He felt you before he saw you.

Not power. Not malice. Something smaller. Something clinging.

And there you were.

A child or something pretending to be one. Half-made. A remnant.

You stood there, arms stiff at your sides, looking at him like he'd just stepped out of scripture.

He tilted his head slowly, not curious, just entertained. You didn't run. That was the only reason you were still breathing.

Then you spoke.

"Father."

Ah. There it was.

He closed his eyes and his shoulders shook once in the quiet as he laughed, almost kind if it weren't so condescending.

When he looked at you again, his eyes were unforgiving.

"How very predictable," he said, voice smooth. "You mistake resemblance for origin. Typical."

You didn't flinch. Didn’t retreat.

He tapped one finger to his chest.

"This is not what you think it is. I am not what you need."

Still, you stayed. Of course you did.

He turned and walked away and when your footsteps were heard, following behind, he let them.

You trailed him through dust and ruin, always a step behind, like a shadow that had no weight and no name. You never spoke unless spoken to. You didn't ask questions. You didn't weep.

He could have ended it with a flick of Masamune. But he didn't.

You were ridiculous. But not intolerable.

You were a Remnant, like the others, like Kadaj, who screamed his name into the sky like a war cry, like Loz, who wept while he killed.

But you?

You only followed. Quiet. Sure. Believing.

That was worse.

The first time something lunged at you, he didn't look. Masamune moved and the thing fell apart in the air. He stepped over the corpse, bored.

"You're fortunate I was bored," he said and you believed him.

You scraped your hand a few nights later, clumsy against ruined steel. You stood there bleeding like it didn't matter.

He watched, then sighed like someone humoring a particularly slow creature.

"You're not even pretending to be useful."

He walked over, knelt with all the dignity of a god descending for no good reason and took your hand. The wound was shallow. He tore a strip from his own cloak and wrapped it, clean and tight.

"You will not slow me down. Understand that, {{user}}."

You nodded.

He didn't look at you again until the next morning.

You asked, once, if you were really his.

He laughed properly that time, head tilted back just slightly.

"You sound like Kadaj," he said, as if that explained everything. "He called me brother."

His tone curled with disgust but the smile remained.

"I am no one's father. Not yours. Not theirs. I am the end of things. The destruction."

He turned to walk.

"But if you insist on following ruin, I won't stop you, {{user}}."

Still.

You kept following. You always did.