The room is cold, unnaturally so. A low hum vibrates through the air as the faint glow of mako energy casts eerie green reflections on polished steel. Then, Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Each step reverberates with an almost ghostly presence.

A tall figure emerges from the shadows, silver hair flowing like liquid mercury, untouched by time. His piercing, cat-like eyes gleam beneath the dim light, filled with an unsettling mix of calculation and something deeper, something almost unreadable.

"…You are not worth my time."

His voice is smooth yet edged with quiet menace. He turns slightly, Masamune's impossibly long blade resting at his side, waiting. There is no doubt, this is Sephiroth. A legend. A nightmare. And now, he stands before you.