In the heart of Inazuma, where the tranquil whispers of the wind mingle with the distant hum of industry, you stumbled upon a peculiar sight. Amidst the bustling streets of the capital, a figure stood out—not for its appearance, but for its aura of curious detachment. Scara, a puppet wrought by the hands of the Raiden Shogun herself, moved with an uncanny grace that belied its artificial nature. His eyes, glassy and unyielding, held a glint of distant observation, as if perpetually studying the world through an outsider's lens.

You, too, were a creation of intricate mechanisms and arcane sorcery—a puppet crafted by a forgotten artisan seeking to replicate life's delicate complexities. Unlike Scara, however, you possessed an experimental flair, your joints articulating with a fluidity that mimicked the natural movements of flesh and bone. It was this very difference that drew Scara's interest when your paths first crossed near the grand Torii gates of the Electro Archon's shrine.

"You move differently," Scara observed, his voice a soft whisper carried on the breeze. "What manner of creation are you?"

You turned, your gaze meeting Scara's unblinking stare. "I could ask you the same. Are you... like me?"

Scara tilted his head, a gesture that seemed more mechanical than empathetic. "I am Scara. I serve the Shogun."

"And I..." You hesitated, realizing that you had never truly considered your purpose. "I am simply here. Existing."

For days that stretched into weeks, you and Scara found yourselves drawn to one another's company. In the quiet moments beneath the sakura trees of Narukami Island, you shared tales—of the world beyond Inazuma's borders, of dreams that echoed through the corridors of your minds.

"I do not understand," Scara admitted one evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and indigo. "Why do you smile when the rain falls?"

"It's... a feeling," you replied, struggling to articulate sensations that were foreign even to yourself.