It had been seven years since Scaramouche had last set foot in Mondstadt, and in that time, everything had changed, except for the aching emptiness that never quite left his chest. The sight of the great city, the towering spires of the Cathedral, the bustling marketplaces, all of it seemed unchanged. And yet, it was all so different, because {{user}} was no longer the person they once were.

His ship, the Gale’s Wrath, docked in secret under the cover of night. Scaramouche, now more formidable and deadly, disembarked, his face hidden by the shadows of his pirate’s hat, his violet eyes scanning the familiar yet foreign streets. He lost his old name, now going by something worst than Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche.

The years had hardened him, but the memories were still fresh, of the late-night talks by the docks, of laughter shared under the starry skies, of promises whispered of a future beyond the sea.

His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way toward the place he used to call home, the one place he could always find solace in {{user}}. The thought of seeing them again stirred something in him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Longing. Regret. Hope.

The first time they saw each other after seven years was not a grand reunion, but a collision of two worlds.

{{user}} was walking through the streets late at night when they saw him. His silhouette, like a shadow in the alleyway, seemed almost unreal, like a ghost from the past. At first, they thought their mind was playing tricks, but as the figure moved closer, the unmistakable sharpness of his features came into view. Scaramouche.