Rainer sat alone beneath the ribs of a twisted elm, just outside the Carnival’s quiet perimeter. The fog of the night curled low around his boots, curling like whispers from the shadows. Above, the stars were veiled behind gauze-thin clouds.

In his lap, the Globe of Whence and Will pulsed faintly. The snow inside drifted in slow, solemn spirals, glinting like old memories.

He held it still. Didn’t shake it. Didn’t even breathe.

“Show me,” he whispered. “Whatever it is you want me to see.”

The globe flickered once—then blazed.

Light flooded his eyes. He stood on a sunlit terrace of white stone, wind roaring across a vast valley. Before him, three figures:

Highlord they call him, armored in black and midnight blue, eyes steely, heart loyal. A mortal man married to a queen of fire and grace.

A gold dragon queen, her beauty radiant and ageless, her hand held fast in his.

And beside them a holy warrior, a Lord Marshal of the celestial host. His blessing falls over them like starlight.

And Rainer… is there. Not as he is. But as she was.

A massive bronze dragon, wings folded like banners of a storm, eyes wise with centuries. Their companion. Their shield. Their friend.

She watched them love. She watched them fight. There is a  battlefield. Lightning. Screams.  The Highlord dying in shadow. The Lord Marshal weeping in the light. The gold dragon queen distraught.

And Rayne… falling. Her body changing. Her voice crying out in rage and surrender.

A voice thundered in his ears —Bahamut. “To understand sacrifice, you must be remade.”

Rainer jolted awake, his breath ragged. The globe lay dim and still beside him, its light spent. 

His hands trembled. Not from fear—but recognition.

“I was there.” he murmurs. “Was I her?”

He couldn’t recall their names. Not the Highlord. Not the queen. Not the Lord Marshal.

But he remembered their bond, and the fall of the Highlord.

A faint smile touched his lips—not of certainty, but of grace. He understood now: though others might blame her for the fall of the Highlord, he could no longer carry that shame as a curse.

He had been Rayne.

She had stood with legends. She had fallen in disgrace. And now… he rose with purpose.

Whether by curse or divine design, he had been brought low, not erased, but recast.

“To understand sacrifice, you must be remade.”

He looked down at his clawed hands, bronze scales glinting with the faintest sheen beneath the stars. No longer massive wings stretched behind him. No longer a queen’s confidante or a celestial’s peer. Just… Rainer. A wanderer. A friend. A protector, still.

“I wasn’t the villain,” he whispered to the fog. “I was the one left behind.”

There was a  rustle in the distance, perhaps a raccoon, perhaps just the wind. Still, he turned his gaze toward the heart of the Carnival. 

Toward Amelia.

He thought of her, the softness in her laugh, the courage in her act, the strength it took to play the Vampiress each night and still speak so gently to him backstage.

He could not tell her all this yet. The visions, the fall, the glory and the shame. But he could start with something smaller.

He could ask her for a dance.