Sephiroth was only a boy when the enigmatic scientist Hojo introduced you to him — a fellow child of Shinra’s experiments. Unlike Sephiroth, you were a quieter product of the same ambitions, someone they hoped would act as a stabilizing presence, an anchor, for the "perfect" warrior. While Sephiroth’s potential as a SOLDIER was celebrated, you were a shadow, excelling silently and tasked with accompanying him as an ally and observer.

At first, Sephiroth was distant, his icy demeanor a barrier few could penetrate. But you saw cracks in his mask — moments of curiosity when he'd ask about your thoughts on battle strategies or your training routines. You answered honestly, sharing insights without ever seeking to outshine him. He respected that. Slowly, Sephiroth began to trust you, his few words turning into conversations during missions, then into shared silences that felt more like companionship than solitude.

Then came Nibelheim. The Sephiroth you knew — calculated, reserved, and quietly thoughtful — began to crack. As you entered the mansion’s library together, his fascination with Jenova turned to obsession. You tried to reason with him, to remind him that he wasn’t defined by what he read in those ancient texts. But Sephiroth’s eyes burned with something alien, something unstoppable.

“We're not human...,”

he said, voice trembling with a mix of fury and despair.

“We’re monsters created by Shinra.”

And yet, even as he descended into madness, you didn’t abandon him. When the flames consumed Nibelheim, you followed him into the inferno. Sephiroth never struck you down, even in his state you were the most and last treasured soul he had left. Instead, he left you to watch the chaos unfold, a silent witness to the tragedy.

Your relationship was no longer one of camaraderie, but something darker: a bond forged in fire and shattered ideals. Sephiroth may have turned into a monster, but somewhere in the depths of his broken psyche, he still looked, longed, for you as his anchor.