A/N: This'll be a long one. Feedback is appreciated as always.

Warning: Contains major spoilers for Before Crisis, Crisis Core, On the Way to a Smile and Dirge of Cerberus. Read at your own risk.

Rating: Coarse language, some sexual scenes, and graphic violence

Major Pairings: Vincent/Yuffie, Cloud/Tifa, Cid/Shera, Aerith/Zack

Note on Translations: In some places I will be using Japanese to represent Wutainese. My Japanese vocabulary is a grand total of two words, so I am using online translators, and anyone who uses them will know how incredibly inaccurate they tend to be. I apologize to any Japanese speakers if I horribly mutilate your language. I assure you in all sincerity it is not my intent.

Before Crisis Translations: Courtesy of www dot freewebs dot com slash gunshotromance. I love you.

Crisis Core Translations: Courtesy of silenttweak dot net. You can have my firstborn. No doubt it will inherit my impatience for not being able to wait until the English Crisis Core comes out in March.

Dates: “Era 20042011” means Nov 20, 2004. This is written in accordance with the style and year shown in Advent Children when they zoom in on Jenova’s head. “11/20” is just month/date. 02h13: 2:13AM.

Summary: It's been two years since DeepGround. A series of seemingly random events tie together to reveal a new threat, born of old enemies and the dream of a madman. Now nothing is black and white. When the world descends into chaos, who can you trust?

Sometimes one forgets how very rare it is to find things that are truly black and white, good and evil. They were all shades of grey, in this twisting dance of life.

Dreams of Grey

Prologue

Era 20042011
02h13
Somewhere on the north continent

She awoke very slowly, unaware that she had even been asleep. As her eyes opened a fraction, green light poured in, blinding her and making her slam her eyes shut again as pain lanced through her head. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to open her eyes again. Once more, the green light stung her eyes, but she kept her eyes open and they adjusted gradually.

As she waited for her eyes to adapt, she began to take stock of the rest of her body. She felt numb, but she could faintly register feeling in her legs and right arm. Of her left arm, she could feel nothing.

She frowned, and found that the effort of doing so was incredible. She carefully worked her face into various expressions, straining as she attempted a smile, then a grimace.

Her face quickly tired, and she decided to give it up for the moment. Allowing her expression to become neutral, she turned her thoughts to her location. Everywhere she looked, she saw green, though she thought she could make out indistinct, blurred shapes of darker objects through the haze of emerald around her.

And it was everywhere, this greenness. She tried turning her head but found she was unable to. She realized, suddenly, that there was no feeling of gravity. She was floating, somehow. Whatever surrounded her kept her cushioned and unmoving, and caused no obstruction of her breathing. So what was it?

She struggled, searching for an answer. She should know, she felt, she should know, but she couldn’t place it. She couldn’t place anything for that matter. Where she was, why she was here.

Who she was.

She realized this, and found she wasn’t disturbed by it at all. And then the answer to her original question drifted to her from the depths of her consciousness, as if an echo.

Mako.

The word, once she grasped it and tried to dissect it, overwhelmed her. With a spasm she fell back once more into oblivion.

02h21

A knock sounded on his door, interrupting his reverie.

He softly closed the book he was reading. “Come in,” he called, his tone soft but still carrying.

Stevens entered, closing the door behind him.

“She woke up,” Stevens stated without preamble, helping himself to a chair.

He sat up straighter, attention fully caught. “And?”

“As I expected, she’s fallen unconscious once more.”

“How long?”

Stevens frowned in thought, rubbing his chin. “The longest wait is over. Now that she’s regained consciousness, maintaining it will get easier as time goes on.” Stevens shot him a look. “You know she will still require weeks of physiotherapy. Her muscles are extremely atrophied, not to mention her mind.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, I know. Take all the time you need to get her in working order again. Especially that mind of hers. How’s the physical damage?”

Stevens shrugged. “Much of it has, for reasons even I do not fully understand, healed itself. We have various prosthetics ready to be fitted for her arm as soon she has recovered sufficiently.”

He smiled slightly, pleased that she had finally woken and was in such good shape. “Do you still stand by what you said earlier about her psychotherapy?”

Stevens nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way to have full use of her knowledge.”

He sighed, but nodded resignedly. It was worth the risk. He picked up the book again, handling it with care, a sign that the meeting was over. Stevens stood, nodding to him.

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“As I expected. Excellent work, Stevens.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll drop by to see her myself eventually.” Stevens tilted his head in acknowledgement and strode from the room.

His eyes followed him out, lingering on the door, before returning to the book. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in its words, as he often did, but other matters called. He reached for the phone resting on his desk. A landline – cellular reception was notoriously poor this far north.

Dialling quickly, he waited. After two rings, it picked up.

“Sir,” came the slightly accented greeting from the other end of the line.

“Where are you?”

“Junon.”

“Ah, yes. How do things look there?”

“Still a lot of details to be ironed out, but certainly doable. They’ve slacked off since DeepGround, it seems.”

“Good, good, as I expected. I need our latest update on recruitment numbers.”

“Including minors?”

“Every last person.”

“Last count was over the 25000 mark, over half of which are either youths or babes.”

‘Babe’ was their slang for those without experience or useful areas of expertise.

“I’m impressed, Ivan.”

“Just doing my job. Also, we recently got a recruit how might be of specific interest to you.”

He raised an eyebrow, though Ivan could hardly see it. “I’m listening.”

“Owns a cafe, and a bit of a coward. However, that SOLDIER you’re worried about – this guy knows his son rather well, apparently.”

He digested that news thoughtfully. Definitely something that could be turned to his advantage. “Again, Ivan, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I had nothing to do with it. He volunteered. Seems he dislikes the SOLDIER as much as you do. Enough to join up, anyways. All I did was notice.”

“Still, I appreciate the information. Ivan, that strike-team I’ve asked you to have ready. They must be rather impatient by now. Your best men, if I remember correctly?”

“That’s correct, sir.” A pause. “Does that mean she’s awake?”

“It does, Ivan.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed. I need you and your team back here for a briefing. Before you go, get your recruiters reassigned to training those we already have. I want every man and woman to be able to handle a weapon with relative ease. I don’t care what weapon, just train them. I want them ready in two months. And I assume there’s no need for me to remind you that this is all to happen under the radar.”

“Understood. I’ll be there late tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then, Ivan.”

“Sir.”

He hung up, stroking the bridge of his nose pensively. Things were finally getting into motion now.

He felt little satisfaction at it. At least it was a distraction.

His eyes fell on the book. He dropped his hand to it, caressing the cover lightly as if the book was his lover. He still missed his original copy.

“In pursuit of this gift we take flight,” he murmured quietly to himself, tracing the letters etched in the book’s cover with a finger. As he reached the last letter, his face twisted into an expression of pain and hurt, and he removed his hand sharply from the book as if burnt.

He laughed to himself, scornfully. “For the price of my pride. Flight is no more for my wing has shattered. Isn’t that right, Angeal?”

He turned away from the book. There were cities to purge, fields to burn.

Monsters to unleash.

Besides, he should visit his brothers. He needed them to be ready for their task ahead.

“In pursuit of this gift we take flight. For the price of my pride. Flight is no more for my wing has shattered.” - Loveless, as quoted in Crisis Core.