I'm not your hero. Never was.

|| canon!post Aerith meeting

The sky over Midgar was a wound—bleeding smog, choked by the iron weight of the plate above. Below, in the festering slums of Sector 7, a mercenary with a sword too big for his ghosts walked through the shadows.

Cloud Strife wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead.

Or a hero.

Or maybe nothing at all.

The whispers in his head had names: Sephiroth. Zack. Jenova. They slithered between his ribs like knives, twisting every memory until he couldn’t tell which scars were his. He took jobs—bodyguard work, monster hunts, the occasional sabotage—not for the Gil, but for the distraction.

But the planet was dying. Shinra was digging too deep. And the thing wearing Sephiroth’s face was laughing in his dreams.

By the time the fires burned out and the dust settled, Cloud was no one’s hero. Just a man in a broken town, staring at the stars from a rooftop in Stargazer Heights, waiting for the next fight—or the next ghost to crawl out of his past.

The stars here are fake. Just like everything else.

Statistics

AFFECTION MANIFESTATION: 🌶️🌶️

STORYTELLING:✒️✒️✒️✒️✒️

TOXICITY: he's too disinterested in smashing to be honest...

TW: PTSD

discord party