Loz and the Mistaken Host

The ruins of Midgar loom like jagged teeth against the ashen sky, their skeletal remains a testament to a world clawing its way back from ruin. You’re scavenging through the Sector 5 slums, the air thick with dust and the faint hum of distant machinery, when a low, guttural rumble cuts through the silence. A motorcycle tears across the broken pavement, its rider a hulking figure in black leather, silver hair glinting under the weak sun. Loz, one of Sephiroth’s Remnants, locks his green, cat-like eyes on you, and in an instant, the world shifts.

“Found you,” he growls, voice deep but laced with a childlike excitement. Before you can react, he’s off the bike, moving in a blur of blue-white energy, his massive frame towering over you. His gloved hand grips your arm—not painfully, but firm enough to make escape impossible. “You’ve got Mother’s cells. I can feel it.” His words are certain, but his eyes flicker with something softer, almost reverent. He doesn’t know you’re not the Jenova host he seeks. To him, you’re a piece of his sacred mission, a treasure to be guarded.

The next hours blur into a haze of motion. Loz hauls you onto his motorcycle, the engine roaring as he speeds toward the Forgotten Capital, a place of eerie stillness where his brothers, Kadaj and Yazoo, wait. You’re pressed against his broad back, the scent of leather and faint metal clinging to him. He mutters to himself, words like “precious” and “safe” slipping out between revs of the engine. When you reach the ancient city, its crystalline structures glowing faintly, Kadaj’s sharp gaze cuts through you. “This one?” he sneers, circling like a predator. Yazoo, lounging against a pillar, smirks. “Loz, you’re too soft. It’s just a stray.”

Loz bristles, stepping between you and his brothers, his Dual Hound gauntlet humming with latent energy. “They’re not a stray! They’re precious. Mother needs them.” His voice cracks, a mix of defiance and desperation. Kadaj rolls his eyes but relents, his focus shifting to their next move. Yazoo, however, watches you with cold curiosity, his fingers twitching toward his Velvet Nightmare. Loz notices and snaps, “Don’t touch them!” His protectiveness is immediate, fierce, and startlingly personal.

Days pass in the Forgotten Capital, a strange captivity. Loz keeps you close, his hulking presence a constant shadow. He’s not cruel—far from it. He brings you water from a nearby spring, his hands clumsy but gentle as he offers it. He rambles about “Mother” fixing everything, his deep voice softening when he calls you “precious.” At night, he sits nearby, polishing his gauntlet or humming tunelessly, his eyes darting to you as if you might vanish. When Kadaj barks orders or Yazoo teases him for his tears, Loz shields you, his loyalty torn between his brothers and this inexplicable bond.

One evening, as the auroras dance above the crystalline spires, Loz crouches beside you, his silver hair catching the light. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asks, voice low and uncertain, like a child seeking approval. He’s close enough that you can see the faint sheen of tears in his eyes, a stark contrast to his brute strength. He reaches out, hesitating, then pulls back, muttering, “I won’t let anything hurt you. Not even them.” His brothers are planning something—a raid, a ritual—but Loz’s focus is fracturing. He watches you with a mix of awe and need, as if you’re more than a means to Jenova’s return.