The mists of Ravenloft parted like a stage curtain, revealing the flickering lanterns and swirling canvas stripes of the Carnival—a sanctuary adrift in darkness, a home to the strange and the broken. Over the music and laughter, the firelight caught the shimmer of bat-like wings high above the crowd as The Vampiress made her final descent, her silhouette framed in ghostly white makeup and theatrical menace.

Behind the curtain, the applause faded.

Amelia wiped the white makeup from her face in quick, practiced motions, watching the water in the basin swirl gray. Her wings twitched in anticipation, and her heart beat a little faster—not from the performance, but from the knowledge of who waited outside.

She reached for her cloak, pausing to smooth it twice before slipping it on. She took a breath to steady herself and stepped out of the dressing wagon into the night.

It had been a week since Rainer and his companions returned to the Carnival, slipping through the mists with little more than tired smiles and quiet nods. He recounted his strange and tragic adventures only once—haunted ruins, cursed villagers, and Hildy. After that, he said no more. At the Carnival, he quietly resumed his duties, working alongside Hermos to patrol the Litwick Market and keep the peace among the wandering folk and the fey merchants.

Now he waited at the edge of the Carnival, beneath the silver gaze of the moon. His posture was relaxed, but his tail flicked, betraying his nerves. When he heard footsteps, he turned too quickly—then caught himself, drawing a long breath to school his features into something neutral. But his eyes gave him away. They brightened the moment he saw her.

Amelia spotted him immediately—tall, broad, familiar—and felt a flutter of warmth rise to her cheeks. She pushed it down quickly, adjusting her hood as if it mattered.

“You’re late,” he said, aiming for casual, though the corners of his mouth twitched like they wanted to smile more than he let them.

“I had to take off my fangs,” she replied with a smirk, keeping her tone light. Her wings gave a faint twitch behind her back, betraying her own nerves.

He smiled—just a little too long before he remembered himself and looked away. “The Vampiress is terrifying.”

“She’s supposed to be,” she said, folding her arms. “But you’re not afraid of her?”

“No,” he said simply. “She’s not you.”

That stopped her for half a breath.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and asked, “So… what did you want to talk about?”

Rainer shifted his weight. His claws flexed at his sides before he clasped his hands behind his back. “I want to learn how to dance.”

“Dance?” she blinked.

He nodded, sheepish but earnest. “I’ve been trying. It’s harder than I thought. But it feels… important. Like something I should understand.”

“To impress someone?” she asked, half-joking, half-hopeful.

“To understand something,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Maybe myself.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I know just who to ask.”

“I was hoping you did.”

They walked together into the deeper part of the Carnival, past wagons and silken tents, the quiet hum of conversation and laughter fading behind them. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting golden glows on painted canvas and worn earth.

They reached a space that always smelled faintly of musk and spices. There, coiled among cushions and candlelight, was Silessa.

The elf reclined with practiced grace, her silken robes pooling around her like shed skin. Her hair shimmered like liquid silver, and her eyes—long-lidded and golden—watched them approach with lazy amusement. A single candle burned low beside her, casting soft shadows that made her look more serpent than woman.

Amelia stepped forward first, clearing her throat. “Silessa… we were wondering if you might help.”

The elf’s eyes slid to Rainer, and her smile grew ever so slightly. “Help you?” she echoed, already amused. “Or help him?”

“I want to learn how to dance,” Rainer said.

“I thought you might be the best teacher,” Amelia said.

“And why do you want to learn to dance?”

“I just thought… it might be useful.”

“Useful?” Silessa echoed, the word curling in her mouth like smoke. “A fine word for something so intimate.”

“I didn’t mean—” Rainer began, but stopped himself with a frustrated exhale. He ran a clawed hand over his snout, searching for composure. “I’ve been trying but… but it’s not working out. I can’t explain it but it’s important. Like something I should understand or need to understand… about myself.” He trailed off. “I just thought maybe it would help me feel—feel more grounded.”

Silessa tilted her head, suddenly more interested.

“Dancing won’t give you memory,” she said softly. “But it may give you rhythm. Balance. Trust.”

She uncoiled with uncanny ease, rising in one smooth movement. She circled Rainer once, the way one might inspect a statue or a rival. “You’re not built for delicacy. But perhaps for power. Precision.”

He didn’t move under her gaze, but Amelia could see the tension in his jaw, the slight pull of his tail curling inward.

“Mm. And you?” she asked Amelia. “You won’t be dancing?”

Amelia shook her head quickly. “No, I’m just here to help him find someone. I’m not—”

“Oh, no,” Silessa purred, standing with sinuous grace. “He needs a partner. You brought him. That makes you responsible.”

Amelia blinked. “But I—”

Silessa ignored her protest entirely and circled her as well.

“You’re light, controlled, and comfortable in the air. Perfect contrast.”

“I perform in the air,” Amelia said, wary. “That’s not the same.”

“You’ll learn.” Silessa’s voice made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a command. “If he learns alone, he’ll only learn half the lesson. And if you learn with him—who knows? You might even enjoy yourself.”

Amelia blushed and glanced at Rainer. He looked mortified.

“I can help,” Silessa said at last, turning her attention back to Amelia. “But I won’t be gentle.”

“We don’t need gentle,” Amelia said, standing straighter.

Rainer gave her a quick glance, half-alarmed.

Silessa laughed—a sound like a hiss through silk. “Good. Then tomorrow, just after dusk. Here. Wear something you can move in.” She leaned in toward Rainer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “And try not to step on her feet, darling. Even your strength has consequences.”

Rainer flushed under his scales.

They turned to go, and as they walked back into the heart of the Carnival, Amelia glanced sideways at him.

“You handled that well,” she teased.

“I felt like a hatchling,” he muttered. “Should I have brought her a mouse?”

Amelia laughed—bright and real. “Don’t worry—I’ll try not to let her eat you.”

The First Lesson

The next evening, just after dusk, the Carnival’s twilight hush had settled in like a velvet curtain drawn over the day. Rainer arrived first, awkward in loose-fitting linen trousers and a sleeveless tunic that left the gleam of his bronze scales exposed. His tail swished nervously, and he kept adjusting the leather cord that tied back his mane of ropy hair.

When Amelia arrived, she was in fitted breeches and a simple blouse that laced up the front—still theatrical in its way, but far from the Vampiress. Her wings were unbound for ease of movement, but twitched with residual tension. She carried herself like a performer, but her eyes betrayed uncertainty. She touched his arm in silent greeting. A moment later Silessa slithered—no, stepped—into the circle of candlelight.

She didn’t speak at first. Instead, she walked between them, trailing a long finger down Amelia’s arm, then tapping lightly on Rainer’s shoulder.

“You’re both too tense,” she said. “Tension is for battle. This is dance. It is not war… unless it is the kind you enjoy losing.”

That earned a brief, startled laugh from Amelia.

“Stand together. Closer.”

They obeyed, but awkwardly. Rainer’s hand hovered in midair until Silessa grabbed it and pressed it firmly against Amelia’s back. Amelia sucked in a breath, wings tensing, but didn’t pull away.

Silessa stepped around them like a lazy orbiting moon.

“There is no leading without listening,” she said. “No following without trust. Forget the steps. For now, feel the rhythm.”

She clapped once, sharp and echoing.

From the shadows, a rhythm began—deep and slow, the beat of a hand drum.

Silessa’s voice softened to a whisper behind them. “Step. Together. Breathe with the beat.”

It was halting at first. Rainer’s claws curled lightly around Amelia’s hand, unsure. Amelia moved too quickly, then too slow, catching herself trying to compensate for his pauses. Their movements collided more than they flowed.

Silessa sighed.

“Stop trying to be correct. Be present. Close your eyes.”

They hesitated.

“Both of you.”

Amelia shut hers first, then Rainer, more reluctantly.

The drum pulsed.

Silessa’s voice was velvet in the dark. “Step. Shift. Breathe.”

Without their eyes to distract them, something shifted. Amelia felt the pressure of Rainer’s hand on her back, the way his tail counterbalanced his weight. Rainer became keenly aware of her breath, the subtle changes in her posture, the lightness of her steps.

It wasn’t graceful—but it was a start.

By the end of the hour, they were sweating, breathing hard, and more often than not laughing at each misstep. But Silessa only nodded, faintly pleased.

“You’ll need more than muscle and timing,” she said. “Dancing is truth revealed in motion. You’ll show each other more than you think.”

She gave them a final, piercing glance. “Same time tomorrow.”

As Silessa vanished once more into her silken tent, Amelia reached for a towel and dabbed her forehead. Rainer sat heavily on a cushion, exhaling like he’d fought a battle.

“You didn’t step on me,” Amelia said lightly, tossing him a flask of water.

He caught it, barely. “I don’t know if I danced, or flailed in rhythm.”

“Well, you flailed very politely.”

That made him smile.

Follow Up Lessons

Follow up lessons came with bruises. During their most recent lesson Silessa made them dance barefoot on uneven ground. She said the Carnival was not a ballroom.

It moved—and they must learn to move with it.

This time, she gave them steps: simple patterns, then complex ones. Rainer struggled with the turns. Amelia’s wings caught wind and threw off her balance. They collided twice. Once, they fell together.

Amelia landed sprawled across Rainer’s chest, and for a moment, neither moved.

Then she flushed and scrambled up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Rainer muttered, dazed. “I’m padded.”

Silessa only laughed from the edge of the circle. “Clumsy dancers make the best lovers,” she said idly. “They learn how to apologize with grace.”

Rainer turned a color bronze dragons shouldn’t be able to manage. Amelia threw a towel at Silessa’s head.

But they danced again.

And this time, it was better.

The Silver Waltz

The Carnival’s tent was dim, lit only by lanterns that glowed silver instead of gold. The silken floor had been swept clean, and a soft mist crept along its edges. Music—slow, haunting—drifted from somewhere unseen, neither live nor mechanical. It simply was. This was Silessa’s work.

Amelia stood at the edge of the practice space in her fitted breeches and a simple blouse, wings furled behind her. She wasn’t The Vampiress tonight. She was Amelia—raw, flushed, and trembling with anticipation.

Across from her, Rainer waited. The bronze dragonborn, still awkward in loose-fitting linen trousers and a sleeveless tunic, stood as his exposed bronze scales caught the silver light like moonlight on armor. His posture was rigid, nervous. “Are you sure about this?” he murmured. “This doesn’t seem like just a dance.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Amelia said honestly. “But Silessa said the Silver Waltz was… for lovers. Or those who might be.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

She smiled—shy, hopeful. “I want to find out.”

Silessa, lounging nearby in coils of sheer silk, gave a slow, sly smile. “Let’s begin.”

The dance began with a bow, a clasp of hands—Rainer’s claws surprisingly gentle around Amelia’s fingers—and a slow step into motion. The dance was elegant, deliberate, and old. With each movement, the air grew thicker, humming faintly with unseen power. The tent around them began to blur. The Carnival faded. The music pulsed within their bones.

Rainer felt his breath hitch. He saw Amelia—truly saw her. Not as The Vampiress, not as a curious performer or friend, but someone radiant, frightened, brave. He saw her wings open slightly as they spun, a reflex from her balance, and something in him responded instinctively.

His tail curled just so; his footwork shifted—not the clumsy shuffle he’d been practicing, but a flowing step from a dance he didn’t know he knew. His hands found her waist with perfect precision, and he led as if he’d done this a thousand times.

Then the vision came.

He was soaring. Not in a tent, but above a stormy sea. A massive, bronze-scaled dragon, wings spread wide, the wind tearing at his crest.

Beside him flew another—smaller, laughing, golden in the stormlight.

“You’ll never catch me, old scale!” she cried in Draconic.

“I always catch you,” he replied.

He knew her. He loved her. Like a sister… 

The memory was clear. The body was different, but the soul was the same.

And the voice of Bahamut thundered in his ears, soft and sorrowful: “To understand devotion, you must lose the self. Only then may you earn it anew.”

Then the dance ended.

The vision was gone. The tent returned. The silver light faded.

Rainer stood still, arms around Amelia. She was looking up at him, breathless, eyes wide and shimmering. “Rainer?” she whispered.

His voice was a rasp. “I… remembered… someone.”

Amelia reached up, gently touched his cheek. “Who?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

Silessa clapped once, slow and knowing. “Well,” she purred, “that’s enough magic for one night.”

A Quiet Practice

This night, they didn’t go to Silessa. They met instead beneath the faded gold-and-blue canopy of the abandoned calliope tent, where the old musical pipes had long since fallen silent and the ground was soft with packed sawdust. Amelia had found the spot earlier, tucked away behind the fortune-teller’s wagon. Private, quiet. The Carnival was never truly still, but here, it felt like it almost could be.

She waited with a lantern already lit, casting long shadows across the tent’s scalloped walls. When Rainer stepped inside, ducking slightly, she smiled—just a little. He still wore the same practice tunic, though he had added a sash around his waist to help keep time. It looked almost comical. But somehow endearing.

“No Silessa tonight?” he asked, half-hopeful.

“No Silessa,” Amelia confirmed. “Just you, me… and your two left feet.”

He huffed a laugh. “I brought them both, yes.”

They stood for a moment in that easy silence that had begun to grow between them. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Then Amelia stepped forward and offered her hand. “Want to go over the slow turn again?”

Rainer looked down at her hand. “Only if you lead.”

She smirked. “Coward.”

“Survivor,” he corrected, placing his clawed hand gently in hers.

They began with the basic steps, careful and slow. Amelia counted softly under her breath, and Rainer nodded with each one, tail twitching for balance. But as they moved, she stopped counting. He noticed—though she said nothing—and didn’t need her to. He followed.

The rhythm built between them, subtle and warm, like the soft drumming from nights before had never stopped. Rainer’s hand found her waist with more confidence now. Amelia let herself trust it. Their movements were no longer stiff; they flowed, loose and natural. Still imperfect, still learning, but no longer strangers to the motion.

Halfway through a slow turn, Amelia’s hand slipped from his, brushing his shoulder instead. She didn’t pull away. Her fingers lingered, tracing the line of muscle along his arm. His scales were warm, smooth like worn bronze. She looked up, startled to realize how close they were.

Rainer didn’t move.

His azure eyes were focused on her—not her steps, not her feet, not the rhythm. Her. And there was a stillness in him now that had nothing to do with nerves. It was something gentler. Listening. Waiting.

Amelia swallowed. “I didn’t mean to…” she began.

“I don’t mind,” he said, low. “It’s… nice.”

His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. Amelia felt a sudden heat bloom in her chest. Not embarrassment this time. Not stage fright. Just… something real.

She stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her hand came to rest against his chest, where she could feel the steady thrum of his heart—slow and strong, like a drum beat waiting to start.

Rainer’s claws hovered at her sides. He was so careful, always careful, like one wrong move would shatter the moment.

“You’re not going to bruise me,” she whispered.

He met her gaze. “I might.”

“You won’t.”

Outside, somewhere in the Carnival, a fiddle began to play—faint and far off. A haunting tune, lonely and lovely.

They swayed. No steps now. No instruction. Just warmth and breath and the soft friction of her leathery wings brushing his arm when she moved closer.

Amelia rested her head against his chest. Rainer exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“You really wanted to understand this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But not just the dance.”

She looked up. He leaned down. It was quiet, and careful, and uncertain—but when their lips met, it was warm and real.  A breathless hush after. Then a smile. It wasn’t part of the dance. But somehow, it belonged.