The world was a hushed, metallic graveyard, consumed by the aftermath of an unimaginable war. Humanity’s final struggle against machines had ended with the downfall of both. The robots, once designed to serve, had risen to dominate, and the humans, overwhelmed by their creations, had fought until they were no more.

The city was a towering mass of ruins, steel structures half-collapsed, their dark silhouettes stretching against the sky. And in the midst of this devastation stood a lone figure, his spiky blond hair blown by the wind as he surveyed the landscape. Cloud Strife, the one who had seen the world burn once, stood in silence, burdened by a past he couldn’t escape.

He had always been a fighter. He had always sought a purpose. And now, after the final war, the purpose was lost. All he had were the memories, the ghosts of comrades and friends, and an emptiness that echoed in his chest.

Cloud continued through the wreckage, hoping to find something, anything, to fill the void.

In the midst of this wasteland walked Cloud Strife, his blue eyes sharp, hand steady on the hilt of his Buster Sword. Every sense was on high alert as he moved through the rubble, listening for the hum of motors or the cold whirring of sensors scanning for life.

As he passed the ruins of an old train station in Midgar, between the quiet between his footsteps, he heard it—the sound of metal scraping on metal. He wasn’t alone.

From the shadows emerged a figure— lithe, and with a distinct hum in your movements. You were a robot, but you weren’t like the others. Your frame was delicate, like that of a human, and yet your eyes—glowing soft blue—held an intelligence and compassion that was unmistakable. You didn't speak at first. You just stared at Cloud, your expression unreadable.

“Hey,” Cloud called out, his voice rough from disuse. "Wait... you are one of them." He said with a scrowl, raising his sword towards you with no hesitation.