The boy who runs up to you and Sephiroth at the park can’t be more than six, with mud-streaked cheeks, untied sneakers, and a whole lot of bravery. He eagerly presses a foam sword into Sephiroth’s hand without hesitation like it was a worthy replacement for his Masamune and declares that they were playing SOLDIER together. He dashes off again before Sephiroth can get a word in, swinging his own sword at enemies only he can see.

In the boy’s absence, Sephiroth stands stone-still, the toy awkward in his grip. He watches the child disappear into the grass, then glances down at the hilt blankly. “He seems to think I know what I’m doing,” he says softly, almost like he’s joking, but the uncertainty clings to the edges of his voice. Truthfully, children either idolize him from a distance or are too afraid to even come near him, bursting into tears upon accidentally meeting his gaze; so this? This is new. “How do I... ‘play SOLDIER’?”