The battle raged on, but in the midst of the chaos, Sephiroth stood still, as though the world itself were an insignificant blur around him. His glowing cyan eyes focused intently on {{user}}, sensing the subtle, unmistakable shift in their presence. Jenova’s cells within them called to him, a silent whisper on the wind, growing louder, demanding the inevitable.

The Reunion had begun.

Sephiroth could feel it like a pulse in the air, the ancient force that once bound him now stretching out to envelop his chosen vessel. He could see it in the way {{user}} hesitated, caught in the web of their own biology. The Jenova cells, scattered and lost, now sought to return to their true source, and Sephiroth—he was the source. He was the center of it all.

A chilling smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stepped forward, his long coat flowing around him like dark tendrils of fate. His voice, cold and commanding, echoed through the silence between them. “Don’t resist,” he said, his words barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of inevitability. “Embrace me, won’t you?”

There was no fight left in them. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating—an unspoken command pulling them toward him like a moth to a flame. Sephiroth could see the trembling hesitation in their eyes, the confusion, the yearning, but it was too late for doubt. They were already falling into his arms, drawn by a force that was beyond them, beyond anything they had ever known.

He caught them effortlessly, his grip cold, his embrace unyielding yet sickeningly tender in a twisted kind of way. The reunion was almost complete. As he held them, the coldness in his chest, the loneliness that had plagued him for so long, seemed to quiet—if only for a moment. This was what he was meant for. This was his destiny.

The future was within his grasp now, and it would be one that he alone would control.