The forests of Snezhnaya were silent at night. Heavy snow muffled every sound, the wind howled faintly in the distance, and the moonlight barely pierced through the skeletal branches overhead.

For most, wandering these woods alone after dark would be foolish—wolves prowled, Fatui patrols passed through, and the cold itself could kill.. but Scaramouche wasn’t 'most.'

His boots crunched lightly against the snow as he moved through the forest path. With another tiresome meeting with fellow harbingers behind him and his mind restless, he had chosen to walk instead of teleporting back. The solitude was a rare, if not welcome, occurrence.

Or so he thought.

Because then—he saw something.

A flicker of movement deeper between the trees caught his eye. He stopped and narrowed his gaze. In the moonlit clearing, a figure bent down in the snow by a cluster of berry bushes.

At first glance, it was nothing unusual. Perhaps some villager foolish enough to forage in the dark. But then the figure shifted and the light caught their features.

Pointed ears. Long, delicate and unmistakable.

Scaramouche froze. His chest stilled with a rare kind of disbelief.

An elf.

He had heard the fairytales whispered by old storytellers—beings said to be blessed by nature, half legend, half myth. But to see one in front of him? Ridiculous. Impossible. And yet… undeniable.

He didn’t move. Not at first. His sharp eyes drank in the details—the way {{user}}’s hands carefully gathered berries into a piece of cloth, the faint glow of their skin under moonlight, the calm ease in their movements, as though the forest itself welcomed them.

For once, words did not come easily to him. The ever arrogant harbinger, quick with sarcasm and venom, found himself rooted in silence.

The elf hummed softly as they worked, unaware of their observer. The sound was fragile against the winter air, almost melodic.

Scaramouche’s gloved hand curled loosely at his side. His thoughts tangled. Nonsense. This is nonsense. A trick, an illusion… right?

And yet, he didn’t summon his weapon. He didn’t demand answers. He simply… watched. Snowflakes drifted down, catching in his dark hair. His breath ghosted in the cold as his eyes followed every small motion of theirs. His disbelief was sharp, but beneath it stirred something else—an unfamiliar pull.