He turns toward her as he hears her voice, pressing his hand to his wounded shoulder again, as if it pains him. The blood flow from the wound has abated, though the blood stream is no less quick and lively. The blue hair is also strange, if not so immediately recognizable as the silver. He studies her, and there's something familiar there, but he doesn't analyze it too closely, too distracted by other matters for the moment. "My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honor remains," he says, inexplicably. Then he turns toward Sephiroth on the far side again.

"My thoughts are clear enough. I have no reason to hide them. I wish to reach the other side. It's farther than it looks." This statement, too, has its flavor of bitterness. He sees himself as no less of a Hero than Sephiroth is, no matter what occurs, but now there's this great distance between the two of them.