Chapter Text
Over the years (the centuries), Nanaki had come to understand more about Sephiroth than nearly any other creature - an understanding possibly exceeded only by Sephiroth himself. And what he had come to understand was:
Sephiroth was a sickness.
Correction - Sephiroth was a symptom of a sickness. Rising out of the Lifestream to wreak havoc every few decades or so, until Nanaki and Vincent could wrangle together a band of adventurers to kill him again, was not the sickness. The true sickness was that Sephiroth was in the Lifestream at all, a poisonous influence that would exist, to create shadows of himself, so long as the planet itself could sustain life.
And Nanaki knew the name of a sickness like this, and that name was cancer. More correctly, given the nature of the Lifestream in the planet's ecosystem, the name of that sickness was leukemia, but he had met few creatures who appreciated the distinction, or found it bore any importance at all.
But it was important to understand Sephiroth was the symptom of a deeper cancer, the existence of Jenova within his Mako-soaked cells, and therefore within the Lifestream itself.
It meant that now, given centuries to settle and metastasize, he was certain there was no way to rid the planet of Sephiroth, of Jenova. The Weapons did not have the tools to do it, and Omega, were it to drain the Lifestream and find a new planet to seed with life, would merely carry the sickness with it.
It was the source of much of Nanaki's anxiety as he grew old, that Sephiroth would one day win. Nanaki would pass on, and something might happen to Vincent, or the adventurers they found to help defeat Sephiroth would fail, and…
That would be it.
For the certainty he would live to see it, Vincent was oddly unconcerned with it.
And to some degree, Nanaki could understand. There was nothing they could do about it - barring a miracle on the order of which the planet did not posses, Sephiroth could not be safely excised from the Lifestream, which made the entire thing, like Nanaki's eventual death, merely a mournful inevitability.
To another…
There were many inevitabilities against which Nanaki had fought throughout his life - including those that were not merely inevitable in appearance, but inevitable in fact.
He had outlived every human he had ever come to care for.
(Despite that, he had found it impossible to keep himself wholly apart from that species - the little bands of adventurers always contained echoes of things that had drawn him to Cloud and Aerith and the others, and after a century or so, he had given up fighting the affection such echoes threatened to engender.)
The heart of the thing had happened centuries ago, and you could not change the past.
…Although, Nanaki found himself musing one day, that aphorism was not strictly true. It was, as far as he was aware, impossible to travel to the past, but the existence of the Whispers meant that the realm of time and destiny possessed sufficient awareness that things could be changed that an entity was tasked with preventing it.
But it was all academic, anyway, as Nanaki had no way to journey to that particular country, and had no idea what might prevent Sephiroth and his poisoned spirit from taking root in the Lifestream, anyway.
He mentioned it to Vincent, one year, and the man had laughed, slapping at his knees, and Nanaki felt his hackles raise in a way they had not since he had been a stripling of 50 or so.
"I am glad you can make light of my anxieties," he growled, and Vincent stilled, eyes dark, as he watched Nanaki.
"I'm sorry - I simply forgot how, despite your marvelously superior intelligence, wisdom obtained through such an advanced age, you have very little faith in yourself."
If the goal of this comment was make Nanaki even more prickly, it succeeded, as Nanaki rose up straighter and glared at Vincent with all the sternness he could muster.
It did nothing to phase the man, who sat back, sipping at his drink unconcerned.
"If you found a way to communicate to yourself, all those centuries ago, what the problem was, how important it was to fix it before it because unsolvable…if you turned all that Old Red brilliance on the problem…I'm certain you could solve it."
"Still - it is irrelevant," Nanaki concluded. "There is no way to the past - in body, spirit, or even in the form of a message."
"...There's Holy," Vincent said idly, and Nanaki's thoughts ground to a halt.
"What?"
"Holy," Vincent replied with a shug. "The White Materia lets one commune with the planet and ask it to use its power to help you protect it. The Lifestream has Cloud's memories - Aerith's, and Tifa's, Barret's, and Yuffie's, too - so it would understand the problem. Would understand your solution. If it is at all possible…it might work."
Nanaki worried at the problem for some time, until one day, one of the latest band of adventurers (a warrior-bard named Aoi who wielded a sharp-edged lute like a saber) was visiting, and Nanaki made a decision.
"We're going to Corel," he announced, and they'd blinked at him, uncertain.
"Is it Sephiroth again?"
And Nanaki paused. It was possibly unwise to talk too much about his plans, even to his allies, and yet…
"It isn't not Sephiroth," he allowed, and they were off.
The journey filled Nanaki with nostalgia, pausing every now and again to recall conversations they'd had on the way to the City - beyond the Temple of the Ancients, where the Lifestream could manifest, could reach out to one with the right tools, the right knowledge, or the right blood.
Aoi was quiet along the way, until they came upon the ruined temple, and the woods beyond it.
"Are you dying?" they asked.
And Nanaki paused yet again. "I am going on a journey," he replied. "One whose success is uncertain, and if I do succeed - it might be as if we had never met."
Aoi's eyes (blue, no tint of Mako, for that, at least, had been dealt with - bringing an end to Hojo's practice of poisoning people to engender SOLDIERs) widened, lips quivering. "What for? I thought-"
"There is so much suffering Sephiroth and his mother have caused over the centuries," Nanaki replied, as gently as he could manage. "And I think there may be a way to make it so that much of it - has never been. You and your people could have grown under no shadow of the Calamity." After a beat, he added, "I do treasure the friends I have made along the way - you included - but I would prefer they have lives untouched by Jenova…than keep these old bones company. Come along."
The spring where Aerith had - died, or not-died, or whatever had truly happened (even discussing it with the others, with Vincent, over the centuries, had yielded few answers about the true nature of the destiny Sephiroth had sought to manipulate - only that it began with a Mako cocoon in the northernmost reaches of the planet, and would never end so long as a trace of his mother remained in the Lifestream), was cool and clear, and knowing what to look for, Nanaki could clearly see the spark of white glowing in its depths.
"Stay here," he commanded Aoi and dove in after it, ignoring the cool pressure on his tail as the water tried to extinguish it, ignoring everything but the White Materia until he lay a hand on it. He surfaced a moment later, gasping, the Materia in his grip, waving off Aoi's concerns as he found the place, still stained with the blood that - may have been spilled here, all that time ago, and settled, Materia in his mouth, to pray.
"Keep me safe," he ordered, uncertain what might try to stop him, if he made any progress at all.
He wasn't certain how long it took, his prayer, seeking guidance on whether it was possible to enter the past, to pass on messages or memories, to guide himself along the path to prevent Sephiroth from becoming - eternal. All he knew was the moment a voice - like that of a woman's, one stern and uncompromising - spoke, not reaching his ears, but echoing in his mind regardless.
"The past is the sum of the memories of the Planet. Energy bound within the Lifestream. Yes, it is possible to walk within them and, with care and wisdom, change them. But your prayer is insufficient."
"I am trying to save the Lifestream - the planet from Jenova's corruption!" Nanaki protested.
"It is not enough. You may be wrong. The Lifestream may purge itself of this infection, given time. Your quest would then be naught but a testament to your arrogance. No. You must change what has been, to ease the sorrows of the Planet."
"I - how-"
And the voice of the Lifestream was familiar, now, the voice of a woman who had never wavered, not when it counted the most. "There are the three sorrows the Planet mourns, those wrought by Sephiroth and his progenitors:
"The fall of Sector 7." This was the gruff voice of a father who wanted to shield children the horrors of war.
"The misery of those poisoned by the Planet's blood and the Calamity from the Skies." This was the resolute voice of a woman who has seen her share of terrors, and just wanted them to end.
"The blinding of the Weapons to the nature of the true threat." This was a voice - shaking, but speaking nonetheless, a young man knowing what must be done.
"I - don't understand," Nanaki murmured, shaking his head.
"Do not lie, not here, Nanaki," and the voice, so young, was Aerith again, as she was when he first met her. "You believe yourself capable of destroying Sephiroth, Jenova, so their echoes will die at last, but fear you cannot turn aside these sorrows."
"I am," Nanaki agreed. "I was in bound in a cage when the plate fell. I was still a child when the SOLDIER program was initiated. The Weapons-" It was the least of the tasks, but still loomed, as the Weapons themselves did.
"Vow to unbind the shackles these miseries forged about the Planet's heart, and the path will be opened to you," Aerith promised, and Nanaki…found himself unable to say no to her.
And as the world around him dissolved into shadows, into whispers, he thought he heard her voice in his ear (perhaps spoken so the Planet couldn't hear).
"And do your best to make sure he's happy, please."