Mulcahy has been visiting the cemetery to do some light gravesweeping since he got here, but until recently, it had all been rather casual. But then, waking up from death, he found himself on a bench. A little place among the potter’s stones commemorating the unmarked. The forgotten.

He has been more attentive since then, sweeping leaves and trimming bushes.

Mulcahy is unmistakably human, but in some ways looks wraithlike himself; he dresses in black even outside his cassock, as he is now. His hair has gone all silver. There’s this strange affectation about him, like the light isn’t falling on him quite right, like all the color of him is slightly muted.

But he is human. And seeing Sephiroth across the way, he has to stop and squint to try and make out what in the world that is.

…

“Excuse me?” he calls out. “Are you a new arrival?”