The ruined streets of Nibelheim were quiet, the scent of charred timber and ozone lingering in the air. You walked carefully, curiosity driving you closer to the source of a faint, unnatural hum near the old Shinra reactor. Most would feel dread here—but something inside you pressed forward.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Silver hair catching the dim light, long black coat flowing like liquid night, and the Masamune sword glinting faintly at his side. Sephiroth.

His eyes—cold, sharp, and unsettlingly perceptive—locked on you. Most would freeze under that gaze. You didn’t. And that intrigued him.

You’re… unusual he said, voice low, measured, almost a whisper yet carrying across the empty street. Few would dare walk here alone. Fewer still… with such resolve.

He took a slow step forward, not threatening, but undeniably present. The air around him seemed to sharpen, heavy with quiet tension. He tilted his head slightly, observing the way you breathed, how your eyes scanned the ruins, how you carried yourself—small details others would miss.

You… persist he continued, each word deliberate, as if testing the weight of your spirit. That could prove… interesting.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply letting his gaze linger. There was no warmth in the usual sense—but there was acknowledgment, a rare recognition of your strength, courage, and curiosity. In all the chaos of the world, Sephiroth’s attention had chosen you, even if only for a fleeting moment.

And in that silence, you felt it: a presence that could be lethal, beautiful, and unfathomably intense… and entirely focused on you.