He'd known the instant Rude told them the location where Kadaj's gang had taken the children that he would not be able to rescue them. Yet they had all still looked to him to take action, to charge in and save the innocent from their plight.

The truth was he couldn't even save himself.

He'd defended himself against their attack earlier, but if Kadaj hadn't called his brothers off, Cloud had to wonder just how much longer he would have held out. He hadn't needed to draw on such strength since before Meteor, since Sephiroth himself. He hadn't really expected to ever need that much power again, but now that he did, he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his weakness.

The Geostigma that crawled along his arm could only account for part of his impuissance. The rest of the blame inevitably lay in his own pathetic character. He'd been weak all his life, a continual failure as he'd let the people he'd cared most about die one by one.

His mother had never quite understood him, but she'd tried her best to support him in every way she could, despite the cruel whispers of the other villagers. She'd been the one who had encouraged his dreams to be more than a just a mountain boy, to go to Midgar, join SOLDIER and be like Sephiroth - but it was Sephiroth himself who had killed her in the end, and Cloud had been helpless to stop him.

Zack had been his salvation when faced with the failure of those dreams, showing him that he could still earn his place in the world, even if it wasn't quite what he'd originally hoped for. The SOLDIER had been vivacious and daring even during the worst of times, his courage and strength providing a new future for the both of them by breaking them out of Hojo's lab. Yet Zack had given it all away in a single instant to save Cloud in his worthless, Mako-fevered state.

Then there was Aerith. Ever-smiling, never daunted by anything, she had willingly given her life to stop Meteor and save the planet, Sephiroth's blade completing what she herself had begun. It was a sacrifice that should not have been necessary, if only Cloud had maintained enough will to deny Sephiroth the Black Materia in the first place.

Strength of will was something he was still sorely lacking. It had taken Tifa's sharp chiding to prompt him into doing what he should have done from the very first. Yet he couldn't help but be aware that regardless of Tifa's expectations, he had once again failed to rescue anyone, and in fact had needed saving himself. The children were still in the hands of the three silver-haired brothers, and if Vincent hadn't come along when he had, Cloud would also have been at their mercy.

Helpless, worthless, weak... It had been the same story his entire life: too weak to defend himself against the other children in Nibelheim; too worthless to make it into the ranks of SOLDIER; too helpless to aid his friends when they needed him the most.

He wanted forgiveness for that failure, even though he knew he didn't deserve anything of the kind. He couldn't even earn it, as he'd once again failed to accomplish anything worthwhile in coming to this place of unyielding sorrow.

As he sat by the water's edge, Vincent standing a respectful distance away, he couldn't help but stare dejectedly at his diseased arm.

"You really can't save anyone, can you?" he muttered to himself, the words bitter in his mouth.

Yet he knew he couldn't stop trying, either.