When she appears, a bright constellation brought down to earth, Wilhelm holds himself like a breath. The frogs hop toward her in his stead, speckling the ledge at her feet. Their slick bodies, the size of throwing stones, are black spotted with violet and lavender, their sticky toes midnight blue. They match her as best as he can make them.

Drawn by his disquiet, one of his creations returns to him, and Wilhelm stoops to let it leap onto his open palm. This is not a battle — he doesn't need a weapon or a shield. But he does need something to occupy his hands, and maybe that's another kind of shield.

"Hi Serenity," he returns her smile, tentative but genuine. Then he tries the name he used to call her. "River. I just thought...maybe some company would be nice."