A/N: A year and a half later… Sorry for the absence, I just completed my last year of high school (no more NCEA!) and am now at Uni (Bachelor of Arts hellz yeah). Plus, my USB got stolen some time ago with lots of things including the chapter on it – thanks to the internetz I was able to recover it all but I did lose my mojo for a time. And then after all that I decided I didn't like what I had, so this is an almost complete turnaround of what was originally planned!

Meanwhile, for some reason all the formatting on the chapters of the story has been screwed up royally. I hope to amend this soon. (RAEG.)

Despite all these setbacks and delays though, another thank you to my readers and I hope you enjoy the latest instalment of this story.

Chapter 13: Interlude – Memories of… Wutai

Before I move on, I want to tell you a story. It's a story that is very nearly seven years old, from when I was still a small ten-year-old girl living in the Capital of Wutai, and this is the first time I have told it to anyone since it happened all those years ago.

This story takes place near the end of the War. Wutai, an independent country, had decided to fight back against the ShinRa, who sought to use our land for Mako energy. At that time the fighting was getting worse and worse every day and we were all living in constant fear. The death toll of both our Soldiers and our fellow countrymen was high, and everyone feared that it would get even higher. The days seemed to grow darker and the nights seemed to grow longer as our country sank deeper into a pit of depression that we were worried we'd never rise out of.

In a last ditch effort to save the country that we so loved, Emperor Godo was considering surrender to the ShinRa – a decision that many of his court officials and his own subjects did not agree with, calling it 'cowardice'. However, while many saw surrender as a sign of weakness, others saw it as a sign of strength. I remember when our school was still open; our teacher was patiently talking about the War to our class. When asked why we couldn't just settle the argument peacefully, our teacher looked sad and said "If only it were that simple."

Several weeks later, our school was closed. With nothing left to fill our days, the children of Wutai often ran amuck and played with each other. Some children played 'war' and were scolded by the adults. When I was out of the house, I spent time with my friends and sat in silence while they chatted animatedly around me. At home, life seemed dull and grey and restless. Neither my father nor I talked about the War – there wasn't much left to say about it. But these last two weeks especially, we had rarely spoken to one another. I think we were both afraid that if we opened our mouths, something would slip out to remind us both of what had just happened.

For you see, only fourteen days prior, my mother - Terese Freeman - passed away.

You'll forgive me if I don't say any more on the subject, won't you?

It had been drummed into our head by many of the adults (and particularly so, the more aggressive-thinking men and women of the community) that we should hate ShinRa, since they'd caused us no end of suffering for eight long years and did not suffer in return. While the warriors of Wutai fought bravely for our cause, the ShinRa military cut them down in cold blood and felt no remorse for the loss of their own men. Or so it seemed to us – for every ShinRa infantryman we heard had been slain, five more had appeared in his place. As children, it was only natural that we believed in this line of thinking, as we knew nothing else.

My mother however, being from Midgar herself, had often tried to convince me that this was not necessarily the case and that in War, everybody suffered. Sad to say, I never fully believed her. But one day something happened that greatly impacted my, up until then, straightforward view of this. It was a late autumn afternoon, four hours past midday. I had been asked by my Aunty to collect some firewood and extra kindling from the storehouse by the Dojo, so I bundled myself up in a warm coat and scarf and obediently went on my way.

It was at the storehouse at the edge of town where it happened. Alone in my thoughts, sniffing wetly and miserably wishing I'd put on some gloves, I pushed open the door and reached inside for the closest pile of wood. Picking up one small log, I placed it in the crook of my arm, picked up another, placed it on top of the first… and so on, until my arms were laden with kindling and firewood and my hands and clothes smelt strongly of Pine and Cedar. I stepped back outside and let the door swing silently shut behind me. As I began to walk away, I thought I heard the barest hint of movement coming from behind the small shack I'd just exited and I stopped, turning to try and find the source.

I didn't see anything, not at first. It was when I crept around to the back of the Dojo that I found it. A shocked, terrified gasp – almost a wail – escaped my lips before I could stop myself and I clapped my hands to my mouth, my armful load of firewood falling and clattering loudly – too loudly – at my feet. Sitting slumped against the back wall of the Dojo was a soldier – but not just any soldier, a ShinRa soldier! An infantryman clad in blue and brown, his helmet on his head and his weapon on the ground at his side.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Why is he here, so close to the village? Is it an invasion? Are we to be taken captive? Oh, Leviathan! What do we do?

My first instinct was to turn and run back home, screaming warnings all the while. As a citizen of Wutai, wasn't that my duty - to warn others of danger when it was nearby?

But then I saw the blood.

It was all over him – his gloves, his clothes, his rifle – one hand was weakly clasped over his abdomen in a feeble attempt to stem the blood flow of a wound I couldn't see. The red visors on his helmet were cracked; one of them shattered to pieces, and the right leg of his trousers was badly torn and dyed dark with blood. A long, deep, knife-like cut slashed his face from his ear down to his jawline and there were crimson smears on his cheek.

For what seemed like a long time, I was incapable of doing anything – my mind was just too conflicted. What should I feel? Should I be scared? Angry? Panicked? Or should I be calm and wary and pitying? An elder of the village once barked at us that ShinRa soldiers were unlike the proud warriors of Wutai - when they were wounded or dying, they didn't bow out with dignity. Instead they became more animal than man; their eyes turned red, they bared their teeth like wolves raising their hackles and they attacked viciously with all the strength they had. Like beasts.

This confused me now. What I was seeing was so much different to anything I could have possibly imagined and while I had seen wounded warriors before, the sight before me just seemed so… so foreign and impossible to me. An enemy soldier, weak and vulnerable? It was almost surreal. He wasn't moving. Was he dead?

No sooner had I thought this than the infantryman lurched upwards in his slumped-over position and gave a long, shuddering gasp for air as if up until then, he hadn't been breathing. The blood-covered hand he held over his abdomen jerked wildly and curled into a claw, clamping around the wound as if to try and hold it together. Startled and sickened, I jumped and took an involuntary step backwards, kicking at the firewood scattered around my feet and giving myself away. The infantryman's head snapped up and to the right, his gaze instantly locking on me, no doubt. There was the tensest of silences while I held my breath in absolute terror until, just as easily if he were starting a casual conversation –

"Hey there," the infantryman said, a little breathlessly, sinking back against the wall. There was the barest hint of a tired smile on his face. I stared back, not knowing what to say. When it became clear I wasn't going to answer, he looked around at his surroundings slowly.
"Guess I'm still alive, huh," he commented with a bitter, humourless laugh. He flinched abruptly and grimaced, looking down at his wound. As if annoyed, he suddenly reached up with his left hand and wrenched his helmet off his head, letting it roll away from him carelessly. "That's not good," he muttered bleakly, upon seeing all the blood covering himself. While he gingerly inspected his injuries, I ogled open-mouthed at his appearance. His face was young, he couldn't have been a day over twenty – but somehow there was something 'old' about him too, in a way I couldn't put my finger on at the time. His hair was short, messy and a dark, fiery red the likes of which I'd never seen before and his eyes were a bright, vivid blue.

The infantryman looked back up at me. There was something resigned and faintly despairing in those blue eyes now, as if he'd just deemed his condition beyond help. "What's your name, kid?" he asked me. There was the slightest rasp in his voice. I gulped back a multitude of terrified whimpers. "Morita Kazue," I answered, quietly as I dared. I was too shocked at the situation that I was in to give 'Claudia' as an answer as I usually did with gaijin ('outsiders'). The infantryman cocked his head to one side. "Kasuwei?" he tried. I shook my head and made an attempt to raise my voice. "Kazue," I said again. He nodded in response.

"Kazue," he repeated. It sounded a little strange coming from a non-Wutai tongue. "I'm at the village, aren't I, Kazue?" he asked. I nodded. The infantryman tilted his head back and laughed then. It wasn't an unkind or otherwise disturbing laugh, but something about it frightened me somehow. I nervously shuffled back a half-step. The action seemed to pain him and he winced once or twice as he nudged his wounds, but for some reason it made him laugh all the more.

"Donata desu ka?" a commanding voice suddenly broke in. The infantryman stopped laughing and I quickly turned around where I stood. From around the corner of the Dojo came a tall, handsome boy of about sixteen years with short, sweat-tousled black hair and serious brown eyes. He was dressed in a kimono and dark hakama trousers, his feet were bare and a shinai was held loosely in his left hand; signs that he'd just been practicing Kendo. His solemn gaze fell on me and I inwardly squirmed with anxiety. I knew who this boy was. He was well-known to virtually everyone in the village and respected by many people – of not only my generation, but even amongst the adults as well. His name was...

"Ansho Saikodo-san," I said in a timid half-whisper. I gave a deep bow and he gave a grunt and a brief bow of his own in reply.

Saikodo was the grandson to an old Samurai of the Emperor's Court; and being of Samurai descent meant that his status was right up there, higher than anyone I've ever known in my generation. His mother died in childbirth and his father was killed many years ago in a battle before the War even began, so he lived with his grandparents. The strict Bushido ways of his grandfather had moulded him to be blunt and callous and more than often cold and hard, but there was something that everyone admired about him too, despite his outwardly unlikable personality – He was clever and brave, although brash and reckless, and… well, I guess kind in his own way as well.

Being the daughter of a humble librarian meant that I had little to nothing to do with him, so thus hardly ever had occasion or reason to talk to him. Still though, on the rare moments where I was in his presence, I was mostly awed into silence. I gave another (needless) bow.

"What's going on now?" the infantryman spoke up. "Has the cavalry arrived?" Saikodo looked past me at the sound of the voice and walked towards the back of the Dojo. Upon seeing the infantryman, he seemed slightly taken aback, the most uncontrolled emotion I'd ever seen on his face – he blanched and his eyes widened as if a wave of white-hot anger had just passed over him. So quickly though, almost as if I might've imagined it, he regained his composure and scowled deeply at the incapacitated soldier before him. The infantryman looked up at Saikodo dispassionately. A stiff, hostile silence fell and I felt the beginnings of discomfort in my gut.

"Who are you?" Saikodo suddenly demanded, his Wutai accent heavy but not incomprehensible. I started in surprise, not having known he could speak any other languages. "Where have you come from? Why are you here in the village?"

"I'm a grunt for the ShinRa army," the infantryman replied coldly. "But apart from that I ain't telling you a damn thing."

Almost giving in to the sudden burst of rage that had just swept over him, Saikodo seized his shinai with his right hand and threw his arm upwards as if to strike. The infantryman closed his eyes. Out of instinct, I gave a cry of protest and raised my hand as it to try and stop the former. "Yamete kudasai!" I cried. Please stop! Saikodo whirled around to look at me with that livid look still etched into his features and I clasped my hands over my mouth in horror and dismay.

Saikodo drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes and exhaled harshly through his nose. Lowering his shinai, he opened his eyes and looked at me severely.

"Do you know what this man is?" he asked, reverting back to the Wutai tongue. I looked down at my feet shamefacedly, nodding shyly, my cheeks burning red hot. "He's an enemy soldier," Saikodo continued. "An enemy to our country. To Wutai. Thousands of others exactly like him have killed our people and you would show him pity? Tch! I don't believe this."

"But he's…" I mumbled something nervously, my hands still clamped over my mouth.

"What? Speak up!" Saikodo barked. I hurriedly dropped my hands and tried again.

"He's not just a s-soldier," I said. My voice was trembling. "H-he's a person too. A-and he's someone else's s-son or brother or fr-friend." To my own shock and somewhat to my shame, I found myself regurgitating things that my mother had told me that I had never really believed. I felt horrible and guilty then. Why hadn't I believed her when she was still alive? Why now?

When he spoke again his anger had dissipated. Somber. But dead stern. "You speak like your mother did," he said. I looked up a little, quickly. What did he know about my mother? "Both of you may be right. But your ideals are foolish and overly naïve. This is a time of war. You can't afford to get carried away by your imagination."

"But I'm not…" I bit my lip and looked away, swallowing back the protest.

"This man," Saikodo went on. "Someone's son, someone's brother, someone's friend - For all we know, he and his father, his brothers his friends killed our fathers and brothers and friends. Do you see?"

"When you two're done lollygaggin'," the infantryman cut in. Saikodo and I both looked back to him. It hadn't been a rude or impatient interjection, just kind of… offhand. As if he was bored or waiting for something to happen. After another pause pregnant with hostility, Saikodo tried again.

"How did you get here," he asked. The infantryman leaned his head back against the wall. I noticed that his blue eyes were heavily bloodshot and the whites of his left were slowly turning red with blood.

"I crawled," he replied, calm again. "There was an ambush, your men killed mine and I crawled here because I didn't want to be surrounded by the stink of death when I copped it. Happy?"

"Coward," Saikodo snapped. I shrank back in dread. "You would abandon your nakama in battle? How stupid."

"Hey, I didn't ask to be here, alright?" the infantryman shot back. Blood dribbled from between the fingers of the hand on his abdomen. "I didn't ask to be drafted into this stupid war, I didn't ask to see men Wutai or Midgar get slaughtered and I definitely didn't ask to get myself killed. I just. needed. money. Just doing some patrols or running some errands. That's all I needed. Just some money."

Saikodo glowered at the infantryman. The latter returned the gaze steadily until he suddenly gagged, retched and coughed violently. He clapped his free hand to his mouth and blood sprayed into the air and fell in bright crimson flecks on his clothes, splattering onto the fabric and staining it a dark magenta. I gasped at the sight and Saikodo held out an arm as if to hold me back. When his coughing fit had subsided, the infantryman slowly took his hand away, dragging his palm over his mouth. Blood trickled down his chin.

"But it's all over now," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes were narrowed slightly and he looked pensive. "I'm done. Can't change a damn thing." He looked back up at Saikodo, his face grave. "I know you don't owe me anything and I sure as hell ain't in any place to be asking favours from anyone, let alone someone from Wutai. But could you do something for me?"

Without having voiced the favour, I already knew what it was he wanted. I could guess and I think Saikodo knew it too. For a ten-year-old and a sixteen-year-old – no, for anyone to be able to imagine such a thing was terrible and it made my poor heart ache. For the first time ever I saw Saikodo hesitate. Then he nodded. A slow, sure nod. The infantryman returned the nod and reached for the rifle by his side, taking it up and holding it out to Saikodo.

Saikodo handed me his shinai, which I took carefully with both hands. He then received the rifle - not in a wholly clumsy, unfamiliar way, nor in the way of one very experienced with firearms – and held it in his right hand, resting the butt against his shoulder and cradling it loosely in his other hand. The blood covering the weapon smudged dark reds over the sleeves of his white kimono and stained it. The fact that he knew how to correctly hold a rifle startled me a little and it also looked strange and wildly out-of-place –this boy whose family was so strict with tradition; barefoot, dressed in a hakama and… holding a rifle? I wanted to laugh, cry, pull the rifle from his hands and throw it on the ground. It all looked so wrong to me and in so many more ways than just one.

"There's three left if I remember right," the infantryman told him. His voice wasn't without a tremble and it was plain to see from the look on his face that he was struggling to control his emotions. "Do me a favour. Two in the heart and one in the head." Saikodo nodded again, slowly. He moved to stand facing the infantryman and motioned me to come stand behind him with a jerk of his head. My heart felt heavy in my chest but my feet moved freely and I scurried over to him faster than I'd have liked to, out of the line of fire. Though I tried my best to hide it, the infantryman saw the expression of sadness on my face.

"I'm long gone, kid," he said to me, in a thin grasp at reassurance. "It's better like this." Saikodo raised the rifle and aimed it squarely at the infantryman's chest.

"Junbi dekiteru," he said. Are you ready? Although he didn't understand the words, he understood the nature of them. The infantryman nodded and closed his eyes. Saikodo turned his head a little and spoke to me. "Miru na," he told me. Don't look. Turning away, I tucked the shinai under my arm and covered my face with my hands. There was a drawing of breath, two loud shots, the click of an empty magazine and then a crash as Saikodo threw the rifle to the ground at his feet.

"There were only two left," he growled. He sounded angry for some reason. "Stupid." I kept my hands over my face and the shinai jammed under my arm and tried not to cry. Later, we buried the infantryman's body there behind the dojo and did our best to hide the blood from sight. It was to be kept a complete secret, Saikodo said firmly. No-one was to know. No-one.

It was the war that shaped most of my childhood. As much as my parents tried to help me have a happy one, it wasn't possible to avert my eyes from everything. Walking to the Sector 1 station, my ears ringing with the sound of that familiar voice, I found I couldn't help myself from reflecting on this one incident. Just this one. It wasn't hard to figure out why – when you made a connection like that, it was pretty obvious. But still, that it should come back after this long…

Drawing my coat tighter around me, I walked up the stairs as a train drew up to the platform in a cloud of thick, white steam. Commuters began coming in and out of the carriages in droves and a lone figure that had been sitting on the bench nearby stood up and dusted off his trousers. My heart beating quick in anxiety and excitement, I approached him as he took up the dark case by his side and came to face me. I hadn't seen him for four, five years maybe, since he left Wutai after his grandfather died. He was a lot taller than I remembered him last being, his face was harder around the jaw and the eyes and he was wearing a neat, dark suit and tie and not the old hakama that he used to wear, but it was definitely the same person.

"Anshou Saikodo-san," I said in a timid half-whisper. I gave a deep bow and he gave a grunt and a brief bow of his own in reply. "Hisashiburi desu ne," he said. It's been a long time.

A/N: It definitely has been a long time… I'm a bit rusty, I'm afraid. Please leave a review if you would be so kind :)