[Sephiroth feels it, too, like the rest of the Summoned. A wrongness, manifesting in ways that seem different for everyone, but persistent — whispers, in his case. Darkly pervasive things, needling into his mind, asking him if that’s how he’ll leave Nibelheim in a future that has not come to pass: its villagers cut to pieces, writhing and slowly bleeding into the ground, like the undead he leaves coldly behind him.
He hears them now, even as he steps into the abandoned manor, coiling around his thoughts like a serpent. Yet he ignores it, tells himself they will pass like all things wrought by the Singularity, and tries to drag his focus to the forefront. There are footsteps echoing distantly against the dull wood of the floor, hurried and almost-scrambling. This needs his attention, first and foremost — especially if Ciri’s in here. He’s almost certain his eyes weren’t fooling him.]
Ciri? [He calls out again, a little louder, trailing towards the sound. His own footsteps are even, heavy thuds on the floor. He has no reason to hide his presence here.]
no subject
He hears them now, even as he steps into the abandoned manor, coiling around his thoughts like a serpent. Yet he ignores it, tells himself they will pass like all things wrought by the Singularity, and tries to drag his focus to the forefront. There are footsteps echoing distantly against the dull wood of the floor, hurried and almost-scrambling. This needs his attention, first and foremost — especially if Ciri’s in here. He’s almost certain his eyes weren’t fooling him.]
Ciri? [He calls out again, a little louder, trailing towards the sound. His own footsteps are even, heavy thuds on the floor. He has no reason to hide his presence here.]