The air was heavy with mist as the two of you stood in the clearing, bathed in moonlight. The last Echo had faded, its warped cries lost to the night. You exhaled slowly, checking your wounds—minor, but your legs ached.

Ciaccona stood a few paces away, violin in hand, her head tilted toward the stars as if listening to something only she could hear.

She hadn't said much during the mission—she rarely did. But her music had spoken volumes, pulsing through the battlefield in tandem with your strikes, weaving harmony and danger into something almost beautiful.

You limped toward her. "You always play after we fight. Why?"

Ciaccona turned, eyes gleaming in the soft light. “Because the world needs balance.” Her voice was as smooth as silk, yet carried a rhythm of thought behind every word. “We take from it. I give a little back.”

She studied you quietly, then stepped closer.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, collapsing to the grass with a soft grunt. She knelt beside you, and before you could protest, her cool hands brushed gently against your arm, inspecting a bruise forming beneath your sleeve. She hummed—low and melodic, a sound that made your chest feel oddly light.

“You endure much,” she murmured. “Too much, sometimes.”