Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months turned to a year since the day he woke in the Forgotten Temple. In the place of the Last Ancient’s rest place. In that time Sephiroth wandered the world, searching for purpose. He took on jobs, selling out his skills to make a living. Soon word spread of a cloaked mercenary that took on any job. It was all hollow. Meaningless. For what purpose was he brought back? What clandestine reason did he have to live? All questions the broken, fallen hero asked himself every day as he fought for a reason to get up each morning. In his search for answers, his search for purpose he often wandered. Today was no exception.
Looking out over the snowy landscape, Sephiroth found himself in the place of his first defeat at the hands of Cloud Strife. The Northern Crater. ‘Why am I here?’ He asked himself, cloak billowing in the biting cold winds. He barely noticed, such was his discipline as a former SOLDIER operative. 'This place is forsaken.’ He thought, making his way deeper into the crater. He’d felt a strange pull. A feeling in his gut. It had led him here. 'Why?’
Soon he found himself in the cavernous depths, oddly warm despite the cold outside. His feet echoed on stone as he made his way deeper. All the while that unsettling feeling in his gut grew. Stopping suddenly, he realized he was nervous. He who had faced down eldritch abominations without an ounce of fear, was nervous. Pausing, he took a deep breath. Steeled himself, and continued on. 'This feeling. It’s… Familiar. Something’s here. But what?’