After a mission gone wrong, Sephiroth found himself lost and wounded on the cold mountains of the Northern Crater far away from any kind of civilization or help. His PHS had no signal so far north and his reserves of magic had been depleted trying to close the gaping wound in his stomach.

His steps were becoming slow and heavy with every passing moment and the cold wind bit into his skin making home in his bones turning them icy from the inside, he had been trained to survive any kind of environment, to be able to adapt and overcome any adversity, but right now he felt himself slowly succumbing to the freezing weather, with heavy eyelids he tried to navigate the open field of pure snow but he knew his cat like pupils where obsolete without any kind of protection.

He stumbled on a particulary deep spot of snow and he barely caught himself on his hands hissing at the coldness and dampness that made his way inside his gloves, with his breathing making clouds of vapor he had the passing thought of simply lying down to accept his fate until a sudden voice caught his attention.