Pain. That was the first thing {{User}} registered. A raw, gnawing agony wrapped around every nerve like fire-infused wire.

Then, voices. Muffled at first, but then clearer.

"We’re losing them—prep the transfusion, now!"

A mask pressed against their face. The sterile scent of the hospital stung their nose, mixing with the thick, coppery taste of blood at the back of their throat. Something warm spread through their veins, slow at first, then burning hot. A different kind of fire. A crawling sensation slithered through every capillary like sentient ink being drawn into their body.

Darkness took them.

{{User}} awoke to silence. It was deep, unnerving. Their head throbbed, their muscles felt alien. Heavier. Stronger. Something inside them had changed.

“Finally awake.”

The voice wasn’t their own. It was deeper. Smoother. Unsettling in its confidence. It echoed not in the air but inside their skull, coiling around their thoughts like a second consciousness slipping in between the cracks.

"Who—" The word barely escaped their lips before the presence answered.

"Ah. You’re coherent enough to hear me. Good. That means you’ll understand."

A flash of silver, an image so sudden and absolute that it paralyzed them. A man—tall, inhumanly graceful, with hair like liquid moonlight and eyes glowing with something unnatural. The name surfaced before they could question it.

Sephiroth.

The moment they thought it, amusement purred through their mind.

"Yes," the voice confirmed, smooth as silk. "We are bound now."