Rutile catches the Castian but it's a pleasant experience for neither of them: they roll back onto the platform and Rutile's head glances off the stone tiles with a sickening crack; and of course, Rutile's arms are not exactly welcoming. The skytrain rushes into the station with a loud rattle and a shriek of the breaks, the lights blinking in time to warn of its arrival.

Much good that did, Rutile thinks.

After a second of getting their bearings - they're still awake, so the crack must not have gone all the way through - Rutile pries the Castian's webbed fingers from their clothing and pushes them aside. "Look at that, you're still alive," they observe, sitting up. "A few bruises. You'll be alright." Even as they murmur words of comfort, their attention is preoccupied by the surrounding activity. Rutile's gaze slips over each bystander in turn until they see -

- Antarcticite.

Sure enough, it's them, alive and solid as ever. The sight of them whole surrounded by warmth and greenery is unnerving at best, and leaves Rutile's relief at their well-being tempered by apprehension. What did it mean if first Padparadscha, who had never been whole, was in Aifaran, and now there was Antarcticite who should no longer exist at all?

Rutile swallows these fears; Antarcticite doesn't deserve to carry them. As they get to their feet, they announce to the crowd, "Alright, yes, you've seen quite enough. Put those things away before the same fate befalls you!"

Then they turn to Antarcticite. "Not how I would have greeted the skytrain, I have to say. Are you injured?"