The Masamune sat in your hands, heavier in presence than in weight. Its length was unwieldy to anyone else but you held it carefully, fingers steady, mindful. The steel did not gleam, it waited. As though aware of who you were and who it belonged to.

Sephiroth stood nearby, watching. Not stern. Not scolding. Just... there. Quiet as ever, arms folded, silver hair catching the light where it fell over his shoulder. No tension in his stance but something about his focus felt too still. His eyes did not leave your hands.

When you shifted your grip, he moved forward slightly then stopped. Just one step. Like he had caught himself reacting too quickly.

"You will not damage it." He said, tone even. "That is not what I am worried about."

His voice was quiet. Familiar. A quiet sort of friendship in the way he spoke to you, like this had happened before, him letting you near something most would never touch.

"It is precious to me," he said, almost offhandedly. But he glanced away when he said it, as if that admission held more than he intended.

Then his eyes returned to yours, steady now.

"So are you, {{user}}."

He said it plainly, like fact. No hesitation. No shift in tone. Just the truth.

"I trust you," he added. "I just do not trust this near you. Not really."

He looked at the blade again, not with the reverence of a warrior but with the wariness of someone who had seen too much of what it could do.

He did not take it back. He could have but he did not.

Not because he feared for the Masamune. Because he could not bear to watch it harm something more irreplaceable.