.

Delly slowed, her hand catching Milo's arm as she turned to face Vincent and Seluna. "Hey," she called, her voice softer now, less brash. The pair turned back to her. "I just wanted to say... thanks. Both of you." Her eyes flicked from Vincent’s unreadable gaze to Seluna’s gentle smile. "For helping me. For helping him."

Seluna stepped forward, her arms loose at her sides, her expression warm. "Of course. You would've done the same."

Delly snorted softly. "Not sure about that. I usually run my mouth too much to be helpful." But then her smirk tilted into something almost bashful. "Actually, before I forget..."

She dug into the inside of her worn satchel, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a small pouch and a single card sealed in a sleeve. She stepped forward, pressing both into Seluna's hands. "It's not much. A few gil, and this." She tapped the card. "One of my rarer Queens Blood cards. I want you to have it."

Seluna blinked in surprise, gently accepting the offering. She thumbed the card, admiring the shimmer across its glossy surface, then looked back at Delly. "Thank you. This means a lot."

Delly shoved her hands into her pockets, rocking back on her heels with a shrug. "Just don’t sell it to the wrong guy. Might get yourself roped into another duel."

That earned a light laugh from Seluna. Vincent offered a small, acknowledging nod.

Delly's gaze flicked to both of them. "So, what now? What’s next for the legendary duo?"

Seluna hummed, turning to look up at Vincent with raised brows, letting him answer. He returned her glance, his crimson eyes steady.

"We’re going to the Golden Saucer," he said simply.

Seluna's eyes brightened, her smile spreading fast across her face.

Delly gave a chuckle of approval. "Well, you two deserve it. Have fun. Just don’t blow all your gil on chocobo races."

She gave them a wave before turning, guiding Milo deeper into the winding settlement paths, their silhouettes fading into the last light of the day.

Seluna turned on her heel to Vincent, barely able to contain her excitement. He looked down at her, and in that quiet, measured way of his, offered the faintest nod.

Then he looked up, his expression turning slightly contemplative. The sun had nearly disappeared beyond the horizon, and long shadows stretched across the sand-hardened ground. "Tomorrow," he said.

And so they returned to the inn, the wooden boards creaking beneath their steps as they climbed to their small, cramped room. A single bed waited in the corner, tucked between two old lanterns affixed to the cracked walls.

As Seluna bent down to remove her boots, Vincent moved toward the small adjoining bathroom, his cloak draped over one arm. But halfway there, he paused, his back to her. There was a beat of silence before he spoke.

"Seluna..."

His voice was low, but gentler than usual. She looked up from unlacing her boots, attentive.

He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair catching the faint light from the window. "Thank you... for stopping me."

Her heart caught in her chest.

Seluna straightened slowly, her gaze softening. She stepped forward just a little. "You're not a monster, Vincent."

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. With a faint exhale, he continued into the bathroom, the sound of the shower sputtering on behind the thin wooden door.

Seluna stood in the stillness, watching the empty space he left behind. Then she flopped backward onto the bed, her arms spread wide as she stared at the cracked ceiling overhead, her mind whirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite piece together.

After a while, the bathroom door creaked open, and Vincent stepped out. His long black hair was damp, clinging to the sides of his face. He wore only the dark underlayer of his attire now—leather and fabric molded tightly to his lean frame. In his hand, he held his cloak.

He gave her a passing glance as she sat up, and she quickly rose to her feet, grabbing her things and slipping past him into the bathroom. The door shut with a click.

Inside, she undressed in silence. Her eyes caught the faded scar on her shoulder in the cracked mirror, and she traced it briefly, memory stirring. She looked away.

The water began to run. And without much thought, she stepped inside.

Then, a shriek.

"There's only cold water!!" Seluna yelped, her voice muffled by the door.

"Oh, sorry. I should’ve warned you," Vincent replied from the bed.

"You showered in the cold?!"

"Yeah," he said, as though it were nothing.

Seluna let out a dramatic groan and looked at the barely streaming water like it had insulted her family. She stood there a moment, staring. Bracing.

With a sharp breath, she stepped in.

The cold hit like a slap. She scrubbed as fast as she could, rushing through the motions—hair, arms, legs. The water numbed her, but after a minute, her body adjusted, and a strange tranquility took over.

She stood there longer than she needed to. The water, while cold, began to feel neutral—like she was no longer in her body, only floating somewhere far and quiet. Her eyes slowly opened, taking in the fogged-over wall, the pale tile, the distant thrum of her own heartbeat.

And for a moment, she just stood there, the weight of everything melting away, water running down her bare back, her fingers loose at her sides.

She felt... different.

Changed.

Late afternoon bled into golden dusk by the time the clattering train cart rose from the parched basin below, carrying Vincent and Seluna up the winding track toward the Golden Saucer. The cart trembled with each turn, rattling softly as its mechanical arms hummed along the rail. Holographic advertisements flickered and danced above them in bursts of neon cheer, painting the glass and metal interior in hues of green, gold, and blue. Floating chocobos soared past the windows in glittery projections, the sounds of laughter and synthetic fanfare echoing faintly over the speakers.

Seluna sat with her knees tucked under her on the faded velvet seat, her cheek pressed against the windowpane. Her breath fogged the glass slightly as she stared in wide-eyed wonder at the amusement park drawing closer in the horizon—towers glowing like sugar sculptures under the fading sun, fireworks bursting faintly in the far-off sky. Her fingers tapped softly against the window frame, as if trying to hold the moment still.

Vincent sat across from her, arms folded over his chest, his red cloak draped behind him like shadow. His gaze rested not on the glowing spectacle outside but on the reflection of Seluna in the glass, her wonder so unguarded it made something stir, uncomfortably and quietly, in his chest. She eventually spun around to face him, legs folding beneath her as she perched like a bird on the seat.

"Hey," she said suddenly, voice soft but curious. Vincent met her eyes, his own unreadable, crimson behind a lock of dark hair.

"You never told me about your time as a Turk. What was it like?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes shifted slightly to the side, toward the metal seam of the train wall. A moment passed. Then, with a tone more dismissive than bitter, he replied, "Nothing interesting to say. It was just a job."

Seluna tilted her head at him, lips pursed slightly. She could feel his guard go up like iron bars, but she didn’t push. Instead, she leaned back with a small, playful grin.

"Well... I imagine this is a drastic difference from the inside of a coffin."

There was a pause—then a short, sharp exhale from Vincent that could’ve been the beginning of a laugh. His lips barely curled.

The cart hissed as it began to slow, the lights of the Golden Saucer now fully spilling through the window, coating the compartment in kaleidoscopic color. As they came to a halt, Seluna was already on her feet, eyes bright with excitement as the doors slid open with a soft chime.

They stepped into the corridor leading toward the main atrium—music playing distantly, the mingling scents of fried food, sweet candy, and faint ozone in the air. Seluna walked ahead at first, her steps light with awe, craning her neck up at the sweeping golden archways and spinning lights. Vincent followed a step behind, watching her as much as the scenery.

She slowed and turned to his side, folding her arms over her chest. "It’s a shame," she murmured. "This place is probably on its last limb."

Vincent looked down at her. "Why’s that?"

"Well, without mako, this place can’t run. I’m sure they’ll figure out another energy source, but I can only imagine they’re running on whatever they have left."

He glanced around. Despite the lively music and laughing guests, he could now see it—the slight flickers in the signage, the lowered number of staff, the almost haunted hollowness behind the color.

"Then it’s a good thing we came now," he said.

Seluna smiled at him, and they stepped toward the entry gates just as a booming voice called out behind them.

"You!"

Seluna stiffened as she turned and spotted the familiar, absurd figure of Dio—cape billowing, swim trunks tight as ever, and muscles shining like oiled marble. His enthusiasm was immediate and unmistakable as he strode over.

"Good to see you again! Er..." He squinted.

"Seluna," she replied with a shy smile, her eyes darting to Vincent beside her.

"Seluna! Yes, you were with Cloud! Excellent memory, Dio." He grinned wide and proudly patted his own chest before reaching into the fold of his cape. "Here. Take this. It'll let you enjoy your visit to the fullest—on me."

He handed her a shimmering gold-foiled pass. Seluna took it, blinking in surprise. "Oh—thank you."

Then, after a moment, her curiosity returned. "Um... can I ask something personal?"

"Sure, dear! What is it?"

"I was just wondering... this place is run mostly on mako, right? When do you think it'll run out?"

Dio’s smile faltered for the first time. He scratched at his mustache, then looked off toward the glowing ceiling.

"Truthfully," he said in a more serious tone, "we probably only have a week of energy left. BUT! A group called the WRO is already working on alternatives. They might reopen the coal mines nearby. It won’t be as dazzling, sure, but it’ll keep things going."

Seluna looked around the grand atrium—now aware of the barely perceptible flicker in the lights above, the slightly delayed doors.

"I see."

"Which means," Dio clapped, suddenly booming with bravado again, "you and your boyfriend here should enjoy today to the fullest! Before it all disappears! My treat!"

And with a wink and a flex, he vanished into the crowd, cape flowing dramatically behind him.

Seluna let out a short laugh, glancing up at Vincent. He met her gaze with the faintest lift of his brow, an amused flicker behind his normally impassive stare. Together, they stepped past the entry gates as the lights of the Golden Saucer sparked to life around them—bright, fleeting, and full of color.

Seluna spun on her heel as soon as they crossed through the entry gates, her eyes darting around in all directions with a childlike urgency. Lights glimmered above in layered tiers—spinning signs, bright bulbs, and swaying mascots welcoming guests with looped audio messages that blended into the ambient noise. The air smelled of popcorn, synthetic sugar, and faintly of machinery. Her boots clacked across the polished tile floor as she twirled once in place, then paused, brow pinching as she scanned the colorful chaos.

"There!" she exclaimed, pointing toward the sign for Wonderment Square hanging above a decorative golden arch. She darted ahead, practically skipping, while Vincent followed at a steady, unhurried pace behind her. He walked like someone escorting a young soul through a world he didn't quite belong in—his red cloak brushing the floor with each step, arms hanging loose, gaze stoic.

Seluna looked back over her shoulder as they neared the Square. Her expression radiated excitement. Vincent gave her a faint glance and sighed through his nose, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as he followed her in.

The heart of Wonderment Square pulsed with rhythmic arcade beeps and cheerful chimes. At the center sat a sleek motorcycle simulator wrapped in neon decals, but Seluna was already veering to the side, eyes caught by the row of shooting gallery stalls decorated with vibrant prizes hanging like trophies above.

Her gaze fixed on a particularly large stuffed moogle—plush and round, with tiny bat wings and a bright red pom dangling from its forehead.

"Vincent," she gasped, grabbing his sleeve and tugging gently. "Please? Shoot for me? I want that one."

He blinked, startled by the request, but she was already giving him that look—wide-eyed and hopeful, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her smile held mischief and sincerity in equal measure.

"Alright," he said quietly, stepping up to the stall. The man behind the counter handed over the mock rifle, and Vincent inspected it briefly—cheap plastic, hollow weight, trigger far too light. He raised it with one hand anyway, his posture steady, almost elegant.

The game began, mechanical targets springing to life in jerky, erratic motions. Vincent's eyes sharpened. One by one, the targets dropped with sharp little pings, his shots precise and fluid. Seluna stood beside him in awe, her hands fidgeting at her chest as she bounced slightly on her heels.

When the last target clattered down, the machine let out a victorious fanfare. The game attendant blinked in surprise before reaching up to unhook the oversized moogle.

"Here you go, big guy. Best score I’ve seen in weeks."

Vincent handed it off to Seluna, who took it with both arms, her face lighting up as she buried her cheek against the soft plush.

"You really are amazing," she murmured with a smile, peeking at him through the fuzz of the moogle's ear.

Vincent looked at her then, caught in the glow of her happiness. She beamed at the toy like it was priceless treasure. He found himself smiling—just faintly—but long enough for it to surprise him.

They moved on through the square, Seluna still clutching the moogle, until she came to a narrow hallway lined with warm lights. At the far end, a glittering sign read: Hall of Reflections – Mirror Maze.

She lit up again, eyes going wide as she hugged the moogle close, hopping once in excitement. She dashed toward the entrance, stopping only when the staff member at the door held out a hand.

"One at a time," the woman said. "Can’t risk people bumping around blindly."

Seluna pouted a little but turned to Vincent. "You go first. I’ll follow."

He hesitated, glancing past the archway of mirrors and soft white lights. It felt oddly still in there—too still—but he stepped forward, brushing past the curtain.

Inside, the change was immediate. The sounds of the arcade dulled into a distant hum, like static beneath water. The mirrored walls stretched in every direction, twisting the narrow path into endless versions of himself. With each step, the glass distorted and multiplied him—sometimes sharp and clear, other times smeared, fractured.

The deeper he walked, the tighter the space seemed to become. Light bounced unpredictably, shadows flickering across his reflection. Then, in one cruel trick of the angle, he came face-to-face with a version of himself that wasn’t quite... right.

The reflection in the mirror wasn’t him as he was now—it was the monster. Stretched, his eyes glowed with feral intensity, his arm deformed, his mouth twisted in a silent snarl. The Vincent who had given in to rage, who had buried himself for decades in penance.

He stared, unmoving, his hand unconsciously clenching into a fist. He didn’t blink.

Then—

"Vincent?"

Seluna’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She stepped into view behind him, holding onto one of the mirrored walls with a careful hand. Her gaze followed his and landed on the same mirror. But what she saw was different.

He looked again.

The reflection was just the two of them now—his tall frame standing beside her smaller silhouette. She was smiling, soft and unguarded, her eyes on him.

His expression broke. Not by much, but enough. Enough to breathe.

They exited the maze minutes later, blinking against the garish return of light and sound. Seluna laughed as they stepped into the crowd again, her joy unshaken. The moogle plush was returned to her arms, but this time, Vincent reached over.

"Let me," he said simply.

He took the moogle under one arm like it weighed nothing, freeing her hands. She smiled gratefully.

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit before turning a corner into a quieter section of the park, where a small, intricately decorated tent sat nestled beneath an artificial cherry blossom tree. A placard read: Fortunes of the Forgotten.

Drawn by curiosity, they stepped forward. An older woman sat cross-legged behind a curtain of beads, her face painted with soft blues and purples, hair woven with small charms. Without a word, she handed each of them a folded piece of parchment.

They stepped away and opened them.

Seluna read hers aloud, giggling quietly. "‘Your heart will guide you down uncertain paths. Trust in it, even when the road is unclear.’" She smiled. "Sounds about right."

Vincent unfolded his. His eyes scanned it in silence.

She looked over, standing on her tippy-toes trying to get a glimpse of his. "What’s yours say?"

He hesitated. Then, with a dry scoff, he read, "‘You carry more than guilt. You carry purpose. The time to forgive yourself is near.’"

He rolled his eyes slightly.

But Seluna didn’t laugh.

She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled—small and knowing. She didn't fully understand his reaction, or what the fortune was referring to, she couldn't possibly imagine how much weight those words held. But she knew that if she could feel the freedom of acceptance and growth, then so could he, no matter his troubled past. So, she simply smiled, holding onto hope for him, even if he didn't for himself.

They strolled in silence, but it was not the kind that weighed heavy. It was a quiet contentment, a pause between words that didn’t need to be spoken. Above, the last traces of sunset glowed behind the park’s high glass dome, painting the sky in hues of violet and indigo.

On a bench in the dining area, Seluna's legs bounced excitedly as the oversized moogle plush in her lap jostled with each motion, like a child unable to contain her delight. She sipped contentedly on a pink milkshake, her lips curling around the straw, head tilted back as she let the chill of the treat settle into her chest. Vincent sat beside her, his posture relaxed but dignified, sipping a vanilla milkshake from a paper cup. The faint sheen of his metallic gauntlet caught the golden light as he adjusted his grip.

Just then, a mother passed by with her young son in tow. The boy clutched a much smaller version of the moogle plush, his face scrunched in a frown.

"But I wanted the big one..." he mumbled, voice wobbling. The mother crouched beside him, brushing his hair gently.

"You still won something, sweetie. Not everyone gets a prize at all."

Seluna slowed her sipping, her gaze drifting toward them. Her eyes flicked down to her own massive prize, then back to the boy’s face, and something shifted. She felt ridiculous lugging this huge thing around at her age, a prize she didn't even win herself. She exhaled a soft, amused breath through her nose, then stood. Vincent watched, his brow slightly raised as she walked toward the pair.

She crouched next to the boy. "Hey, wanna trade?" she offered with a warm smile, holding out the enormous plush.

The boy's eyes went wide. He gasped, bouncing on his toes, before nodding so eagerly his hat slipped off. "Yes! Yes!"

The mother blinked, stunned. "Are you sure? That’s... incredibly kind."

Seluna shrugged playfully. "Traveling with it would be a nightmare anyway."

They made the trade. As Seluna returned with the smaller plush tucked under one arm, she plopped down beside Vincent again, brushing her bangs away from her flushed cheeks.

"Much more practical travel size," she teased.

Vincent huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but there was unmistakable warmth behind his eyes. He turned his face away slightly, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Seluna looked upward, following the glowing stream of light trails to the upper level where the Skywheel rotated slowly above the park. Her gaze shifted even higher, beyond the transparent dome, to the sky itself. The stars were fully out now, dotting the heavens like glitter scattered over ink.

"Let’s go on the Skywheel," she said suddenly.

Vincent glanced at her, then at the winding staircase leading to the next level. He gave a small nod, and the two disposed of their cups before ascending to Skywheel Square.

They reached the platform just as an automated voice rang out across the loudspeakers: "Couples Hour is now in session! Please note: All Skywheel rides are limited to couples for the next hour."

Seluna and Vincent froze mid-step. The words lingered in the air like a heavy curtain. Before they could turn to leave, a staff member spotted them from the booth.

"You two! Right this way!" she called, waving. "Golden ticket holders—skip the line, lovebirds."

Seluna choked on her breath, face going pale. Vincent looked equally caught off guard, the color draining slightly from his already-pale features. But the staff member had already waved them forward, and the current of expectation was too strong to fight.

Their gondola slowed with a creak, doors opening like an invitation too awkward to refuse. They stepped inside.

The space was intimate, curved seats wrapping the inside of the gondola. Seluna sat on one end, clutching the small plush tightly in her lap. Vincent sat opposite, his cloak slightly flared, arms crossed, face turned toward the window. He stared outside, the lights of the Saucer now stretching below like a golden sea.

Neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t quite the same as before. It carried tension—nervous, shy, uncertain.

Seluna peeked at Vincent, then looked out the other side, fidgeting with the plush in her hands. He remained stoic, his high collar shadowing his expression. But even in the quiet, the city below, the stars above, and the brief echo of music filtering in from the park—something gentle began to stir. Not quite romance. But a shift, subtle and real, like the moment before dawn when the darkness lightens just a shade.

The gondola swayed softly as it climbed higher into the sky, the glittering lights of the Golden Saucer shrinking beneath them like scattered stardust. Seluna sat curled up on her side of the small space, the little moogle plush nestled in her lap with her knees tucked beneath her as her eyes traced the stars beyond the glass. Vincent sat across from her, one leg bent slightly, his elbow resting on it as his gaze remained fixed on the window.

Seluna stirred first, brushing her fingers across the embroidered eyes of the moogle plush. "You know," she said softly, her voice nearly swallowed by the faint creak of the turning wheel, "I don’t actually know anything about you. Not really."

Vincent didn’t move at first. But after a moment, he responded, his voice low, calm. "There’s not much worth knowing."

She gave a faint scoff, more amused than offended. "You’re not getting out of it that easy."

He turned his head slightly, watching the reflection of the stars in the glass. "I was just a Turk," he said finally. "Security detail for Shinra. My last assignment was guarding the manor in Nibelheim. Hojo’s lab."

Her eyes widened slightly as he went on.

"Every day I was there," Vincent continued, his voice growing quieter, "I saw things no one was meant to see. Screams behind locked doors. Things in tanks that didn’t belong in this world. I filed reports, asked questions. They told me to do my job and keep quiet. So I did."

Seluna’s smile faded into something quieter, something solemn. She didn’t interrupt.

"And that woman you mentioned worked with Hojo, who was she?"

She knew. She remembered the way his tone had shifted once before, back in Nibelheim, when she asked about the woman who worked under Hojo. This had to be her.

Seluna tilted her head slightly, watching his face. He hadn’t moved, but the way his eyes lowered and his shoulders subtly tightened told her enough. He didn’t want to talk about her. Whoever she was. There was a stiffness in the air, a hesitation that pressed against her skin like humidity before a storm.

Seluna's lips parted as if to speak, but she faltered, something stirring beneath her chest. She didn’t understand it—this feeling. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t sadness. It was something in between. Something lonely. Familiar. She realized, with a pang, that she had felt it before.

The quiet ache of being shut out.

She curled her knees up to her chest, her hand gripping tighter around the plush, the soft fabric comforting in her palms. "After Tifa saved me and brought me to Midgar, I thought I’d buried all that. My feelings for Cloud, the jealousy I held for her... It felt like something from a different life. Something childish. But when he came back, it was like a blade in my chest. Every time I looked at them, something ached."

Her voice cracked, and she quickly rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I let that pain drive me away from everything. From the people I loved, from the person I wanted to be. I grieve that. I grieve the time I lost letting my self-loathing run my life."

She laid her forehead atop her knees, shielding her face behind them. Silence settled.

Vincent stared at her for a long moment, her small form curled in against the gondola’s seat, her voice still lingering in the air. Slowly, his gaze lowered to his gloved hand, then out the window to the night beyond.

"Her name was Lucrecia," he said at last, the words barely above a whisper.

The name lingered in the air like an ache, heavy with the weight of ghosts. Seluna lifted her head, ready to listen.

"She was my first love. And I don’t know why, but... she chose Hojo. Maybe she knew something I didn't. Or maybe... she believed he could protect her better than I could. I tried to stop him—tried to stop what he was doing to her, to their child."

He clenched his jaw, the pain flickering through his voice. "I failed."

Seluna looked at him, her expression soft with understanding. She didn’t press further. She knew it wasn't the whole story, but it was enough to understand Vincent's grief.

"Love..." she murmured, after a long pause, "isn’t always what saves us. Sometimes, it’s what we survive. And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing about it. That we survive it, even when it doesn’t stay, when it leaves us with this... wound."

She looked up, eyes glassy but her voice clearer. "But I believe there’s still more ahead. More to feel. More to become. Even if it’s scary."

Vincent’s eyes remained locked with hers. And then, for the first time, he smiled—genuinely, deeply. A smile not haunted by shadows, but touched by hope.

The gondola slowed as it neared the platform. A cheerful staff member stood at the door, holding up a small camera. "Free couples picture?"

Vincent and Seluna both stiffened, blinking at each other. But before either could object, Seluna jumped up, scurrying to his side and plopping down next to him with the moogle plush in hand. She leaned into his side, flashing a peace sign with a beaming smile.

Vincent looked down at her, surprised by the closeness, but then turned to the camera and gave the faintest upward curve of his lips. The flash went off, capturing the moment in soft sepia light.

As they exited, the staff handed them the picture. Seluna giggled, holding it up. "Not bad."

Vincent looked at it and nodded once. "You should keep it."

She tucked it carefully into her pocket, and together, they stepped off the platform and descended back into the golden glow of the Saucer—no longer two strangers in shadow, but something closer to light.

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since Seluna and Vincent departed from the North Corel region, trekking west through the sun-beaten grasslands and winding overgrown trails that had once served as Shinra freight routes. The land bore scars still healing from Meteorfall—cracked ridges, exposed roots, and the soft hum of unearthed Mako veins dissipating into the wind. By the second evening, they stumbled upon a secluded coastal village nestled in a cove, the scent of salt air thick in their lungs as fishing nets swayed on drying lines. It was quiet—almost too quiet.

As they entered the village square, they searched for an inn, only to find abandoned storefronts and fading paint peeling from shuttered windows. After asking around and receiving only puzzled stares, they approached a woman lugging a net full of gear, her back slightly hunched but her spirit sturdy. Her sun-tanned skin bore the marks of decades lived beside the sea, and the large woven hat perched on her head cast shade over soft, weathered eyes.

"You two are about twenty-five years too late," the woman chuckled, adjusting the weight of her gear. "Inn’s been closed since my kids were toddlers. Not much call for tourism after Shinra lost interest in this coast," she gives the pair a strange lookover. "what brings you folk out here, anyway?"

Seluna offered a polite smile. "Oh. We came from Midgar, after Meteor... we're just traveling, helping out where we can."

The woman raised a brow. Something in the girl's voice—earnest and a touch weary—stirred a memory in her chest. She sighed and dropped the net beside a storefronts porch with a grunt. "Name’s Imogen. Got a cabin up the hill. My grandkids are visiting, so it’s a bit cozy right now, but if you don’t mind the squeeze, I can make room."

Seluna lit up with gratitude. "Thank you. Really. We’d appreciate that."

Inside the cabin, three children tumbled over one another like playful pups, all between ten and twelve. As Seluna helped Imogen prepare tea, the kids surrounded Vincent in a tight semicircle, awed by his towering presence and crimson cloak. One bold boy piped up, "Hey mister, that cape’s so cool! Are you a knight or something?"

Vincent paused, slightly stiff, but then—surprising even Seluna—he removed the cloak with one smooth motion and draped it over the boy’s shoulders. The fabric pooled around him comically, making the boy beam with pride as he paraded around the room, arms out like wings. The others erupted with excitement. Vincent merely stood still, watching, something soft ghosting across his eyes.

"Didn’t know you were a softie," Seluna whispered teasingly as she passed by him with a tray of cups. He didn’t reply, but the corners of his mouth twitched subtly.

Later that evening, Imogen approached Seluna with a quiet request. "Listen, i f you and your partner are handy with monsters, we’ve had a few wash up near the rocky shore. Bad ones. No one’s been able to fish there since. We’re simple folk, but we’d be grateful."

Seluna agreed without hesitation.

The next morning, she and Vincent set out down the coast, sunlight dancing along the crashing waves. Unknown to them, the three children followed at a distance, giggling behind rocks and creeping after them like adventurers in a grand tale.

As they reached the beach, the scent of brine turned acrid. A misshapen, slick-bodied squid-like creature loomed near the edge of the surf, its rubbery limbs twitching as two smaller versions swayed beside it. Its skin pulsed unnaturally—twisted from the Lifestream, its body half-warped and vibrating with remnants of corruption.

Vincent stepped forward wordlessly, eyes narrowed, lifting Cerberus with the grace of habit. Seluna turned, catching sight of the kids hidden just over the ridge. The boy in Vincent’s cloak stood bravely in front of the others.

"Stay there!" she called, firm but kind.

The boy nodded, pulling the younger ones back.

A shot cracked the silence—Vincent’s bullet ripped through the air, felling one of the smaller creatures. Seluna spun and took aim with her gunblade, squeezing off a round that struck the other. But the large one reared up, shrieking, its limbs elongating unnaturally as it launched across the beach.

Seluna dropped to a knee and flicked her weapon into blade form, parrying a tentacle that lashed at her side. The creature responded with a roar, releasing a beam of compressed water that tore through the sand, missing her by inches. She stumbled, but Vincent’s next shot clipped its side, diverting its attention.

The monster twisted, slamming a tentacle into the ground near Vincent. He leapt aside, narrowly dodging, then shot again—this time hitting its bulbous central body. It shrieked and staggered.

Seluna, breath ragged, switched back to her gun form. Lightning crackled around her arm as she infused her shot. She steadied her aim, the storm whirling around her barrel, and fired.

The round struck dead center. The monster convulsed, limbs flailing, before collapsing in a wet, sizzling heap.

Silence fell. The wind curled around them.

Seluna exhaled sharply, staggering forward toward Vincent. He was already moving, reaching her first, his hands ghosting over her shoulders and arms, checking for wounds.

"I’m okay," she assured him softly, placing a hand on his.

Their moment was broken by the sudden rush of excited voices.

"WHOA!" the kids hollered, running down the slope with clumsy feet and bright eyes.

"Did you see that?!" one shouted.

"You were like pow-pow-pow! And then—fwooosh!" another exclaimed, mimicking her lightning shot.

Seluna blushed, laughing sheepishly as they swarmed her, animated and wide-eyed. Vincent stood behind her, arms folded, expression unreadable—but she swore she saw the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

The sea crashed gently behind them, and the scent of salt and gunpowder drifted in the breeze. 

Vincent lingered on the beach long after the creature's corpse had melted into the sea foam. Around him, the children played, reenacting the battle with flailing arms and exaggerated sound effects. Their laughter echoed across the shore, a distant hum in Vincent's mind as his gaze caught on a rusted, sun-warped sign half-buried near a craggy outcrop.

"Danger: Restricted Area."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Hey," he called over his shoulder to the kids, his deep voice cutting cleanly through their excitement. "What’s that sign for?"

The children stopped mid-play, exchanging mischievous looks. They jogged over to him and stood beside him, squinting down the shoreline.

"Oh, that?" said the oldest boy, still swimming in Vincent's cloak. "That’s where the ghost lady lives."

Seluna, having just finished wiping monster residue from her blade, tilted her head. "Ghost lady?"

The smallest of the trio, a girl with wind-tangled braids, piped up. "It’s a story. Old. Like, Nana old. There's a cave behind the waterfall. Some say if you go there and you wish really hard, your heart’s desire comes true"

"But dad said it’s cursed! That a guy went lookin’ for the woman inside and came back screaming, said she was frozen like a statue. Thought he saw her eyes open."

"That’s not true,” says the girl. “She’s asleep. Dreamin’. You only see her if you’re meant to."

“Or if you’re doomed!” one yells, laughing.

Seluna giggled under her breath, amused. But then she looked over at Vincent.

He hadn’t moved.

His head was lowered slightly, eyes locked onto the worn path leading away from the beach. A shadow had settled over his face—still, heavy, like something inside him had clicked into place without warning.

That look made Seluna’s smile falter.

That evening, the scent of grilled fish and smoked herbs drifted through Imogen’s cozy cabin. The group had returned from the coast, victorious and grateful. Imogen served up plates of crispy fish fry, pickled vegetables, and hand-squeezed juice with the same generosity she'd shown since their arrival.

Seluna sat with the children at the table, sharing stories while they reenacted the battle with breadsticks and fish bones. But Vincent was quiet, subdued. After eating, he slipped out the front door without a word.

Later, Seluna found him seated on the porch steps, elbows resting on his knees, gazing out over the coast. The sky had gone soft and purple, with streaks of orange bleeding into the horizon. The sea whispered below, rhythmic and eternal.

She sat beside him in silence for a time. The breeze lifted her hair as they stared ahead.

Eventually, she broke the quiet. "Do you think the ghost story's real?"

Vincent didn’t look at her. "Rumors start from somewhere."

She folded her arms atop her knees and leaned her chin on them, eyes distant. "If you could make a wish... what would it be?"

He hesitated. Long enough that it felt like silence might swallow the question. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her.

There was something raw in his crimson eyes—something aching.

Seluna felt her chest tighten.

But then he looked away again. "I don’t know."

She nodded slowly, understanding too well. "I don’t either."

The wind picked up, brushing past them with a salty whisper.

Vincent stood, brushing his gloves off. "Maybe we should check the area out. That cave—if something's trapped there, like the fiend beneath the manor, it might not be just a myth."

She blinked, surprised. But then she smiled, quiet and sure. "Yeah. Maybe."

He offered his hand, and she took it, rising to her feet beside him. Together, they stepped off the porch and walked into the late evening, the sea shimmering at their side.

They followed the winding path cut into the cliffs, past twisted sea grass and sharp rocks. Soon, the moon hung low behind a veil of clouds as the trail descended toward a hollow below.

A circular tide pool lay nestled in the cliff basin—almost too perfect to be natural. Water lapped gently at its rim, fed by a tall, veiled waterfall that glistened like molten silver in the moonlight.

Seluna and Vincent slid down the steep embankment carefully, dirt crunching beneath their boots. The humid salt air thickened as they neared the base of the falls.

"Through there?" Seluna asked, peering at the cascade.

Vincent nodded once.

They stepped forward, shielding their faces with raised arms as they ran through the curtain of water. The cold spray drenched their boots, but beyond the rush was a narrow tunnel of damp stone.

The further in they walked, the more the air grew still—oppressive. Their footsteps echoed eerily, each breath bouncing back at them.

The hall opened into a vast cavern, and at its center stood an enormous crystalline growth, pulsing faintly with an unnatural glow. The silence felt deafening.

Then—

A voice.

"Vincent..."

It was soft and distant, yet it rang through the cave like a church bell.

Seluna flinched, clutching her head as the vibration passed through her skull. The pain dulled quickly—but when she looked up, Vincent was no longer beside her.

He stood several feet ahead, eyes locked on the crystal. His movements were slow, reverent, almost entranced.

She stepped forward to stop him—but then she saw it.

Inside the crystal was a figure. A woman.

Her hands were folded at her chest. Her hair floated weightless in the stilled space. Her face was peaceful, eyes closed as though simply dreaming.

"That voice..." Vincent whisper echoed across the cavern. "It can’t be..."

Seluna’s throat tightened.

Vincent's breath hitched. "Lucrecia?"

The name fell from his lips like a prayer—or a wound reopening.

Seluna froze, her hand half-raised to reach for him, but she couldn’t move. Could only watch as he stepped closer to the crystal, to the woman who had haunted his past, encased in a dream no time could erode.

The moment his eyes locked onto the crystal and the figure within, the years peeled away like parchment scorched by flame. His breath hitched, staggered, then deepened. The world narrowed until only she existed—the woman trapped in glowing stone, suspended in time, her form fragile, eternal.

"Lucrecia!" he shouted, the name erupting from his throat before he could think. His footsteps quickened, boots splashing across the shallow pools that dotted the crystal-lit cave floor. He barely noticed Seluna lunging after him.

But before either of them could reach the crystalline monument, a voice—gentle but commanding—pierced through the chamber. "Stay back!"

A wave of light surged from the crystal in a pulsing shockwave. It struck them like a tidal force, not with pain, but with brilliance—blinding, soundless brilliance. Seluna shielded her eyes, stumbling as her balance wavered. Then, the world went black.

For a moment, nothing. Then… flickers of light.

Images bloomed into vision, slow and surreal. A younger Vincent, sharply dressed in his navy Turk uniform, his eyes less haunted, his shoulders less burdened, walked down a polished corridor deep within Shinra Manor. He spoke to a woman in a white lab coat—Lucrecia. The way she turned to him, smiling with a softness only intimacy could birth, said everything. Seluna saw them walk together, speak in hushed tones beneath low-lit chandeliers, their eyes stealing glances heavy with feeling. Then a shift.

A day passed. Then another. Her gaze changed—where there had once been affection, now there was distance. Silence. She stopped looking at him the same way. She started turning toward someone else.

Hojo.

Seluna, caught in the slipstream of these memories, could feel Vincent's slow unraveling like a thread being pulled taut and frayed. She watched—helpless—as Lucrecia drifted away from him, until finally, she chose Hojo. Vincent, left in the cold of his own disbelief, began to fade from the life he once hoped for. Then, another shift. Chaos.

Lucrecia was pregnant. The way Vincent confronted them—the fire in his voice, the desperation—struck Seluna deeply. She watched as he pleaded, warning them against experimenting on the unborn child. Lucrecia, again, turned away. Rejected him. Then, a fight. Hojo’s sneer. A flash. A gunshot. Black.

Seluna gasped in the dark.

Then light returned—frantic, jarring. She saw Hojo again, surgical tools gleaming. Vincent's body—mangled, stripped of its humanity—was pieced back together by cruel hands. The world blurred into chaos, voices muffled, lights flaring. Then silence once more.

Vincent in a coffin. Alone. Still.

The memory collapsed. Seluna jolted, finding herself once more in the cavern, her breathing sharp, eyes wide. Her cheeks were wet with tears from memories that pierced her mind like her own. She turned her head slowly and saw Vincent—standing, unmoved from where he'd been, his shoulders heaving as though the weight of every year past was clawing down his spine.

"You're still alive..." he whispered, his voice ragged and hollow.

The air quivered, and yet Lucrecia did not stir. Encased in crystal, she remained motionless—but her voice came clear, soft and echoing.

"No, Vincent. Not really."

Seluna could barely breathe. The woman’s words haunted the cave like mourning wind.

"I wanted to disappear," Lucrecia continued. "I wanted to die. I tried... but the Jenova cells inside me denied me peace. They would not let me go."

Vincent stepped forward, inching closer, his hand halfway raised. The ache in his eyes was unbearable.

"I dreamt of Sephiroth... my dear child... but I haven't seen him in my dreams for so long. Tell me, Vincent—" her voice trembled, as if she were on the verge of weeping, "—is he alive?"

His lips parted, but no words came. Then, he lowered his head. "No. Sephiroth is dead. I... I helped end his life."

Silence followed. Seluna felt the pain ripple through the chamber like the echoes of something sacred breaking.

Lucrecia’s voice returned, softer now. "Then I understand."

As Vincent took another step forward, something sharp clashed through the air.

"No! Stay away!" her voice cracked like thunder. He recoiled, frozen mid-step.

"Lucrecia, I—"

"Leave! You don’t understand, you can’t! Please, Vincent—leave me be!" Her voice rose, wild and anguished, rattling the very stone around them.

Seluna ducked instinctively, dust and loose stones falling from above. The cave trembled. She sprang forward, grabbing Vincent’s arm with both hands. "Come on! We have to go!"

He didn’t resist. Still stunned, still silent, he let her pull him away.

They passed through the waterfall once more, stumbling out into the moonlight, soaked but steady. Vincent halted suddenly, just steps from the tide pool’s edge.

He hunched slightly, his arms trembling as they hung at his sides. Seluna stepped beside him, heart pounding, eyes searching his face.

"Vincent?" she whispered, cupping his cheek with both hands, turning his face toward her. His skin was cold. His eyes seemed unfocused.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then blinked slowly. As their gazes met, something shifted. His shoulders relaxed. His breath slowed.

He looked away to the stars above them, to the shimmering reflection of the moon in the rippling tide pool. The sound of the falls behind them was now a soothing murmur.

He placed a gloved hand to his forehead, shaking his head as if shedding a dream. "Let’s head back," he said quietly.

Seluna stared, lips parted in confusion, but said nothing.

She followed his footsteps in silence. He did not look back. And between them, for the rest of the night, not a single word was spoken.

Chapter Text

The morning they departed felt heavier than the rainclouds looming in the sky. Seluna and Vincent stood just outside the weathered cabin, saying their goodbyes to Imogen and the children. The old woman handed Seluna a small cloth-wrapped parcel of dried fish and smiled warmly, though her eyes lingered on Vincent's expression. He hadn’t spoken. Not once. Not since that night in the cave. The bags beneath his crimson eyes were darker than ever, shadowed not just by exhaustion but by grief—a quiet, endless grief that cloaked him like the high collar of his crimson cloak, now drawn up once more to shield his face. He murmured a low thank-you, the words nearly lost to the sound of the sea.

Seluna followed him, a few paces behind, her hands curled around the strap of her bag. The coastline stretched out before them like a ribbon of ruin, the horizon still blurred in the indigo hues of early dawn. The sun had barely begun its ascent, a sliver of gold veiled behind thick, immovable clouds. She watched him walk, silent and steady, each step carving distance she couldn’t quite breach. Her words had failed—gently spoken comforts, questions left unanswered. Now, all she could offer him was space, allow him his isolation for now.

For the next day and a half, they followed the ragged coastline south. The road was mostly gone, overtaken by creeping dunes and jagged black rock. Rain began to fall intermittently, light at first, then steady and cold. It painted the landscape in hues of grey, muting even the waves that crashed against the shore with angry rhythm. Wind tangled Seluna’s short hair, tugged at her clothes, and chilled her to the bone. She didn’t dare ask to stop, no matter how violently she shivered. She watched Vincent closely—wondering, quietly fearing. Would he stop at all? Would he walk into the sea if she didn’t say something? Let the tide take him, erase him?

She could only try to understand the gravity of what he’d faced, and what he was still carrying. Each time she looked at his back—broad shoulders slumped, the once-vibrant red of his cloak dulled by rain and salt, his long black hair slick and hanging like mourning ribbons—her chest tightened. There was no armor left in his stride. Only endurance. Only the silence of survival.

At last, they came upon a rusted, tilted sign half-buried in damp sand and scrub. Its painted letters, weatherworn and nearly illegible, read: Welcome to Saltrest. But there was no one to welcome them.

The hamlet had been swallowed by the sea.

The buildings were skeletal—frames of houses slanted and broken, half-sunk into the shifting earth. Sand blew across uneven boards, some half-flooded with briny water, others choked by drifting dunes. Dolls floated like corpses in puddles. Laundry lines hung tattered cloth that whipped in the wind like ghostly banners. There was no sound but the sea and the distant growl of thunder.

Seluna's steps slowed. Her boots sank slightly into the wet earth as she turned in place, absorbing the scene with a kind of reverence. A breeze carried the scent of mildew and salt through the ruins. Her eyes flicked up—toward the darkening clouds, the distant flicker of lightning, the ominous drum of thunder crawling closer. Just inland, perched on thick stilts above the shallow tide, was a house still standing. The stairs were long destroyed, but the encroaching sand had created a slope, a makeshift hill to the front deck.

"We should rest there," she said quietly, nodding toward the house. Her voice was cautious, careful not to break the silence too loudly. "I don't want to get caught in the storm."

Vincent didn’t respond, but he turned without objection, heading toward the slope. Seluna followed, boots slipping slightly in the loose sand as they climbed. As they stepped onto the wooden deck, the planks groaned and creaked with age. The boards were slick, brittle in places.

Without warning, Seluna’s foot plunged through a rotted plank. She yelped, catching herself with a hand against the railing just in time. Vincent spun around, crimson eyes flashing with momentary alarm before settling on her half-trapped leg. She glanced up at him, embarrassed, then looked away.

He said nothing. Simply turned back toward the door and pushed it open.

Inside, the house was dim and skeletal. Stripped of furniture save a few battered pieces, it carried the hollow chill of a place long-abandoned. Shadows clung to the corners. Cobwebs traced the edges of doorways. The air was damp, but not unlivable. Vincent dropped their packs in a dry corner and moved through the house, silent as a shade.

Seluna, chilled and aching, knelt before the old fireplace. It was blackened but functional. With effort, she managed to spark a flame using kindling scavenged from broken furniture. The fire came to life in weak flickers, then strengthened, casting golden light across the room. She curled into the couch nearby—its cushions flat and frayed—watching the flame dance as the storm rolled overhead.

Vincent’s footsteps returned. He handed her a small can—tuna—and a bent metal fork. She took it, nodded, but didn’t eat. The smell was too strong. Her stomach, too tight. Instead, she stared down into the opened can, the silver metal reflecting her expression back at her—drained, pale, distant.

Vincent sat beside her. Not close. Not far. He leaned back into the couch, legs stretched forward, arms crossed tight over his chest, his chin hidden once more behind his collar. Only his eyes were visible—fixed on the fire, unmoving.

The storm broke in full.

Thunder cracked like the sky splitting apart, the walls of the house trembling faintly with each roll. Rain battered the roof in wild rhythms. A soft dripping echoed from some distant leak within the house, plinking steadily, unrelenting. Time stretched in silence. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.

Until finally, Seluna shifted. She sat upright, pulling her legs beneath her, glancing sideways.

Vincent’s eyes were still open, twin mirrors of flickering flame. She studied him, her expression unreadable, a mixture of ache and longing and worry wrapped into one. Then, without a word, she slid further down the couch, inching closer—closing the space between them, until only a modest distance remained.

She folded her arms over her knees, resting her chin atop them, her gaze shifting back to the fire. And beside her, the man who refused to break. But something in his silence—its heaviness, its fragility—told her it was coming. And that she had to be there when it did.

She opened her mouth, drawing in a breath that trembled faintly before she let it out again, lips pressing closed as hesitation overtook her. Her gaze wandered from Vincent’s profile to the firelight dancing on the cracked hearth, and then back to him. The moment stretched thin, the silence wrapping around her like wool—suffocating, uncertain. Finally, her voice came, soft and cautious, gentle in a way meant not to wound.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her tone barely above a whisper. “But… I think maybe we should. About Lucrecia.”

Her words lingered in the air like embers, fragile and uncertain, crackling just above the edge of bravery. She glanced to Vincent, whose crimson eyes had been locked in the fire, unmoving. But now, subtly, he shifted. His gaze turned away—not toward her, but in the opposite direction, to the broken shadows across the room. He was retreating in every way he knew how. She could feel it. Her shoulders slumped, a quiet defeat in the way her frame curled just slightly inward.

“Vincent…” she tried again, her voice colored with a defeated sigh, reaching across the silence with nothing but empathy.

It was thunder that answered first—then Vincent’s voice, sharp and sudden like the storm outside.

“What do you want me to say, Seluna? That I should’ve died back there too? That I deserved to?”

He stood from the couch with a restless rise, his head bowed low and his back turned to her. His crimson cloak stirred with the motion, the fabric catching dim firelight as it moved, like blood blooming underwater. He stepped toward the window, pausing before it, gazing out to the distant, empty shoreline that stretched into a sorrow neither of them could see the end of.

“You want to help? You want to fix me?” he continued, his tone bitter with anguish, nearly shaking with restraint. “Then tell me how to live with what I’ve done. Tell me how to stop seeing their faces when I close my eyes.”

Seluna stood slowly, her arms unwinding from her knees, her heart pounding as she stepped to face him. Her voice cracked as she raised it—not in anger, but in desperation. “Stop punishing yourself like that’s all you’re allowed to feel!”

Vincent turned sharply, his voice rising like a crack of thunder, raw and frayed. “It’s my burden! My punishment!” he shouted, stepping closer, his shadow stretching long behind him. “You don’t understand, Seluna. You weren’t there. I didn’t stop it. I killed Lucrecia!”

Seluna flinched at his words, her heart sinking. But she didn’t back down. Her sorrow surged into resolve as she stepped toward him, meeting him where his pain bled through.

“And so what now?” she challenged. “You wallow in self-pity over something you had no control of for the rest of your life? You—you lock yourself in a coffin until the Planet eats itself? What does that fix?!”

Vincent shook his head, already recoiling, his gloved hand rising to shield part of his face. The lines of torment etched across it. “You don’t understand, Seluna. It should be me in that cave. Not her.”

“I understand enough!” she cried, her voice unwavering despite the tremble in her throat. “I saw your memories. I saw what she did. Vincent, I understand that you love her, but you cannot continue letting your love outweigh reality.”

His voice broke through again, hoarse and raw, as if every word tore something open. “And what reality is that, Seluna?!”

“That she abandoned you!” she answered, stepping forward. “That she chose to do what she did. She wasn’t manipulated! She was as much a scientist as Hojo!”

Vincent fell still. The truth hung between them like a blade. He turned his gaze downward, to his hands—clenched and trembling, as if the very memories were carved into the flesh. “I’m a monster now, Seluna. This is my punishment.”

Without hesitation, Seluna stepped forward and took hold of his wrists, gently but firmly, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Her expression was resolute, yet tender—like steel wrapped in silk.

“Lucrecia is gone, Vincent. Whatever the Jenova cells twisted her into—it destroyed her. Whatever you’re clinging to, it’s not her. It’s a memory. A ghost.”

Her voice softened then, but her words only deepened in gravity. Each syllable carved a truth into the air.

“That kid said Lucrecia’s myth was almost as old as Imogen. That means you haven’t aged in over two decades, Vincent. That means whatever they did to you… it made you immortal. They didn’t create a monster. They created a man forced to carry someone else’s sin. And then she left you down in that basement alone to atone for her sins.”

She released his wrists, her hands falling away gently. Vincent stared at his palms, his breath faltering like a man suddenly aware of his own reflection. Slowly, he turned—drawn by some unspoken pull—to the fireplace. Above it hung a mirror, fractured into two pieces but still barely clinging to its frame.

He stared at his reflection, split by the crack—a man in halves.

Seluna stepped beside him. Quietly, she reached up and adjusted the mirror’s jagged edges until the two halves aligned. In the flickering firelight, Vincent’s reflection became whole. It wasn’t perfect—no seam is ever truly invisible—but it was one self. A man not undone.

“You don’t owe them your pain anymore,” she said, her voice barely audible above the rain. “They’re gone. And you’re free to become whoever you want to be.”

She hesitated, then raised a hand, hovering over his chest. With care, she rested her palm against him, over the heart he believed long dead.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand rose and covered hers, his fingers curling softly around her slender wrist, holding it there—not in resistance, but gratitude. They stood like that for a moment, suspended in silence. The storm outside had dulled to a murmur, a whisper of what it once was.

Eventually, Vincent released her. He exhaled, long and quiet, the tension in his shoulders beginning to loosen, like a string slowly uncoiling.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he said after a beat, his voice no longer sharp but muted with exhaustion. “You should rest.”

Seluna opened her mouth, wanting to ask him to stay. But she saw something different in him now. A crack of light behind the storm. A man maybe not healed, but no longer bleeding.

She nodded instead.

He walked past her, his boots quiet on the weathered floorboards, disappearing into the dark hallway and the rain-soaked night beyond. She watched him go, the sound of his footsteps fading into silence. And then, finally alone, she collapsed onto the couch. Curling herself into its corner, she lay her head against the armrest, her eyes heavy with the weight of everything unsaid—and everything finally spoken. The fire cracked quietly behind her, casting shadows like falling leaves across the walls, and in that soft orange glow, she closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

The road southward held a different rhythm now. Though Vincent remained quiet, the space between him and Seluna had transformed. Where once he walked several paces ahead, cloaked in silence and shadows, now he stayed beside her. He still did not speak often, but his presence had softened into something steadier—no longer retreating into solitude, no longer a ghost pacing ahead. When Seluna slowed to admire the way the wind combed through the tall grass, he paused as well. When she rubbed her shoulder from the weight of her pack, he suggested, in a low voice nearly swallowed by the wind, that they rest. These subtle acts were the first signs of something unspoken taking root: healing.

Their journey eventually shifted them eastward, the open plains giving way to rugged, uneven terrain where grasses became spotted with stone and low shrubs. For two days they walked, the sky above growing wider as clouds rolled in with the changing breeze. The land here held the hush of old memories, ancient trails worn into the ground by years of travel. Seluna's eyes scanned the landscape with growing recognition—this stretch of land, she remembered. The forest wasn't far now.

And then, as the morning light began to climb, they reached it: a wall of towering trees, dark and looming. The air grew heavier under the canopy, thick with the scent of wet earth, bark, and distant flowering plants. Songbirds called from unseen branches above, and the chirp of insects filled in every silence. Vincent slowed as they entered, his gloved hand drifting near the holster at his side. Seluna pressed onward, confidence rising in her step as familiarity guided her.

The deeper they walked, the more the world narrowed. The forest was dense, its trails worn thin by time and use. Vines crept up the trunks of trees like veins of green, and soft light filtered through the high canopy in dappled patterns. The path twisted, climbing small rises and dipping into cool hollows. Occasionally, they had to step over fallen branches slick with moss or cross rivulets of water that snaked through the undergrowth. In those quiet moments, their hands brushed by accident. Vincent never pulled away.

Hours passed before the trees began to thin, and Seluna stopped just before the trail widened. Ahead, nestled in a bowl of land split by a narrow canyon, was a wooden bridge stretching between two cliffs. The bridge swayed gently in the breeze, its ropes weathered, but still strong. Beyond it, Gongaga stood in partial view—the distinctive rounded rooftops peeking above the treetops, colored in faded terracotta and deep brown.

As they stepped onto the bridge, the wooden planks creaked beneath their weight, and movement stirred across the far side. A cluster of figures emerged from between the homes. Their armor was patchwork—leather and cloth, functional and light. Spears were raised not with hostility, but caution. They spread into a wall across the bridge's end, barring entry.

Before tension could escalate, a voice rang clear and firm. "Hold it!"

A woman broke through the line of guards, her scarlet red hair unmistakable in the shadowed light. Her presence was confident, her steps light. She approached with a grin pulling across her face.

"Cissnei!" Seluna’s voice lifted with surprise and joy.

Cissnei grinned wider. "Seluna, wasn’t it? Gods, it’s good to see you."

The guards looked between the two women and lowered their weapons as Cissnei waved them off with casual ease. The others dispersed, some smiling, most curious.

"It’s so good to see you after all that chaos," Cissnei said, approaching closer. "I’m glad you made it. How are the others?"

Seluna's smile wavered. Her eyes dropped to the ground, fingers lacing together. "They’re good..."

A pause.

"Uhm..."

Her voice faltered, and grief colored her expression. Cissnei's smile faded to something quieter, understanding in her eyes. Without another word, she stepped beside Seluna and guided her forward, her hand resting gently against her back.

"It’s okay," she murmured. "Let’s go to my house. We can talk in private."

Vincent followed at a respectful distance, silent and watchful as ever. The village welcomed them with a warmth carried on wood smoke and wild herbs. Gongaga was quiet, peaceful, its streets paved with stone and edged in beds of sun-colored flowers. Wind chimes sang from awnings, and the scent of cooking drifted faintly on the air.

Cissnei’s home sat near the heart of the village. The exterior was modest—stone and brick with rough plaster, plants clinging to its edges. Inside, the space was cozy and well-lived. An unlit fireplace greeted them at the entrance, the lantern against the wall casting soft amber hues. Bundles of herbs hung drying above the stove, and shelves were cluttered with worn cookbooks, spice jars, and hand-forged cutlery. In the far corner, a punching bag hung beside a stack of weights, faded but well used.

As Cissnei led Seluna to the kitchen, the two women moved slowly, their steps heavy with what hadn’t yet been said. Vincent stood for a moment by the door, unsure, then eased himself down onto the couch. He said nothing, but his head tilted just slightly, listening.

"Tell me what happened," Cissnei asked gently, her voice soft.

Seluna swallowed. "It’s... Aerith. We fought hard. She gave everything. But Sephiroth... he killed her."

The silence after was not empty—it was reverent, like a moment held still in mourning.

Seluna continued, her voice steadier. "But she didn’t die in vain. What she did for us—it helped us stop him. It saved the Planet."

Cissnei turned to the stove, her expression almost unreadable. Then, with a breath, she chuckled softly. "Well... she made one hell of a soup. I'll never forget that."

Seluna blinked, then laughed weakly, grateful for the break in sorrow.

"There’s more," she said after a pause. "It’s about Zack. Cloud didn’t remember at first, but... Zack died protecting him. Years ago."

Cissnei froze. The name caught her like a knife. Her hands tightened on the edge of the counter.

"I see," she whispered. She looked away, jaw tight. "Ah... that’s..."

She took a breath, eyes misting with grief before she turned to Seluna again.

"The Fairs should know."

Seluna nodded. "I’ll tell them. It’s a lot to carry. You’ve done more than enough."

Cissnei gave her a firm nod in return.

Seluna smiled faintly, then excused herself. As she passed Vincent, he rose slightly, but she lifted her hand.

"I’ll be right back," she said.

The door shut behind her before he could respond.

Alone, Vincent leaned back, letting his thoughts wander.

Then—light footsteps.

Cissnei appeared aside the couch, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. She regarded him with amused scrutiny.

"So," she said, "what’s your story? Wait—don’t tell me. Former Turk."

Vincent glanced at her. His breath caught.

"How—?"

She grinned. "Posture. Attitude. Eyes. I know the signs."

He looked her over once more. "You were one too, then."

"Damn right," she replied. "One of Shinra’s best. Until they turned their knives inward."

He turned to the unlit hearth. "Then you know the cost."

"I do."

A long pause stretched between them.

"What got you out?" she asked.

Vincent exhaled, his eyes closing for a moment in thought. His answer was quiet. "I died."

Cissnei blinked, then laughed under her breath. "Me too."

She moved toward the fireplace, struck a match, and let it catch. The flames grew, licking the stone grate with renewed hunger.

"I did things I’m not proud of," she said, voice low as she stood before the fire now, her back to Vincent. "We all did. I realized too late who we were really working for."

Vincent watched the flames. His voice came slow. "How do you live with it? With the weight of it all?"

Cissnei looked over her shoulder. A soft smile touched her lips.

"One day at a time."

She let that linger before stepping away into the quiet, leaving Vincent alone with the fire, and the first ember of peace he hadn’t known he needed.

Meanwhile, Seluna hurried through the winding paths of Gongaga, her boots kicking up dust along the stone-lined roads as she followed her memory through the dusky village. A familiar heaviness gathered in her chest as she approached the modest home tucked between two lantern-lit trees. Its porch sagged slightly under time’s weight, and moss had begun to claim the edges of the steps. She hesitated before the door, staring at the weathered wood as if waiting for it to speak first. Then, drawing in a breath, she raised her hand and knocked.

The door opened swiftly. An older man with kind eyes and greying hair greeted her with a smile, his face lighting up at the sight of her though there was no recognition in it. She forced a smile of her own, standing a little taller as she met his gaze.

"Hello, Mr. Fair. Uh, my name is Seluna. I was friends with Cloud and Aerith. I know they came by not long ago and talked to you... about your son."

The man's expression shifted—softer, touched with nostalgia—as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Ah, yes. I remember! That Aerith—my son had great taste. Such a kind young girl."

He gestured for her to come in. The smell of baked bread lingered faintly in the air, and the sound of a faucet shutting off drew Seluna’s attention to the kitchen. A woman appeared there, drying her hands on her apron. She was petite, her face lined with gentle years, and her smile was welcoming.

"Hello, dear," the woman greeted warmly. "How can we help you?"

Seluna sat on the couch they offered, her hands clenched together tightly in her lap. The man settled beside her, his posture open and relaxed. The woman stayed standing, watching with curiosity and a faint maternal concern.

"I, uh... I just thought you should know," Seluna began, her voice trembling slightly. "Cloud—the former SOLDIER—turns out he remembered your son. And... well... he died fighting for what was right. Zack died saving Cloud’s life. He... he was a hero."

The room stilled. The warmth of the hearth flickered, casting dancing shadows across their faces as the words settled in. The father’s smile faded, the mother's eyes grew glassy, and she slowly crossed the room to sit down.

Seluna continued before emotion could take her voice. "I didn’t know Zack personally. But if he made someone like Aerith fall in love with him—and after what he did for Cloud—I know he was a great man. He inspired Cloud. Helped shape him. I just... thought you should know."

A silence settled like snowfall.

Then, slowly, the mother stood again and walked toward Seluna, wordless. She reached out and pulled the younger woman into a tight embrace, holding her as if Seluna were the final piece of a puzzle they had waited years to complete. Surprised, Seluna hugged her back, blinking tears into the woman’s shoulder.

When they pulled apart, Seluna whispered, "I’m so sorry for your loss."

The woman shook her head. "You only confirmed what we had guessed for a long time, my dear. Thank you. We can rest easier now, knowing our son’s pain is over."

A gentle touch to her arm and a heartfelt smile were the last gestures of thanks as Seluna stepped out into the fading light of evening. She paused at the gate, the sky painted in bands of lilac and ember. She breathed in, her chest rising with the scent of wet grass and smoke, then exhaled slowly—a release of grief, of burden, of something long held.

When she returned to Cissnei’s house, the wooden door creaked softly as she stepped inside. Vincent was still on the couch, half-shrouded in shadow, and as the door clicked shut behind her, his crimson gaze lifted. Their eyes met. Something passed between them—an understanding, a shared ache—and when she smiled, his lips curved faintly in return. It startled her more than she expected. Her breath caught, cheeks warming unexpectedly.

Without another word, she strode past him into the kitchen where Cissnei stood at the stove, stirring a pot of simmering stew. Eager to distract herself, Seluna stepped in to help, sleeves rolled to her elbows, fingers busy chopping herbs while the scent of thyme and garlic filled the air.

Later that night, the village had gone still. A soft rain tapped at the windows as Cissnei bid them goodnight and disappeared into her room. The spare room remained untouched, neither Seluna nor Vincent claiming it.

The fire in the hearth crackled low. Its amber glow danced across the walls in a slow rhythm as the radio murmured a soft, crackling tune from the shelf nearby. Seluna lay stretched across the couch, her head resting against the armrest, fingers loosely interlaced over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling, thoughts running like rivers behind her tired eyes. Vincent sat on the floor just below her, his back against the couch cushion, one knee drawn up, the other leg extended, his arms resting limply at his sides.

Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours. The silence wasn’t oppressive; it was gentle now, like a shared lullaby.

Then Vincent leaned back slightly, his head resting against the edge of the cushion—just enough to graze Seluna’s leg. She blinked, startled by the contact, her breath hitching. His hair brushed against her skin, featherlight. Her fingers tapped quietly along her stomach to the rhythm of the music, but then the beat faltered as her thoughts wandered.

"Seluna," he said softly.

She jolted slightly, eyes snapping back to the ceiling. "Y-yeah?"

"I just wanted to say... thank you. For everything. You were right. I'm sorry for how I treated you."

She blinked, heart tugging. A breath escaped her lips, warm and quiet.

"Vincent..." she murmured after a pause.

"Yeah?"

She smiled faintly. "I'm really glad I met you."

He didn’t answer at first, only looked toward the firelight with a gaze that seemed far away. Then, slowly, his voice came—gentle and sincere.

"Me too."

And that was all. The fire continued to flicker. The soft radio tune hummed. No more words were needed.

They drifted to sleep like that—Seluna curled on the couch, Vincent resting beside her, neither having moved to claim the bed down the hall. They remained in the fire’s gentle glow, cocooned in the comfort of unspoken peace, as the night wrapped itself around them like a lullaby.

The morning passed with a quiet, easy rhythm in the small village of Gongaga. Soft light spilled in through the window slats, warming the modest home with a golden hue as birdsong filtered in from the canopy above. In the kitchen, the scent of sautéed onions and fresh herbs filled the air. Seluna stood beside Cissnei, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back, carefully chopping vegetables for the stew simmering gently on the stove. Her movements were mindful, measured, a quiet kind of therapy in the repetition. Cissnei worked beside her with practiced ease, humming faintly to herself, occasionally tossing out snippets of village gossip or humorous remarks that coaxed faint smiles from Seluna.

Meanwhile, across the way, Vincent stood outside an elderly neighbor’s small home, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he helped reinforce a collapsed section of fencing. The wooden slats had rotted and fallen in the previous season’s rains, and though the old man insisted he could manage alone, Vincent had stepped in without a word. He moved with calm precision, driving nails and securing the fresh wood with deliberate care. Sweat clung lightly to his temple, strands of black hair loose around his face. When he finally hammered in the last nail, the neighbor patted his back gratefully, offering him a basket of fruit in thanks—an offer Vincent gently declined. Instead, he nodded once and turned toward Cissnei’s house, tossing his long cloak over his shoulder, trailing behind him as he made his way back.

As he approached the door, the sound of a raised voice drifted over the breeze. Vincent paused. It wasn’t shouting—more like a practiced tone of charisma, someone used to addressing crowds. Curious, he stepped inside to find Seluna wiping her hands on a cloth, glancing toward the open window.

"You hear that?" she asked.

Vincent gave a slight nod. "Let’s see what it is."

The two stepped out together, following the sound to the village center where a small crowd had gathered. In the middle stood a man dressed far too finely for the rustic surroundings—his suit was pressed, his shoes polished, and his manner of speaking deliberate and refined. He addressed the villagers with ease, projecting a rehearsed warmth as he handed out small folded pamphlets. His tone was hopeful, filled with vision and reassurance.

Seluna and Vincent exchanged a look, curiosity piqued. They stepped closer, settling into the edge of the crowd. The man was speaking about rebuilding, about unity, about protecting the world in the wake of all that had been lost. He spoke of volunteer efforts and a new organization—something meant to rise from the ashes of Shinra’s collapse and offer something better in its place.

Then, mid-sentence, the man’s eyes swept across the gathered faces and landed directly on them. His voice faltered with excitement.

"Seluna! Vincent! I didn’t expect to see you two here!"

Seluna blinked, stunned, and looked to Vincent. Vincent merely stared, his brow slightly furrowed. Neither of them spoke.

The man’s smile froze slightly as he realized his mistake. "Ah… right. I forget we’ve never actually met. Err—" He looked down at his hands for a moment, then abruptly lifted them, curling his fingers into exaggerated cat paws and tilting his head with an almost too-charming grin. It was ridiculous. A strange pause filled the air as both Seluna and Vincent stared at him in stunned silence.

"Wait... Cait Sith?!" Seluna finally guessed, recognition dawning slowly.

"Yes! See, I knew you’d figure it out," the man laughed sheepishly, lowering his hands. "Sorry, saw you all so often, but you never really got to see the real me. The name’s Reeve. Reeve Tuesti. It’s a pleasure to finally meet face to face."

Seluna smiled, still wrapping her head around it. "You too. Uhm... so what’s that?" she asked, gesturing to the pamphlet in his hand.

Reeve eagerly handed one over. "I’m starting an organization called the World Regenesis Organization. We’re gathering volunteers—former Shinra engineers, resistance fighters, anyone willing to lend a hand. Our goal is to rebuild what was lost, protect what remains, and create something better. Cid and Barret have already signed on."

He glanced past them, squinting slightly. "Ah—speak of the devil."

From behind, a familiar voice rasped through the air.

"Hey, you two."

Seluna turned with a smile as Cid approached, cigarette hanging from his lip and goggles pushed up into his hair. He came to stand beside Reeve, clapping him on the back with a smirk.

"Hope Reeve here isn’t talkin’ your ear off about his little group. You thought he was exasperatin’ as a cat? Wait till you’re stuck on a plane with the real thing."

Reeve laughed awkwardly, adjusting his collar. "I like to think I’m more inspiring than exasperating."

Seluna chuckled. "So how are you able to do all of this with volunteers?"

Reeve shrugged. "An anonymous benefactor. Some ex-Shinra execs with newly discovered consciences, perhaps. Turns out fear of extinction is a great motivator for generosity. They’ve been funding us enough to get started. The real strength will come from people like you."

Seluna smiled genuinely, hope glinting in her eyes. "I’m glad someone’s stepping up like this. The planet deserves a second chance, and so do its people."

Reeve’s expression softened with appreciation. "Thank you. And if you two ever want a position with us, we’ve got plenty of room. You’d be invaluable."

Seluna glanced to Vincent, then back. "Thank you, but we’re gonna remain nomads for now. There’s still a lot we need to see."

"I hear you," Reeve said with a nod.

Cid, checking the watch strapped to his wrist, motioned to Reeve. "We should get a move on. I want to hit Costa del Sol before sundown."

Seluna perked up at the name. "Costa del Sol? That place hasn’t shut down yet?"

Cid grunted. "Almost did. Got overrun by looters about a month back. But some guy named Johnny and a handful of locals managed to run ’em off. Business has been booming ever since. We’re heading in to help sort out trade routes through the port."

Seluna tapped her chin thoughtfully, then looked up at Vincent with a glimmer in her eye, a subtle smile pulling at her lips. Their eyes met.

"We were heading that way, actually," she said aloud.

Vincent raised a brow, speaking low so only she could hear. "We were?"

She ignored him, turning to Cid. "Do you think you could give us a ride?"

"’Course I can!" Cid grinned. "We’ll be lifting off in thirty, so get your stuff together. I’ve got the Highwind parked at the old airstation just past the ravine."

Seluna nodded, excitement swelling. She looked again to Vincent, who gave her a faint shake of his head as they turned to walk. But the hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. As they moved away from the crowd, Reeve returned to his speech, his voice rising again with purpose.

Vincent lifted his eyes to the sky. It stretched wide and cloudless above them—a peaceful pale blue blanket draped over the world, unburdened for the moment. The future still uncertain, but no longer looming quite so darkly.

Chapter Text

The sky over Costa del Sol stretched in a swath of brilliant blue, streaked with feathered wisps of cloud that seemed to dance with the breeze. The Highwind soared through the open air, its great engines humming with a steadfast, rhythmic pulse as it descended toward the beachside town nestled along the glittering sea. The sun cast shimmering reflections across the waves below, where the familiar crescent of ivory-white sands embraced the shoreline like a welcoming arm. Turquoise waters rolled in gentle laps against the beach, and sunlight danced like liquid crystal across the foam-tipped crests.

With a hydraulic sigh and the grind of gears, the Highwind descended toward the modest airstrip tucked just beyond the resort’s edge. Dust and sand billowed in swirling clouds beneath it as the landing gear made contact, the ship rocking gently with the force of its own weight settling. The gangplank lowered with a familiar mechanical groan, and one by one, the passengers disembarked.

Reeve was already speaking before his boots touched the ground, his voice animated with the energy of purpose. "Once this recruitment tour’s wrapped up, we’ll begin constructing the main headquarters just outside Kalm. It’s a strategic location—close enough to Midgar to maintain access, but far enough to keep from the lingering mess. We’ve got plans underway: full communications networks, field ops units, satellite monitoring, and even a division dedicated solely to environmental restoration. We’ve already started cleaning up Mako-scorched land near Corel and replanting the outskirts of Gongaga’s forest," he explained, gesturing with a well-worn pamphlet in hand.

Seluna listened closely, walking beside him with quiet attentiveness, her brow furrowed slightly in thought. She nodded as he spoke, genuinely impressed by the scope of his vision. But beside her, Vincent moved with a slower pace. As he stepped off the Highwind, the warmth of the sun hit him full in the face—bright, golden, and invasive. He paused, squinting behind his collar, raising a gloved hand to shade his eyes. His expression betrayed faint irritation as he scanned the wide open land stretching before them, the light too cheerful, too exposed.

His eyes found Seluna across the landing pad. She was still caught in Reeve’s web of words, politely nodding along, but her gaze flicked toward Vincent for a brief second—a quiet, unspoken plea laced behind her smile. He read it instantly.

"Let’s go. We need to find an inn," he said, his voice low and firm.

Seluna perked up as if pulled from a trance. "O-oh! Yes, right! So sorry—I'd love to hear more later! Thank you so much for the ride. I really owe you guys!" she added quickly, her feet already carrying her away beside Vincent, her voice lifting in a sheepish tone as she waved to Reeve.

Reeve smiled and waved back, not offended in the slightest. "Of course! Let’s catch up later!"

The pair made their way along a winding paved path, the salty ocean breeze tousling Seluna’s hair as she breathed in the warmth of the beach air. Around them, the sounds of Costa del Sol came to life—children laughing in the surf, the call of seagulls overhead, the pluck of guitar strings from a nearby boardwalk performer. It was all vibrant, alive. A world untouched by sorrow—for now.

They passed beneath the sprawling arch of the main resort entrance, where a carved wooden sign welcomed visitors with a flourish. Just beyond, the resort came into full view, brimming with guests in breezy linen clothing and swimsuits, colorful parasols blooming like flowers across the sand. The air was laced with the scents of sea salt, tropical oil, and grilled food wafting from food carts lining the boardwalk.

Seluna slowed, her eyes wide as she took it all in. The carefree energy, the abundance of exposed skin and radiant smiles—it left her feeling out of place. She instinctively wrapped one arm over her stomach, shrinking a little into herself. A loud whoosh broke her from her thoughts as a young man zipped past on a wheeled board, shouting in delight. Startled, she jumped, bumping into Vincent’s side.

"Sorry—" she began quickly, looking up.

He barely reacted, his gaze still ahead. "Let’s go," he said again, his tone unchanged as he nodded toward a sleek inn just ahead.

They crossed into its shaded vestibule, stepping into the cool embrace of its grand lobby. A massive chandelier glittered above, casting soft golden light across polished marble tiles. Mahogany trim and coastal paintings lined the walls, and the scent of citrus cleaner filled the air. Behind the counter stood a receptionist, poised and pleasant.

"Welcome to Costa del Sol Grand Resort. Do you have a reservation with us today?"

Vincent approached, his presence alone earning a brief pause. "No. We need to book a room for tonight."

The receptionist’s polite expression shifted to regret as she checked her screen. "I'm very sorry, sir, but we are completely booked. Our next availability won’t be until late next week."

Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly. "I see," he murmured, turning and heading back into the sun without another word.

Seluna followed, concern flickering across her features. Outside, Vincent folded his arms and looked over the plaza.

"What should we do?" she asked.

"We’ve camped before," he replied. "Won’t hurt to do it again."

Before she could respond, a loud grunt sounded nearby, and a young man with gel-spiked red hair teetered into view, arms wobbling beneath the weight of precariously stacked boxes. He came to a sudden halt when his eyes caught the pair.

"Hey, hey!" he called with a grin, lowering the boxes with effort. He wiped his brow and gave them a wink. "I hope I’m not mistaken—but you're a friend of Tifa, right?"

Seluna’s expression lit up with recognition. "Johnny! I remember you used to chase Tifa around back in Midgar."

Johnny placed a hand on his chest dramatically. "Ah, my one true love! A goddess in gloves, a hurricane in heels—Tifa Lockhart, the queen of my teenage dreams!"

He glanced toward the inn. "Let me guess—booked solid? Not a problem. You two can crash at Seaside Inn. My treat."

"Really?" Seluna blinked.

"Anything for a friend of Tifa’s," Johnny said with flair. "Come on, follow me."

As he bent to gather the boxes again, visibly straining, Vincent stepped forward, his red cloak catching the wind as he moved with quiet purpose. In a fluid motion, he gathered the boxes into his arms, lifting them with practiced grace.

"Allow me."

Johnny chuckled nervously. "Hah, yeah—y’know, I was just testing the structural integrity. Gotta make sure the boxes don’t collapse before the guests do."

He led them down a shaded path past rows of shops and decorative fountains. The Seaside Inn sat just beyond, quaint and charming. Its pastel shutters gleamed in the sun, and the porch was newly painted, adorned with flower boxes overflowing with fresh blooms.

Vincent set the boxes down as Johnny handed over a rustic bronze key.

"Here we go. Suite’s yours. Last door on the end. Best view in the house."

"Thank you, Johnny. Really," Seluna said. "Let us know if we can return the favor."

Johnny gave them a crisp salute before vanishing into the inn.

The door creaked open to reveal a warm, lived-in room. Gentle light filtered through gauzy curtains billowing in the sea breeze. A small balcony overlooked the forest beyond, green and gold in the afternoon sun. Inside, a single bed rested against the far wall, framed by a painting of the coastline. A loveseat nestled in the corner beside a low table cluttered with beach-themed magazines. The open-concept bathroom gleamed, its tiled floor cool and spotless, the showerhead mounted cleanly on the wall.

Seluna dashed toward the bed and fell face-first onto it with a joyful thump.

"Dibs!" she called, her voice muffled in the soft linens, laughter in her tone and her earlier anxiety forgotten in the comfort of this quiet, sun-drenched hideaway.

Vincent let out the barest breath of a chuckle, the sound nearly lost beneath the whisper of the breeze curling through the open suite. With a faint shake of his head, he stepped inside and gently set their bags down beside the bed. His eyes drifted to the curtains, still drawn wide to let in the golden sunlight that spilled across the room like molten honey. He crossed the floor, boots soft on the wood, and with one long pull, drew the curtains shut. The light dimmed instantly, casting the suite in a tranquil half-shadow, the air cooler now, quieter.

Just as he reached for the clasp of his cloak, a voice called gently from behind. "What’re you doing?"

He turned to see Seluna sitting up on the bed, her legs folded beneath her, head tilted in curiosity.

"About to get some rest," he replied simply, fingers pausing at his collar.

"Aww, but there’s only a few more hours of sunlight left—and I wanted to go to the beach!" she said, her tone playful with a touch of mock pleading.

Vincent sighed quietly, unclasping his cloak and setting it down neatly on the couch. He made for the door without a word, his gait fluid, like a shadow.

"Let’s go," he said at last.

Seluna lit up, her face radiant with delight. She bounced from the bed and skipped to his side, brushing past with a smile as they stepped into the sunlight.

The boardwalk was vibrant, alive with voices, laughter, and music rolling from nearby open patios. The smell of the sea hung on the warm air. Seluna abruptly veered toward a small beach stall overflowing with colorful swimsuits and accessories. She stopped in front of it with stars in her eyes.

Vincent slowed to a stop behind her, brow raised. "What’s this?"

"Well, you can’t go to the beach in that," she said, gesturing at his head-to-toe black leather ensemble that was anything but costal.

"I thought we’d just be looking," he muttered.

"Who goes to the beach just to look?"

"...A lot of people," he grumbled.

Seluna waved him off, already scanning the racks. "Don’t worry. I’ll find something that suits you."

Vincent sighed in resignation as she held up a pair of black swim trunks printed with white spiderwebs. She beamed, holding them up to him as if they were a trophy.

He rolled his eyes and looked away, arms crossed.

Seluna turned back to the display and found a white bikini with a pleated skirt overlay. Happy with her selections, she paid and handed him his trunks with a mischievous grin.

"Okay! Let’s go change back at the room."

Back at the suite, Seluna hurried into the bathroom. "Let me know when you’re done," she called through the door.

Inside, she wrestled with her clothes in her excitement, nearly toppling over while kicking off her shorts. She tied the bikini top behind her neck, then paused as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her confidence wavered. So much skin, so little to hide behind.

"Finished," came Vincent’s voice from the other side.

She cracked the door open just enough to peek out—and froze.

Vincent stood across the room, back bare, shoulders cut and lean. His long black hair fell like shadowy silk, brushing the ridges of his spine. Her eyes drifted lower—to his trim waist, the swim trunks snug around his hips.

Then, he turned.

Seluna’s breath caught as his deep red eyes met hers. His chest was bare, the definition of each muscle almost sculptural. She ducked her gaze and stepped out, arms crossed over her middle as she shyly walked into the room.

But to her surprise, Vincent quickly turned away, the flush creeping into his face.

She smiled, finding comfort in his shared discomfort. Folding her arms behind her back, she leaned forward with a teasing grin. "You ready, old man?"

Vincent exhaled and turned to the door. "Let’s go."

The boardwalk had grown busier, the sunlight now deep and golden as it painted the world in warm tones. Seluna hugged her arms, glancing nervously at every tan, sculpted passerby. A group of bikini-clad women laughed by the edge of a patio. A man jogged by shirtless, toned and confident.

She shrank a little, walking tighter beside Vincent, who loomed in contrast—tall, unreadable, composed.

As they descended to the beach, Vincent raised an arm to block the sun, grumbling as the light hit his face. Seluna watched the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin, every movement graceful and unintentional. Her eyes lingered too long on the dark hair beneath his arm, and she quickly looked away, cheeks pink.

Their feet hit the warm sand, a soft and inviting texture that gave way beneath their steps like powdered silk. The sun-baked grains curled around their toes, and yet, the warmth underfoot did little to calm the sudden swell of unease that bloomed in Seluna's chest. Before them stretched a seemingly endless expanse of beach, alive with color and noise. People in swimwear crowded every visible patch—laughing, tanning, splashing in the surf. Music pulsed faintly from a beach bar in the distance, mingling with the rush of waves and the blur of countless voices.

Seluna's heart stumbled. Her steps slowed, and the confidence she'd forced on earlier began to crack. She hugged her arms around her middle, the sheer number of people making her feel absurdly out of place.

"Uhm... maybe on second thought—" she began.

Vincent extended his arm to stop her. "You brought me this far. Might as well follow through."

She sighed and looked ahead, spotting a set of vacant beach chairs beneath a wide umbrella.

Together, they made their way through the crowded sand, Seluna ducking past beach towels and boogie boards, heels sinking into the warmth. At last, they reached the shaded spot. Vincent immediately claimed one chair, sinking into it like a phantom melting into shadow.

Seluna dropped onto the other, her gaze drifting over the beachgoers. Her anxiety still gnawed at her, but when she looked at Vincent—reclined, arms behind his head, eyes closed as if the world held no weight—she smiled.

Her eyes wandered out toward the shimmering ocean. The horizon, vast and golden, flickered beneath the haze of the late afternoon sun. Laughter echoed across the coastline—families running through the surf, children shrieking as waves chased their ankles, couples lounging under wide umbrellas or swaying to the music that pulsed faintly from distant speakers. Life was bursting in every direction. But Seluna sat still, small in her seat, the din around her muffled like an old memory, her gaze distant and dreamy, as though the world she observed wasn’t quite her own.

Then, cutting through the noise like a bell through fog, came a cheerful shout. "Ice cream! Beat the heat with a cone!"

She turned her head quickly, eyes locking onto the source—a vendor pushing a cart through the sand, its faded parasol bobbing gently with each lumbering step. A small crowd gathered at once, eager voices rising as they reached out for cold salvation. Seluna leaned forward instinctively, her attention caught, lips parted ever so slightly in longing. There was something deeply comforting, almost nostalgic, about the sight. Her fingers curled against her thighs, gaze fixed like a spellbound child.

Vincent, who had remained unmoving with his eyes closed, stirred as if sensing her silent yearning. His crimson gaze flicked open and slid sideways toward the cart, then to Seluna. The distant, hopeful light in her expression pulled at something deep within him. He released a breath through his nose, nearly inaudible, and pushed himself upright with a faint grunt.

"Uhm—" Seluna looked up, startled by his sudden motion.

"What flavor?" he asked, already turning, his voice calm and quiet.

Her eyes widened. "Uh... uhmmm, vanilla is fine," she blurted out, as if worried the offer would pass too quickly.

Vincent said nothing more. He stepped into the sand, feet sinking gently as he joined the line. From afar, he glanced back just once, and Seluna met his eyes with a bright smile and a little wave. He offered a faint smile in return before turning away.

She let out a contented sigh and leaned back, folding her hands neatly in her lap. The breeze was sweet with salt and sun, her skin warm from the light that streamed through the umbrella’s edge. She closed her eyes, basking in the hush of the sea’s lullaby. The softness of the moment settled over her.

And then, suddenly, it shattered.

The warmth dimmed as two large shadows fell across her. Her smile faltered. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find two strangers towering above her—broad, muscular men with bronzed skin, overly confident smiles, and the glint of trouble in their eyes. One dropped casually into Vincent’s chair, his posture lax as if it already belonged to him. The other loomed, folding his arms and puffing his chest.

"You alone?" the standing one asked, voice low and oily, flexing his pecs in a show of bravado.

Seluna tensed. Her lips parted, but words failed. Her glance shifted to the other man who was now leaning toward her with an unnerving closeness.

"That’s a shame," he said smoothly. "A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be left alone. You need someone who knows how to treat you right."

She tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go.

"Why don’t you hang out with us?" the seated one added. "We can show you a good time... rub some sunscreen on that back, maybe—"

As he reached out to touch her hair, she recoiled, smacking his hand away. "N-no thank you, I—"

"What?" the other cut in, grinning. "Got a boyfriend or something?"

Her eyes darted toward where Vincent had gone, but the man’s broad frame blocked her view.

"Uh... yes. Actually," she replied, summoning confidence she didn’t feel.

The man clicked his tongue. "Sure you do," he scoffed. "Bet he’s got nothin’ on this." He flexed, veins popping, his arm shoved forward like a trophy.

Seluna turned her nose up and looked away, uncomfortable and angry.

"Don’t say you’re not impressed," the other sneered. Their laughter rose—loud, obnoxious.

Until it didn’t.

"Can I help you?" Vincent’s voice sliced through the clamor, low and edged with a deadly calm.

The men turned, startled. Vincent stood just behind them, tall and silent as a stormcloud, his silhouette backlit by the golden sun. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those crimson, ancient eyes—glared with ice. In one hand, a vanilla cone. The other hung loose at his side, his fingers twitching slightly in restraint.

"Ohh, this must be the boyfriend," the standing man said mockingly. He stepped up, inches from Vincent’s face, attempting to stare him down. "You can’t just leave a girl like this unattended, man. I almost swept her away."

His gaze dropped to Vincent’s torso. "Hmm. You natty?"

Vincent’s brow ticked, confusion and irritation mingling as he tilted his head ever so slightly.

The man lifted his hands with a smirk. "Hey, just looking out for the lady," he said, backing off as the other man joined him. They both circled Vincent, still chuckling, and disappeared into the crowd.

Vincent watched them go until they vanished beyond the bodies and beach umbrellas. He then turned silently and handed Seluna the cone before sitting back in his chair with a weary exhale.

"Thank you," she murmured, voice gentle and grateful.

Vincent settled back, arms folding behind his head. "I can’t stand guys like that," he muttered. "All ego. Brains of a Mandragora."

Seluna laughed, the tension finally dissolving from her posture. "Yeah."

She took a slow lick of the ice cream, its cool sweetness melting on her tongue. Around them, the beach moved on, loud and sun-drenched, full of life. But for her, the world had narrowed to this—one peaceful breath, one seat in the shade, and the quiet strength beside her that never wavered.

The warm lull of the afternoon had settled over the beach like a dream. A few minutes had passed since Seluna finished her ice cream, her fingers sticky from the last bite. She and Vincent sat in peaceful silence, the hum of the waves playing rhythm to the distant laughter and crashing surf. It was calm, comfortable—and perhaps, just a bit too still for her restless spirit.

Suddenly, she slapped her thighs lightly with both palms, as if waking herself from a trance, and rose to her feet with a newfound spark. Vincent turned his head slightly, one eye peeking open beneath his lashes to regard her curiously. Her voice, bright and resolute, carried her decision forward. "That's it. I'm getting in the water."

Vincent closed his eye again with a quiet sigh, reclining back into his chair. "Have fun," he said, his tone utterly neutral.

Seluna huffed softly, lips pursing in mock offense, but she didn’t argue. With a flick of her pleated swim skirt, she turned and padded toward the shoreline, her feet sinking with each step into the warm, golden sand.

As she reached the edge of the water, her pace slowed. Gentle waves rolled in, splashing up her ankles, and she gasped aloud at the shock of the cold. Her arms folded tightly over her chest, instinctively shielding herself. She hesitated for a moment, the chill creeping up her legs as the tide flirted with her shins. Behind her, Vincent cracked one eye again, quietly observing.

Still facing the ocean, Seluna took a deep breath. She inched further in, the water licking at her knees, then her thighs, splashing against her skin and sending little tremors up her spine. Her muscles tensed, her body resisting the cold, but when she turned her head and caught a glimpse of Vincent watching her, something in her shifted. Her spine straightened, her jaw set with determination.

She jumped ahead, splashing deeper until the water reached her waist. Her arms lifted comically high to avoid getting wet, but she knew what she had to do. Taking one final, bracing breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and dipped lower, knees bending as the water rose to her shoulders—then her chin—then her nose—until she finally submerged completely. A heartbeat later, she bobbed back up, hair slicked to her skin, a prideful grin curling her lips as she treaded water.

From the shore, Vincent watched with mild amusement, his expression unreadable but his eyes quietly warm. Seluna raised a hand, waving to him energetically. "Hey! Come in!" she called, her voice echoing over the waves.

Vincent shook his head slowly, his refusal clear.

"Hmm." She pouted to herself, glancing down to the shimmering surface, when—without warning—her body lurched beneath the water. A sudden yelp escaped her before she vanished below the surface entirely, leaving nothing but ripples behind.

Vincent bolted upright. Alarm overtook his features, his gaze locked onto the spot where she had been. When several long seconds passed and she didn’t reemerge, his heart seized. Without thinking, he was on his feet, cloakless, charging toward the water. The sand kicked up around his feet as he ran, hitting the frigid tide without hesitation. He waded in fast and deep, the water rising against his body.

"Seluna!" he called out, voice laced with panic as he spun in place, scanning the rippling surface. He turned once—then twice—frantic, when—

"RAHH!"

She shot up behind him with a shriek, her hands stabbing into his shoulders with her nails like a playful ambush. Vincent tensed instantly, twisting to face her with his heart pounding, the weight of panic still heavy in his chest. When he saw her face, gleaming with mischief and laughter, his relief turned quickly to mild agitation.

"I should’ve known," he grumbled with a huff, rolling his eyes.

Seluna howled with laughter, practically cackling as she floated nearby, arms outstretched and water glistening on her skin. Her head tilted back with unrestrained joy, and Vincent found himself frozen in place, quietly marveling at the sound. He hadn’t heard her laugh like this before—not with such abandon. Despite himself, a soft chuckle slipped from his lips.

"Told you the water was nice," she said between breaths, still giddy.

"Yeah, well… being dry is nicer," he shot back, but his tone had softened, just enough to reveal his amusement.

Their eyes met then, a tender pause stretching between them as the breeze rippled the water around their shoulders. Seluna’s expression calmed, her breathing steadying as her gaze drifted between his eyes. But then, suddenly, her brow furrowed. Her body stiffened.

"What the—" she started to mutter.

Then she shrieked, short and sharp. "EE!" Her arms drew in tight across her chest, her body squirming. "S-something’s touching me!"

Vincent groaned, exasperated. "You already got me in the water. You can cut the act."

"No, I’m serious! Something touched m—EEEEE!"

She shrieked again, louder, leaping onto him without thinking. Her arms flew around his neck, her legs drawing up between them as she tried to escape the invisible threat. Vincent caught her instinctively, one arm wrapping behind her back as he steadied them both in the water.

They froze.

Her head turned slightly, pressing her cheek near his collarbone as she stared wide-eyed into the water. Vincent looked past her, down into the ripples.

A long beat passed.

"They’re just fish," he said finally, dry as ever.

"Y-yeah but—" she began, but her voice caught.

She blinked up at him—and the realization hit her like a wave. She was pressed entirely against him—her chest against his, her bare thighs brushing the slick muscles of his waist, their skin kissed by salt and sun, soaked and shimmering in the golden light. Their faces were inches apart, and Vincent’s arm was still holding her there, steady, warm, and surprisingly gentle.

Their breath mingled in the air between them, and for a fleeting moment, neither of them spoke.

The moment between them hung like a breath suspended—Vincent’s crimson gaze flicking downward, briefly catching on the gentle curve of Seluna’s lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, the faintest suggestion of movement as if drawn toward her, when—

SMACK.

A beach ball collided with the side of his head.

Vincent’s eyes shut with slow, simmering irritation, his jaw tightening. Seluna gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth to stifle the bubbling laughter that threatened to spill. Her shoulders rose high with tension as she watched him slowly, very slowly, turn his head in the direction of the impact. There, just a few feet away in the water, stood the same two tanned, obnoxiously muscular men who had harassed her earlier. They wore mock-innocent expressions, faces painted with faux regret that didn’t reach their smirking eyes.

Vincent’s grip on her waist loosened. Seluna’s feet dropped back down to the sandy floor of the shallows. Still half-laughing, half-mortified, she watched as Vincent turned his body, stooped to retrieve the ball, and then—with a single, fluid motion—cocked his arm back and hurled it.

The force behind his throw was shocking.

The ball cut clean through the air with a whistle and soared—not toward the men, but far past them, over their heads and into the distant sea where it vanished into a white spray of ocean mist. The men stood there, blinking in awe.

"Sorry, bro!" one of them called, poorly concealing a laugh.

Vincent said nothing. He turned back toward the shoreline, his face unreadable, his stride slow but deliberate as he pushed through the waist-high surf.

Seluna’s laughter died in her throat, guilt creeping into her features as she stepped forward slightly. "Where’re you going?" she called after him, her voice soft with a pout.

"Back into the shade," Vincent replied without looking over his shoulder. The sun caught on his wet hair, now slicked and heavy down his back, the black strands clinging to his pale skin. As he moved, the water slid down the planes of his muscles, each step revealing the lithe, sculpted movement beneath the surface.

Seluna blinked, momentarily mesmerized by the sight before heat blossomed in her cheeks. She looked away quickly, catching the two men still chuckling to each other nearby. That killed the last of her amusement. Her brows knit together as she followed after Vincent.

The warmth of the sand beneath her feet did little to fend off the sudden chill from the ocean breeze, which licked at her wet skin and made her shiver. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hunched her shoulders against the wind and padded across the beach. By the time she reached Vincent, he stood near their chairs, unmoving, his back to her as he faced the shaded seating.

She stepped up beside him, glancing up as she hugged herself. "What’s wrong?" she asked, her teeth lightly chattering.

He sighed, low and tired. "We forgot towels."

Seluna looked down at the sand between her feet. "Oh… Well, we could go buy some on the boardwalk."

Vincent looked down toward the side pocket of his trunks, patting them lightly. "I spent the last of what I brought down here on the ice cream."

"Mmm…" She pursed her lips, considering. "I’ve got more back at the suite."

He nodded slowly. "We might as well walk back, shower, and change. Save the gil."

Seluna agreed with a small nod, her arms still folded tight to her middle. Together, they turned from the water and began their walk back across the sand. The sun, now lower in the sky, warmed their skin just enough to take the edge off the chill. Seluna’s hair clung to her cheeks, damp from the sea, and Vincent’s silent presence beside her felt heavier than usual. Not uncomfortable, but tense—charged with something. She glanced up at him once or twice, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

By the time they passed through the heart of the resort, the bustle of sunbathers and tourists began to dwindle. The slow march of evening had begun its descent, casting golden rays over the buildings and palm trees. When they reached the doors of the Seaside Inn, the quiet that met them was a comfort.

Once inside their suite, Vincent wasted no time.

"You go first," he said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Seluna gathered her dry clothes from her bag and nodded. She made her shower quick but thorough, letting the hot water chase the chill from her bones. When she emerged, dressed in a simple sundress and her damp hair twisted into a loose bun, she paused in the doorway.

Through the sheer curtains drawn across the open balcony, she saw Vincent standing, arms crossed, gazing into the trees that stretched out beyond the resort. But what drew her attention most was the red flush on his back.

"Vincent!" she called out in alarm. "You damn vampire, you burned!"

He looked over his shoulder slowly, brows raised. She stepped closer, pointing at the angry, sun-scorched skin on his upper back.

"I should’ve thought to get sunscreen," she muttered guiltily, clasping her hands together. "I’m so sorry."

He grunted, shrugging with mild discomfort as he tried to roll his stiff shoulders. "It’s fine."

"No, it’s not. You’re probably in pain and you’re just being stubborn about it," she huffed. "I’ll get you some aloe. That should help. Go shower—I’ll buy some while you clean up."

She was already reaching for the door before he could protest. He watched her disappear, her energy like a sudden breeze—a stark contrast to the stillness he left behind. Vincent exhaled softly, then turned back toward the bathroom, ready to let the cold water wash the day from his body, even as the ghost of Seluna’s laughter still clung to his ears.

The room was still warm with the haze of daylight when Seluna returned, the door creaking softly as she entered, a small green bottle of aloe clutched in her hand. Her eyes immediately scanned the suite, stopping when she saw him—Vincent, seated at the edge of the bed, half-turned away from her, a towel slung low around his waist and nothing more.

She froze mid-step.

He stood at the sound of her arrival, turning just enough to acknowledge her. Seluna's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes—despite every conscious command—drifted downward. His skin was flushed pink in places, a sunburn already blooming across his pale chest and shoulders, but what captivated her was the way his body tapered so perfectly from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. The sharp V-lines above his hips curved with precision, muscles hugging every dip and plane of his lean frame. Veins traced a subtle map just beneath the skin below his navel, disappearing beneath the towel that clung just barely to propriety.

A sound escaped her—small, barely a breath—as he approached her. But Vincent didn’t meet her gaze. His eyes were lowered, almost… bashful? That alone made her lips press into a tight line.

Without a word, he turned, one arm reaching up to pull his damp hair away from his back, exposing the full breadth of his sun-scorched skin. Seluna swallowed hard. Every line of his musculature, every shadow carved from bone and sinew, was on display. The subtle flex in his raised arm made the back of his bicep pop. Her throat felt dry.

She stepped closer, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a cool glob of gel into her palm. As she reached up and pressed it gently to his shoulder, Vincent twitched slightly.

"Sorry," she murmured.

He didn’t answer, only stood stoically as she worked, his hair draped forward over one shoulder now, revealing the curve of his neck. The gel smoothed easily beneath her fingers, the cold offering some small relief to the angry redness of his skin. She worked in silence, moving carefully across his upper back and down to where the burn lightened along his waist.

When she finished, Vincent let his hair fall back down, relaxing as he slowly turned to face her. The front of him had caught the sun too—his collarbones, the top of his chest, even the tip of his nose had turned a soft blush red. His cheeks were pink, and not entirely from the sun.

Seluna squeezed out another bit of aloe and touched her fingertip to the tip of his nose, rubbing it gently. Vincent’s eyes flicked up into hers. They were glassy, uncertain, and quickly fell away to the floor.

She smiled, stepping in again to begin working the gel across his chest. Her fingers glided softly over his skin, tracing the dips and rises of each muscle. Her touch slowed—unintentionally—as her hands followed the arc of his pecs, down across the ridges of his abdomen.

And then she heard it.

A sound, quiet but unmistakable. A low breath, caught somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Her hand paused. Eyes lifting with caution, she looked into his face. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, eyes still locked on the floor. "No… keep going."

But his voice—it was different. Breathier. Soft.

Her pulse thundered beneath her ribs.

She resumed, more hesitantly now, her fingertips brushing down the subtle ladder of muscle that formed his abs. As she reached his lower stomach, Vincent’s body tensed beneath her hand. His breath hitched, another faint moan slipping past his lips.

She started to draw back, but he caught her wrist.

His grip was firm, but not forceful. His chest rose and fell with deep, unsteady breaths as he slowly lifted his gaze to hers. His expression had shifted completely. His lids hung low, lashes shadowing the vivid crimson of his eyes. His lips were parted, damp with breath.

"Seluna," he whispered, pulling her gently toward him.

She stumbled forward into the space between them, her body pressed flush to his. Her heart fluttered wildly as he leaned down, lowering his mouth to her ear.

"I can’t—" he began, the words trembling as he paused. His lips brushed her skin. "I want you."

The confession, breath-warm and hushed, unraveled her. Her entire body shivered beneath the soft echo of his voice.

Vincent lingered there, practically hunched over her, their foreheads nearly brushing as he held her close. His breath fanned across her skin, and his eyes—flickering with something fierce and fragile all at once—were pinned to her lips. He waited, his gaze unmoving, his expression tense with anticipation.

Her breath hitched, her mouth parting—but no words came.

Instead, she reached up, the bottle of aloe slipping from her hand and landing with a soft thud on the floor. Her fingers tangled into the damp strands of his hair, and their foreheads tipped together.

Then their lips met.

The kiss was slow at first—an ache made tangible. Vincent cupped the back of her head with one hand, the other releasing her wrist and sliding around her waist as if he’d been holding back the need to touch her for far too long. Seluna melted into him, her arms weaving around his shoulders as the kiss deepened, turning hungry, insistent.

Their steps were clumsy, slow and wandering as they moved toward the bed, still entangled, never once breaking contact. When the backs of Seluna's knees hit the mattress, she collapsed, Vincent following her down, holding himself up with one arm as he hovered over her, tasting her from every kiss. 

The hand that cupped her face slowly slid down, pulling against the towel that separated him from her, and revealing himself fully. He tossed it aside, their kisses never parting until he reached for her thighs, hands slipping up beneath the sundress and slowly rising between her thighs. 

Seluna pulled away first, their eyes locked. "Vincent," she whispered. "I've never done this before..." she admits.

"Neither have I."

He dips back into her embrace, his hand resuming with the invitation of her easing body. His thumb caressed over her underwear, her legs spreading just slightly as he found the right spot, their lips parting as she let out a moan into his shoulder. He hugged her tight as he pleased her, rubbing her until she was wet through the cloth, her moans in his ears like an angel singing. 

Then finally, he couldn't bear holding back anymore. He sat up, placing his hands on her knees and slowly opening her legs, positioning himself between her thighs, his thick, pulsing member pressed against her. His eyes left hers for only a second, admiring her body, pulling the hem of her dress up more until her breasts were exposed, Seluna pulling it completely over her head so that she now lay equally bare beneath him. With gentle hands, he carefully removed her underwear, slipping them up and over her legs, pulling them off her ankle and tossing them aside.

As he leaned forward, his balancing arm just aside her head, his other hand guided his cock until it pressed against her lips, his body twitching as it made contact. He leans forward, kissing her cheek once, twice, then switching to the other side, kissing down to her jaw, then meeting his lips back with hers just as he pushed himself inside, the intense pressure forcing a moan from them both. 

Vincent kissed away her pain, his thrusts slow and deliberate as her taut body finally eased after a few passing moments, her pained grunts beneath his kiss now drifting to soft moans. As her eyebrows curved up in pleasure, their lips separated as Vincent buried his face into her neck. Her hands wrapped over his back, unable to control herself, the pleasure so powerful, so deep, stretching her so much, her fingers dug into his back. For Vincent, the pleasure outweighed the pain of her clawing, and he only thrust harder with every scratch until their hips were slapping together until he could no longer hold back. 

Every thrust became aggressive, pulling loud moans from her lips as Vincent sat up enough to see their bodies colliding, his hair draped over her head like a curtain, her mouth stuck in a perpetual 'oh'. 

Vincent forced her legs open more as he sat up further, pinning her legs down aside herself into the mattress, her hands clinging to his forearms as they pressed into her thighs. His expression was hidden behind his long black hair as his thrusts pounded her until her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her moans now forced grunts of pure pleasure. 

He couldn't help himself. He was like an animal for her. 

He quickly pulled out, grabbing her by both sides of her waist and flipping her onto her stomach, his fingers pressing beneath her against her hip bones and pulling her up just enough to slip back inside. She tried to look back at him, but as soon as he stretched her open once more, she buried her face into the mattress, fingers gripping the linen as she muffled her moans. 

He couldn't help himself. The shape of her body, the way her skin rippled with every impact—it drove him crazy. He fought against the swelling pleasure threatening to explode, his hands wrapping around her waist as her back arched into him, pulling her back. So deep inside her now he could feel where she ended. 

He grits his teeth, the pleasure overwhelming, something he'd missed out on his whole life, the intimacy, the intensity—he could fight it no longer. 

He quickly pulled out, a loud, soft and sensual moan escaping him as he finished on her backside, hunching over her body from the intensity of the release, his breaths ragged like a dog. 

After a moment, his throat incredibly dry, he finally caught his breath and sat upright, frantically looking around until he found the towel just at the edge of the bed and cleaning her off. Beneath him, she collapsed, flat on her stomach and stretched out, completely bare, utterly vulnerable. 

He tossed the towel aside once she was dry and crawled over her, his lips trailing soft kisses up her back to her shoulders, then her cheek as half her face was pressed against the bed, completely defeated. 

With the heat passing, Seluna's breath slowed, her eyes slowly closing as Vincent wordlessly laid aside her, his arm draped over her back as they remained in the bed together, the sun dipping just outside, the warmth of the day now dimmed as the room fell into near total darkness.

Chapter Text

The early morning sun had begun to rise, casting pale golden light through the sheer curtains of the suite. It draped softly across the room, catching on the swaying edges of the fabric as a gentle coastal breeze flowed in, carrying with it the mingled scent of salt and grilled seafood from the waking streets below. The room was still and warm, tranquil in its quiet.

Vincent stirred. A soft grunt escaped him as his brow furrowed against the light, lashes fluttering open. His gaze remained still, fixed on the ceiling above, his arms folded instinctively across his bare chest. After a long breath, he slowly sat up, his hair tousled and disheveled from sleep, casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones. He rubbed the heel of his hand against one eye, glancing to the side—only to feel the breath catch in his throat.

Seluna wasn’t there.

The space beside him was empty, the sheets rumpled but cold. A frown ghosted across his face. His eyes scanned the room with growing urgency. No sign of her. Her clothes were gone, her weapon missing. But her pack still lay tucked near the bed.

He rose swiftly, linen slipping down his waist until he hastily grabbed it back up with a quiet curse under his breath. A moment later, he was dressed in his usual garb—minus the cloak, forgotten in his rush—as he pushed through the door and stepped onto the outer balcony of the inn.

Down below, the wooden paths of the resort were already seeing motion. Johnny was strolling back from the direction of the docks, his expression bright with self-satisfaction. As Vincent descended the stairs in swift, heavy steps, Johnny caught sight of him and grinned.

"Morning, Romeo," Johnny called with a salute. "Sleep well?"

But the look on Vincent’s face made the smile drop immediately.

"Where is she?" Vincent demanded, eyes sharp and voice tight.

Johnny blinked. "Uh—the girl? Your girlfriend? I asked her to take care of some monsters outside the resort, that’s all. They were scaring off customers—"

Vincent didn’t wait for him to finish. He bolted.

Johnny stumbled a step back, watching the man vanish in a streak of red and black into the tree line behind the resort. "I said they were low-level!" he shouted after him. "Probably..."

The woods were thick and humid from the early morning dew. Vincent’s boots hit the earth with fast, deliberate impact as he dashed through tall grasses and winding trails, his heart racing now with something far more insidious than exertion. What had he been thinking, letting her out of his sight? What if she’d run into something worse? What if she was already—

No.

He forced the thought down, gritting his teeth as he stopped at a clearing. Birds called faintly overhead, the wind rustling the canopy, but there was no sign of Seluna. He looked around, chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. His eyes found a nearby hill—steep, crowned with wild grass—and he rushed toward it, seeking a better vantage point.

As he neared the top, something changed. The sound of a voice, light and distant—humming. He slowed, cautiously approaching with one hand hovering near Cerberus. The melody was soft, familiar, innocent. It anchored something in his chest.

Parting through a final cluster of trees, he saw her.

Seluna sat at the edge of the cliff in the tall grass, her knees drawn up and arms curled around a small bundle of feathers nestled in her lap. She was humming a lullaby, one Vincent remembered hearing once during a sleepless campfire night. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it floated through the morning air with such gentleness, it softened every sharp edge inside him.

The creature she held—a tiny chocobo chick, golden fluff ruffled from the breeze—was curled up against her, its eyes closed, head twitching slightly with each sleepy breath.

Vincent stepped forward, easing the weight of his boots as he moved to her side. She noticed him, eyes cracking open. A warm smile played at her lips. She raised one hand and pressed a finger softly against her lips, asking for quiet.

He obeyed, sitting beside her silently. The view from the cliff was breathtaking—the trees below stretching endlessly, their leaves catching the gold of sunrise. For a long moment, they simply breathed together.

"You shouldn’t have gone off by yourself," Vincent said at last, voice hushed.

Her smile faltered a little. "I’m sorry. You looked so peaceful sleeping. I didn’t wanna wake you."

He exhaled, eyes fixed somewhere far away. "I was worried," he admitted with an almost reluctance.

She looked at him then, genuinely touched, her smile returning. "Next time I’ll leave a note. I promise."

Still, he didn’t answer. That Vincent brand of quiet brooding lingered between them. Seluna let out a soft laugh.

"Don’t worry," she added. "You’re not getting rid of me that easily."

That earned her a faint smile. He finally met her gaze, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

"Hmm, she hummed a sigh. "You should’ve seen me," she began, her voice brimming with pride. "I took care of those monsters like they were nothing."

Vincent’s smile grew, subtle but sincere. "I wish I had."

He glanced down at his gloved hand. "I’m sorry… for not training you. Not properly."

Seluna shook her head. "It’s okay. I learned a lot just watching you."

"Still. That’s not enough. If we’re going to keep traveling together… I need to know you’ll be safe. That you can handle whatever comes."

"Then you’ll have to teach me," she said, leaning her shoulder gently into his. "Think you can handle that, old man?"

He rolled his eyes. "Barely."

Just then, the chick stirred, its tiny claws twitching against her lap as it let out a sleepy chirp. Seluna glanced down, stroking its head. Its tiny black eyes blinked open, only to land squarely on Vincent.

It chirped again, louder this time, and stared.

"He was being chased by the monsters," Seluna explained, scratching beneath its fluffy chin. "That’s why they ended up out here. Poor thing was terrified."

The chick let out a defiant peep, still suspicious of Vincent.

Vincent gave it a deadpan stare. "I’ve had worse welcomes."

Seluna laughed, sunlight catching in her eyes.

The walk back to the resort was a quiet one, yet full of subtle comfort. The chocobo chick scurried eagerly ahead of them, its stubby legs kicking up little tufts of dust and sand as it led the way, chirping now and again as if to make sure they were still following. Occasionally it would stop, turning back toward them with a tilt of its tiny head, as if seeking reassurance that it was going the right way. Seluna smiled each time it did, her steps light despite the humidity.

She let out a small laugh. "He’s getting a little too good at this whole leader thing."

Vincent, as always, remained just behind her shoulder, his arms loose by his side, his presence silent but sure. The path ahead was lined with tall grasses that swayed beneath the late morning breeze, the sound of the resort not far now—vendors calling out, music drifting faintly on the air.

"I was thinking we hit Junon next," Seluna said casually, swinging her arms as she walked just ahead of him. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes catching his briefly. "We’ve explored most of this continent already. And Cait—well, Reeve—he mentioned needing to pick up supplies there. Might as well tag along."

Vincent kept his gaze forward, that ever-present intensity resting behind his eyes. But as he noticed her lingering look, he gave her a sidelong glance.

"Oh. Sure. Whatever you want," he replied with quiet indifference.

Seluna grinned and bumped his shoulder playfully as they stepped onto the main boardwalk, now bustling with morning energy. The chick chirped and darted closer to her feet to avoid getting trampled in the crowd, staying close.

Vincent looked down at the small bird, raising an eyebrow. "Is that thing coming with us?"

"Hmm," Seluna mused with mock thoughtfulness. "Well, if its mother doesn’t come looking for him soon, it’d be cruel to leave him."

Vincent’s eyes flicked to her. The way she looked down at the little fluffball with such tenderness pulled the faintest sigh from him.

"I have a feeling that’s what you’re hoping for," he muttered.

Seluna chuckled, feigning innocence. "Now who said that?"

He shook his head with a smirk, saying nothing more as they reached the inn. The chick darted past them into the suite, immediately beginning an enthusiastic exploration of the space, its tiny talons clicking against the floorboards.

Seluna turned to Vincent as he closed the door behind them. "How’s your sunburn?"

Vincent stretched his neck slightly, running a gloved hand across his shoulder through the leather materail of his top. "Would feel better if I didn’t have cat scratches all over my back," he remarked dryly, the barest tease in his voice.

Seluna immediately turned a deep shade of red, hands covering her face. "I’m sorry!" she squeaked through her fingers.

He merely passed by her and patted the top of her head as he walked to the table, grabbing their bags and slinging them over one shoulder. His cloak hung from the other.

"You ready?" he asked without turning.

She lowered her hands, eyes flicking after him with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness. She nodded. The chick returned to her side without prompting, chirping once as if to signal it was ready too.

The walk to the airstrip was quiet, save for the occasional soft chirps from the little bird. Seluna kept sneaking glances at Vincent, her expression thoughtful, a little distant. She wasn’t even sure what she was hoping to see. He glanced at her once, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at his lips. That only made her heart stir in ways she couldn’t name.

She looked down at her hands, walking in silence. Whatever that feeling was, she pushed it aside.

The airstrip came into view just ahead—its makeshift wooden ramps and gathering of people unmistakable. But to their surprise, they found Cid and Reeve already there, the ramp to the Highwind lowered, a modest crowd boarding under Reeve’s direction.

Reeve spotted them from a distance and waved, a broad smile on his face. "Perfect timing!" he called out. "We’re headed east in just a bit, gonna touch down in Junon to pick up some supplies. Wanna come with us?"

Seluna perked up, nodding quickly. "Of course! Thank you," she said with a grateful bow before turning back to Vincent. He gave a quiet nod in response, and together—with the chick chirping behind them—they made their way up the ramp and into the Highwind’s hold, the engines already beginning to hum with life beneath their feet.

Seluna stood quietly at the front of the Highwind’s control deck, her gaze fixed on the sprawling ocean beneath them. The vast window before her stretched nearly floor to ceiling, the blue sky bleeding into endless sea, scattered with hints of light glinting off waves. A soft hum of air pressure and distant mechanical whirs filled the room, as crew members manned their posts, weaving in and out between the exposed pipes and glowing panels.

Reeve, mid-conversation with Cid a few feet back, turned when he spotted the tiny fluffball nestled at Seluna’s side. The chocobo chick stood alert beside her boots, peeking curiously through the window as if it too were admiring the sea. With a chuckle, Reeve crouched beside it, holding out a hand.

"Hey there, little guy," he greeted warmly, ruffling the top of the chick’s head with a few affectionate pats. The chick let out a soft trill in response. Reeve glanced up at Seluna. "What’s his name?"

Seluna tapped a finger against her chin in thought, still gazing out the window. "Hmm... I haven’t really thought of one yet," she admitted.

Her voice trailed as her eyes drifted to the far corner of the deck, where Vincent stood. He remained in the shadows, back leaned against the metal wall, arms crossed, and eyes closed. The way the light didn’t quite touch him made his already distant presence feel more pronounced. Seluna’s brows pulled faintly together, her gaze lingering.

Reeve, watching her expression shift, stood slowly with the chick now cradled in his arms. He stepped beside her and lowered his voice.

"Boy troubles?"

Seluna blinked out of her daze. "Huh?" she muttered in confusion. Then, realizing what he meant, she quickly turned to him, mortified. "W-what? Who told you that?!"

Reeve laughed softly. "Nobody had to. From the moment you looked at his old photo back in Nibelheim, I knew something would come of it. My intuition’s rarely wrong."

Seluna sighed, lowering her head slightly as if trying to hide behind her feathered bangs. "Honestly... I don’t even know if there is trouble. Maybe I’m just overthinking it."

"What do you mean?" Reeve asked gently, shifting the chick to one arm and placing his free hand on his hip.

She hesitated, twisting her fingers in front of her. "Vincent and I... well, we, y'know..." Her cheeks were already flushing. She glanced down. "And since then, he hasn’t really shown any... affection. Not even a word about it."

"Ahh," Reeve said with a nod, rubbing at his chin. "I see."

His expression grew thoughtful. The chick blinked slowly in his arms, peeping once.

"Truth be told, I’m not exactly the expert on romance," Reeve confessed. "But maybe it’s not as complicated as it feels. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to show it. Or he thinks you already know. Why not talk to him? Let him know how you're feeling."

Seluna shook her head quickly. "No, that’s way too embarrassing. What if I say something and he realizes he doesn’t like me that way?"

She covered her face with both hands, groaning into her palms. Reeve frowned, offering a sympathetic smile.

"Come on now," he said gently. "After everything you’ve been through, and everything you are... I’m certain he cares. You might be the only one who doesn’t see it yet."

Seluna lowered her hands slowly, her fingers curling around one of her sleeves. Her eyes dropped down to the little chocobo chick, who stared back up at her with round, trusting eyes.

"I hope so..." she murmured, though doubt still tugged quietly at the corners of her heart.

The days that followed passed in a quiet drift, with Vincent remaining ever distant. Though he stayed close by Seluna’s side, his behavior had returned to the cold, brooding air he wore like armor. He spoke only when necessary, never unkind, but never reaching either. The warmth he’d shown her in Costa del Sol—brief and consuming—had vanished like a dream that vanished at first light. His gaze would meet hers in silence sometimes, a subtle nod acknowledging her presence, but the fire was gone from his eyes. Seluna carried on, smiling where she could, but every moment that passed on as if that night bare beneath the blankets meant nothing weighed heavier on her chest, a quiet ache she dared not voice.

The Highwind touched down in Junon under a vibrant afternoon sky, the wind brisk as it swept in from the ocean below. From the ship’s platform, Seluna gazed down in awe at the layered city carved into the cliffside, walkways and railings weaving between industrial towers and residences, the steady hum of activity drifting up from the streets below. Stalls lined the edges of the upper plaza, steam rising from open food carts as civilians bustled about with sacks and satchels in hand. It was alive in a way few cities still were.

As they prepared to disembark, Reeve stopped the pair with a raised hand, the chocobo chick bouncing by Seluna’s boot.

"Hey," he called. "We’ll be taking off again in a few hours. Heading north next. If you two want to hitch a ride again, you’re welcome."

Seluna turned, ready to thank him, but Vincent cut in before she could speak.

"No thanks," he said flatly. "We’ll travel the rest of the way on foot."

Seluna blinked, surprised, her gaze shifting between the two men.

"T-thank you, though," she added quickly, forcing a smile.

Reeve nodded and offered a short wave before departing, and with that, the pair descended the ramp, walking quietly into the city with the chick trailing after them. Seluna found herself watching Vincent in the periphery of her vision, his cloak draped high over his face once more, casting shadows where she longed to see him clearly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.

Their first stop was a small, bustling café just off the main road. The interior was warm and filled with the aroma of fried seafood and fresh bread. Locals filled every other table, laughter and utensils clinking through the air. Seluna took a seat across from Vincent near the window, where sunlight pooled lazily onto the floorboards. She watched as he barely glanced at the menu before placing a simple order—black coffee and something small to eat. She asked for the same, hoping perhaps they'd enjoy it together.

When the food came, he muttered a quiet thanks and ate with mechanical precision, his eyes often turned toward the window rather than her. She studied his profile—the lines of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to passersby below. It was like watching someone from a distance across a glass wall.

"It’s beautiful here," she tried, her voice soft, eyes lingering on him.

"Hm," he offered without looking at her. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on her plate.

Afterward, they left the café, a sense of something unfinished lingering behind. Vincent walked with even strides ahead of her, not far, but far enough that Seluna noticed it. Her eyes trailed to the cobblestone path, to the shops, and occasionally back to him.

They eventually found their way to a modest inn nestled on the second level of the city. Seluna paid while Vincent waited silently beside the door, their bags slung over his shoulder. Once in the room, Seluna glanced around, taking in the old but clean space. One bed. Her heart fluttered, uncertain.

She turned to him, noting the way he dropped their bags at the foot of the bed and immediately began checking their gear. Her gaze returned to the bed again, then back to him, cheeks faintly flushed. As she stepped slowly to its edge, standing at the foot of it with her arms behind her back, Vincent turned, pausing briefly as his eyes met hers. But the moment lasted only a breath.

"We should go look at the community board. See if anyone needs help," he said simply, brushing past her without further acknowledgment. Her shoulders dipped as she followed, the little chick chirping beside her as they exited.

They took the elevator down toward the shoreline, the metallic hum of its descent filling the silence between them. The undercity had a different air than the bustling upper levels—less refined, the buildings more weathered, the smell of sea salt stronger here. Barnacles clung to supports, gulls circled high overhead.

The community board was nailed beside an old merchant’s stall, covered in various papers and hand-written notes. Seluna leaned in to scan it when a voice broke through.

"You two lookin’ for work?" came the call of a weathered woman. She approached with a slow gait, a thick scarf wrapped around her shoulders.

"Mhm," Seluna replied politely.

"Well," the woman began, gesturing out toward the ocean. A ship, half-sunken and listing to its side, floated in the distance, the hull rusted and paint worn. "That ship out there was an aid vessel. Got hit by somethin’. Whole crew went down with it. Folks around here say it’s haunted."

Seluna gasped, brows raising. "That’s terrible."

"Mhm. There could still be some decent supplies in the wreck. Maybe even someone who made it out. But no one here’s willin’ to go. I’d pay you for checkin’ it out. Even more if you bring back somethin’ useful."

Seluna gave a reassuring nod. "We’ll do it, don’t worry."

She turned to Vincent for confirmation, but he remained still, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

"Thank ya. Means a lot. And uh… stay safe. Dunno what attacked that ship, but it wasn’t no butterfly, I’ll tell ya that," the woman added with a firm nod.

Seluna crouched beside the chick and gave it a gentle pet. "Stay here with the kind lady, alright?" she whispered, giving the chick a gentle pat on the head. The little bird chirped, ruffling its feathers as it looked up at the older woman, who offered a soft smile and reached down to scoop him up with practiced care.

They climbed into a small boat moored near the dock, Seluna taking her seat at the bow while Vincent picked up the oars, positioning himself near the back. As he rowed, the boat cut a smooth line across the quiet inlet, the water dark and glassy beneath them. Wind tousled Seluna’s ponytail, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and rust.

She looked ahead toward the wreck, her mind swimming with quiet thoughts—of distance, of shadows, of things left unsaid. Behind her, Vincent remained silent, his strokes steady as the ghostly silhouette of the sunken ship grew closer, rising like a husk from the sea.

The boat bumped softly against the rusted side of the sunken ship, its hull groaning like an ancient beast disturbed from slumber, the water gently lapping against its barnacle-riddled frame. Seluna reached out to steady their small vessel, her hand finding purchase on corroded metal slick with seawater. Vincent had already risen, his boots gripping the uneven lip of the ship’s broken edge, red cloak fluttering faintly in the sea breeze. Before them, the barnacled surface of the ship’s rusted hull stretched upward at a precarious slant. Near the top, a gaping window sat open, its frame warped by pressure—dark and silent like the mouth of some drowned leviathan. There was no path to it, just the jagged curve of metal rising above the waterline. Vincent silently rose first, crouching and bracing himself before turning and extending a hand down toward Seluna. With a determined breath, she nodded and stepped lightly onto the edge of the boat, making a careful leap. Her boots struck the slick metal, nearly slipping, but Vincent’s grasp caught her wrist and guided her up with steady strength until she landed beside him at the edge of the window.

She looked up at him—his expression unreadable, cast in dim gray light—and offered a faint, grateful smile. He gave only a curt nod before leading the way inside.

As they passed through, a wave of damp, stagnant air met them. The scent of rot, mildew, and old saltwater clung to the insides of the wreck, pressing in like a thick fog. Light filtered faintly through breaches in the hull, slicing the shadows into long, jagged beams that stretched over warped and water-stained corridors. Everything was crooked—walls listing unnaturally to the right, the floor tilted at a nauseating angle. It felt less like a ship than a sunken tomb.

Their boots echoed across rusted grating and collapsed metal bulkheads. Seluna stayed close, her eyes flickering to every dim corner, every skittering shadow cast by dripping pipes above. Water fell in irregular plinks from fractured ceilings, each drop sounding too deliberate—as though the ship were mimicking footsteps. The deeper they walked, the more the air changed. It grew colder, denser. Breathing felt labored, as if something unseen pressed against their lungs.

They passed what had once been sleeping quarters, the bunks twisted or torn loose, debris strewn like forgotten offerings. One door hung open by a single hinge, swinging gently with every groan of the ship. A smear of something dark stretched across one wall—long dried, but unmistakably once blood. Seluna’s breath caught in her throat.

Then she saw it.

A shadow, fleeting, darting just at the edge of her vision.

She gasped and reached instinctively for Vincent’s arm. "Did you see that?"

He didn’t flinch. "Just shadows," he assured, his tone devoid of concern.

She bit her lip and stayed close, every step echoing louder now in the charged silence. The shadows moved again, less like tricks of light and more like something watching. Seluna shivered. There was something wrong here—something feeding off the silence, the memories that clung to the walls like mold.

They reached what looked to be the ship’s mess hall, long since gutted. Tables lay overturned, chairs scattered and crushed under debris. The room was steeply slanted, with most of the furniture piled at one end by gravity’s pull. Seluna scanned the corners, the thick darkness nearly swallowing the edges of the room.

Then came the whisper.

"Vincent..."

Seluna froze. The voice was gentle, almost too soft to catch—but unmistakable in its intimacy. It floated just beneath the hum of the ship, so quiet it made her question if she’d imagined it.

But Vincent had stopped too.

He stood still, eyes fixed ahead, body rigid. "Vincent," the voice called again, closer now. Familiar. Tender. And mournful.

A fog seemed to rise from the far end of the room. Or perhaps it was mist seeping in from the cracked hull. Slowly, gracefully, a figure stepped through it. Her heels made no sound against the floor.

Lucrecia.

Or the ghost of her, conjured from broken memory. She was radiant, more beautiful than any real person should be, her features too pristine, like a portrait of a woman imagined by grief. Her eyes sparkled wetly. Her smile was soft, sympathetic, but something cruel pulsed beneath it, too perfect to be true.

Vincent took an involuntary step forward, transfixed. Seluna's hand flew to his wrist.

"Vincent," she whispered sharply. "She’s not real. That’s not—"

"You let me die," the figure said, her voice echoing slightly as if spoken through water. "You left me. You let him take me."

Vincent’s breath hitched. His hand twitched in Seluna’s grasp.

"You think you’ve redeemed yourself? Found someone new? She’ll leave you, too. Just like I did. Like you deserve."

Seluna’s heart thudded against her ribs. The air in the room had dropped, frost creeping up the steel walls. The ghost’s form shimmered at the edges—shifting, flickering. Shadows behind her twisted, mimicking her posture.

"Vincent," Seluna said again, louder this time. She turned to him, eyes pleading. "It’s feeding on your memories—don’t listen. It’s not her!"

But he wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on the apparition as though pulled by a force older than will.

Then the ghost’s smile curled wider. She tilted her head.

"You’re still the same, Vincent. Weak. Always watching, never acting. She’ll see it too."

Her form convulsed, cracking with an audible snap as her limbs lengthened unnaturally, her mouth opening far too wide. She let out a distorted, banshee shriek and lunged.

Seluna pulled Vincent sharply out of the way, just in time—the creature's claws slammed into the floor where they'd stood only seconds before, carving deep gashes through rusted steel with a screech that echoed down the slanted corridor. Vincent stumbled, barely regaining his footing, and looked back toward the monster. His hand held Cerberus, gripped tightly, but he didn’t lift it. Instead, his eyes remained locked on the figure that resembled Lucrecia—eyes wide, stunned, transfixed. He stared in horror, as though mourning her all over again, unable to move or speak as the apparition advanced, its haunting face flickering in the dim light.

"Move!" Seluna shouted, grabbing Vincent by the coat and yanking him backward. They fled the mess hall, Vincent stumbling as if still half-caught in a dream. The ghost gave chase, its shrieks bouncing off the corridor walls.

They reached the angled hallway leading to the broken window. Seluna shoved Vincent forward, the light of the setting sun barely touching the frame. Together, they leapt, tumbling gracelessly back into the boat.

Seluna scrambled to the oars. Her hands were shaking. She didn’t look back.

The creature’s cries echoed as they paddled away, Vincent lying motionless in the boat’s center, eyes wide, lips parted in stunned silence. The horizon had gone orange, the sun bleeding into the sea.

The small boat scraped against the shoreline, the wooden bottom cutting through the sand as dusk bathed the beach in a pale orange glow. Seluna leapt out first, boots splashing into the shallows before she steadied the vessel by its edge. Her breath was quick and uneven, her eyes darting back to the man still seated inside. Vincent slowly moved, dazed, his motions delayed as though submerged in something thicker than water. When his boots finally hit the sand, he stumbled slightly, his composure fractured.

Without hesitation, Seluna rushed to him, both hands grabbing his arms with a firm, urgent grip. Her eyes scanned over him like a medic in the aftermath of battle—checking for wounds, for anything out of place—before her gaze lifted to meet his. Her voice cracked with worry. "Are you okay?! Did it get you?!"

Silence.

"Vincent!" she barked, her voice desperate now.

Finally, he blinked. His eyes drifted downward to his trembling hands, as if only just realizing they were shaking. The weight of everything he’d seen bore down on him in that single breath. Before he could spiral further into his own thoughts, Seluna’s fingers closed around his, grounding him. She took both his hands in hers, stepping closer until his eyes reluctantly lifted to meet hers.

"Speak to me, Vincent..." she murmured, her voice softer now, trembling with compassion.

His voice was barely audible, a broken whisper meant more for himself than her. "She... she wasn't real..."

Seluna nodded quickly, her thumbs stroking the backs of his hands. "That's right. It wasn’t real."

One hand rose to his cheek, brushing his hair back, a thumb gently tracing the edge of his brow as she whispered, "It’s okay..."

But Vincent’s expression shifted. He pulled his hand from hers, drawing back to cover his eyes, and then turned toward the direction of the village. "I... I need to rest..."

Seluna nodded, not pressing further. "Okay... we’ll go back and rest," she said softly, walking beside him. Her eyes remained fixed on him the entire way, watching for any sign of pain, any falter in his step, her heart still pounding from what they’d witnessed.

They returned to the inn just as the sun was finally dipping below the ocean’s horizon, the golden edge of daylight fading into indigo. Along the way, they retrieved the chick who came barreling down the village steps toward them, chirping loudly as it nuzzled up against Seluna's ankle before scampering ahead.

Inside the suite, the little bird leapt onto the bed with all the innocence of a child, but the atmosphere was far from light. Seluna guided Vincent in with a careful hand to his back, but the moment they passed through the threshold, he slipped from her grasp.

"I’m fine," he said shortly, keeping his back to her as he stepped deeper into the room. His voice lacked edge, but it was distant—hollow, like it had been scooped out and left to echo.

Seluna remained still, her hands clutched together in front of her, fidgeting. Her gaze clung to him like threadbare silk, fragile and barely holding. He stood there for a long beat before muttering, "I’m gonna get some air..."

He didn’t wait for her to reply. The balcony door slid open, and the breeze swept in, fluttering the curtains in his wake as he stepped outside.

Time passed.

Thirty minutes. An hour.

Seluna paced, her boots brushing against the tiled floor in quiet steps. The chick chirped softly from its spot on the bed, head tilting as it watched her with curious eyes. But she barely noticed. Her heart thudded with every movement beyond the glass door, yet Vincent did not return. Her patience, frayed and worn, finally snapped.

With a frustrated exhale, she stormed toward the door and paused—her fingers hovering over the handle. She inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the ache in her chest, and then pulled it open.

The night air kissed her skin as she stepped out. Vincent stood unmoving at the edge of the balcony, facing the vast cityscape beyond. His cloak fluttered in the wind, his silhouette tall, silent, swallowed by shadows. The stars blinked above them, quiet witnesses to the fraying space between two people who once stood so close.

She approached slowly, her presence gentle. She didn’t look at him—not at first. She stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the silence wrapping around them like a veil.

"Vincent..."

"I don’t want to talk about it," he interrupted, his voice clipped, tired.

Seluna’s lips parted in quiet pain. Her eyes slid toward him, searching his face. "You’re still hurt, Vincent. I understand. I just... wish you would talk to me."

He let out a breath, sharp and exasperated. "There’s nothing to say."

Her heart stung. Her thoughts tangled. She swallowed hard, eyes falling to the stone railing. "I-I don’t understand... What happened? Was it me? Was this a mistake? Was I just... a rebound—"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about, Seluna," Vincent growled, his voice low but cutting. He still didn’t face her.

Seluna stared at him, stricken. Her lip quivered, but she fought to keep her voice even. "You can’t even look at me..."

His shoulders slackened, head bowing. The admission lived in his silence.

Seluna’s throat tightened. Her eyes swept across the balcony, as if the air itself might change, might shift enough to make sense of what this was becoming. But no revelation came. Just the same bitter wind, the same ache.

A small sound escaped her lips—a whimper too soft to call a sob. She turned quickly, stepping back into the suite and shutting the door behind her, the glass sealing away the sky and the stars and the man she couldn’t reach.

She climbed onto the bed with trembling limbs and crawled beneath the covers, burying herself beneath layers too thin to protect her from the hurt. Her back curled in on itself, her arms hugging the pillow like it might steady her. The chick nudged her side with a soft chirp, its small feathers brushing against her.

But it wasn’t enough.

It couldn’t keep the ache from reaching her heart—the ache of being overlooked, of being unwanted, of reliving rejection she thought she’d outrun.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath her as she drifted into a restless, sorrowful sleep.

Outside, the wind stirred.

And Vincent did not come in.

Chapter Text

Seluna blinked herself awake. The room was cold, still, and steeped in silence. A faint, eerie hush had settled since earlier, only the sound of the wind brushing past the balcony glass and the faint creak of old wood under her stirrings. Her eyes felt heavy, her lashes damp, and her chest bore an aching weight that had never quite left. It was still dark out. The stars above hadn’t moved far. But she had slept—for how long, she couldn’t say.

And then, she remembered.

Her heart sank all over again.

Sitting up slowly, the blanket fell from her shoulders as she glanced beside her. The chocobo chick slept soundly, its tiny chest rising and falling with soft chirps in its dreams. Carefully, she rose from the bed, bare feet touching the chilled floor as she crossed the room. With a slow, controlled breath, she pushed aside the curtain, just enough to peer outside.

Vincent was still there.

Right where he had stood hours ago, unmoving—just a silhouette against the railing, his cloak whispering in the breeze.

A sigh escaped her, soft and trembling. She turned her gaze back to the room, her hand unconsciously clutching the fabric of her shirt, fingers digging into her chest. Her breath hitched. Then, her eyes found her weapon resting on the nightstand, faintly illuminated by the dim mood lighting. They lingered there for a long moment.

Slowly, she crossed the room, each step silent, like walking through a dream. As she neared the weapon, she stared down at it, the smooth grip familiar beneath her palm. Her eyes hardened. A single nod. Quiet but absolute.

She slipped out the door without a sound, biting her lip as it clicked shut behind her.

Outside, the town was still, lit only by the glint of stars and the watchful crescent moon. Seluna moved swiftly, her footsteps soft but determined as she hurried toward the lower level. The elevator hummed down to the shore, and she didn’t waste a second as she dashed for the docked rowboat. The same one they had used before.

She jumped in, grabbing the oars with cold fingers. Her muscles burned with each stroke, her breath shallow as the boat cut through the black water, the reflection of stars rippling around her. The looming shadow of the half-sunken ship rose into view. Her heart thundered in her chest as she tossed the oars aside and readied herself.

She leapt, catching the edge of the crooked window and pulling herself up. The metal groaned beneath her weight as she climbed through and landed inside.

The ship was even more chilling than before.

Crooked beams angled sharply, casting shadows that danced along the walls as the wreck creaked with the whisper of old ghosts. Rust began to stain every surface, blood darkened the metal in places, and deep, unnatural gashes split the walls as though clawed open by some inhuman force. The air was stagnant and sour, heavy with old salt and rot. Water pooled along the tilted floor in shallow pockets, reflecting distorted shapes in dim moonlight pouring through the cracked hull.

She walked with her weapon drawn in gun form, each step cautious but sure. Her breath came slow. Controlled. Her chin was high. Her shoulders taut. Her lips pressed together, pale with resolve.

Shadows flitted past her vision—not close, but enough to rattle her nerves. A flash there. A blur just beyond her peripheral. Whispers that faded when she turned to catch them. She ignored them.

The cafeteria came into view, the same distorted room where it began. The tables were all overturned. The chairs were broken, scattered like the aftermath of some terrible struggle. A tray clattered softly against a distant wall as the ship shifted slightly, groaning with a sound that mimicked breath.

Seluna stepped inside.

The air shifted immediately. The silence thickened, suffocating. Her grip tightened on the gunblade. Her skin crawled.

She inhaled deeply. Then, she shouted, her voice echoing through the steel carcass of the ship. “Come out!”

No answer.

Then, whispers. Indistinct, like words submerged underwater. Footsteps began to circle her—slow and deliberate. Cold air brushed the back of her neck, and she turned.

Her eyes met a silhouette in the hall.

Cloud.

He stepped into the light, buster sword strapped to his back. His face looked just as she remembered—yet wrong. His smile was twisted, too wide, too cold. His eyes, usually filled with quiet sorrow, were now flat and cruel.

Seluna steadied herself. “You’re not real,” she said, more for herself than him.

The apparition said nothing. Instead, it reached behind and drew the buster sword with a sharp metallic hiss.

She didn’t hesitate. She fired.

The thunderous shot rang through the room, ricocheting off the walls in a deafening blast. She squinted against the light. Her shoulder ached with the recoil.

When it cleared—he was gone.

Silence.

Then came the voice.

“Looks like you’ll always come second.”

It was Cloud’s voice, twisted with mockery. Her breath caught.

“You can’t run from me. Something will always remind you. You lonely, desolate... loser.”

Her teeth clenched. She spun around, weapon raised.

From nowhere, the apparition lunged. The buster sword came down first—a massive swing of steel. Seluna threw herself sideways, hitting the floor and rolling before steadying herself into a crouch.

She aimed and fired again, but Cloud blocked with his blade, the steel swallowing the shot. She held her ground, waiting, until another voice sliced through the air.

“You were always jealous.”

Her heart dropped.

“Just bitter that he didn’t give you a second thought.”

From behind the buster sword, stepped Tifa.

She let go of the weapon, which vanished into mist. Her steps were graceful, precise. Her smile was serene, but her eyes were void.

Seluna blinked. She'd expected clouds image from the mockery of the past this monster somehow created, but Tifa, her closest friend, her sister...

Tifa rushed her.

Seluna gasped, switching her weapon to blade form just in time. She dodged the punch, but not the follow-up—a spin kick to her jaw that sent her reeling.

She stumbled, teeth rattling. Blood welled in her mouth. She raised her blade as Tifa advanced, slashing wildly. The apparition dodged with terrifying ease, moving like a memory come alive.

Another swing. Seluna grazed her shoulder, mist pouring from the wound.

Tifa grinned.

Seluna pressed forward, driving her back with heavy strikes, until she pinned her against the wall. She thrust her blade forward, but Tifa tilted her head, caught Seluna by the arm, and flipped her over her shoulder with brutal force.

The floor slammed into her back. Pain exploded through her ribs. She rolled, gasping, and crawled to her feet, blade still in hand.

Blood dripped from her mouth.

She faced the specter.

She wasn’t real, but the pain was. Not just the physical, but the taunting with her past, feelings she thought long gone, brought to life by this monster who clearly sought deep into her hearts truest aches just to mess with her mind.

Meanwhile, the chick stirred from its deep slumber, letting out a soft, sleepy chirp as it blinked its small beady eyes open. A tiny yawn stretched from its beak before it perked up, suddenly aware of the absence beside it. The warm presence of Seluna—its mama—was gone.

The little bird’s head darted from side to side. It chirped again, this time louder, more panicked. It hopped to the edge of the bed, pattering across the floor on quick, tiny feet as it searched the room. First the nightstand. Then under the edge of the bed. Then around the corner.

Nothing.

Its distress grew, wings flapping lightly in worry as it scrambled to the balcony door. There, past the long curtain, it spotted the tall figure of Vincent standing still on the other side of the glass. With a desperate squeak, the chick began tapping against the door with its beak—sharp, rhythmic, insistent.

Vincent, lost in his haze of memory and shame, barely noticed the sound at first. A faint irritation pulled him back from the abyss in his mind. His brow furrowed. The tapping continued, harder this time—more frantic.

He turned sharply, lips parted in frustration as he stepped toward the door and yanked it open.

The chick flapped its wings wildly, squeaking with urgency before spinning and darting back inside.

Vincent blinked, confused—until he followed the bird’s gaze.

Seluna was gone.

His blood ran cold.

She wasn’t in the room. Her weapon was missing. Her pack untouched.

His irritation evaporated instantly, replaced with a chill of dread. He spun on his heel, rushing to the suite door, his voice low but firm as he barked, "Stay here." The chick chirped helplessly in return. The door slammed open behind him—but didn’t close completely.

The chick peeked its head out, torn between obedience and fear. It stepped forward, wings twitching with uncertainty.

Vincent was already a blur in the night, a streak of red moving like wind through the empty streets. His boots echoed off the stone walkways, his mind racing. He reached the elevator, punching the descent button with shaky fingers.

The lower docks were barren. Moonlight glinted off the water.

And the boat was gone, a line carved into the sand the only sign of its departure.

Vincent didn’t hesitate. He ripped his cloak off and let it fall to the ground like shed skin. His feet splashed into the tide, and in the next breath, he dove into the frigid black water.

His strokes were furious, muscles burning, water slapping against his face. The twisted silhouette of the sunken ship loomed ahead. He reached the side, climbed swiftly up the hull, and vaulted through the same broken window.

His boots crashed against the metal floor with a resonant clang that echoed through the hollowed vessel, and the aging creaks of the ship responded like distant whispers clawing through rusted steel. The corridors twisted at awkward angles, slanted by the half-sunken tilt of the ship, and each step forward felt like descending deeper into a crypt sealed by time and decay.

Vincent moved swiftly, driven by a pulse that beat louder than his own heartbeat, the thunder of his strides rattling off warped steel walls. The air grew colder the further he went, dense and stale, the scent of seawater clinging to every shadow like rot. He could feel the pressure of something unseen lurking in the corners, crawling across his skin like icy fingers. His breath tightened.

Then—there it was.

A sound.

A thud.

Faint, but unmistakable. The booming echo cracked through the silence like thunder splitting the sky, reverberating through twisted metal. He didn’t hesitate. He ran, every step louder than the last, his boots sliding over slick steel. Another crash echoed through the vessel, louder now. Then—an anguished scream.

He burst into the dim cafeteria in a blur, Cerberus already raised with steady, lethal precision. His crimson eyes locked on the chaos ahead—Seluna was cornered, her body coiled with tension as a grotesque shadow lunged at her from the far end of the room.

He didn’t think. His finger squeezed the trigger.

The retort of his gun shattered the air like a thunderclap. The deafening explosion slammed against the walls, drowning the room in sound. The creature shrieked as the shot struck true, stumbling backward with an inhuman wail. Seluna collapsed, gasping for air, clutching her weapon in trembling hands. Blood smeared the corner of her mouth, her lip split open, her chest rising and falling in panicked bursts.

Above them, the lights blinked erratically, casting long shadows that danced and convulsed across the walls. A silhouette slithered along the far end of the room, a crawling shadow that moved without a source. Vincent felt the hairs rise along the back of his neck as a breath of cold swept over his shoulders.

Then he saw her.

Lucrecia.

Or rather, something wearing her like a mask.

The figure stepped into the light with an elegance that betrayed its malice. Her form flickered, limbs bending wrong, torso sagging unnaturally. Her eyes were hollows, bottomless pits of void where recognition once lived, and her mouth hung open in a too-wide grin, black ichor dripping from the corners. The illusion stuttered, struggling to maintain the form—her features flickered like a damaged hologram, fragments of memory stitched together with lies.

Vincent’s grip on Cerberus tightened, arm raised—but he froze.

She moved forward, each step a jerking spasm of bone and sinew. The sound of tearing cloth followed her, unnatural and shrill. Her grin widened until the skin at her cheeks tore open. When she lunged, it was with a shriek like splintered glass.

Claws extended, swiping for his face.

Vincent jerked back just in time, his elbow shooting out to strike her mid-leap. The creature slammed into the wall with a sickening splat, black sludge splashing along the floor where it landed. But it was far from finished.

It coiled like a serpent, rippling with rage, and launched again. This time, its deformed skull crashed into his chin with brutal force. The impact sent a blinding cascade of stars across his vision. He staggered backward, knees buckling beneath him as the floor twisted in his dazed sight.

He collapsed with a heavy thud, his jaw numb, vision swimming in a blur of darkness and ringing static. His mind scrambled to refocus as he turned over—only to witness the next nightmare.

Seluna lay on the floor convulsing, her limbs twitching violently. Her skin was pale, but her face blocked by the creature pinned atop her, straddling her with sickening familiarity, was the twisted shape of Cloud.

Or the monster wearing his flesh.

Vincent growled low in his throat, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Pain be damned—he forced himself upright, dragging his battered body across the warped steel as his fingers clenched Cerberus like a lifeline. His feet scraped against the floor, unstable but driven. He raised the gun, closing the distance one step at a time until he reached them.

Without hesitation, he pressed the barrel of Cerberus to the back of the apparition’s head, burying it into the familiar tangle of golden hair.

The creature stopped.

It slowly twisted its upper body with a grotesque flexibility, turning its head at an unnatural angle to look at him. The face that greeted him was a monstrous parody—Cloud’s features stretched and rotting, one eye bulging grotesquely from its socket while the other dangled lower, twitching with a mind of its own. Its mouth sagged open, jaw unhinged and swaying like broken cartilage, black ooze bubbling in its throat.

It grinned.

And Vincent saw red.

His finger trembled over the trigger, rage and sorrow coursing through every nerve. The past clawed at him with rotting fingers, but he would not let this thing—this mockery—take Seluna.

But suddenly, monster was gone. Not vanquished, not fleeing—just gone, like smoke dissipated by a windless hush. Vincent blinked, breath shallow, sweat clinging cold to the edges of his jaw as he scanned the shifting dark. A whisper hissed past him, trailing like silk over his skin, and his eyes dropped. There, at his feet, lay Seluna—motionless, her body sprawled out as if discarded. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breath, but her limbs were limp, her weapon fallen from her hand. Something inside Vincent broke at the sight. For a moment, everything stopped—his thoughts, his fear, his hesitation. But the moment passed like a ripple as he remembered: this wasn’t over.

He spun on his heel, the muscles of his shoulders taut beneath the wet black leather of his top. Cerberus was already raised in hand, heavy and hot with spent energy. He moved like a blade drawn across silk—silent, cutting. The ship groaned around him with its permanent lean, every creak a war cry of ghosts. He scanned every shadow, jaw clenched, ready to fire at the barest flicker.

Then it came—a blur in the corner of his vision. The creature manifested in a flash, its body dripping upward from the floor like ink in water. He was already pivoting, firing a sharp volley at its head. It shrieked, recoiling with its warped hands slicing through the air like rusted blades. This time it wore Lucrecia’s skin, but it was wrong—her face sagged in all the places memory tried to forget, her eyes hollow sockets of oozing black. It lunged again, and Vincent ducked low, his movement smooth as a waltz, his elbow driving up into the creature’s abdomen with enough force to send it staggering back. Dark ichor splattered against the wall, smearing down the white folds of the lab coat it wore like a cruel costume.

For a second, it faltered, its form quivering before melting again into black mist. It circled him, whispering his name in breathless echoes, warping back into shape in the corner where he fired again, the blast sparking against steel as the creature ducked. Then—stillness. Her face, his shame. Lucrecia stared at him from the far side of the room, her chin dipped, her dead eyes lifting just enough to stare through him.

The black goo dripped from her slack mouth in long strands, her voice a gargled slither. "You’re killing me, Vincent." The mimic screamed as it reappeared behind him. He twisted with a breathless gasp, only for the image to shift again—now weeping, head bowed, her arms wrapped around herself in an echo of grief.

"Don’t do this to me again," the mimic sobbed, but the tears meant nothing. They melted into laughter. Her mouth peeled back too far, teeth long and jagged, splitting at the cheeks. She stood, her figure trembling, twitching, barely clinging to form.

"You’ll never escape the shame. You don’t deserve to," she rasped, voice bubbling, her throat bloated with black ooze. She stepped forward, and Vincent stepped back, every nerve on fire. Cerberus trembled in his hand—not from fear, but restraint. His lips parted to speak, to yell, to end this—but then, just as the mimicry of his shame began to speak once more, a blinding burst of white light blasted across him.

A sound like a lightning bolt cracking open the hull echoed, and the room exploded with heat. Vincent stumbled, shielding his eyes with his arm. When he looked again, the mimic reeled back, writhing as a smoking hole tore through its midsection. Behind him, kneeling with the gunblade trembling in both hands, Seluna gasped for breath.

She collapsed forward before she could fully recover, and Vincent rushed to catch her. He dropped to his knees, cradling her as her head lolled back in his arm. Blood trailed from the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Seluna..." he murmured, brushing the hair from her face, cupping her cheek. His voice was low, breaking at the edges.

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed but aware. A faint, crooked smile tugged at her lips. "Mmm... I had it... completely under... control..." she whispered with labored breath.

A half-laugh escaped him, short and raw. But there wasn’t time.

Behind them, the mimic writhed. The sound was all squelch and bone, metal grinding on glass. Vincent turned, eyes narrowing as the creature pulled itself upright. Its hand clawed the floor, dragging itself forward. Bits of its shape flickered, phasing between Lucrecia, Cloud, even Tifa for a blink—like memory collapsing on itself. It reached forward with a trembling hand.

Vincent rose slowly, carefully laying Seluna down on the floor. His body moved with a terrifying calm, Cerberus heavy in his grip. The mimic dragged itself onward, its head twitching as it formed the mouth to speak.

"Vin...cent..." it rasped, a final plea of poisoned nostalgia.

He stared down at it, his face a mask of cold steel. With no words, no hesitation, he raised Cerberus and placed the barrel directly between its pale eyes.

A breath passed.

He pulled the trigger, and the creature exploded into mist, torn to ribbons by the shot. The black vapor hissed through the air, unraveling like shadow undone by morning. No scream. No final curse. Just silence.

The silence that followed was immense, pressing against Vincent’s ears with a thickness that resembled the ocean's depths. Cerberus lowered slowly in his grasp, his arms going slack at his sides as his chest rose and fell with heavy, exhausted rhythm. His head tipped back and his eyes shut, lids pulling tight as the first true breath in hours finally escaped his lungs—a deep, burdened sigh that shuddered through him like the letting go of years. The weight of the past, of memory, of guilt, seemed to lift just enough for him to stand taller, even as weariness etched its way across his features and every ache and phantom echo of what he'd just endured tugged at his body like invisible chains.

He turned, gaze softening at the sight of Seluna, still curled on the ground. She stirred, her face scrunching in discomfort as she fought to push herself upright. One arm clutched her side where pain twisted beneath her ribs, and the other braced against the floor to support her rise. At once, Vincent was crouching beside her, his arm sliding around her waist, the other hand gripping hers tightly. He pulled her gently to her feet, holding her close as she stumbled, her weight leaning into him. Despite the lingering pain, Seluna looked up at him with a tired smile—grateful, warm, familiar. The glimpse of a smile flickered across his lips, his voice barely more than breath when he spoke. "Let’s go." He reached down to gather her gunblade, then guided her forward with slow, steady steps, moving carefully through the darkened bowels of the ship. The sound of water dripping echoed through the narrow corridors, the metal groaning as it always had, but now it seemed less menacing, more hollow—a gutted carcass no longer able to haunt.

When they reached the crooked window, Vincent poked his head outside and scanned the water. His jaw clenched in irritation. The boat was gone, having drifted out into the slow pull of the tide. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he turned back to her, reaching out his hand.

"We'll have to swim."

Seluna hesitated, her brows knitting with residual soreness, but she took his hand. He helped her climb onto the sill, her fingers curling tight around the edge before she pushed off and plunged into the water with a soft splash. Vincent followed without pause, diving cleanly and surfacing just beside her. He wasted no time wrapping an arm around her and began swimming with smooth, forceful strokes, the distant shoreline a ghost in the creeping pre-dawn haze.

The sky above them was breathtaking, a canvas of deep indigos giving way to dusky violets, with the thinnest edge of orange blooming at the horizon. The crescent moon still lingered low, keeping watch over the wounded lovers adrift in the vast stillness. Water sloshed rhythmically around them, soft and ever-moving, a lullaby in liquid form. Yet amid that calm, Seluna suddenly slipped from his grasp.

She drifted just a few feet away, treading water with her limbs moving gently, her shoulders rising and falling beneath the surface as her gaze locked on the horizon—on nothing in particular. She didn’t look at him at first, and the silence stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts too heavy to float.

Vincent turned toward her, a flicker of worry in his eyes. "Seluna?"

Her chin dipped, her lips parting as if she had to force breath into her lungs before the words came. "Vincent... I have to tell you something."

He blinked, glancing back at the shore. "It can’t wait?"

"No. It can’t."

Her voice trembled, not from cold, but from the fragile fear of truth laid bare. "I’ve had a truly incredible time with you," she began, her voice soft but growing steadier with each word. "You’ve become one of my dearest friends, Vincent. I can’t imagine doing any of this—surviving any of this—without you. And..." She swallowed, her voice dipping into uncertainty. "I really, really like you. More than as friends. But if the other night was a mistake, if it meant nothing to you—"

"Seluna." His voice cut gently through her storm. "If I could reverse time... I would relive that moment a million times over."

Her breath caught, the weight of hope too much to balance. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

"Then why did you suddenly become so distant?" she asked, voice breaking. "You just turned away like it meant nothing."

Vincent stared down at the water, the surface shifting with each exhale, each memory.

"Because I was scared," he said quietly, his words floating between them like flotsam. "Of how I felt. Of what it meant. Of the future I thought I wasn’t allowed to have."

She said nothing, only listened, her eyes wide and shining.

"Vincent,' she sighed. 'I know you're scared of what happened happening again—"

"No, Seluna... I’ve spent years haunted by ghosts—of what I did, of who I used to be, of the lives I’ve failed to protect. I thought love was something I didn’t deserve. What I felt for Lucrecia... it was nothing compared to this."

He lifted his gaze to hers, his red eyes no longer hard but soft, raw, vulnerable in the faint light. "You’re not a reflection of my past. You’re the moon rising after the storm. The hush that lingers over frostbitten hills. You’re the quiet shade of morning before the world wakes up, the gentle light that chases nightmares back into their holes. You are not a wound, Seluna—you are healing itself. You terrify me because you make me want to believe in a future I thought was lost, and believing in that... means letting go of all the guilt that I thought defined me."

Seluna’s heart threatened to burst. Her breath hitched, tears prickling at her lashes as she stared at him, this man who stood guard over his pain for so long. And now... he had handed it to her. With a sound between a sob and a gasp, she pushed forward, the water folding around them as their bodies met in a soft, floating embrace. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as their lips finally found each other again—not rushed, not fevered, but deep and tender, a quiet desperation behind it, a promise whispered through breath and salt.

The kiss deepened slowly, as if time had slowed just for them. The water cradled them, a shimmering bed of peace between tides, and their foreheads touched as their breath mingled. It was a moment beyond apology, beyond fear—an affirmation that neither ghost nor grief would claim them tonight.

When they finally pulled apart, Vincent raised one gloved hand from the water and cupped her cheek, the gesture reverent and steady. His fingers brushed away the wet strands of hair sticking to her skin, and he looked at her as if she were made of starlight and the first breath of spring.

"I’m sorry..."

She smiled through her tears, leaning in to kiss him once more, softer this time, filled with forgiveness, with trust reborn.

"I am too."

Chapter Text

im gonna take a pause from writing this bc i wanna write yuri, tifa x female oc LMAO. been yearning to write some yuri :p

ok seeya