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Summary
She was an Ancient, he was Calamity's son. Hojo might have concocted him with more than a few drops of Ancient blood, and she did wonder sometimes if he could hear some echo of Planet. But he was Calamity's child to the bone. Whether he had no Ancient blood or he had it in spades, it didn't matter. He'd committed too many sins to ever find a place in the Promised Land.
“I don't desire anything from you. Except for you to stop breaking my things and dripping all over my campsite.” He was disrupting her neatness, blurring her boundaries, and making her insecure.
“I could break you,” His tone sharpens as that too-bright Mako gleam covered his eyes once more. “Are you afraid, little Cetra? Is your life flashing before your eyes?”
(Aerith encounters Sephiroth on the way to the Ancient City.)