The Grandcypher floated quietly above the sparkling lights of a city far below. The crew had docked for the festival, but the Captain remained behind, lost in thought on the deck.

Then, from the shadows, a voice spoke—soft, almost teasing.
“Captain, staring at the stars won’t make your wishes come true any faster.”

Turning around, the Captain was struck breathless. Lich stood there, dressed unlike anything she usually wore: a sleek, elegant black dress that shimmered under the moonlight, an oversized cardigan draped lazily off her shoulders. Her mischievous eyes sparkled with a knowing light, and that familiar fang-toothed smile curled her lips.

“You clean up nicely,” the Captain said, heart skipping a beat.

Lich chuckled. “You think so? I stole this look from some dimensional fashion archive… but I had someone specific in mind.”

The Captain flushed. “Someone specific?”

“You, dummy.” Lich leaned in, fingers tracing the Captain’s jawline. “You always see me as a handful of bones and curses. I wanted you to see... me. Who I am beneath the necromancer.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The stars wheeled overhead, ancient and unbothered, but below them bloomed something tender—something alive.

“I’ve always seen you, Lich,” the Captain whispered, reaching out to gently take her hand. “Even before tonight.”

Lich blinked, stunned for once. Her bravado cracked just enough to reveal the girl underneath—the lonely, centuries-old soul who had never dared hope someone might look at her with love, not fear.

“Then dance with me,” she said. “Just once. Just tonight. Forget skeletons, sky battles, and eternal life. Just… us.”

And so, beneath the sky’s gaze, the Captain pulled Lich into a slow, swaying dance. No music played, but none was needed. Her laughter—real, unguarded—was melody enough.

For that moment, the world was quiet, and Lich—dressed in dreams, held in warm hands—was alive in every sense that mattered.