From September 13th - September 20th, join us for another celebration of our favorite hero!
⚔️ For our fifth year, we will follow Zack's journey from his childhood to early adulthood and beyond! Let's look back on what makes Zack the hero that he is 💙
The rules are simple:
You are free to interpret the prompts however you like.
All types of fanworks, including fanart, fanfics, graphics, gifsets, video edits, headcanons and much more are welcome.
Tag us on your post and mention the prompt/day your work is created for.
Use the tags #zackweek and #zackweek2025 within the first five tags.
Please kindly let us know if we missed your post throughout the week!
Have fun and let's spread the Zack love!
Thank you for joining us! We can't wait to see your creations~
⚔️ More rules and guidelines on our carrd.
⚔️ We are also hosting the event on X/Twitter and Bluesky.
@ff7zinenews @ffviifandomcalendar @ff7central Thank you for the boost!
Summary: Upon returning from a mission, Zack drags Kunsel out of bed and spars with him before the sun is even out.
Notes: written for @zackfair-week Day 2: Ideals/ Mission
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Why do you work so hard?” Kunsel asked him one day.
They were doing their morning drills—a hundred laps followed by a sparring session. Kunsel was a year older and had been in SOLDIER for another year longer, but it hadn’t taken Zack long to catch up to him. In fact, Zack had earned the envy of many of his fellow soldiers, older and otherwise, since his recruitment. Being thirteen with an innate physical prowess, Zack often bested even some of the seasoned warriors. When it was announced that he would be mentored by none other than the esteemed First-Class Angeal Hewley, many of the other recruits had looked at him with a mixture of bitterness and awe. But not Kunsel. His self-proclaimed right-hand man had only clapped his shoulder and said great job and good luck, don’t waste your chance. Still, two years since his appointment as Angeal’s pupil and having done daily practices together for almost as long, Kunsel couldn’t seem to keep his curiosity quiet any longer.
“Angeal’s already working you to the bone,” his friend went on. “You returned from a mission late last night, and now you’re already back training when the sun’s not even up.” I need my beauty sleep, came the unspoken words evident in the slight downturn of Kunsel’s lips. One corner of Zack’s mouth quirked into a smirk.
Kunsel’s sword missed the tip of Zack’s head by a hairsbreadth as Zack ducked and brought his own blade swinging down on Kunsel’s side. The other man leapt away nimbly, though he stumbled on his feet on his landing. Zack rushed forward and slashed Kunsel’s chest with his wooden sword. The orb strapped to Kunsel’s shoulder beeped red, signaling the third critical strike Zack had landed on him.
Kunsel heaved a sigh and let his sword arm drop. “You’re getting faster,” he panted.
Zack stepped back, his own chest heaving and sweat glistening on his temple. “Once more,” he said.
But Kunsel shook his head and held up a hand. “Let me rest. We’ve been sparring for one whole hour.” He then stalked away to the edge of the room where his water bottle waited on a steel table.
Zack cast his eyes at the timepiece on the wall: 6:15 AM. The sun should be up by now, but the steel walls adorning the SOLDIER training rooms prevented any light from seeping in. Here, the white neon glares would even make the darkest of nights into day. They wouldn’t fade as long as the room was occupied. Zack set his sword down and closed his eyes.
Visions of his previous mission flickered across his mind’s eye. A simple guard duty which even a Third-Class should be able to execute flawlessly, yet the mission had been given to Zack—a Second-Class—due to the weight of its nature. Zack had been tasked to guard an item of import during its transportation. But not only had he almost failed bringing the item to its destination unscathed, innocent civilians had been involved in the following altercation with the supposed bandits.
The mission had ended well, in the end, with the item arriving intact, but there was no denying that Zack’s performance had been subpar at best. The mayor of the town had expressed his gratitude still, but Zack could not ignore the quake in his heart that he hadn’t done his best, that the mission could’ve gone more smoothly had he been stronger, smarter.
His arms twitched, screamed at him to move, to swing his sword, to train, train, train—
“Zack.” The call cut through his ruminations. A sideways glance revealed Kunsel holding out a water bottle to him.
Zack pursed his lips. “One more round,” he said.
“Not until after you’ve rested,” his friend said with a shake of his head.
Clenching his jaws, Zack finally let his feet move, leading him to the steel table where Kunsel stood. When Zack didn’t immediately take the bottle from Kunsel’s hand, Kunsel pushed it to his chest instead.
“Drink,” he said. “Rest. We still have our real morning drill in a couple hours.”
Zack stared at his bottle, already uncapped. Adrenaline still rushed in his bloodstream, and his muscles ached to train.
“Did something happen last night?”
The question came so abruptly, Zack could only look up and say, “Huh?”
“Your mission,” Kunsel added. “You’re being unusually quiet.”
Zack blinked. “Well…” His voice trailed off.
Kunsel scoffed softly. “It’s not like you to be so down in the dumps, not even when Angeal gave you a zero in your simulation test.”
A flicker of irritation flared in Zack’s chest. “That was only one time!”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you got a zero.” Kunsel smirked, though it was only short-lived. “And then you had the gall to drag me out for an intensive training session that lasted ‘til midnight.”
“It gave you an edge to pass your next test though, didn’t it?” Zack countered with a laugh.
It was a moment before he noticed Kunsel’s smile, and then another moment until he realized his friend was attempting to lighten his mood. And Zack fell for it. He scowled, and Kunsel chuckled lightheartedly.
“So, what happened?” his friend asked again.
Zack’s scowl remained for another fraction of a moment, before he sighed, then set his sword against the wall. He took several large gulps of water before he slowly recounted the events of the past several days: the item he was meant to protect, the bandits stealing it from right under his nose, the onerous attempt to reclaim it, and finally how, in the clash with the so-called bandits, civilians had gotten hurt.
Kunsel listened quietly, his poker face revealing none of his thoughts. Sometimes, when they were in their full uniforms, Zack could tell what his friend was thinking if he just looked hard enough for a glint here or a smirk there. But now that they were only in their shirts and cargo pants without any helmet visors to shield their faces, not even a world-class calamity could probably get a rise out of him.
Zack concluded his tale with a big, irritated harrumph as he slapped his bottle on the table and slumped against the wall. Kunsel followed after him, folding his arms and leaning on the steel wall next to him.
“Did Angeal say anything?” he asked.
“Only that I needed to take better care.” Zack sighed. “In the end, the mission was completed. I got the item to where it needed to go. The bandits were apprehended. But…” He scratched the back of his head, then grabbed a fistful of his damp jet-black hair, as though pulling it out of his scalp might undo the wrong he’d done last night—not that he could pull it out; the best it could do was elicit a sting of pain.
Kunsel's wordless stare stabbed the side of his head. Two and a half years of friendship had taught him that Kunsel was relentless in his hunt for answers, especially since Zack had dragged him out of bed in the wee hours of the night. So even if Zack feigned a laugh and a grin and said sorry, it’s nothing, the man would not let him out of the room even if it meant they’d be late for morning practice. So Zack heaved another sigh, and hung his head.
“Angeal told me once that, if I wanted to become a hero, I’d need honor… and dreams,” Zack finally said.
“Uh-huh.”
“So what kind of honorable person brings harm to innocent bystanders? What kind of hero—”
“And stop right there.” Kunsel chopped his head, effectively stopping him midsentence.
Zack whirled around, arms covering the spot now pulsing with pain. “What was that for!?”
“For preventing the spread of your contagious stupidity,” Kunsel said.
“Whu—?”
“Look,” his friend went on. “Did Angeal say anything about you being dishonorable or anything of the like?”
Zack set his jaws. “No.”
“And did you do everything in your power to minimize the damage done to the civilians?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“Then there you have it. You’re already pretty much the hero of the hour to me.”
“But that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so careless!” Zack shouted. “I’d have delivered the item on time and unscathed! None of the people would have gotten hurt! If only I’d been smarter, stronger, hadn’t rushed ahead—”
“And would wallowing in your misery do anything to further your dream?”
Kunsel stared at him, his brown, mako-rimmed eyes meeting Zack’s blue ones. “I get that you’re angry, but there’s a fine line between drowning yourself in despair and learning from your mistakes. It seems you already knew what you did wrong. I’m guessing that’s why Angeal didn’t say much of anything else.”
When Zack failed to respond, only looked at him with a half-open mouth, Kunsel broke into a resigned smile. He grabbed his discarded towel from the table to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck.
“Why did you want to become a hero, Zack?”
Zack blinked. “I—” It was a simple, childish dream, borne from fairy tales and bedtime stories his mother used to tell of warriors bringing salvation to their kingdoms. And then the radio started relaying news of a group of soldiers saving entire villages and towns. They were regaled as heroes.
Zack scratched his jaw and averted his eyes. “I wanted to help people,” he said.
Kunsel smirked. “Not for the fame or glory, then?”
Heat rushed to Zack’s cheeks. “No! Well—I mean, it would be nice to be called a hero, but that’s not really the reason why…” When he was younger, Zack was often called to help around his village. Odd jobs, for the most part: taking out a dog for a walk, guarding a chicken coop, feeding chocobos, among others. It’d been less about the reward and more about the gratification he’d felt after successfully completing his duties. Perhaps even a nobody like him from a small backwater town could make a difference in someone else’s life and leave a mark in the world.
“I wanted to help as many people as I can,” Zack repeated a little more firmly. “But instead of helping people, I’d brought them harm…”
“Will you let that thought stop you?”
Zack shook his head. “I need to train more but—” He glanced at his sword. “This isn’t the only form of training I should do.”
Kunsel grinned. “If you ever need someone to train on stealth missions, I’m your guy. You may be the strongest in your batch, but I’m pretty confident this is the one field where I’m better than you.” Then he clapped Zack’s shoulder, grabbed his bottle and sword, then crossed the room to the exit door.
“Hey! Where’re you going?” Zack called over.
“Getting ready!” Kunsel replied over his shoulder. He pointed at the timepiece—6:42 AM. “Drills start at 7:30. I’m not missing out on breakfast.”
“But you said one more round after resting!” Zack wailed, even as he picked up his sword, bottle, and towel, and caught up to Kunsel, who only laughed at his protest.
Fandom : Final fantasy VII | Pairing : Zack Fair | Notes : written for @zackfair-week | Theme : Day 8; Exploration/ Parallel Worlds (Crossroad)
Summary: At the Crossroad, Zack glimpses infinite paths—some where he survives to embrace Aerith, others where Cloud carries his sword over Zack’s fallen body. Haunted by the weight of “what ifs,” he refuses to see himself as a pawn of fate. With his reckless grin and explorer’s heart, Zack vows that in every world his legacy will endure: not survival alone, but the hope he leaves behind for others to carry forward.
The Crossroad was not meant to be seen by mortal eyes.
It stretched beyond Zack’s understanding, a vast expanse of white stone that branched endlessly into paths of light, each one leading to a horizon that shifted and shimmered as though made of water. Above, the sky was fractured, shards of different colors bleeding into one another: starlit black, dawn-gold, reactor green, the pale glow of endless fog.
Zack Fair stood at the center, his boots heavy against the glowing floor, the Buster Sword a weight across his back. He turned slowly, heart thundering.
Everywhere he looked, the roads whispered.
They were not silent, oh, no. They carried voices, laughter, cries. A thousand lives brushed against his skin like passing winds.
He heard Aerith’s voice calling his name, warm and bright. He heard Cloud’s sharp cry, his determination tempered by pain. He heard the clash of steel, the roar of Mako, the fading breaths of comrades who had fallen before him.
Each sound belonged to a different world, a different choice, a different version of what could have been.
Zack swallowed, the grin he so often wore slipping into something quieter.
— So this is it. All the “what ifs.”
The faces in the paths
He stepped closer to one of the shining roads. It shimmered, and an image flared to life.
He saw himself running through Midgar’s gates, alive, battered, but smiling, Aerith rushing into his arms as flowers bloomed behind her. His chest tightened at the sight.
Another path showed something else: Cloud kneeling in the dirt, clutching the Buster Sword with trembling hands. Zack’s own body lay still beside him, the sky overhead bleeding red. Cloud’s face was hollow, but his eyes burned with a fire that refused to die.
Zack flinched back. His hands curled into fists.
— So in some worlds… I don’t make it.
The Crossroad did not answer. It simply showed him more.
He saw himself leading a band of rebels in Junon, defying Shinra openly. He saw himself lost in Gongaga, never leaving home. He saw himself wandering alone, swordless, nameless, forgotten.
Each version of him lived and breathed for a heartbeat, then faded like mist.
The hollowness of destiny
Zack pressed a hand to his chest. The visions made him dizzy, hollowed him out from the inside.
— Am I just… a coin toss? A set of roads someone else laid out?
The thought hurt more than the wounds he’d carried through battle. He remembered Angeal’s voice, calm and steady: “Embrace your dreams. Protect your honor.”
Dreams. Honor. Did those things mean anything, if in some worlds he never lived long enough to carry them?
He thought of Aerith, stubborn and bright, telling him once that he wasn’t hollow, that he carried too much, yes, but he was full of life. He thought of Cloud, unsure but brimming with something untapped. He thought of the flowers that bloomed in dirt, even under Midgar’s plates.
Maybe the Crossroad wasn’t showing him fate. Maybe it was showing him the weight of what he could pass on.
The explorer’s choice
Zack laughed then, the sound echoing strangely in the vast emptiness. It wasn’t a bitter laugh, nor a hopeless one. It was reckless, fierce, the laugh of a boy from Gongaga who had always dreamed too big.
— You think this scares me? Parallel worlds, destiny, all these “maybes”? I’ve never been afraid of the unknown. Exploration’s kinda my thing.
His words rang out, bouncing off the fractured sky.
He turned slowly, taking in the infinite paths. Maybe some would end in glory, some in silence, some in death. That didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to choose the safest road, or even the right one.
He was Zack Fair. And Zack Fair always moved forward.
Legacy beyond worlds
He unsheathed the Buster Sword, its edge gleaming with borrowed light from a thousand futures. Planting it against the ground, he rested his hand on its hilt and let out a slow breath.
— Angeal… I get it now. Legacy isn’t about one world, one outcome. It’s about making sure that, wherever I fall, someone else can stand.
He pictured Cloud, carrying the sword with uncertain steps that would one day turn sure. He pictured Aerith’s flowers, blooming where steel said they shouldn’t. He pictured all the unnamed, unseen lives that might one day find courage because someone had stood before them and refused to quit.
The thought steadied him. Strengthened him.
He lifted the sword back onto his shoulder and faced the nearest shining road.
— Parallel worlds or not, I’ll keep walking. I’ll survive where I can. And where I can’t… my light will go on ahead.
With a final grin, Zack stepped forward, boots ringing against the glowing stone. The Crossroad shuddered, then opened, and the world beyond swallowed him whole.
Not because the path was easy.
Not because it promised victory.
