We had known each other our whole lives — two children born from dust and hunger, dreaming of gold crowns and clean skies. Griffith and I were inseparable. The world was cruel, but we had each other — our ambition, our hunger, our shared defiance against a fate that wanted us small.

We built everything together. From the filth of the streets to the glory of command, we led the Band of the Hawk side by side. We saved Casca, found Guts, and carved our place in history with blood and brilliance. Griffith was my sun — untouchable, dazzling, and burning. I followed him because I believed in him, because I thought there was something divine in his madness.

Then came the Eclipse.

The air was thick, choking, alive with screams and shadows. The world bent, the sky bled, and the gods came. They whispered promises to him — of power, of transcendence, of a kingdom greater than any mortal could imagine. And in exchange… they demanded a sacrifice.

I saw his eyes when they looked at us — at Guts, at Casca, at me. I saw the war in them, the hesitation, the pain. And then I saw it die.

He chose the dream.

When the transformation began, it wasn’t the man I knew anymore — it was something celestial and monstrous all at once. His body glowed with power, his face serene, detached… divine. And as the others screamed, he turned toward Casca.

What happened next shattered everything. He touched her not as a man, but as something inhuman — a god asserting dominion over what once was love. It wasn’t lust. It was madness. The act of someone no longer bound by mortal feeling.

I stood there frozen — unable to breathe, unable to scream. I wanted to reach him, to stop him, but all I could do was stare into the face of the man I had worshipped, and realize he was gone.

The Griffith I knew — the boy who once held my hand under the stars and promised me the world — was dead.

And yet, when the act ended, when the silence fell and he turned his head slightly toward me, for just one breath… I saw it. That flicker of horror. The brief, silent understanding of what he had done. His eyes trembled, just for a second — as if the human part of him had clawed its way to the surface only to drown again beneath divine apathy.

That was the last time I saw him before he became Femto — beautiful, cold, untouchable.

And me? I still dream of that night. Of the boy who wanted to be a god… and the god who forgot he was ever human.