As our gaze shifts from the darkened skies of Nyxhara to the trembling lands of Teyvat, the chaos between realms folds and snaps—time shatters—flinging us five years into the past.
Back when Orion's son and Frieda had just awakened in fragile new vessels.
Back when the war with Celestia was not yet history, but prophecy written in blood and defiance.
Far in the southernmost reaches of Mictlan—where even fire-breathing boars thought twice before taking a stroll—the mountains bent toward each other like clasped hands... as if hiding a sacred, foul-mouthed secret.
And within that secret? Citlali's house.
Perched with stubborn pride against the jagged cliffside, it looked less like a home and more like a dare.
A violent insult hurled at nature.
Its stone walls were covered in graffiti—scorch-marked sigils of rebellion, flaming phoenixes, and one particularly cursed image of the "Lord of the Night" rocking a mustache and a frilly pink dress.
One charming warning, painted in blood-red letters near the door, read:
"IF YOU'RE LOST, TURN BACK. IF YOU'RE A GOD, WIPE YOUR DAMN FEET."
Inside, the rebellion raged on—not against divine tyranny, but against cleanliness and common sense.
Wine bottles littered the floor like glass corpses after a party no one remembers.
Snack wrappers crunched underfoot like landmines of gluttony.
Stacks of questionable light novels formed towering obelisks—monuments to procrastination and smut—that swayed with every breeze like they were waiting for one dramatic sneeze to collapse.
In the center of this glorious chaos, Citlali stared, dead-eyed, at the child in a man's body currently devouring her last unopened snack packet.
She exhaled with the long-suffering sigh of someone who had absolutely signed up for none of this.
"You little bastard," she muttered, eyes twitching as he munched away. "Those were the spicy ones..."
"I'm sorry. It was my fault."
The voice came softly, guilt-soaked and small.
Across the room, tucked into the shadowed corner like a forgotten dream, lay Felix—not the man, but the dragon. A small Frost Wyrmling, his snowy-white scales shimmered faintly in the shafts of sunlight bleeding through the cracked wooden window. His wings were wrapped around him like a protective cloak, and the crown of delicate feathers atop his head glowed faintly—just enough to show he was still alive… but barely.
He let out a low groan, tail twitching.
"Can you two not pick a fight while I'm trying to sleep off being half-dead?" he grumbled, voice grating like ice cracking under pressure. "I'm still regrowing half a lung here. Just… keep it down, so we can get out of here alive."
Citlali's response came with the force of a Pyro bomb.
Her boot slammed into the floor, causing one of the snack towers to collapse in dramatic protest.
"THOSE were MY snacks," she snapped, pointing an accusing finger. "Not yours. Not his. Mine. And now they're gone, and all I have left is regret and crumbs!"
She stormed closer, eyes blazing, cloak billowing like she'd cast an anger spell on herself.
"And don't act all innocent, Frostball. I saw you watching him take them. You could've said something. You could've at least kicked him in the shin!"
Felix didn't open his eyes. "He was already halfway through the second bag before I noticed. I assumed it was a power move."
Citlali's jaw dropped. "A power move?!?"
Then she raised both hands dramatically to the heavens—or the water-stained ceiling.
"You know what? No. I'm done. I'm out. I'm sick of both of you—this chaos, this tragic sidekick energy, the crumbs, the existential whining—all of it!"
She turned to the door and pointed like she was about to blast it open with pure spite.
"OUT! I want both of you out of my house right now! Go fight your destiny or whatever outside! If I see one more empty wrapper, I swear I'll throw the next one into a volcano myself!"
Felix groaned as he stirred, shifting under the low wooden beams. He carefully sat up, making sure not to knock his head against the ceiling again.
"Calm down, Citlali..." he mumbled, rubbing his temples. "You sound like a grumpy hold hag when you're mad."
That did it.
Citlali flared up—quite literally. A puff of heat rippled around her as her hair seemed to crackle with Pyro rage.
"Ugh!" she growled through clenched teeth. "I am leaving before I commit war crimes."
She stomped over to the corner, changed out of her snack-stained pajamas with lightning efficiency, and dabbed on a bit of makeup like she was preparing for battle.
Felix, now curled lazily back into his coiled sleeping pose, flicked his tail with a sleepy sigh. "Where to?"
"OUT!" Citlali barked, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. "I'm going to get those drinks I should've had yesterday, but someone decided to fall out of the sky with A CHILD of a Man on his back !"
The door slammed behind her with the finality of a prison gate.
Felix let out a deep, relieved exhale.
"Finally," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. "Some peace and quiet."
A moment passed.
Then a shadow moved.
The child in a man's body—Orion's reincarnated son—crawled over like an oversized toddler with far too much curiosity and not enough survival instinct.
He giggled. "Hehe~," he whispered, lifting one of Felix's delicate icy appendages like it was a toy.
"Please don't—"
He poked the tail next. "Boop! Haha!"
Felix opened one eye, the slitted pupil twitching in existential despair.
"...Or not."
Felix growled under his breath and finally had enough.
He grabbed the giggling chaos-child by the collar like a sack of potatoes and gently, but firmly, lifted him off his wings. The boy flailed with gleeful defiance.
"You're definitely their kid," Felix muttered darkly. "Not just by blood—I can feel it. The sheer talent in making my life a living blizzard of pain and noise? It's genetic."
Without ceremony, he marched over to the front door, yanked it open, and deposited the child outside, into the enclosed garden fenced by vines and wildflowers. The warm light of late morning spilled across the grass like honey.
"Here," he said, voice flat. "Play with the grass. Chase butterflies. Punch a tree for all I care. Just… do not come back in."
With a tired groan, Felix dragged his aching tail back inside, coiled up by the window, and curled into a ball, wings wrapped tight like a blanket of winter.
"I swear," he muttered, "if he eats a bug and cries about it, I'm flying to Celestia and letting them have me."
---
Outside, the child blinked, then laughed like being exiled was the best thing that had ever happened.
Butterflies danced in the breeze above the clover-speckled lawn, their wings shimmering with gentle pastel hues. He crawled after them, reaching tiny fingers toward the drifting colors—but they stayed just out of reach.
Undeterred, he toddled toward the fence.
One hand gripped the wooden post. The other wobbled in the air. With a little grunt, he pulled himself up—legs shaking, toes unsure on the grass.
But he stood.
Wobbly. Wide-eyed. But standing.
He looked down at his own hands like he'd just discovered gravity. Then he looked up again.
And smiled.
A single flower bloomed in the grass.
A strange one. Unnatural.
Lavender in color, with four trembling petals that swayed gently—despite the still air.
There was no stem. No scent.
It pulsed softly in the shaded corner of the garden, as if it breathed.
The child's laughter faded.
His gaze locked on the glowing flower.
The butterflies forgotten, he crawled—then stumbled—closer.
Small hands reached out, brushing the luminous petals.
And then—
The world shifted.
The warmth of the sun blinked out.
Sound died.
Light twisted.
He now sat alone in a vast field—no longer a garden, but a glowing expanse.
Thousands of identical lavender flowers stretched in every direction, blooming endlessly beneath him.
The sky above was void.
Endless black.
No stars. No wind. Only... the hum of memory.
Each flower emitted a quiet, pulse-like glow.
And in the distance, a figure stood.
A man, poised at the edge of the glowing field. His presence was still. Timeless. Regal.
"Come here, son..." the man spoke gently.
He was beautiful—inhumanly so. Skin smooth as marble, noble in bearing, with a soft, almost unreal smile on his lips. His long white hair flowed without wind, catching the glow of the flowers like it was woven from light itself.
"Come to your father..."
His voice echoed—not through the air, but through the child's soul.
The boy took a step.
---
Back at Citlali's house—
Felix jolted upright.
Every scale on his body stood on edge. His tail lashed instinctively, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He bolted toward the door, slamming it open with a burst of icy wind.
"Kid?!"
The fenced garden was silent.
The butterflies were gone. The laughter—gone.
The air felt... off. Too still. Too quiet.
And the child—
Was nowhere to be seen.
Felix's heart sank like a stone in black water.
"Oh no..."