Mikhail

Suddenly, Mikhail found himself alive. He squinted his eyes against the bright golden light of the Gilded Sky, peering around and studying his surroundings. Where was he? What was he? Who was he?
He stood, shaky on his feet, and began exploring. The Gilded Sky was mostly barren; the ground bared resemblance to water, yet was solid and almost like a mirror, reflecting an image of himself back at him with perfect clarity. He payed himself no mind and continued to wader.
Then, in the distance, others came into view. Two others. A Skydancer reared back on their hind legs with their massive wings outstretched. A Mirror stood at their feet, glaring up at them with his teeth bared. The two were injured, so Mikhail approached with caution. He caught snippets of their words as he drew closer.
The Skydancer was the first one to notice him, and they immediately stepped backwards. There was an intense look of grief on their face. He remembers the pain in their voice. They meant no harm. They didn't mean it. Please, by The Eleven, they didn't mean it.
He remembers the Mirror snarling at the two of them before skulking off, leaving them. Mikhail remembers the Skydancer, who he would come to know as Glory, stricken with guilt. He remembers feeling drawn to them in a way he didn't understand. He remembers not understanding anything.
And mostly, he remembers nothing but the Gilded Sky. His home.