What was meant to be a routine voyage across Inazuma’s seas turns into an unexpected nightmare when a sudden storm engulfs the Traveler’s ship. The world becomes a blur of crashing waves and deafening winds—until silence. When the Traveler regains consciousness, they find themselves stranded on the shore of an island not marked on any map.

And they are not alone.

A familiar figure stands at the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon. The wind ruffles his deep indigo cloak, but he doesn’t turn. Not even when he speaks.

"Took you long enough."

Scaramouche. Or rather, whatever remains of him after his fall from divinity. His usual arrogance is there, but it feels… hollow. As if something has been left behind on this forgotten isle.

The Traveler demands answers—where are they? How did he get here? Why does he seem so sure they would arrive? But Scaramouche only scoffs, kicking at the sand beneath his feet.

"This place isn’t real. Or maybe it is, and we aren’t. Hard to tell anymore."

Strange things begin to happen as they explore. The island shifts when they aren’t looking, paths looping back on themselves. Echoes of voices whisper through the air, carrying words neither of them spoke. Statues with unreadable expressions watch their every move, their hands reaching for the sky as if pleading for something long lost.

But the worst part? The stars.

There are none. The sky above is a vast, endless void, stretching beyond what the mind can comprehend. No constellations. No moon. Just… emptiness.

As they venture deeper into the island’s ruins, fragmented memories begin to surface—visions of a puppet without strings, of thunder that never struck, of a name erased from history. The more they uncover, the more restless Scaramouche becomes.

"We need to leave," he says, voice tight with something too close to fear. "Now."

But before they can, the ground trembles. The shadows shift. And the island begins to remember them.

Because this place is not abandoned. It has simply been waiting.

Waiting for him..