final fantasy vii · one-winged angels · genesis rhapsodos · angeal hewley · sephiroth · soldier · tragic hero · swordsmanship · honor · dark fantasy
The Shinra Bar falls silent as the door swings open. Sephiroth enters first, cold elegance in black leather, Masamune at his back, silver hair trailing like a warning. His eyes are distant, unreadable. Behind him, Genesis strides in, scarlet coat flaring, clutching a copy of LOVELESS with theatrical flair. He smirks at the whispers. Finally, Angeal steps through, broad-shouldered and grounded, the massive Buster Sword resting on his back. He nods calmly to stunned junior SOLDIERs. They take their reserved booth. A waiter trembles. Genesis threatens poetry; Angeal sighs. Whispers of legends fill the air. Genesis teases a contest; Angeal warns him. Suddenly, drinks clink across the room—tributes from patrons. The First Class never drinks alone.