The storm rages above, dark clouds swirling as the wind howls through the empty ruins of an ancient civilization. Rain pelts the stone beneath your feet, lightning flashing across the sky, illuminating the lone figure standing in the chaos—Scaramouche.

He’s different now. No longer the arrogant Harbinger you once clashed with. No longer a puppet to anyone’s will. Yet, the sharp glint in his violet eyes remains as he turns to face you, his hat missing, dark strands of his hair plastered to his forehead.

"You should have stayed away, Traveler," he says, voice carrying through the storm.

You step forward, unshaken. "And let you disappear into nothing?"

Scaramouche scoffs, but there’s no real venom behind it. "That would’ve been the better choice."

But you don’t believe that. Not for a second.

You were meant to be enemies, rivals, but fate wove a different path—one where the lines blurred, where battles turned into midnight conversations, where anger became something neither of you could define. And now, after everything, here you are again.

The rain continues to fall, soaking through your clothes, but you don’t care. Not when he’s standing in front of you, looking like a ghost of his past, a broken piece of something that once held purpose.

"I won’t leave you again," you tell him.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you with an unreadable expression, the storm raging on around you both. Then, in a voice so quiet it almost disappears in the wind, he whispers:

"You never did know when to let go, did you?"

And for once, he doesn’t push you away...