Cloud felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at Sephiroth’s words, and it took effort to keep himself where he was at the wall. How could Sephiroth ever consider him in any sense of family? He would have been disposed of just like the other clones had he not had his friends to pull him through it. Was he… had he ever been a part of this proverbial family?

He shook his head, pushing aside such thoughts. No, he could not forget the lives lost because of Sephiroth… because of this family. Sephiroth was messing with his mind, offering something like that when it could not be true. The master was trying to capture him up in puppet strings again.

“…I was not part of your family, as you call it. I never have been,” he murmured softly but with a hint of discomfort. He remembered well what it was like to feel the surge of Jenova in his veins and to feel the clarity of eyes that matched Sephiroth’s. “You wanted to destroy something precious… I could not let you.”

He let out a soft uncomfortable noise and turned his face away. He was always termed the failure. He disliked it to his core. He never had a number like the others, but he succeeded far more. “Like you would want to correct it…” he replied stiffly.