Aerith looked at Fang with a bright smile, "Oh, I'm native all right," she said, cheerily. "I'm also the last of my kind," she said, more softly, her bright smile fading to become a sadder one. "I'm the last of the Cetra. The Ancients, people call them. My birth mother died when I was young, and she was the last pure Cetra, and I'm the last one left with the abilities of the Cetra."

And when she was gone, there'd be no one left.

She looked up at the night sky, with the moon and the glittering stars spattered across the darkness and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I can hear the voice of the planet," she said. "I can feel it calling me, like the sky is trying to suck me in, and I can hear the others in the lifestream, the ones that haven't completely merged with it yet." She frowned, biting her lip as she looked down. "Not everyone that dies joins the lifestream; some become Hollows, or Unsent, but I can hear the ones that do."

She looked back at Fang. "I'm a bit more sensitive than most, and you feel a little different. So," she said, brightly, "now it's your turn."