Not again… 

Cloud had, like clockwork, gotten himself roped into something he hadn’t signed up for. He had every intention to deliver his package to his target destination in one long stretch, something he often enjoyed and did often, but today's weather promised to disagree.

He always enjoyed the peace of mind that the road's winding stretches offered him. He’d wake up, same routine as normal, around four in the morning when he knew for certain he could slip past Tifa’s defenses—when he could still afford to make a little commotion in her house from brushing his teeth and packing what was left to pack of his bags; most of his important belongings could all fit in his backpack or in the saddlebags of his motorcycle, so the extras were mostly things like water or food, a defense strategy he had devised to be able to drop ship at a moment’s notice.

Cloud felt the most real in the early hours of the morning, while he tiptoed around this unfamiliar house that would never feel like a home—no matter how desperate Tifa was. Somewhere in the shadow of the morning, Cloud Strife had the space to really exist. If only for a moment, if only for the four seconds of eye contact in the bathroom mirror, or in the split second where he’d catch his reflection in the jet black glass of the window right above the bars sink, Cloud could be real again. The silence was gentle; this hour was his hour to breathe, to play house in this strange little world that always felt claustrophobic for him in a way no one else could understand. He often thought to himself about never returning, about bolting out as he’d always dreamed of… and often he would press his deliver routes out further and further, using them as excuses to cover more ground, to spend more days having just enough of a purpose to tune out reality, to tune out the world, to just float—just day by day, hour by hour, kilometer by kilometer, time would pass by and he could come back peacefully—until….

Yes, the reason why he always came back to this place, to Tifa, to Barrett, Denzel, all the rest, wasn’t primarily out of guilt as Tifa often grilled him about. No, it was admittedly selfish, a wound Cloud felt so deeply it was humiliating. Out there, on the open road, in all of his freedom of this New World, he could never shake that feeling that he was still searching, searching for a man who would never be found again, a man that had stopped being what he’d known longer than ten years ago. Between the lines drawn out on his well-worn map, between the destinations he had tracked to pick up and drop off, Cloud was safe, released from his task of this senseless search—but the moment that he had completed all his deliveries… that sensation descended upon him to claim him. It was terrifying, a sense of freedom that only mocked him, a world where he saw the Man in everything, but the Man would never see him, would never see anything again. One of the only places in the world tight enough to choke out that longing was this tiny bar Tifa ran. He could only stand it long enough to snap himself out of it or to secure a job, another way to make time pass, to distract him once more. 

However, even though Cloud had the perfect morning today on paper, the radio told him otherwise. As Cloud adjusted his bag over his shoulders and gathered the fusion sword from its home resting against the outermost wall in Tifa’s well organized porch, he heard the gentle voice from the radio warn him of high winds and rain along the coast he was headed. He was too lost in his memories to pay much heed, picturing as he always did when he retrieved the Fusion Sword from its place how Denzel and Marlene would both scramble into the house to find him anytime they saw that sword back in this spot, running all through the bar shouting “Cloud’s home, Cloud’s home!”. The memory stung, but it was also a nice reminder to himself that, no matter how empty the world felt once he stepped outside, there could always be a place to return where he would be missed.

One day he could pretend to have a family, he reasoned to himself often. I just need to get stronger.  

Despite the warnings, Cloud very slowly, so as to make the smallest amount of noise—Tifa was most sensitive to the creak of the metal doorknob of their front door—helped himself out and into the front yard. He breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of some of his tension since he’d made his well-choreographed escape, feeling a little rush of adrenaline at getting away with his secret as he knocked down the kickstand to his bike and helped himself on. An instant feeling of comfort rushed in through the sensation of that ice-cold steel in his hands. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting a hazy green glow through what remained of the smog of ShinRa, long gone but still daring to drape itself across the skies of Midgar. As Cloud sorted his things into their proper places and adjusted his mirrors, he took a moment to appreciate simpler pleasures—the sounds of the city as it was just starting to come to life, the feeling of the crisp air chilly against his skin, the sound of birds calling their songs to the morning sun. Cloud noticed that the yellow lilies he’d planted a few months ago were growing beautifully, scattered in clay pots around the front yard, the dew glittering across their delicate petals. He was happy he’d shown Marlene how to water them, proud that she’d done such a good job taking care of them.

Cloud smiled to himself as the lilies swayed in the gentle breeze, as if they were waving him goodbye. Time to go.

 

Although Cloud knew that it wasn’t going to be easy with the weather against him, he felt that he was prepared for the challenge and approached it mentally like it was an adventure, contemplating where he might stay overnight if he had to. Surely, he’d have to stop at the delivery site and get a bed and a shower, especially if the rain was going to be as bad as both the radio and Tifa’s incessant, hysterical text messages made it sound. For most of his day, all the way until sunset, Cloud enjoyed fair weather, with few disturbances other than a monster or two that he made quick work of. Taking the long way around on his expeditions was a liberty he enjoyed; having a motorcycle that could handle the various terrain that Gaia had to offer made things smooth and effortless, essentially guaranteeing he’d never have to run into anything or anyone he didn’t want to. Needless to say, his joyrides weren't at all viable exploits—or jobs—for the common folk, but that suited him and left him with well-paying jobs and virtually zero competition. 

As sunset approached him, however, the coastline came into view, so did the fog. It rolled in, thick, dense, like a wall surrounding him. Without so much as a dotted line or even a road to guide him, Cloud had to slow to a crawl to try and orient himself. As darkness crept in further and further, Cloud became less and less sure of his direction. The fog was too heavy for his headlights, and as the last of his energy drained he admitted defeat and sent some sheepish texts to Reno asking how far away the next town might be so he could take a break until morning.

It was slow work. Forced to creep through a dense wood, he opted to hop off his bike, walking along beside it, thinking it smart to rely more on his feet than his trusty steed’s tires through damp soil and knotted branches. By the time the clock struck one, he’d finally found his way to a humble inn—whose keepers were already prepared to see him thanks to a goofy Turk butting his nose in to try and help a friend. Cloud was embarrassed but grateful, appreciating their hospitality and a warm meal before forfeiting the night to sleep in another unfamiliar bed.

That night, the dreams he always dreaded came to haunt him once more. He couldn’t help but rue any day he didn’t push himself to the very brink of exhaustion, for when he wasn’t completely spent, he would be caged into dreams of regrets, words unspoken, chasing the tail of a black-hooded figure, running up that hill, into caverns of ice and crystal—

Cloud awoke in a daze, feeling more tired than if he hadn’t slept at all but ready to press onward with his goal, to push his awareness as much as he could into the present moment. Cloud Strife would deal with today. Today, he was a delivery man. Today, he would exchange his packages for a handsome fee. Today, he would make small talk with the elderly couple downstairs, and he would force himself not to consider what might come later, that evening, or the next day...

Cloud swung each piece of his gear back into its proper place, rolled up his nightclothes—now drenched in sweat—and exchanged them for the only other set he’d packed. The tiny bedroom he’d slept in didn’t have a window, so he wouldn’t know if the weather had changed to be more on his side until he made it downstairs, over the winding wooden stairs and into the rustic kitchen of this little log inn. Regardless of weather or other barriers, Cloud never could stand being in one place for long, desperate to continue onward, to toil just enough to escape any encroaching thoughts that weren’t immediately relevant. He tried his best to brush his unruly hair out of his face and into a look that was less windswept. Failing like usual, smiling weakly to himself as he finished washing his face and rinsing the sleep from his eyes, he was ready to roll the dice and see what this day had in store for him.

The lady of the house was already bustling around the kitchen, alerted by the telltale creak of Cloud’s footsteps over the well worn stairs but choosing to pretend not to notice him out of politeness. Their table, one that had very obviously seen its share of guests over the years, was lined with delightful jars of honey and homemade jams. She’d heard Cloud stir before he’d even woken, and she’d already set herself on the task of making him toast and would insist he help himself to it no matter what it took. Cloud felt comforted by her presence, just as he was when their two pet dogs bounded towards him the second his foot hit the bottom stair. Wordlessly, Cloud bent down to greet them, happy to give them gentle pets on their heads while they danced and wiggled ferociously to try and climb aboard him. The man of the house guffawed from his spot at the edge of the table, happy that Cloud wasn’t startled by the puppies’ overfamiliar behavior. He let his paper fall flat on the table as Cloud approached them.

“Good morning to you, sir.” Cloud was anxious, but he tried his best to behave normally. The dogs helped to relieve any tension he might have had, circling around him and snaking in and out from between his legs. “Thank you both for letting me stay here on such short notice.” Cloud bowed slightly to them while he spoke, in part to express his sincerity since, as his friends from long ago often pointed out, he struggled to show appropriate emotion. 

“Now, now,” The lady waved her hands at Cloud dismissively, smiling gently. She set down a delicate yellow plate, shaped almost like a leaf, toast stacked high upon it as if she’d toasted the entire loaf, resting the plate in its rightful space—the center of the table between her husband and the empty chairs. “It’s nice having company here after so long. Come get your breakfast.”
Cloud—with the two large dogs hot on his trail—came to sit at the breakfast table, moved by the powerful force of a gentle lady's cooking. He was nervous to help himself, but her husband had busied himself once more with his paper as soon as he’d grabbed a slice, and she went back to tidying up the kitchen. Although Cloud felt a little out of place, he was blown away the second he took a bite, wondering how anyone could make simple bread and butter taste so gourmet. Cloud almost wished she’d cooked more, helping himself to half of the stack. Between flipping the pages of his newspaper, the husband fed his crusts to the waiting mouths of the dogs, who were more than happy to make sure not even a crumb would hit the already-spotless floor.

As Cloud sampled different jams, swapping to something labeled ‘marigold sunshine’, he noticed the image on the back of the newspaper, a wanted ad. The man must have noticed the funny way Cloud tilted his head to read it better, for he folded it up with a hearty laugh and handed it to him. “You in the market for some hunting?”

Cloud flushed a little, something almost invisible in the low lighting of the early morning, before accepting the paper. He turned it to the right page, smoothing it out over the crinkly plastic tablecloth, spreading the paper into an even sheet despite the indents of various doilies under the cloth. 

 

BOUNTY: 5,000 GIL ~ INSTANT ~ NO QUESTIONS ASKED!

DISTURBANCE ~ LARGE DRAGON

EXTERMINATION REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY 

 

Cloud took a sip from the piping hot cup of tea that the lady of the house wordlessly set down for him as he read. The advertisement was ambiguous, strangely worded, but enticing. As he was disappointed to realize, the fog hadn’t let up even a little bit, so he’d have to stay put in the area regardless of whether or not he had something to occupy himself with. He didn’t need the money, but he could easily give it to Tifa or the kids, or help buy Denzel that sword he’d always raved about whenever Cloud was home…

 

“You’re serious?” The old man was enthusiastic about Cloud’s sincerity and how Cloud was carefully examining what he could of the fine print. “You’ve got a lot of fight in you for such a young man!”

Before Cloud could think of a better way to say ‘I’ve fought worse’, the wife chirped up. “Now, Warren, don’t you torment the boy like that! His sword is bigger than yours!” 

The man smiled, chuckling at his wife’s teasing. “Now, now, he knows I don’t mean anything by it.” He winked at Cloud. “Haven’t seen one like him for a few years now. Reminds me of someone I used to know…”
“Do you know anything about this…” Cloud was shy and wanted the topic to come off of him as soon as possible. He struggled for the words to describe the strange blur of an image on the paper’s wanted ad. “This thing?”

Warren nodded, helping himself to his pipe now that he’d finished his breakfast and tea. His wife gently rearranged the jars back into the fridge while Cloud and Warren talked to each other. She pretended to be too busy plating the meal she’d cooked for the dogs to eavesdrop, although she was certainly keeping watch to make sure her husband didn’t act too foolish.

“That’s what's responsible for the weather. That thing got curled up in the hills and won’t come down. We’ve had a lot of people go check it out, but it’s too strong for any of us. We aren’t as tough as we were in the good old days. Being so far out into the countryside, no one really sees it as that big a problem…” He chuckled, exhaling thick plumes of smoke that seemed to glow under the rays cast through the painted glass of the hanging light above the table. “I’ve had enough of it, but we can’t get anyone to come take care of it, even with those local groups adding more prize money to the pool…”

“How big is it?” Cloud would have to take care of it anyway, since he needed the fog to lift. Besides, on top of a nice, hefty reward, he could repay this lovely couple for their hospitality. 

“Oh, I’m not sure, my son.” Warren took a long pause while he thought about it. “From the look of the trees when you get close to it, probably something like a middle-aged dragon. Wouldn’t be hard for me to take care of it if I were twenty years younger!” 

Both Warren and his wife laughed together in harmony. Cloud felt pretty confident, as his earlier sentiment still remained. It couldn’t be harder than anything he’d dealt with before. He thanked both of his hosts, gave the dogs some more attention and scratched behind their ears until they’d settled down enough to let him gather his things and head out the door. An unexpected adventure was close by, but it was one that excited him. It was nice to feel needed, to get to stroke that lifelong desire of being a real mercenary without dragging up dozens of tender memories.

Cloud left his bike in their wooden shed, promising to return to retrieve it once he’d accomplished his goal, and by nine he was hiking up all alone through the dense fog, following the long, meandering game trail that curled around the hills. He was sure that he simply needed to stick to this path, that it would take Cloud right up to where the telltale damage began. Cloud wondered to himself as he hiked further upwards—and as the air was getting almost heavy, blurry—if he’d even be able to see said damage under such conditions. The woods were empty, almost silent, as if draped over with a heavy blanket. In fact, Cloud saw no evidence of any monsters throughout the majority of his trek, thinking it odd but reasoning that the spiritual pressure of the dragon—or its habits—was enough to scare everything off.