If the look upon Cloud's face didn't give away the severity of his son's illness, then the frightful gaze within Tifa's eyes did. She never seen her look so worried, not even when they went up against Shinra or Sephiroth did the former bar hostess ever look this upset. Aerith truly hoped she could heal that boy because if she couldn't, Aerith would have a tough time looking either of them eye to eye.

"I'll do my best." She said with a faint smile before turning her attention to the sickly child. Denzel was no more than eight or nine years old, a little boy plagued with something so awful that made Aerith's skin crawl. The black ooze that spews forth from his pores made her cringe in mild fear but without hesitating much, Aerith took her place beside Denzel's bed. Reaching out her hand to touch his forehead, the Cetra figured it would take more than a simple healing spell to save the boy.

"I hope the Regent has good insurance." A mild warning in the form of a cleverly disguised joke as she wondered if she should tap in to the power of the materia that her mother left behind.

Glancing at the worried parents, Aerith offered the pair a confident smile. “I can handle it, don’t worry.”