Chapter Text
Cloud died when he was nine.
He couldn’t remember it clearly. If he closed his eyes, he could hear his voice, calling for Tifa to return. He remembered falling from the bridge, the rotting wood below his feet giving away to plunge him into the mako below. He remembered green and pain and then… nothing.
But when he had woken up, he was on the bank of the river. He sputtered Tifa’s name, blood smearing on the snow as he scrambled to look at the girl’s state. Then it was a blur of adults screaming, the sound of a man’s voice roaring over the river, the pain of being dragged away by his mother’s soft, but firm grip, and then nothing.
It was only when he had taken his clothes off to bathe had he seen them. Twin marks, punctured straight through his chest, right over his heart. They stung when he touched them, but otherwise he hadn’t even noticed them. It felt like they had pierced right through him, as if he had been impaled by a sword.
The marks healed, as did the minor scratches he had received. His mother told him he had the protection of the wolf. That Fenrir had saved him.
The rest of the town didn’t see it that way.
“Why had Fenrir chosen to save you?”
“You should have protected Tifa.”
It was true. It was all true. If Cloud did have the protection of Fenrir, then why? Why not Tifa, who needed it so much more desperately than he?
But, if he did have Fenrir’s blessing, then who was he to scorn such a thing?
Cloud had dropped an additional offering of fruit for the god.
Fenrir ruled the wind.
The howling skies and the mountains above. The wolf soared through the winter forests like a spirit, tearing through enemies along the way. Unstoppable. Untamable. Feral.
Cloud followed its lead. He trained until he could no longer feel the harsh winter on his skin. He trained until he heard the whisper of a howl in his ears, guiding him to the next mission. He surveyed Fenrir’s territory, learning the sound of snow falling from each and every tree branch. Just by the sound of the wind through the branches and the feel of the bark on the trees, Cloud could tell where he was. He knew the territory as if it was his own.
He dived into battles with a ferocious snarl, his handmade blades as vicious as the fangs of his patron deity. He defeated all those that would threaten his home.
“Cloud?”
Cloud turned to look at Tifa, his blue eyes shining in the darkness. Time had worn away the hate. Cloud had proven himself, again and again, that he was one with their god.
“It’s getting cold. You should head home for the night,” she said kindly.
But the wind howled at him. There was a calling that he heard. Something was coming.
“Go on ahead,” he encouraged. “I think I hear something.”
The smile on her face was kind, but she didn’t understand. Tifa didn’t hear the howling the same way he did. No, Tifa was like water more than the earth. She used her fists and strength the way a painter used a brush.
The branches above his head dropped snow, but Cloud’s eyes were locked on the darkness of night. Winters in Nibelheim were cold and ruthless. The beasts of the forest knew it. Food was scarce so if they had the opportunity, they would attack the village.
A crunch of snow alerted him, and Cloud whirled around, his blade flashing in the light of the moon. His eyes narrowed at the intruder, as cold and hard as the ice that refused to melt.
The stranger was tall. Black leather coat, made from some kind of material he couldn’t identify, silver hair, as bright as the stars that stretched endlessly above his head. But what struck Cloud the most was his eyes.
Those were not the eyes of a human.
Bright green with slitted pupils. There was no doubt what stood before him was someone or something that worshiped another god. Certainly not Fenrir. Perhaps this was a dragon in disguise. Or some other beast.
“You’re in Fenrir’s territory,” Cloud warned, mostly as a courtesy. He wasn’t sure if this creature could understand him, but it was clear enough that this being didn’t belong here.
“So I am.”
The hair on the back of Cloud’s neck stood up. Something told Cloud that it would be foolish to fight. That he was outmatched here. That fleeing would be the best course of action.
Behind him stood the town. If Cloud fled, he might be able to save himself, but what of the others?
“You should go,” Cloud added, holding his stance. “You don’t belong here.”
The creature raised a hand, touching the shining edge of Cloud’s blade, his piercing green eyes meeting hard blue. “Is that so?”
Cloud didn’t even get a chance to blink before a blade sank into his chest. As quick and sharp as a bite, Cloud gasped, the agony hitting him full force as he was impaled by the creature. It stung worse than getting a dragon’s claw through his abdomen.
The creature held a blade in his left hand. Cloud had been accustomed to the bloodlust, the hunger of creatures, but this was different.
Different, because Cloud couldn’t read him. He couldn’t gauge intentions or discern the mood. There was no indication of anger, just a sword in his chest that pierced right through him.
Blood splattered onto the snow as the blade was withdrawn, but Cloud didn’t fall. Instead, he gave a snarl and swung.
He fought. The wound on his chest burned as he twisted himself away from the long blade, his shoes digging into the snow like claws. His blades flashed, cutting the winter breeze until the sky echoed his fury. He fought as he normally did, and yet…
The creature met him, blow for blow. Green eyes shone in the moon, eager for the kill, though Cloud moved too quickly for him to catch. Snow, stained with blood, flew around them as Cloud attempted to drive the attacker off.
It was strong. And fast. Cloud was outmatched, but he couldn’t afford to retreat. Retreating meant that the village would be in danger. Retreating meant that he was weak.
He tore apart his blades, letting the six swords fly through his hands. The creature didn’t hesitate in tearing them out of his grip, one by one until Cloud was left with his single hollow blade.
It was desperation that fueled his next movements. Cloud spun through the air, kicking the ice off a tree as he used it to propel himself up and bringing his blade down in a sweeping swing.
To Cloud’s surprise, the creature didn’t dodge the blow, meeting him blade to blade. Green eyes peered into his soul before they knocked him aside, sending Cloud skidding back. Blood streamed down his chest and back, leaving Cloud feeling cold all over, his fingers gripping the handle of his blade.
He was outmatched, but the creature didn’t turn its attention to the village behind him. Instead, just as silently as he had appeared, the creature turned, vanishing into the night, that silver hair just barely brushing the snow off the bushes. Cloud slowly relaxed, one hand flying up to his chest as he tried to assess the damage to himself.
Cloud stumbled back into his home, leaving a trail of blood in the snow. Perhaps the wind would cover the trail, perhaps it wouldn’t, but Cloud wasn’t concerned with that at the moment.
He sank to his knees in front of the fireplace, tossing several logs into the pit. A brief thought, and the materia in his pocket set the logs ablaze, the embers lighting the room.
He didn’t have a cure. In Nibelheim, there was no reason or sense to have Cure. Fire was much more common and useful. Cure couldn’t heal frostbite or protect anyone from the frigid cold.
It wasn’t the first time he had been injured and it wouldn’t have been the last. Fights in the mountains were frequent. Even the wolves that knew him would bite. The hunger would overwhelm them.
Cloud grit his teeth as he peeled the layers of his clothes away. The wound traveled cleanly through him. In and out. Though he had lost a lot of blood, at least he escaped with his life. He would count his blessings tonight.
He soaked a washcloth in a tub of warm water, wiping off the blood from his skin and trying to clean the wound. It was hard. The exit wound was on his back and he couldn’t see it to clean it properly.
Carefully packing the wound, he sighed, slumping against the wall near the fireplace. He had escaped near death tonight. He would be glad to never see the creature again.
The adrenaline was wearing off and exhaustion hit him. More than hunger, Cloud just felt exhausted. His blades, now reassembled, lay beside him as he slowly curled up in front of the fire to keep himself warm. He didn’t have the energy to get up, now that he had laid on the floor. He would eat tomorrow.
That night, he dreamed of the blade sinking into his chest, right beside the wound, leaving him with twin marks. As sharp as a bite.