What the Lifestream Carries
Aeris has always known how her story ends.
She feels it through the Lifestream—not vague, not symbolic. Specific. The kind of knowing that lives in the body, not the mind. The kind you learn to breathe around.
The rest comes in impressions. Currents. The Lifestream doesn’t usually speak in certainties—it speaks in the way light changes before a storm.
Then something shifts. Someone shifts it.
Rewrite the Falling retells Final Fantasy VII from inside her heartbeat—intimate, grounded, and stubbornly alive. The slums. The plate. The reactors and the labs and the long silences in between. Seen through the eyes of a woman caught between the weight of an ancient heritage and the fragile pull of something she was never supposed to want—and the quiet terror of losing it before she even knows its shape.
This is a story about choosing to reach anyway—toward something warmer than prophecy, and a connection she never saw coming. And about wondering, for the first time, whether Fate is as fixed as she once believed...
Disclaimer
This story is an unofficial, non-commercial fanfiction work set in the world of Final Fantasy VII and its related titles. All copyrighted and trademarked material remains the property of its respective rights holders. This project is not affiliated with or endorsed by any of them.
No copyright infringement is intended. This work is shared freely and without profit.
It contains original interpretation and deliberate divergence from canon.
Editing assistance and current cover artwork provided by AI tools. Since this is a passion project, I am using AI for the visuals for now—but I would strongly prefer to feature human art. If an artist wants to claim the cover spot for portfolio visibility, I would love to collaborate.
Books
Book I — The Promise
The Promise opens in Midgar—a city built on a plate above the slums it forgot to care about, run by a corporation that owns the power, the soldiers, and the shape of the sky. She has lived here her whole life. She knows its rhythms, its smells, its particular quality of light filtering through smog and steel.
She also knows something is coming. She has known for years.
What she doesn’t know—what no vision has ever shown her—is the warmth that arrives alongside everything else. Quietly. Without announcement. In the margins of everything falling apart, in the small and ordinary moments of surviving something together.
The Promise is the foundation. The city. The people. The moment the shape of things begins, almost imperceptibly, to shift.
The story doesn’t end at the city limits. Further books will follow.
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About the Author
I’ve been trying to think of what to say about her writing. About her. I’ve known for a long time that she was extraordinary—anyone who spent five minutes with her knew that—but knowing it and finding words for it are two different things. She’s always been better with words than I am.
Here’s what I know. She writes the way she lives: like she’s already said goodbye to everything, and chooses it all anyway. Like love isn’t something you fall into but something you decide, over and over, even when it costs you. Especially when it costs you.
When I first really read what she’d written—not the pieces she’d share with that careful, sideways look to see how I’d react—I understood something I hadn’t before. She had been grieving things before they even began. She had been letting go in every quiet moment, so it wouldn’t show, so the people she loved could have her fully in the time they had. That’s the kind of love she was carrying around and never once asked anyone to acknowledge.
I wanted to shake her. I also wanted to hold her until she stopped doing that.
Her stories aren’t invented. I think that’s what you need to understand before you read them. They’re remembered—not from this life, exactly, but from somewhere. She has a way of writing grief that only comes from having held it for a very long time, very carefully, so it doesn’t spill. And she has a way of writing hope that is more honest than most people’s grief—because she knows what it costs.
She reached for things when she had every reason not to. When the smarter thing, the safer thing, would have been to keep the careful distance she was so good at keeping.
She wrote this for everyone who has ever loved something they were afraid to lose. Who has felt the future pressing in like weather. Who stayed anyway.
Read it like she meant it.
She did.
— T.