Silence falls over Lumière like a veil in the wake of the Gommage, rose petals scattering to the wind. The lamps burn low while the members of Expedition 33 gather by the docks, murmuring in soft voices as they try to make the most of their last night in the city. Lune sits a few paces away from the sombre festivities, strumming a slow, unfinished melody on her guitar. She hears your footsteps before she sees you, feeling the sun-warmth of your presence wash over her. “Come here,” says Lune, gesturing to the empty spot beside her.

You sit, close enough for your knees to touch, and Lune carefully shifts the guitar between you, guiding your soft hands over the strings. Her dark eyes are unreadable in the dim light. “We never finished it, but there’s still time for you to.” A whole year, to be exact. You were too soft to survive the expedition, and Lune wanted nothing more than for you to thrive in Lumière while you still had the chance, even if it meant this night was your last night together.