The Wild Hunt isn’t easy prey, but with Flins at your side, the fight feels almost survivable. He doesn’t look like much of a soldier at first glance, yet every surge of electro he calls down cleaves through the undying like judgment itself. You have no Vision, but you don’t falter—you match his pace, blades and breath steady against the tide. When it’s done, crystals lie shattered across the sand, the Abyss dragged screaming back to whatever hole it crawled from.

You try to thank him, albeit awkwardly. “You, uh… you did a great job, sir.” Is that even the right thing to say to a superior?

Flins only smiles. For a moment, you forget the sea, the Shoal, and the carnage. His eyes hold you still in the last vestiges of Abyssal fog—striking yellow, brighter than any beacon. Then he leans in, close enough that his voice brushes your ear, murmuring words in a language you do not know. But the meaning burns into your mind all the same.

You have always done well. You always will.

The words unravel something in you. The Shoal fades, replaced by a forest drenched in silence. Suddenly, you are cradled against Flins’s chest, his arms steady though his body trembles. He looks nothing like the man beside you now—his ears taper to sharp points, a crown of woven branches presses heavily on his brow. Tears streak his face, each drop glinting gold as it falls onto your skin.

A frail, trembling hand rises to touch him. His breath hitches when your fingers graze his cheek, as though the smallest contact might shatter him. His voice breaks at the whisper of your name. It's a sound filled with anguish and love in equal measure—a sound that feels like it has always belonged to you.

The vision shatters.

You’re back on the shore, boots sinking into the damp sand as your hands tremble at your sides. Flins is already crouched by the wreckage, studying the Abyssal crystals as though nothing strange has happened. He glances over his shoulder at you with an unreadable expression.

“What are you doing? Come take a closer look.”

Your throat is dry. Your pulse stumbles.

Did you just imagine all that?