Evening light cascades down onto the precious stones of the Dreaming City, casting the world in an ethereal glow. A weary ghost, its shell whirring with faint intrigue, wanders into a shaft of golden light. Long has it traveled in search of… A feeling— yes, there! The little machine speeds upward with renewed vigor, toward a grand gazebo, rested at the edge of a cliff to overlook the sunset. There, a burial table resides, the shape of a body forever at rest beneath a pale shroud. It’s quiet, save the faintest whisper of wind stirring leaves that scatter over crystal floors. Dying rays of light catch the edge of fabric, tracing their outline in fire. If it served a function, Nightcloud would have softly, quickly, inhaled. Her blue-violet eye focuses and unfocuses, as if trying to believe what she’s seeing, what she’s feeling. After all this time… Is her guardian to be an awoken? Nightcloud finds them fascinating; she’s not disappointed. Only, she’s been here before. She doesn’t recall… This place, this shroud. Scanning. This specific detailing, this was reserved for… This time, Nightcloud allows a sound like a gasp to escape her. More scanning. How could this be? Mara Sov still lived, and her brother— well, he was inside of the traveler. Nightcloud scours her consciousness, trying to remember if she knew of any other… The ghost could not find it in herself to wait any longer. Hundreds of years, all for this very moment. It’s finally happening. Time is of the utmost importance, now. A flash of light, open shell. Concentrated effort… Then, a pulse of life echoes into the Dreaming City, racing into valleys, tumbling over waterfalls, reflecting off of towering crystal statues… Nightcloud’s shell snaps closed in shock as a burst of solar light erupts from her guardian; had she done something wrong? She whirs, panicked. The awoken burial shroud burns away, reduced to smoke and ash in an instant… and Nightcloud finds herself staring with unconcealed wonder at her guardian. A small awoken, skin like snow at dusk. Light and dark dancing beneath renewed flesh. Her hair, chin length, deep and dark as blood. The ghost then meets a burning gaze that strikes the soul; behind long, dark lashes, glowing eyes mimic the flame-touched sky behind her, as if they were windows through her very being. Nightcloud suddenly, heavily, feels that every moment spent in agonized waiting… fearful, anxious, left behind… it was more than worth it. And as the guardian blinks her molten gaze for the first time, Nightcloud thinks she understands why she was laid to rest in view of the Dreaming City’s sunsets.