My Ghost, my shadow, my self. You didn't lead me here. You didn't say, "I have something to show you," and trek me across the world to see it. You just said, "let's go," and I went with you.

Why? Because the world was new in my reborn eyes, and I wanted to see it for myself. I wanted you to guide me.

When we finally crest the mountain, I see it at last. I see where you brought me, and why.

The Traveler hangs heavy in the sky, low and full.

"We're here," you say. I take a breath of cold air.

I have a vision. A great city. Vitreous castles built from hourglass sand. We will rise and meet the Traveler. We will protect humanity the way you said the Traveler protects us, the way it wants us to protect it.

"This is where you come from?" I ask you. You peer out from behind me. You're looking at the Traveler, too.

"Yes," you say, nodding.

"You're home," I say.

"No," you say, with all the warmth in your little body. "You're my home."

You drop into my waiting palm, and I hold you to my chest. Here, in the place where the world cradles the Traveler–here, where the Traveler touches the world–I will hold you close to me.

I see that the Traveler is a Ghost, too. A Ghost to see Earth reborn.