Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or VIII or any of its characters. I only owe the OCs and the plot of the story.

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Author’s notes:

Hey this is my first FF story ever. Please be welcomed to review it and tell me what you think about it. Nevertheless, do not critic this fic without a reason; if you are going to critic it let it be constructive criticism.

Please enjoy!

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Key:

“Normal” – Talking

“(parenthesis)” - whispering

Italics- Thinking

-Italics- - Flashback

'Important'- emphasis

"CAPITALS"- Yelling

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“Forget past mistakes. Forget failures. Forget everything except what you are going to do now and do it.”

-William Durant-

“Ashes of Memories”

By: FenixPhoenix (Giselle González)

Chapter 1: “Impotent”

Nibelheim was burning. Yet she stood there watching the animated painting of red, orange, and yellow overlapping everything that had been another color; turning green into yellow and then into black. The blue sky soon became gray and dark as the dirty smoke raised to the air to cover the atmosphere.

She tried to move, but it seemed as though her body was rooted to that one piece of green she was standing on. The gravity pulling her to her knees mercilessly. She felt the hot salty tears making their way out her body and streaming down her cheeks; damping her lips.

Suddenly, she felt the presence of someone near her. A man turned and smiled at her as if this was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The rest of his face hidden between shadows so that they only thing she was able to see was the amused grin upon his lips.

In vain she tried to call out to him. To tell him –nay! to yell at him to move out of the flames’ path. Yet, her voice was but a fragile whisper. She tried again, calling louder and louder to move out of the way, and yet she could barely hear her own words dispersing into the atmosphere.

She panicked. Her eyes darting all around in search for someone who could warn the black suited man of the danger he was in. Yet there was no one around. She was alone and scared and when she looked again towards the spot where the figure had been standing, he was gone.

Relief flooded inside her body, only to be shattered again.

“Don’t worry,” said the red headed man, now standing calmly by her side.

Her eyes tried to find his, but all she saw was white where his irises should have been. Was he blind? Could he not feel the warmth of the fire toasting their skins?

And then there was nothing… only blackness. No one but herself surrounded by nothing; no colors, no figures… only the dark color of the night… of a cave without an exit.

“She who is afraid of the past,” called a voice firmly and gently at the same time.

The burgundy eyes of the girl scanned the area around herself in search for the genesis of the voice. Yet there was no one. The voice however, seemed to come from all places and none.

“Who are you?” she asked, surprised to be able to hear her voice as loud as she had intended it to be.

“I am the one and only… your guide through the past and the present and the future… but mostly of the past.”

“Where are you?” she asked trying to maintain her voice from trembling but failing miserably.

“I am here and there; I am with you and not with you; I am in your past, and in your present, and in your future; everywhere and nowhere.”

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Her eyelids fluttered open. Her breaths coming in short and quick grasps, as if she had been running for hours and the air could barely fill her lungs.

“Are you alright?” asked a figure from within the darkness of the room.

“I… who are you?” she felt dizzy and as she tried to sit up she found that it required energy she did not have at the moment to accomplish the task.

An arm --careful and hesitant for a moment-- snaked beneath her and helped her to a sitting position.

“Thanks,” she could see his face clearer now, for it was lighted by a small candle that lay in a table just between her bed and his chair, “Vincent?”

“And here I thought you had forgotten me,” he answered coolly trying to hide his relief at being remembered... at least by her.

“What happened?” she asked massaging the back of her head that had suddenly started aching.

“You passed out,” he replied; cuttingly, laconically and stoic. Just like the Vincent she knew. He had not changed at all.

“Where?” she asked trying to remember what she had been doing before waking up.

“Your bar,” he answered as his hand reach inside a drawer. He pulled out a small bottle of pills and offered her two.

She took them, “what are these for?”

“Fever,” he answered as he handed her a glass of cold water.

“I had a fever?” she asked, almost apologetically for all the questions. And a little embarrassed for making him --even if not on propose-- take care of her.

“Yes… for three days,” he said as he took back the empty glass from her hands. He raised and walked towards the door and suddenly she was scared again.

“Wait,” her voice trembling a little.

He stopped on his tracks and glanced back; patiently waiting for her to say something.

“Where are you going?”

“You must be hungry,” he replied and walked out the door and into his cherished darkness.

“Huh?” she blinked trying to figure out what he had meant by that, and then, as in answer, her stomach grumbled.

“I was right after all,” his voice was suddenly very close, and if she had had more energy she was sure she would have jumped out of bed with surprise.

“Holy! You scared me!” she exclaimed, the trembling in her voice replaced by a ting of irritation.

“That was not my intention,” he replied as he offered her the plate in his hand and placed a new glass of water on the table beside her bed.

“I know,” she sighed as she began to eat the sandwich which he had prepared for her. She still had a lot of things that she needed to ask him, but right now she was content and a little impressed to know that he was not only feeding her but also that he, a long lost friend, was the one who had taken care of her.

There was silence, and then his voice. Hard to imagine him being the first to initiate conversation, but she thought that maybe he had felt her feeling of awkwardness towards the creepy soundless atmosphere.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Huh?” she tilted her head, “Was I screaming?”

“No,” he responded.

She waited for him to explain what had been his reason for asking, but it seemed as though the conversation was over for him. Hence, she hesitated before inquiring.

“Why do you ask then?” and was impressed when he did answer, after a pretty long pause or course.

“You seemed to be under a lot of stress,” he said, “worried over someone.”

Those had been a lot of words coming from Vincent Valentine and she, as strange as it may sound, felt glad that she had been the one they were addressed to.

“I dunno,” she replied, “I don’t remember.”

Yet she felt as if there was something she should have remembered. The fighter felt different, as if she was being watched by someone that was not even around. She shrugged it off for now, she would think of it later, she knew, but right now she only wanted to eat peacefully.

…To be continued…