Landfall [OPEN]

Rebirth and reanimation was something that was delicate and unpredictable; it was a feat against all odds, a testament to one’s transcendence above the common blood if successful. However entrusting probability and fate to a god who had no intent to actually listen to them was another thing. The roars of the oblivion of death hushed in Sephiroth's ears as he opened his eyes. This was not any of the stand downs he had partaken of in the haze of his memories. In fact, he was at an entirely different location than he had imagined. There was something about it as well that he knew was entirely alien. It was not the world he had sought to dominate at all, nor the meager shantytown Cloud had so nonchalantly clung to on fleeting whims of friendship.

Here he sat in a veritable Eden, but the discontent still welled in the soldier’s heart. He watched the leather of his gloves, feeling the strange heat from the sun overhead as the black absorbed it. How long had it been since he had properly felt the sun's rays on him? His eyes narrowed as he watched his hand, the irritated. There was surely going to be hell to pay upon finding him. Without a doubt, Sephiroth could assure that damned failure was out there. Blue eyes were always burned into his vision, staring back at him with a silent jeer. It was a mockery toward him that there would be any sort of connection between them. There was no way that he would allow him to die without rending him of everything precious, everything he held dear. It would all spiral with him into the depths of despair, the darkest, blackest abyss of the heart that no light could penetrate nor brighten. He would see to it himself that there would be nothing left in Cloud’s world by the time he reached the center of that spiral, even the air itself he breathed would be the last thing between them. Before the light would leave those eyes, Sephiroth would look at him, and present him with the remains of all things once loved.

Gradually, he rose to the faint chorus of the forest around him, the chirps and buzzes and the occasional rustle of nature the only things to laude his resurrection. It was at once the most honorable ceremony yet one that lacked the glory that more properly fit him. There was nothing but nature around him and the sky over his head. None to witness his return as there had been that day in Midgar. Sephiroth rather thought that clawing himself out of the maw of smoldering ebony destruction would have been more likely instead of brushing through undisturbed wilderness. Occasional flashes of eyes glancing through branches and leaves did not turn his head; nothing came toward him, however, in the silence that not even he had broken. All of the forest was unmolested as he crossed through it, seemingly untouched by man. If this had been a world that had been delivered to him for success--his defeat having been nothing but a deity's waking nightmare--the Planet never gave him his acknowledgement. There was nothing here that held his interest properly.

He came to stand at the mouth of a small clearing in the forest; it was not manmade in the slightest, yet found itself occupied by tents and people prepped for battle near a campfire at the grouping’s center. There were some felled trees, trees that had crashed down long ago without the aid of an ax or any human instrument. Nature had begun to reclaim its own injury, taking it back to consume. These individuals, their equipment, and shelter all bore insignias belonging to a kingdom. Though the way they carried themselves, the way the foliage around them remained as undisturbed as possible, suggested to the man in black that they wished to avoid attention. Whether to avoid leaving tracks, or evidence of their whereabouts, they had done a fairly excellent job of leaving things undisturbed. Though there was little question they were prepared to see conflict, all that remained to be seen, was with whom. A glimpse beyond the camp revealed a thinning of the tree line, to which one could only assume was either a marsh or prairie. If this small army was expecting a fight, doubtless they used the edge of the forest and this small glade for cover from the enemy. Wutai soldiers had often used similar tactics where permitted in the war, a distant memory that almost felt a lifetime ago. The experience gleamed from a life of lies still served for the betterment it would seem.

The warrior approached silently, yet several of the armored men picked up on the motion of the confident approach, rising to greet the silver locked man with swords, and axes alike. He looked to each of them as more rose to stand, and gather about their allies to form a sort of man-made wall between Sephiroth and the center of camp, where a single figure remained seated, watching the campfire. The soldiers hardly said a word, the only sounds escaping the scene were the crackling of the fire, and a few coughs here and there brought on by the brisk autumn weather of the forest. For a moments more this continued, until at last Sephiroth would hear a voice crack the sky, prompting several men to move out of the way. A clear path of sight to look upon whom was commanding this legion would finally open. A fleeting sense of amusement passed as Sephiroth observed the tight grasp on the lance. Something about this individual struck him as a familiar, yet strangely enough there was not a memory where he could place the face. Why was this? Was this forest determined to keep him in the dark about everything? Sephiroth would not allow such ignorance to continue.

”Tell me- You wear a familiar face, yet I fail to recall a single memory with you in it. Who are you?”