Chapter Text
The twenty recruits stepped into the Mess Hall, a sprawling space filled with the scent of overcooked food and a cacophony of voices. They moved forward like sheep led to slaughter, surrounded by the imposing figures of SOLDIERs. First, Second, and Third Class operatives watched from their seats, eyes piercing as they assessed the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and condescension.
Cloud felt their gazes on him—some were mocking, others calculating. He swallowed hard but kept his chin high as he followed the rest of his cohort into the hall. The atmosphere felt charged, a mixture of excitement and apprehension thrumming beneath the surface.
At the head of the room stood three formidable figures: Sephiroth, Angeal, and Director Lazard Deusericus. Each one commanded respect without uttering a word. Sephiroth’s presence loomed large—tall and imposing, his silver hair glinted under the harsh lighting. His green eyes scanned the recruits with an intensity that sent the small hairs on Cloud’s arms upright.
Angeal stood to Sephiroth’s right, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark hair framed a face marked by discipline and experience; he emanated a protective aura that soothed some of Cloud's anxiety. On the opposite side was Lazard, dressed sharply in formal attire that contrasted with the military garb surrounding him. He observed quietly, fingers steepled as if deep in thought.
Between them lay a series of long tables where recruits hesitated before taking their seats. Conversations hushed as they settled down—each recruit acutely aware that this moment held significance beyond mere orientation.
Genesis entered last, slipping into place beside Sephiroth with an effortless grace that caught the attention of many in attendance. His red coat flowed dramatically behind him as he moved; it added to his already striking appearance while serving as a visual reminder of his status within SOLDIER.
Cloud sat near Kieran, whose wide eyes reflected a mixture of awe and fear at their surroundings. The hall buzzed with whispers about what might come next—the tension was palpable as everyone awaited an announcement from those standing at the head.
Director Lazard finally broke through the silence that had enveloped them all. “Welcome,” he began, voice steady yet commanding. “Today marks an important step in your journey to become part of SOLDIER.”
As he spoke, Cloud felt an odd mixture of dread and excitement brewing within him—something was about to change irrevocably for them all.
Lazard's voice resonated through the Mess Hall, drawing every recruit's attention. “Today also marks a pivotal moment in our evolution as a program. The implementation of Test Day has proven not just effective, but necessary.” He paused, scanning the room to ensure he held their focus.
“After witnessing the results firsthand, it is clear that this method will become a standard fixture in our recruitment process.” He let the words settle, gauging the reactions from the eager faces before him. A murmur of approval rippled through the ranks; they sensed the weight of his declaration.
“With Test Day,” Lazard continued, “we assess not only your combat abilities but also your leadership potential and adaptability under pressure. It highlights those who excel as individuals while fostering cohesion among teams. The feedback from our First Class operatives has been overwhelmingly positive.”
Cloud sat at the edge of his seat, absorbing every word. The idea of being evaluated based on his capacity to lead and strategise rather than just fight felt empowering. Around him, Kieran nodded vigorously, enthusiasm radiating from him.
“Additionally,” Lazard pressed on, his tone firm yet encouraging, “we have restructured the Cadet Program itself. No longer will you simply go through routine training regimens.” His gaze sharpened, emphasising his next point. “Each recruit will be assessed for materia usage or physical aptitude before being assigned to specialised groups.”
Excitement crackled in the air as recruits exchanged glances—this was new territory for them all.
“Those groups will be overseen by one of our esteemed First Class SOLDIERs,” Lazard added with a hint of pride. “You’ll receive guidance and mentorship directly from those who have paved their paths through dedication and skill.”
The murmurs grew louder now; some voiced concern while others buzzed with anticipation at the prospect of working closely with legendary figures like Sephiroth, Genesis or Angeal.
“This is an opportunity,” Lazard concluded, voice steady and authoritative, “to forge your own identities within SOLDIER and grow into leaders who embody honour and sacrifice.”
Cloud felt a surge of determination swell within him—this could be his chance to truly prove himself as he never had before. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement and forget that he was back here for a reason. Kill Sephiroth. Anything else was unimportant.
Lazard’s voice lingered in the air long after he finished speaking. As he stepped back, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty coursed through the recruits. They shifted in their seats, anticipation buzzing around the Mess Hall like static electricity.
“Tomorrow, we’ll kick off with aptitude testing bright and early,” Lazard announced before dismissing them for dinner. “Use this time wisely to connect with your peers and our SOLDIERs if you’re brave enough.”
Cloud hesitated, observing the growing chatter among his fellow recruits. Many had already begun rising from their seats, eager to approach the SOLDIERs stationed around the hall. The urge to engage bubbled within him, but a sense of caution kept him grounded.
“Go on,” he urged Kieran and Luka as they prepared to stand. “Talk to them. This is a chance to learn.”
Kieran’s eyes flickered between Cloud and Sephiroth, who stood tall at the head of the hall, exuding an air of intimidating authority. “You sure? What if they don’t want to talk?”
“Just ask questions,” Cloud replied, pushing his apprehensions aside. “They’re here to help us.”
With a nod of determination, Kieran approached Sephiroth, shoulders squared as he prepared to make his first move. Luka followed closely behind him but hung back slightly, her nerves apparent as she fidgeted with her hair.
Cloud remained seated for a moment longer, watching his new comrades take their steps toward greatness or humiliation. Genesis had already come to his rescue today; he didn’t want anyone thinking he relied on favouritism from SOLDIERs.
“Cloud!” Emery called out from across the room, her voice sharp yet excited as she gestured toward Genesis. “What do you think about talking to him? He might give us insights into what we should expect.”
He shrugged, keeping an eye on Genesis as he engaged in conversation with another recruit. The Crimson Commander carried an air of sophistication that seemed almost daunting; Cloud knew better than to assume that charm equated to approachability.
“I’ll pass,” Cloud finally said, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach at the thought of initiating dialogue with the man. “You go ahead.”
Emery's enthusiasm dimmed slightly as she considered his words, then forged ahead anyway.
As more recruits broke away from their tables and gravitated toward the SOLDIERs scattered around the room—Genesis was now surrounded by admirers—Cloud remained where he was. A mixture of admiration and envy coursed through him as he watched Kieran begin asking Sephiroth questions with surprising confidence while Luka nervously hovered nearby.
The conversations flowed around him like currents in a stream—each interaction fuelled by ambition or curiosity—and still Cloud held back.
The camaraderie among them felt foreign to Cloud. A sudden chill crept up his spine as he realised how detached he remained from it all. Their laughter and chatter echoed around him, but they were sounds from a world he no longer belonged to—a past that was not his own.
He felt a wave of bitterness wash over him, heavy and suffocating. Memories of his friends back in his own time flickered through his mind like ghosts. Tifa’s warm smile, Barret’s booming laughter, Aerith’s gentle encouragement—they were all missing from this strange new reality. The thought struck him like a physical blow. If they existed here, did they even remember him? Did they think about him at all?
An unsettling emptiness hollowed out inside Cloud as he pondered their absence. The laughter of recruits filled the air around him while an echoing silence swallowed his heart. It shattered whatever hope lingered within him—those connections had once anchored him, provided strength when doubt threatened to overwhelm. Now, they felt like shadows slipping further away.
He looked back at Kieran and Luka—two recruits finding their footing in this demanding world—and a pang of envy gnawed at him. They had each other; they had a shared purpose forged in this crucible of training and ambition. Cloud felt like an outsider looking in—a spectator to moments that should have been his.
His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, feeling the cool metal beneath his palms as he fought against rising emotions that threatened to spill over. Memories danced tauntingly just out of reach—the laughter shared around campfires during long nights on missions or quiet moments spent gazing up at starlit skies.
Cloud closed his eyes for a brief second as he struggled to ground himself against an overwhelming tide of isolation crashing into him from all sides. The sense that he was adrift in this unfamiliar reality gnawed at him relentlessly; it twisted like a knife deep within his chest.
He inhaled sharply and forced himself to focus on Kieran's conversation with Sephiroth instead—the sharp contrast between their excitement and his despair only heightened his sense of loss. The vibrant energy swirling around them reminded him how far removed he truly was from belonging anywhere.
Each laugh echoed painfully in Cloud’s ears as another realisation settled uncomfortably over him: this wasn’t just about training or recruitment; it was about identity—a fragile thing he felt slipping through his fingers like sand on an endless beach.
Suddenly, a heart-clenching familiar voice cut through the haze. “Cloud! Is that you?”
Startled, Cloud jerked his head up. Standing before him was First Class Zack Fair, his trademark spiky black hair shining under the fluorescent lights. Zack’s grin radiated warmth and energy, but for Cloud, it felt like a knife twisting in an old wound.
“Hey! I thought that was you!” Zack stepped closer, excitement bubbling in his tone as he clapped Cloud on the shoulder.
The world around them faded into silence. Cloud’s heart raced; memories flooded back unbidden—laughter shared under Nibelheim's starry sky, the thrill of camaraderie during training sessions. But all those moments were tainted by the bitter truth: Zack had died. He’d sacrificed himself to save Cloud, leaving behind nothing but echoes of heroism and guilt.
“Zack…” The name caught in Cloud's throat like shattered glass. Emotions surged within him—painful recollections twisted into something sharper than grief. Tears threatened to spill as he struggled to find his voice.
Zack's expression shifted slightly as he sensed the change in atmosphere. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood but failing to mask the concern creeping into his features.
A knot formed in Cloud’s stomach. How could Zack stand here before him—alive and vibrant—while memories of blood and betrayal loomed like spectres in his mind? He could almost hear the echoes of that fateful day—the flames consuming Nibelheim, Zack fighting valiantly against impossible odds.
“Cloud?” Zack’s tone grew more serious as he studied him intently. “You ok?”
Tears pricked at the corners of Cloud's eyes, blurring his vision as he fought to hold back the tidal wave threatening to break through. The façade of strength he'd built around himself felt flimsy now—a mere veil over churning emotions he couldn't contain any longer.
In that moment, everything inside him felt raw and exposed; how could this be happening? He wanted to reach out—to embrace this version of Zack—but every instinct screamed at him with memories laced with guilt and sorrow instead.
“I... I can’t,” Cloud whispered hoarsely, barely able to choke out the words before the walls he'd constructed began crumbling around him.
Cloud felt the walls closing in on him, the air growing thick and suffocating. Knowing his reaction seemed absurd, he wrestled with the urge to flee. Zack stood before him—alive, vibrant—yet Cloud’s memories twisted painfully, pulling him back to a past he could hardly bear to face.
“Cloud?” Zack’s voice cut through the haze of confusion and anguish. Concern creased his brow as he studied Cloud’s expression.
In that moment, Cloud couldn’t take it any longer. Panic surged through him like an electric shock; he had to escape this space where echoes of the past haunted him with every heartbeat. The familiarity of the Mess Hall felt like a trap closing in, walls pressing against him as if they knew the depth of his turmoil.
Without another thought, he pushed himself away from the table. The sudden movement drew attention—heads turned, eyes widened—but Cloud barely registered their stares. He stumbled toward the exit, heart pounding in rhythm with each hurried step. Every single eye was on him, especially the elite trio, pondering his action and further flummoxed to see Zack chasing him.
“Hey! Wait!” Zack called after him, but Cloud's resolve hardened as he approached the door.
He burst through it and into the corridor beyond, cool air washing over him like a balm. But even outside the Mess Hall, anxiety clung to his skin like sweat. The sterile halls stretched before him in an endless maze, every corner leading deeper into Shinra’s fortress rather than away from it.
He kept moving, dodging operatives and SOLDIERs alike without really seeing them. The polished floors reflected harsh lights above—a stark reminder of how trapped he felt within this oppressive environment.
The echo of footsteps behind him grew louder as Zack pursued; each sound pulled at Cloud's heartstrings with regret and guilt twisting tightly within his chest.
“Cloud! Come on! Talk to me!” Zack's voice echoed down the corridor.
But Cloud couldn’t respond; words felt locked behind a barrier of emotion too thick to breach. His breaths quickened as he turned a corner sharply, eyes scanning for an escape route from this nightmare that had somehow become his reality.
Finally spotting a small training room just ahead—a place filled with equipment and weights—he ducked inside without hesitation. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, silence enveloped him like a heavy blanket.
Cloud leaned against the cool metal surface of the door, heart racing wildly as he tried to steady himself. Shadows danced around him—the memories pressing down hard—but for now at least… he was alone.
The dim lighting of the training room cast long shadows across the floor, and he focused on them, willing the memories to recede. He didn't want to think about Zack or the guilt gnawing at him; he needed silence.
Outside, Zack’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Cloud could hear him muttering under his breath, frustration creeping into his tone. “Damn, for such a small kid, he sure can move! What the heck did I say to upset him?” The words hung in the air, a reminder of what had just transpired.
Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, battling the flood of emotions threatening to spill over again. Zack had always been a source of support and encouragement—a brother figure when he had none. But now, that same presence felt suffocating.
He pushed away from the door and took a few tentative steps deeper into the training room. Rows of equipment lined the walls—weights stacked neatly in one corner and practice dummies stationed around like silent sentinels. The scent of metal and sweat hung in the air; it was a familiar comfort, yet felt so far removed from what he truly needed right now.
The sound of Zack's footsteps faded as he moved further away, believing Cloud had continued down the corridor. A strange mix of relief and guilt washed over him—relief that Zack wouldn’t see him like this, but guilt that he'd left without explanation.
“Just breathe,” Cloud muttered to himself, focusing on steadying his breath as if that could anchor him. He walked toward one of the practice dummies, fists clenched at his sides as tension coiled within him like a tightly wound spring.
His mind raced with thoughts about training, about belonging, about everything that seemed just out of reach since stepping into this new life with Shinra. With each step toward the dummy, determination began to replace anxiety; maybe physical exertion would help clear his head.
As he stood before it, readying himself for a strike, Cloud caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror—dishevelled hair falling haphazardly over furrowed brows and eyes tinged with uncertainty. He didn’t recognise this version of himself; anger flared momentarily before he pushed it aside.
Cloud steadied himself once more and focused on what lay ahead—his own growth amid all this chaos—and threw a punch into the dummy’s chest with enough force to send it stumbling backward.
He pounded against the practice dummy, each strike releasing the pent-up tension coiling in his chest. He threw another punch, feeling the satisfying impact reverberate through his knuckles. The weight of his earlier emotions receded with every hit, allowing him to focus solely on the rhythm of combat.
He slipped into a flow, the world outside fading away. The harsh fluorescent lights above illuminated the training room, casting stark shadows that danced around him. Each blow felt cathartic, a way to channel his frustrations into something tangible.
But unbeknownst to Cloud, Zack had returned, drawn back by an instinct that tugged at him. After losing sight of Cloud in the corridor, he had traced their earlier path back toward the training room—curiosity igniting a determination within him. He approached quietly, his steps muffled against the polished floor as he peered through a small window in the door.
Zack's eyes widened as he watched Cloud’s fierce determination transform into focused aggression. Each punch landed with precision; Cloud moved fluidly around the dummy as if it were an enemy on the battlefield rather than an inanimate object.
"Man," Zack murmured under his breath, a mix of admiration and concern swirling within him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Cloud's brow furrowed in concentration; he was lost in his world where pain and frustration became fuel for strength. Zack shifted slightly to get a better view, captivated by this side of Cloud—the intensity mirrored what he often saw in SOLDIERs but tinged with something raw and unrefined.
Cloud threw another powerful kick that sent the dummy reeling back once more. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as he stepped back momentarily to catch his breath, oblivious to Zack's presence just beyond the doorframe.
Zack’s heart softened at the sight—Cloud was fighting against more than just a practice dummy; it was clear he grappled with unseen demons lurking beneath his composed surface. This momentary glimpse revealed a vulnerability that struck a chord deep within Zack.
With renewed resolve not to intrude yet eager to understand what burden weighed so heavily on Cloud’s shoulders, Zack took a step back from the door and leaned against the wall outside, watching silently as Cloud continued unleashing fury against his solitary opponent.
Cloud's fist slammed into the dummy again—and again—until his knuckles ached and his vision blurred. He went to swing one more time, but his arm betrayed him. The strength just wasn’t there. His body swayed with the motion, momentum dragging him off-balance. His knees buckled.
He barely caught himself on the dummy’s shoulder, forehead pressing against the worn leather surface as he gasped for air. His pulse thundered in his ears, and a hollow sort of panic settled deep in his chest, tight and suffocating. Too much. It was all too much.
And then he heard it.
Footsteps. A presence. A voice.
“Cloud.”
Zack.
Cloud tensed, body locking up like a wire pulled too tight. He didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. His fingers curled into trembling fists against the dummy.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispered, not even sure if it came out loud or stayed locked in his throat.
Zack crossed the room in a few long strides, slower now, more cautious as he took in the sight of Cloud barely standing. “Hey, whoa. Hey—what’s going on?”
A hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Familiar. Real.
Cloud flinched so hard it nearly knocked him sideways. He stumbled, and Zack caught him instinctively, arms wrapping around his frame to stop the fall.
That was it. The last shred of composure unravelled. Cloud collapsed forward into Zack’s chest, breath hitching, fists clenching uselessly against his shirt. He didn’t sob. He just shook, silent tremors racking his body like aftershocks.
Zack’s voice came low and steady, not teasing, not cheerful—just solid. Just him. “Hey. You’re okay.”
The words broke something open inside Cloud. His grip on Zack’s shirt tightened.
You’re okay.
It was a lie. But it was the kind of lie that kept people alive.
Cloud wasn’t standing anymore—he was slumped, half-folded against Zack’s chest like a broken hinge. The world dipped and tilted every time he blinked. Breathing hurt. Thinking was worse. His body had quit somewhere between the third and fourth punch into the dummy, but his mind was still playing catch-up, clinging to scraps of control as his heart hammered out a miserable rhythm.
Zack didn’t move.
He stood there like a damn statue, solid and warm, arms bracing Cloud without pulling him in tighter, but not letting go either. Like he didn’t know what Cloud needed, but figured being present was better than doing nothing.
And it was.
Even when it wasn’t enough to make Cloud feel better, it was enough to stop him from slipping completely under.
Zack was quiet for a long while—so long that Cloud was convinced he’d eventually say something soft or worse, caring, and Cloud would snap and make it all worse somehow.
But instead, Zack exhaled a small, amused breath and said, “So… you kicked Sephiroth in the back of the knee.”
Cloud blinked, his brain stuttering like a scratched record. Of all the things he’d expected. “…What?”
Zack chuckled under his breath. “Don’t play dumb, Strife. You kicked Sephiroth. In the back of the knee. I thought Genesis was gonna pass out laughing. Guy looked offended.”
Cloud made a noise. Couldn’t tell if it was a groan or a scoff. Maybe both.
“Bet no one’s done that before,” Zack added, like it was an accolade. “Not even Angeal’s been that brave—or that stupid.”
Cloud shifted slightly, enough to rest his forehead against Zack’s collarbone and breathe. Talking felt too far out of reach. His limbs were lead, and every inhale scraped like glass in his throat.
Zack kept his tone light, unfazed. “You’ve got instinct. Reflexes like a feral alley cat. Most recruits flinch when Sephiroth blinks, but you?” A little huff of laughter. “You tried to sweep the General. In front of everyone. That’s guts, man.”
It wasn’t guts. It was desperation and adrenaline and an overwhelming urge not to die. But Cloud didn’t correct him. He couldn’t. The compliment slid under his skin like a needle—sharp, warm, and too sincere to brush off.
“You’re okay,” Zack said eventually, quieter this time. “You’re not alone, alright?”
Cloud’s eyes squeezed shut. That was another lie. One he wished he believed.
But Zack didn’t ask him to.
He didn’t push, didn’t prod. Just stood there, letting Cloud lean until the weight of everything finally started to settle again. Until the storm passed.
Eventually, Zack shifted his weight, giving Cloud the gentlest nudge upright. “Alright, come on,” he said, voice still casual. “Let’s get some food in you before you pass out and give Sephiroth a heart attack.”
Cloud groaned faintly. His body felt like it had been steamrolled, set on fire, and then left out in the Midgar rain for good measure. “I’m fine,” he muttered, making no effort to move.
Zack huffed, not buying it for a second. “Sure you are. Totally fine. Not shaking like a baby chocobo and collapsing in training rooms like a dramatic theatre major.”
Cloud scowled against Zack’s shoulder. He hated how comforting it felt.
Because Zack’s presence was comforting—infuriatingly so. And it shouldn’t have been.
Not when the last time he saw Zack, he’d been bleeding out under a burning sky, smiling through the pain while Cloud screamed his name. Not when Cloud had carried the weight of that death for years. Not when it had broken something in him that had never quite healed.
Zack shouldn’t have been able to touch his shoulder like that, to grin and tease and talk about garlic soup like nothing had happened.
And yet…here he was.
And Cloud, despite being twenty-nine in mind and soul, felt himself fold under Zack’s presence with all the vulnerability of a teenager. It was ridiculous how easily he slipped back into that dynamic—Zack the charismatic big brother, the steady rock, the sunlight in Shinra’s endless storm. Just like before.
Before everything went to hell.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” Cloud said, the words brittle in his throat.
Zack pulled back just enough to look at him, one brow arched. “Why not? You earned some bragging rights today.”
“I ran out,” Cloud said flatly. “I bolted. Like an idiot. Everyone saw it.”
Zack blinked, then gave a low, sympathetic whistle. “Ah. The ol’ post-trauma sprint. Classic.”
Cloud didn’t respond.
Zack leaned his head to the side, peering at him like he was studying some rare creature. “Strife…you think anyone in that room isn’t barely holding it together? You think half those kids haven’t already ugly-cried in a closet somewhere today?”
He didn’t say anything, but his silence was answer enough.
Zack reached out and clapped a hand gently to the back of Cloud’s neck—not quite pulling him in but grounding him all the same. It was so easy. Too easy. The weight of that hand, the warmth of Zack’s voice—it made something inside him loosen when he knew it should be doing the opposite.
“You walked out. So what? You didn’t punch anyone. You didn’t pass out. You didn’t scream. You just… left.”
Cloud stared at the floor, jaw tight. The shame hadn’t gone away. It clung to him like old mako sweat.
“I’ve seen worse,” Zack said with a grin. “Genesis once flipped a table during dinner because they forgot to add garlic to the soup. Nobody’s holding that over him.” A pause. “Okay, I am. But that’s different.”
Despite himself, Cloud snorted.
Zack’s grin widened. “There we go. That’s the spirit. Now come on.” He nudged him again. “You don’t have to stay long. Just enough to eat something and prove you’re not secretly a ghost.”
Cloud hesitated. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to look at Zack too long, afraid the illusion would shatter, and he’d see blood again—hear that laugh cut off mid-sentence.
But Zack was patient. Still offering him a way forward without demanding anything.
“…Fine,” Cloud muttered, pushing off the wall with a grimace. “But if anyone says anything—”
“They won’t,” Zack cut in smoothly. “And if they do, I’ll trip them.”
Cloud gave him a look.
“I’m subtle like that,” Zack said cheerfully.
The walk back to the Mess Hall was short, but it felt longer than the entirety of the test. Cloud's legs dragged with every step, joints stiff and protesting, and his chest was still tight with lingering adrenaline and too many emotions he didn’t want to name. Zack walked beside him like a silent shadow, not pushing, not filling the quiet with jokes or banter—just there.
Cloud didn’t know whether to be grateful or gut punched.
By the time they reached the corridor leading to the Hall, he could already hear the noise inside. Laughter. Utensils clinking. Someone shouting across the room about meatballs. Normal. Unbothered.
Like he hadn’t just run out of the room like a lunatic.
Zack slowed as they approached the doors, shooting him a sideways glance. “You sure you’re up for this?”
No. Not in the slightest.
“Yeah,” Cloud said instead, his voice a quiet rasp. “Let’s just get it over with.”
The doors hissed open, and the chatter hit him like a wave. Heads turned—just a few at first, then more as people registered who had entered. Cloud felt the tension immediately. It rippled through the room like a pulse. Conversations quieted, not fully silenced, but dipped enough to make it obvious.
He stood there, spine rigid, every nerve poised for judgment.
“Cloud!” Kieran’s voice cracked through the hum like a whip. He stood up from the table, wide-eyed and relieved. “You’re okay!”
Luka twisted in her seat, giving a small, shy wave. Trent looked up and nodded toward him with the faintest smile. Emery offered a brief flicker of acknowledgment, her gaze soft.
No mockery. No laughter. No whispers. Just relief.
Cloud’s chest tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to emotion. They cared.
He hadn’t expected them to.
He was so used to being the outsider—the shadow at the back of the group, the weirdo no one noticed unless they wanted to throw a punch or blame someone for something. But here, in this weird, twisted version of the past, these strangers—these kids—had started to feel like something dangerously close to comrades.
Zack nudged him gently. “Told you they wouldn’t say anything.”
Cloud swallowed hard and nodded once.
They crossed the room together, and even the other tables—filled with SOLDIERs of varying rank—watched them with interest. A few gave subtle nods. One or two even looked vaguely impressed.
And at the main table, the trio sat like gods on thrones.
Angeal was focused on his food, but he looked up as they passed and gave Cloud a small, approving tilt of the head. Genesis, as dramatic as always, raised his wine glass slightly with a smirk that said you’re more interesting than I thought, Strife.
But it was Sephiroth who held Cloud’s gaze the longest.
Sharp green eyes followed his steps with quiet intensity—no judgment, no amusement. Just… scrutiny. Cloud didn’t know what to make of it, and he didn’t want to try.
He dropped into a seat beside Kieran, legs trembling with relief at finally sitting. A tray was already there—someone had gotten him food. It was simple fare—bread, meat, overcooked veggies—but the gesture hit harder than expected.
“You okay?” Kieran asked under his breath.
Cloud nodded. “Just tired.”
“Dude,” Trent muttered from across the table. “You kicked Sephiroth in the knee. You're allowed to be tired.”
There was a ripple of stifled laughter, and Cloud ducked his head before they could see the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Zack ruffled his hair as he passed by. “Atta boy. Eat up. You’ll need the energy. Tomorrow’s aptitude testing, and Lazard’s got a whole new set of torments planned.”
Cloud grunted.
But something inside him had eased.
He still didn’t belong here. He was still a man out of time, burdened by truths no one else could understand. But for now, he wasn’t alone at the table.
And that was more than he’d dared to hope for.
The lights in the barracks had dimmed to their softer evening setting, casting everything in a warm yellow haze that clung to metal bunks and scuffed lockers. Outside, the muffled sounds of late-night drills drifted through the thin walls, but inside B-12, things were winding down. Uniforms were half-unzipped, boots kicked off, and conversations mellowed into murmurs and tired chuckles.
Cloud had managed to change into regulation sleepwear and stretch out on his bunk with a grunt. His muscles screamed in protest, and his entire body throbbed with that dull, post-battle ache that made it clear: he wasn’t enhanced, and it sucked.
He was just about to shut his eyes when a pillow smacked him in the chest.
“Alright, spill it,” Emery demanded from the bunk opposite his. She sat cross-legged, arms folded, eyes narrowed with the kind of scrutiny that could slice through steel.
Cloud opened one eye. “What?”
“You and Zack Fair,” Kieran added from the foot of Luka’s bed, practically bouncing. “What gives? You two know each other or something?”
Luka tilted her head thoughtfully. “He chased you out of the Mess Hall. Chased. And didn’t look pissed. That doesn’t just happen.”
Trent piped up from the top bunk, peering over the edge. “Pretty sure if I ran out during dinner, one of the Commanders would’ve decked me and called it character development.”
Cloud groaned and pulled his pillow over his face.
“Go away,” he muttered.
“No chance,” Kieran said, hopping off the bed and padding over to lean on the bunk post beside Cloud. “Dude. He ruffled your hair.”
Cloud peeked out from under the pillow to glare. “He does that to everyone.”
“Wrong,” Emery cut in. “Zack Fair flirts with everyone. He ruffles only people he likes.”
“That sounded more romantic than I meant it to,” Kieran added with a sheepish laugh.
Luka smirked faintly. “Still accurate.”
Cloud sat up with a groan, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he lied. “I ran into him during training. That’s it.”
“Liar,” Trent called from above.
Cloud sighed. “Okay, maybe we talked. Briefly. He’s just…nice.”
It was the only word he could manage without choking on the weight behind it. The truth was too tangled, too raw. Zack had died for him once. Now he was here, alive, smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong. And Cloud couldn’t process it. Not yet.
Kieran gave him a knowing look. “You can say he’s your friend. We won’t be jealous. Much.”
“We will,” Emery corrected. “But we’ll be chill about it.”
Cloud flopped back down onto his pillow. “You’re all exhausting.”
“You’re welcome,” Luka said dryly, tugging her blanket over her legs.
The teasing faded into a warm hush after that, like steam dissipating after a hot shower. Cloud let the murmur of the others lull him—talk of aptitude testing, guesses about who’d get assigned to which SOLDIER, someone wondering aloud if Genesis slept or just stood in mirrors practising monologues.
It was strange. Foreign. Nice.
And terrifying.
Because he could almost pretend this was normal. That he belonged here. That he hadn’t come back in time to stop the world from burning.
The barracks had finally gone still.
Breathing evened out, bunks creaked here and there with shifting weight, and someone was softly snoring—probably Trent. The overhead lights had dimmed to emergency glows, casting faint bars of amber across the floor, while the hum of Mako-powered generators thrummed like a lullaby beneath the floor.
Cloud lay with his back to the room, eyes open, staring at nothing. The events of the day churned in his mind, refusing to settle. It wasn’t just the test, or Zack, or the fact that he’d dodged Sephiroth’s blade twice and lived to tell the tale—it was everything. The weight of the future. The threat of unravelling it. The ache in his bruised ribs.
He was just beginning to drift—sleep curling around the edges of his thoughts—when the barracks door hissed open.
Bootsteps. Slow. Purposeful. Heavy.
Cloud tensed instinctively.
Conversations didn’t belong here anymore. This was the sleep zone. Any intrusion this late was either bad news…or just bad timing.
“Lights,” a familiar voice said softly.
Only the faintest uptick in power responded, enough for Cloud to make out the silhouettes at the door. Tall. Broad-shouldered. One stood with an almost statuesque poise; the other moved like poetry with a sword tucked behind his back and smugness radiating like heat.
Genesis Rhapsodos entered first, eyes scanning the room with casual interest.
Beside him stood Sephiroth.
Cloud’s stomach flipped.
A few beds stirred. Emery groaned softly. Luka blinked blearily. No one spoke—not when those two walked in.
“Just checking on the new generation,” Genesis murmured, gaze sweeping across the beds until it landed on Cloud’s very deliberately still form. “Strife,” he called, far too gently for Cloud’s liking, “awake, are we?”
Cloud exhaled slowly and rolled onto his back.
“I am now,” he muttered.
Genesis smirked and crossed the room with fluid ease, boots barely making a sound on the worn linoleum. Sephiroth followed at a more measured pace, arms folded neatly behind his back, expression unreadable as always.
Cloud pushed himself up to sit, aware that everyone else was pretending not to be watching with all their might.
“We’re headed to our quarters,” Genesis said offhandedly, as though anyone in the room would ever not know they had their own private suites. “Sephiroth wanted to ensure you didn’t expire.”
Cloud’s brow twitched. “How considerate.”
“It would reflect poorly on us if you died the day after your successful entry into the Program,” Sephiroth added blandly.
That…wasn’t comforting. But it did feel like concern, in the weird Shinra way.
Genesis tilted his head, gaze sharpening just slightly. “You handled yourself well today.”
Cloud looked away. “I got lucky.”
“Then may fortune continue to favour you,” Sephiroth said. “It seems she already has.”
That almost sounded like praise.
Genesis let his arms drape behind his back. “What I find more interesting is your discipline. Not once did you retaliate against Leo. Not even a sharp word. That takes restraint. Or shame.” He leaned in just a little, eyes narrowed in amusement. “Which was it?”
Cloud met his gaze flatly. “Self-preservation.”
Genesis hummed, clearly pleased. “Smart. Though I must say… your little kick earlier was not self-preservation.”
Cloud flushed faintly. “He was in the way.”
There was a pause.
Sephiroth, arms still folded, lifted a brow. “You kicked me.”
You could hear the barracks inhale.
Cloud blinked. “I—”
“You kicked me,” Sephiroth repeated, tone perfectly even. “In the back of the knee.”
Silence.
Emery gasped. Trent’s blanket rustled as he slowly tried to blend into his mattress. Kieran mouthed oh my gods at no one in particular.
And then, Sephiroth glanced around at the wide-eyed stares and deadpanned, “I’m joking.”
You could feel the collective exhale.
Genesis promptly burst into laughter.
“Oh, well played, my friend,” he said, all teeth and delight. “The fear in this room could power the upper plate.”
Sephiroth’s lips quirked in what may have been the ghost of a smirk—or possibly a threat.
Cloud stared at them both, unsure if he’d dodged a bullet or signed up for something much worse.
“You’re intriguing, Strife,” Genesis said over his shoulder as he turned to leave, red coat flaring like a curtain. “Let’s hope you remain so.”
Sephiroth paused at the door, casting one last glance Cloud’s way.
“You should rest,” he said, gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Tomorrow begins your real trials.”
With that, the door hissed open and closed behind them.
Silence fell.
And then: “You kicked Sephiroth,” Emery whisper-yelled, awe-struck.
Cloud dropped back onto his pillow, dragged the blanket over his head, and muttered, “I’m never living that down.”
The morning came far too early.
Harsh lights flickered on in the barracks well before dawn, casting a cold white glow over a room full of groaning cadets. Cloud blinked against the brightness, resisting the urge to throw his pillow across the room and retreat into unconsciousness. His body felt like lead. Every muscle ached, his ribs twinged, and his calves threatened to cramp if he so much as thought about moving.
So, of course, someone immediately started yelling.
“All cadets to stand by for Aptitude Assessment!” came the cheerful voice of a First Class SOLDIER—too chipper, too loud, and probably some kind of sadist. “You have ten minutes to be dressed and outside. Move like your rank depends on it. Because it does.”
Cloud groaned quietly into his blanket.
Kieran, already halfway into his boots, poked his head over from the bunk above. “You’re alive, right?”
Cloud responded with a vague hand motion that could have meant yes, no, or leave me to die in peace.
“Zack’s going to be there,” Luka piped up from across the room, lacing her boots. “You’ll be fine.”
Cloud cracked an eye open just long enough to glare at her, then rolled onto his side with a muffled grunt. His joints popped in protest.
A few bunks over, Leo was being conspicuously quiet.
Good.
The morning air outside bit through their uniforms as the cadets fell into line, shivering as they waited for orders. Rows of recruits—nervous, bleary-eyed, and entirely unprepared—stood at attention on the training field. The three Firsts stood at the front like carved statues: Sephiroth with his arms folded, Angeal with that ever-patient instructor expression, and Genesis looking like he belonged on the cover of a book Cloud would not be caught dead reading.
“Well,” Genesis drawled, pacing along the line with leisurely interest, “let’s see what you’re all made of when you’re not being hunted.”
Sephiroth’s voice followed, cold and clipped. “You’ll be evaluated in strength, stamina, reflex, and materia responsiveness. Fail in more than one category, and you will be reassigned to standard infantry.”
Cloud felt something tighten in his chest. He’d been infantry. He wasn’t going back.
Angeal’s gaze swept over the group and landed squarely on Cloud. “You already know what’s expected. Don’t overthink it. Trust your instincts.”
Cloud gave a subtle nod.
Around him, the others whispered nervously, mostly about how close Sephiroth was standing. Or how Genesis’s boots cost more than most of them made in a year. Or whether anyone had survived a full materia test without throwing up.
The first name was called.
“Trent Moller.”
Trent stepped forward, stiff and pale. Genesis gestured him toward the strength test—lifting progressively heavier weights until the recruit either dropped the bar or passed out.
Cloud swallowed thickly.
He wasn’t afraid of the test.
He was afraid of what it would reveal.
Because he didn’t move like a regular cadet.
And someone, eventually, was going to notice.
Cloud’s boots crunched softly against the frostbitten grass as the line shifted forward. One by one, the recruits were called up and evaluated under the indifferent gaze of Shinra’s finest. Trent struggled through his strength test but managed to hold his own, gritting his teeth through what looked like a strained lower back. Kieran surprised everyone with decent reflex scores. Luka nearly dropped a fire materia in the responsiveness test and was saved only by Angeal’s lightning-fast reaction.
Cloud watched quietly, arms crossed and jaw tight, trying to keep the tension in his shoulders from turning into a full-body ache.
He was too alert. Too used to danger. Every shout, every grunt, every flicker of materia had him flinching inwardly. The body he now wore was fifteen—but the instincts were all twenty-nine years old and carved in battle scars.
Behind him, the low murmur of hushed voices stirred the hairs on the back of his neck.
Leo.
He hadn’t been quiet for long. He’d attached himself to two other recruits—Damon, a smug kid with a crooked grin and no concept of personal space, and Rez, who always seemed just one bad decision away from snapping.
Cloud didn’t look back.
“Bet they’re watching him closer now,” Leo murmured, voice low but unmistakably targeting Cloud. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they figured him out soon.”
The others chuckled softly, trying to keep it under their breath. One of them snorted, too loud. Genesis’s head twitched slightly toward the sound, but he said nothing.
Leo leaned in again, his voice a quiet hiss behind Cloud’s shoulder.
“Better hope they keep seeing you as a little project, Strife. ‘Cause once they stop being curious, all that special treatment goes away. You’ll just be another weakling with big talk and no future.”
Cloud’s jaw clenched, his gaze locked forward as Angeal called out another name.
But his knuckles were turning white beneath his crossed arms.
He could hear Leo smirking behind him. “C’mon. No smart comeback? What—are you worried Zack’s going to be disappointed if you throw a punch?”
Cloud resisted the overwhelming urge to turn around and shut him up. Zack would be disappointed. Genesis would enjoy the drama a little too much. Sephiroth might not even blink before eliminating them all out of sheer boredom.
Cloud’s heart hammered in his chest. Not from fear.
From restraint.
He wasn’t going to take the bait.
He’d kicked Sephiroth. He’d survived Genesis’s attention. He’d collapsed in Zack’s arms without being turned to paste for showing weakness.
He wasn’t afraid of Leo.
But he was afraid of what he might do if he let his control slip.
"Cloud Strife."
The name rang out like a crack of thunder, and for a second, the world held its breath.
Cloud stepped forward, expression calm but body taut, like a wire stretched too tight.
He walked past Leo without sparing him a glance, but he didn’t miss the sneer curling the other recruit’s lips.
Genesis was waiting near the reflex course, arms folded and smirk in place like he was already entertained.
“Ah, our little underdog,” Genesis said, tone silky. “Try not to surprise me too much this time.”
Cloud gave a faint nod, careful to school his features into neutrality. “No promises.”
Genesis’s grin widened.
Cloud tried not to scowl in response. The reflex testing station was little more than a flat mat lined with metal pressure sensors and a ring of retractable arms along the edges. The idea was simple: react fast, dodge faster. The higher the difficulty, the faster—and more unpredictable—the arms moved. Three strikes and you were out.
He stepped into the circle with as much grace as a man running on fumes could manage, his limbs stiff and body aching. Every movement felt about three seconds behind his brain. But he had faced worse than a glorified game of dodgeball.
The proctor, a tall, wiry SOLDIER Third with too much energy for Cloud’s liking, activated the platform. “Reflex trial, Cadet Strife. Level one commencing. You’ll be struck three times or last two minutes. Whichever comes first.”
Cloud gave a nod and rolled his neck, then bent his knees slightly, settling into the same stance he’d used when evading monsters on Midgar rooftops. It was pure instinct. His body remembered even if it hated him for asking.
A soft hum vibrated under his boots. One of the mechanical arms snapped toward his hip.
Cloud pivoted sharply, letting it swing past him harmlessly. Another came for his shoulder—he ducked.
Then two came at once, criss-crossing midair.
He backstepped just out of reach, teeth gritted as the mat’s pressure pads chirped with each dodge.
More came.
He moved on reflex. Side-step. Twist. Drop. Roll. Every second that passed made his vision blur just a little more. His shoulder screamed at him. The bruises on his back from yesterday’s fall pulsed with heat. His knees wobbled dangerously when he dipped to avoid a sweep from behind.
He heard distant murmurs—recruits whispering. Maybe even Genesis again.
One arm caught him—not full on, but it grazed his rib, enough to trigger a strike counter.
“One,” the proctor called.
Cloud shook it off. He wasn’t going to fail this. Not when half of B-12 was watching him. Not when Sephiroth and Genesis stood somewhere behind him.
Not when Zack was probably still hovering nearby.
Another sweep. Cloud jumped over it, but too slow. It clipped his shin. Not enough to knock him down, but it made his teeth clack together.
“Two.”
He exhaled, sharp and ragged, forcing himself into a tighter stance. There was no rhythm. No pattern. That’s what made it brutal.
Then—silence.
The platform stilled. Lights blinked amber.
“Time elapsed,” the proctor called. “Struck twice. Pass.”
Cloud stumbled off the platform, breath coming fast and shallow, hands on his knees. Sweat dripped from his jaw. He blinked hard, trying to force the world to stop tilting slightly to the left.
“Not bad,” Genesis drawled from the side, arms still folded. “You have all the grace of a drunken chocobo, but you made it.”
Cloud gave him a thumbs-up without looking up. “High praise.”
Another voice chimed in—lower, quieter, and not without amusement.
“Most recruits are struck four times before the first minute ends.”
Cloud’s eyes flicked to the side.
Sephiroth.
He stood just behind Genesis now, arms loosely at his sides, expression unreadable.
Cloud straightened slowly and said nothing. No answer wouldn’t make him sound arrogant—or worse, suspicious.
Instead, he limped off the mat toward the next trial.
The weights.
Just what he needed.
Cloud made his way toward the next station with the unmistakable gait of a man marching to his execution. His shoulders were stiff, and each step looked heavier than the last. Still, he didn’t look back once.
Genesis’s eyes followed him with thoughtful amusement, arms still lazily crossed over his chest. “He shouldn’t have been able to pass that.” His voice was low, the kind of murmur that didn’t invite the recruits to listen—but didn’t mind if they overheard, either.
Sephiroth’s gaze remained fixed on Cloud, with the faintest tilt to his head. “Not in that condition,” he agreed, tone flat but not without intrigue. “His muscle control was impaired. But his reaction timing…” He trailed off, watching as Cloud paused briefly at the weight rack, squaring his shoulders like he was mentally preparing to lift a warhammer.
“Almost too good.” Genesis leaned closer, his voice dipping conspiratorially. “Tell me you noticed the stance. The dodges. That wasn’t amateur flailing.”
“It was instinct,” Sephiroth said. “Trained instinct.”
Genesis smirked. “Mm. Taught, or lived?”
The question hung there for a moment, heavier than it should have.
They both knew what raw talent looked like. Cloud wasn’t raw. He was refined. Not polished—there were too many rough edges still—but sharp where it counted. Like a sword forged twice, cracked and reforged again.
“I want to know who trained him,” Sephiroth murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. “There are habits in his movement I’ve only seen in seasoned operatives.”
Genesis hummed in agreement. “And yet, he’s a cadet. From a village no one remembers. Who just happened to take on the three of us without breaking?”
“Yet,” Sephiroth echoed, his tone unreadable. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
They both turned their attention back to Cloud just in time to watch him brace a barbell with gritted teeth and lift it cleanly off the rack, only to nearly buckle under the second repetition.
Genesis chuckled. “Well. He’s mortal after all.”
Sephiroth said nothing.
But he didn’t look away.
Cloud stared at the weight rack. His arms ached just looking at it, and his shoulders gave an ominous throb that promised betrayal if he even thought about lifting anything heavier than a pencil. He suppressed a groan and forced himself to move forward, jaw tight, posture stiff.
The barbell looked monstrous. Some of the other recruits had struggled with it, and they hadn’t spent the day getting slapped around by two living legends.
Kieran glanced at him from the adjacent bench, a towel slung around his neck, sweat beading across his brow. “Dude, are you sure you should be doing this? You look like you got trampled by a Behemoth.”
“Felt more like three,” Cloud grunted, crouching beside the weights.
He adjusted his grip on the bar and tried to remember how to breathe without wincing. Everything hurt. Shoulders, ribs, thighs—hell, even his hair felt sore. He let out a slow breath and lifted the bar.
Pain flared instantly. It screamed through his biceps and stabbed into his lower back. His arms trembled, legs bracing instinctively as he pushed through the strain. Just a few lifts. That’s all this was. Basic cadet testing. He could do this. Probably.
One lift.
Two.
Three.
By the fourth, his vision was tinged at the edges, his body ready to mutiny. Cloud gritted his teeth and refused to drop the weight.
At the edge of the testing platform, Genesis and Sephiroth remained, watching. Not obviously. Not looming. But Cloud could feel them. Like wolves observing a wounded deer that refused to fall.
Genesis nudged Sephiroth subtly with an elbow. “Still think he’s average?”
Sephiroth’s eyes didn’t leave Cloud. “No.”
Cloud set the weight down with a strained exhale, muscles quivering. He wiped a trembling hand across his face, trying not to show how winded he was.
Trent approached from the side with a cocky smirk, hefting a lighter weight with ease. “Not bad, country boy. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Cloud didn’t respond. Couldn’t. If he opened his mouth, he might throw up or pass out—or both.
He straightened slowly and turned away from the rack, vision slightly doubled.
“You’re not proving anything to anyone,” Sephiroth said suddenly, voice carrying across the small gap between them. Calm. Cool. But unmistakably directed at him.
Cloud’s steps faltered.
“I didn’t ask for a show,” Sephiroth added. “But you gave us one anyway.”
Genesis snorted softly. “And here I thought you didn’t appreciate theatrics.”
Cloud didn’t turn around. He didn’t have the energy for banter or biting remarks. Instead, he kept walking toward the next station, ignoring the burn in his legs, the protests of his ribs, the static fuzz bleeding into his vision.
Behind him, Genesis offered a theatrical clap. “Bravo, Strife. Remind me to take you on stage next time I recite Loveless.”
Cloud’s knees buckled the moment he cleared the strength testing area.
He didn’t fall, not quite. But he staggered sideways into a low partition wall, catching himself with a trembling hand. His other arm hung limp at his side, the muscles in his shoulder screaming bloody murder. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe, and sweat clung to him like a second skin, cold now, instead of hot.
The edges of his vision pulsed in and out of focus.
Don’t throw up. Don’t collapse. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned harder into the partition, trying to will his body into cooperating.
“Strife.” Angeal’s voice came from behind him—firm, but not unkind.
Cloud didn’t respond, couldn’t.
Boots clicked across the floor. He felt them before he saw them.
“Impressive,” Genesis drawled. “If mildly self-destructive.”
Cloud swallowed hard. His mouth tasted like copper and regret. He turned his head slightly to glance at them and regretted that, too—his vision swam.
Sephiroth’s expression was unreadable, arms crossed loosely as he observed Cloud with that unsettling, analytical calm. “You’re going to pass out,” he said matter-of-factly.
Cloud drew in a shaky breath. “Not… yet.”
“Stubbornness,” Genesis murmured. “Classic hero complex.”
Angeal stepped closer. “You’re no good to anyone if you push yourself into the ground.” His tone gentled. “Sit down. Rest. Materia can wait five minutes.”
Cloud hesitated, pride warring with common sense—but it was pride that had dragged him this far, and common sense was currently lying unconscious somewhere in the back of his skull.
He slid down the wall and sat heavily on the floor. His vision finally settled enough for him to see that the three SOLDIERs had subtly shifted, forming a loose semicircle around him.
It didn’t feel like intimidation.
It felt like…watchfulness.
Like they’d seen this before—green recruits, over-eager cadets, men who didn’t know when to stop. The kind of people who pushed until they broke something. Genesis crouched down across from him, arms resting on his knees, gaze unnervingly sharp.
“You’re not the only one here with something to prove,” he said quietly. “But you’re the only one trying to do it all at once.”
Cloud didn’t reply, too tired to even muster a glare.
Sephiroth stepped forward and—shockingly—offered a small canteen of water.
Cloud blinked at it, uncertain if it was a mirage.
“It’s not poisoned,” Sephiroth said with a faint lift of one brow. “You kicked me. If I were going to retaliate, you’d know.”
Genesis howled with laughter behind him.
Cloud took the water with a shaking hand. “You were in the way.”
“You could have said ‘excuse me.’”
Cloud choked on a breathless laugh and took a small sip, grateful beyond measure for the temporary reprieve.
Angeal finally knelt beside him, offering a folded cloth. “Cool your face down. You’ve overheated.”
As Cloud dabbed sweat from his forehead, he couldn’t help the strange warmth that settled in his chest. Surrounded by the very people he should fear—mentors, monsters, memories—and yet, this moment wasn’t filled with dread.
Not quite.
It felt…real.
And that made it more dangerous.
The hushed sound of movement caught Cloud’s attention just as he finished wiping his face down with Angeal’s cloth. He glanced up, blinking sweat from his eyes.
The rest of the recruits—nineteen strong—had begun to gather just beyond the testing area. Some hovered awkwardly at the edge of the floor mats, others lingered near the equipment racks, but all of them were watching him. And not with concern.
Their expressions varied—confusion, envy, suspicion.
Luka looked uncertain. Kieran frowned, clearly picking up on the tension. Trent and Emery stood close together, arms crossed, as if bracing for something. And at the centre of the growing discontent was Leo, arms casually slung over the shoulders of two other recruits, smirking like he’d been handed the ammunition he’d been waiting for.
Cloud slowly returned the cloth to Angeal, his throat dry again despite the water. He felt every stare like a weight pressing down.
“They think you’re being coddled,” Genesis murmured, voice pitched low, amused. “Favouritism, perhaps.”
“I don’t need—” Cloud started.
“You do,” Sephiroth interrupted smoothly, still standing above him. “Right now, you need rest. Later, you’ll need to stop caring what they think.”
Angeal stood and turned toward the recruits. “You’ll be next for testing,” he called. “Stand by.”
Murmurs flared to life like kindling catching flame.
“That’s not fair,” one cadet muttered under his breath.
“Why does he get a break?”
“We’ve all been pushed hard—he’s not special.”
“I heard he fought Sephiroth and Genesis. Alone. Yeah right.”
Cloud tensed.
Then came a different voice—smooth, bright, and cutting clean through the noise like a blade.
“Oi.”
Zack.
The group turned collectively as Zack strolled toward them, his usual easy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes dead serious. He stopped beside Luka and Trent, arms folded.
“Before you all start crying about favouritism,” he said, voice light but underpinned with steel, “maybe take a second to think.”
A few of the recruits shifted uneasily, caught off guard.
“None of you got beaten up after Orientation by some cowardly assholes.”
Cloud flinched at the mention. It didn't count, seeing as he hadn't been in this body, but it disturbed the other recruits. Better yet, Zack knew. How embarrassing.
Zack nodded toward Cloud without looking at him.
He paused, letting that sink in.
“And I know for a fact that none of you were caught wandering by a Third Class patrol an hour before the test yesterday, made to run drills and do full-body penalty sets right before the test started!”
Now that earned some visible discomfort. A few looked toward Cloud again, this time a bit more warily.
“Oh, and let’s not forget,” Zack added with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “that while the rest of you were running from Genesis and hiding from Sephiroth, that kid over there kicked Sephiroth in the back of the knee, took a swing at Genesis, and practically carried you four to safety.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Zack’s expression didn’t waver.
“Still think he’s getting special treatment?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
No one answered.
Genesis gave a slow, sarcastic clap. “Beautifully said, Fair.”
Cloud let out a slow breath and pressed his face into the crook of his arm, fighting the urge to either laugh or sink through the floor.
The glares and whispers didn’t vanish. But they quieted.
For now.
Cloud had made it exactly thirty steps from the training platform before he ducked into the nearest supply room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The dim overhead light buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across shelves stocked with spare towels, rolls of bandages, bottles of industrial-strength disinfectant, and an uncomfortably smug-looking mop.
He leaned his forehead against the cool metal door, squeezing his eyes shut.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
He slid down to the floor, muscles aching, heart pounding with something far more exhausting than adrenaline. The silence in the small room wrapped around him like a weighted blanket, thick and stifling. He could still hear the echoes of Zack’s voice in the hallway behind him.
Kicked Sephiroth in the back of the knee.
Gods. That was going to follow him to the grave. Or maybe Genesis would carve it into his gravestone himself for the theatrics.
Cloud exhaled slowly and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t wanted this—any of this. Not the attention. Not the whispers. Not the looks. Certainly not the creeping way Sephiroth's gaze had lingered when Genesis clapped at Zack’s speech like it was dinner theatre.
Zack meant well. Cloud knew that. Knew that speech had been delivered to take the heat off him. But the words had only drawn the spotlight tighter.
Now they were really going to think it was favouritism.
He wasn’t stupid. They’d look at his bruises and tired limbs and assume he had someone pulling strings behind the curtain. It wouldn’t matter that he’d passed on merit—they hadn’t seen the hell in between. They never did. And worse, the trio? They had seen it. Every stumble, every gasping breath, every near-collapse—witnessed by three of the most powerful figures in SOLDIER.
Cloud groaned and thunked his head softly against the door again. Why did it have to be him?
The closet offered no answers, just the faint citrus tang of cleaning solution and the rustle of a ratty old broom shifting on its hook. Maybe he could stay here until lights-out. Fake a stomachache. Crawl into the mop bucket and just…exist.
He let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“…Maybe I’ll be lucky, and they’ll forget I exist by tomorrow.”
There was a knock at the door.
Cloud flinched.
“…Cloud?” Kieran’s muffled voice came through the thin metal. “Are you in there? Zack said you might be. Uh. Not in there specifically, just… somewhere. Hiding.”
Cloud didn’t respond at first. The silence stretched, then, “Tell him I’ve fused with the bleach and I’m at peace.”
There was a beat of stunned quiet before Kieran started laughing. “Okay, fair. But they’re starting the materia stuff soon. Genesis already looked like he was going to summon an audience for your debut, and Sephiroth’s been standing unnervingly still for the past three minutes. It’s weird.”
Cloud sighed. Deeply. Then muttered to himself, “Of course it’s weird. Everything’s weird.”
Still, he hauled himself upright with a groan and opened the door just enough to poke his head out.
“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” he asked flatly.
Kieran blinked. “Uh. No? You look like you lost a fight with a mop, though.”
“…Close enough.”
Cloud barely had time to step out of the supply room before the scent of leather, cologne, and softly burning ozone hit his senses like a freight train.
He looked up.
Genesis stood before him, arms folded and expression smug but not unkind. Beside him was Sephiroth—ever the monument to composed menace—one brow slightly lifted, as if he were trying to decide whether to scold Cloud or ask if the floor had been sufficiently disinfected.
“I thought we lost you to janitorial purgatory,” Genesis said dryly, eyes flicking to the still-ajar broom closet behind Cloud. “How very melodramatic of you.”
Cloud said nothing. He was already too tired for pride.
Sephiroth gave him a once-over, expression unreadable. “You are pale.”
“I’m always pale,” Cloud muttered.
“Paler,” Sephiroth corrected.
Genesis sighed, and for once, it wasn’t dramatic. “You’re not in trouble, Cloud. But you disappearing into a closet after that little display is going to stir up more talk.”
Cloud winced. “I didn’t ask Zack to do that.”
“We know,” Genesis said, unusually gentle. “But you need to understand something. We weren’t coddling you.”
Cloud looked away.
“Hey.” Genesis stepped forward, his voice low now. “You’re the only recruit out of twenty who was injured before Test Day. The only one who was forced into drills and punishment exercises right before it started. And still the only one who lasted through all three of us in that field. They didn’t see that. We did.”
Sephiroth spoke then, voice calm but firm. “It is not favouritism. It is an observation. The others are tired. You are on the verge of collapse.”
“And if we let you drop, what message does that send?” Genesis added. “That pushing yourself past breaking point earns nothing but silence? That surviving something harder than the rest means you’ll be punished for being seen?”
Cloud didn’t have an answer. Just a dull ache behind his eyes and the constant weight of knowing better.
“We’ll handle it,” Genesis said, softer now. “We’ll make sure they understand this is support, not special treatment.”
Sephiroth inclined his head. “You have proven your capability. You do not need to prove your suffering.”
Cloud blinked. Slowly. That…might’ve been the most poetic thing Sephiroth had ever said. And from the look on Genesis’s face, he thought so too.
“…You stole that from Loveless, didn’t you?” Genesis whispered, eyes narrowing.
Sephiroth didn’t answer. His silence was suspicious.
Cloud huffed a tired, half-laugh and muttered, “You’re both insane.”
Genesis grinned, triumphant. “And you are back on your feet. Let’s keep it that way.”
Cloud stepped back into the testing space with Genesis and Sephiroth flanking him like some absurd royal procession. Only this royalty was armed to the teeth and carried the emotional availability of bricks.
The murmur of conversation among the recruits died instantly. Nineteen sets of eyes snapped toward him. Every breath in the room held.
Genesis and Sephiroth kept walking, not sparing him a glance, not slowing or lingering. Just two SOLDIERs returning from a standard, absolutely-not-concerning walk.
“Cadet Strife,” Sephiroth said as they passed him, his voice clipped and formal. “Rejoin your peers.”
“Yes, Sir,” Cloud said, keeping his expression flat, his tone professional.
Genesis gave a faint, aloof nod before striding away. The message couldn’t have been clearer if they’d held up a sign that said No, we are not playing favourites. Don’t be weird about it.
Zack, still posted near the group with his arms crossed and his face arranged in something between mischief and warning, caught Cloud’s eye. He gave a barely perceptible nod of approval. Like, see? That’s how you play the game, kid.
As Cloud returned to his group, he felt the shift immediately. Kieran straightened from where he’d been crouching by the wall, Luka's shoulders tensed, and Trent stepped back as if Cloud were radioactive.
Cloud expected judgment.
What he got was guilt.
“Cloud,” Kieran said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey. Look, about earlier…”
Cloud raised a brow.
“We didn’t… we weren’t thinking straight,” Luka added quickly, her voice hushed. “After Zack’s speech, it just—it kind of hit us.”
“You’re not being favoured,” Trent said awkwardly. “I mean, you kind of look like death warmed up, man. You’ve been through it.”
Kieran nodded emphatically. “I saw the bruises yesterday, but I didn’t know…everything else.”
“We’re sorry,” Luka finished softly. “For doubting you. Or thinking…y’know.”
Cloud blinked. For a second, he didn’t know what to do with the quiet sincerity. But eventually, he gave a small shrug. “It’s fine.”
Kieran’s brows furrowed. “No, seriously, it’s not. But thank you.”
Before Cloud could answer, the loud clack of boots drew attention back toward the centre of the testing area.
Angeal stepped into view with the same commanding presence he always carried, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Next assessment: Materia aptitude. Line up. Quietly.”
There was an immediate shuffle as recruits snapped into line.
Cloud stepped into place, dragging a breath into aching lungs.
At his side, Kieran murmured, “I hope I get something easy.”
Cloud didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted anything at all.
The line of recruits fidgeted in place as rows of tables were set up, each with several neatly arranged orbs of materia glinting under the training room lights. Fire, Ice, Lightning, Cure—basic combat staples every SOLDIER recruit had to learn.
Cloud stood at the end of the line, hands clasped behind his back, hiding how badly they were trembling. His muscles were stiff, sore, and screaming for rest, and he already knew this was going to be rough. It wasn’t the magic itself—he’d cast hundreds of spells before, across multiple battlefields. It was the body. The unenhanced, exhausted, bone-deep fatigue of a fifteen-year-old frame barely held together by willpower and Zack’s big-brother energy.
Genesis strode between the tables, directing recruits with a flick of his wrist. “You will each be handed a materia at random,” he said. “You are to cast one spell—accurately, with control. Not too much power, not too little. Think of it as a demonstration, not a battle.”
Sephiroth stood off to the side, arms folded, eyes sharp. Angeal watched from behind the line of recruits, clipboard in hand.
One by one, materia was distributed, and the air filled with the hum of low-level magic. A spark of fire. A flicker of ice. A crackle of electricity. Mostly textbook performances, a few with decent flair.
Then it was Cloud’s turn.
Genesis handed him a glowing blue orb. “Ah, Gravity,” he said with a smile far too amused for Cloud’s liking. “Let’s see what you do with that.”
Cloud exhaled slowly. Gravity wasn’t hard, but it was delicate. Too much power, and you crushed your target. Too little, and the spell fizzled out.
He stepped up to the designated target—a practice dummy bolted to the ground—and pressed the materia into his palm. The familiar warmth of magical energy spread into his skin.
He let instinct take over.
Cast it like you’ve done a thousand times before. Don’t think—feel it. Guide it.
He raised his hand.
A subtle purple light gathered at his fingertips, then bloomed outward. The gravity spell took form—elegant, controlled—until suddenly, the pull intensified with a shriek of distorted air, and the dummy collapsed in on itself with a metallic crunch, as though a black hole had momentarily blinked into existence.
The light snapped out. The room went dead silent.
Genesis blinked. Angeal raised an eyebrow. Sephiroth tilted his head very slightly, expression unreadable.
“…the fuck was that?” someone muttered from down the line.
Cloud lowered his hand slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “Too much?” he offered, dryly.
Genesis broke into a laugh—genuine, delighted. “Cadet Strife, are you in the habit of making gravity your plaything?”
Cloud shrugged faintly. “Not usually.”
Angeal cleared his throat and scribbled something on the clipboard, while Sephiroth continued to watch Cloud as if he were a puzzle missing several pieces.
Genesis stepped closer, eyes glittering with intrigue. “I do hope you get paired with something a little more dangerous next time,” he said under his breath. “I’m dying to know what that would look like.”
Cloud offered no response.
But as he returned to stand beside Kieran and the others, he caught the quiet stares of the rest of the recruits. Unease, surprise, even wariness.
He resisted the urge to sigh.
They weren’t going to see a tired, overexerted cadet anymore. Now he was something strange. Something suspicious.
A few seconds passed before anyone remembered how to breathe.
The shattered dummy let out a mechanical whine, as if protesting its sudden implosion, while smoke drifted lazily in the aftermath of Cloud’s gravity spell. The air still felt heavy, like it hadn't recovered from the magic's grip.
Genesis was practically giddy.
Sephiroth’s gaze hadn’t moved. He stared at Cloud like the cadet had just rearranged the laws of physics for fun.
“That wasn’t standard cadet output,” Angeal muttered, low enough for only his companions to hear.
“No,” Sephiroth replied flatly. “That was precise. Deliberate.” A pause. “And lethal, if the target hadn’t been reinforced steel.”
Genesis just grinned, still watching Cloud like he was his new favourite plaything. “Someone teach the boy to flourish, and he’ll be painting the skies with magic.”
Zack, who had arrived mid-spectacle, gaped with wide eyes. “Okay, I blinked, and the dummy died. Did anyone see what spell that was? Don’t tell me that was just basic Gravity—”
“It was Gravira,” Sephiroth corrected, voice cool but clipped.
Zack stared. “The hell it was. We don’t give Gravira to civilians. Did it evolve in his hand? Did he force it up a tier?”
“No catalyst,” Angeal added, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not even a proper casting stance. Just…” He exhaled slowly. “Reflex.”
Across the room, the other recruits were whispering now. Uneasy. Cloud could hear a few of the murmurs.
“Did you see that?”
“Freaky, man…”
“That wasn’t normal materia use.”
“Is he…even supposed to have that?”
Then came Leo.
The smug bastard pushed off the wall, flanked by the two recruits who still hung around him like moths to an oil fire.
“Figures,” Leo said loudly enough to cut through the chatter. “Freak pulls a stunt like that, and no one even questions it.”
Cloud stiffened.
Leo didn’t miss it. He sauntered closer, lifting his chin in mock admiration. “What’s the matter, Strife? Is that your secret weapon? You hiding Level Two materia in your pockets while the rest of us get the kiddie pool stuff?”
Zack immediately turned on his heel.
“Hey.” One word, but it cracked like a whip.
Leo paused, smirk faltering.
Zack took a step forward, arms crossed, expression unreadably flat. “You know, for someone who got shown up in front of a First Class, you’ve got a big mouth.”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“You calling him a cheat?” Zack asked, voice deceptively light. “Because that’s a serious accusation to throw around. Especially after you tried picking a fight with him.”
A few of the nearby recruits flinched.
Cloud didn’t move, but his shoulders crept upward.
Zack continued, pacing slowly, letting each word land. “Strife’s not the one walking around with a personal cheer squad and a chip on his shoulder. He’s the one who passed the test, after being hurt, after being punished, and after going up against three First Classes with no enhancements. And now he just did that—” he jabbed a thumb at the wrecked dummy— “without breaking a sweat.”
“Didn’t look like ‘no sweat’ to me,” Leo muttered, but much quieter this time.
Zack stopped just in front of him and leaned in a little. “Maybe next time, instead of whining, you could try watching. Might learn something.”
Leo swallowed hard and took a step back.
Satisfied, Zack turned and made his way toward Cloud, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Nice work, Spike.”
Cloud managed a very tired, very dry look up at him. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
Genesis, who’d appeared suddenly beside them like a spectre of drama, sighed wistfully. “If he does, I call dibs on carrying him. It would be poetic.”
“No,” Angeal said, with a tone of long-suffering familiarity.
“Dibs,” Genesis repeated, grinning at Cloud with all the mischief of a cat that had just found a mouse with a limp.
Sephiroth, still unreadable, stepped forward at last and let his gaze linger on the ruined dummy. Then, on Cloud.
“You will explain how you did that,” he said coolly, though not unkindly. “Later.”
Cloud just nodded faintly. “Sure. After I nap forever.”
Zack chuckled, already guiding him toward a bench. “Let’s maybe get you some water before you start gravity-spelling yourself into the floor.”
As they moved away, Cloud caught a glimpse of Leo in the crowd, still simmering, still watching.