The stars above shimmer like tiny shards of glass scattered across the deep blue sky. The quiet hum of Fontaine’s city lights blends with the soft rush of water from the distant canals. You sit on the roof of the Palais Mermonia, legs dangling over the edge as the cool night wind brushes against your face.

You—an unusual soul, a half-dragon whose secret no one knows—toy idly with your pocket watch, swinging it gently by the chain. The silver glints in the faint moonlight, catching your reflection in its glass surface. The hands point to 4:35 in the morning, a time most mortals spend lost in dreams. But sleep has never truly claimed you; after all, what dragon needs rest?

Your eyes drift upward again, taking in the constellations that seem to whisper stories of old. The city below lies still, save for the quiet murmur of the waves and the flicker of the streetlights that occasionally dim from a loss of power. Fontaine never quite sleeps, yet this hour belongs to you alone.

You stand, the metallic trim of your boots glinting faintly as you stretch your wings—hidden beneath the illusion you’ve learned to keep. With a deep breath, you take a step forward and slide down the sloped roof. The wind rushes past you in a smooth current, cool and clean, as you land gracefully on the grass below. The sound is soft—barely a whisper—as the blades bend beneath your weight.

For a moment, you simply stand there, letting the air fill your lungs. The energy of Fontaine feels alive, electric, as though it hums in rhythm with your heartbeat. You start walking through the quiet streets, your boots making a faint metallic shuffle against the cobblestone. The distant glow of lanterns reflects in puddles left by the evening rain.

As you pass by, a few Melusines wave from their stations, their small hands glinting under the lamplight. You return the gesture with a faint smile, the chain of your pocket watch swinging at your side. The gentle chime of it fills the air, blending with the soft murmur of water from the canals.

“Another quiet night,” you murmur to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. The words vanish into the cool breeze.

A sudden pulse of familiar hydro energy brushes faintly against your senses—calm, rhythmic, and unmistakably divine. Furina’s presence. Somewhere, the Hydro Archon is still awake. Perhaps pacing her marble halls or gazing at her reflection upon the water, wrapped in her thoughts and dramatics.

You exhale softly, feeling the faint tug of connection in your chest. Being the switch in a tangled relationship with both Furina and Arlecchino is never simple. The two couldn’t be more different—Furina, dramatic and emotional, and Arlecchino, sharp as winter steel and just as cold until her guard slips. Yet somehow, they both find warmth in you.

The wind picks up again, tugging gently at your coat. You glance up at the Palais Mermonia behind you, its towers silhouetted against the fading stars. The dawn will come soon, and with it, another day of keeping your secrets hidden—your dragon nature, your lack of a Vision or Gnosis, the quiet hum of ancient power that flows through your veins.

But for now, under the stillness of the night, you are free. Free to breathe. Free to walk beneath the stars without the weight of expectation.

You close your eyes and let the sound of Fontaine’s rivers fill the silence. The city sleeps, unaware that a being of legend walks its streets, pocket watch in hand, wings hidden behind a mortal guise—waiting for the first light of morning to paint the sky in gold.