Inside the King's Chambers
The room was a grand sanctuary of power and solitude—a cavernous space where the weight of the kingdom seemed to settle like dust on every polished surface. Tall arched windows framed the twilight sky, their stained glass casting fractured hues of deep blues and purples across the marble floor. Rich tapestries, woven with the sigils of ancient battles and long-forgotten alliances, hung heavy on stone walls. A massive oaken desk cluttered with maps and letters stood near the hearth, where embers glowed faintly, offering a reluctant warmth against the chill that clung to the air.
Orion moved with purpose, a determined set to his jaw as he packed a modest bundle of clothes—simple yet sturdy—readying himself for a journey that felt heavier than mere distance could measure.
A silhouette materialized behind him, robes woven from threads of ice that seemed to ripple like liquid glass—fragile but unyielding, adorned with fractal scars tracing tales of pain and endurance. His eyes held a frozen star, ancient and patient, as eternal as death itself.
"Orion... I didn't know about your son..." Seraphyx's voice was soft, carrying the weight of unspoken regrets, his flowing pink hair brushing past his shoulders like whispered secrets.
Orion sighed, shoulders sagging just a fraction under the invisible burden. "It doesn't matter," he said, voice low and edged with sorrow. "Because if you had known, you would have stayed silent. That's how deep the love for Mother Rosen runs in everyone's heart."
Orion continued,"Me too... I can't bring myself to hate Mother Rosen, no matter what she's done. Because all the people of Arian... they're made to love her. Bound by chains woven of devotion and sacrifice."
"So," Seraphyx murmured, voice barely more than a breath, "are you going to look for her now?"
Orion's eyes darkened, shadowed by something fierce and fragile all at once.
"I can still feel her… the faint pulse of her life, just beyond reach," he said, voice low but steady. "And my son too—alive somewhere in the silence. But I don't know how much longer this tether will hold."
He slung the worn bag over his shoulder, the leather creaking softly, then turned to meet Seraphyx's gaze with unwavering resolve.
"I'm not staying behind this time," Orion declared, each word a stone laid firmly on the path ahead.
Seraphyx's expression softened, a rare tenderness breaking through his icy facade.
"Then I will take care of Arian in your stead," he promised, voice firm but laced with unspoken trust. "You're more than capable of finding them on your own."
Seraphyx blinked slowly, the faintest sigh escaping his lips. His breath rolled across Orion's shoulder, and where it touched, frost bloomed into a delicate, crystalline pauldron.
"Morven…" he said, the name carrying like a ripple through still water.
"What is it?"
The air shifted, and Morven materialized between them—though it felt as if he had always been there, listening. His form was half-ghost, translucent edges shimmering faintly, while long white robes poured down his frame like a waterfall of moonlight.
"Accompany Orion," Seraphyx commanded, his tone calm yet absolute. "See to it that he arrives safely in Teyvat."
As he turned, the cryo sigils within his pupils glimmered, scattering a faint dusting of snow with each blink.
"Thanks… Mother Seraphyx," Orion said, a small but genuine smile touching his lips.
"I'll take that as your forgiveness," Seraphyx replied, the corners of his mouth lifting into a rare, faint smile.
Without another word, he walked out—every step as fluid and deliberate as a drifting snowflake—before gently closing the chamber doors behind him.
Morven exhaled softly, his tone laced with restrained disapproval.
"He should choose his words more carefully. Ever since his rebirth as the Dragon King, I fear some of his manners have… thinned."
Orion's lips curved into a faint smile as he stepped closer.
"You two are practically siblings. Mischief among the emblems is inevitable."
A small nod from Morven, though his eyes retained their cool composure.
"We should depart soon, Orion. Before we do… would you like to see Mother Rosen? You've yet to give her your farewells."
Orion's gaze dropped slightly, a heaviness shadowing his features.
"It's alright… Leaving without goodbyes doesn't mean I bear her any ill will. I just… need space to let these wounds breathe."
Morven studied him for a long moment, then inclined his head in understanding. His hand rose slowly, tracing an intricate sigil in the air—each motion leaving behind faint trails of pale light. The temperature in the room dropped, the air tightening as though the space itself was holding its breath.
The sigil ignited.
From its heart, a thin fracture split open in the air, spilling out a cascade of glimmering snowflakes that seemed to defy gravity. The tear widened, revealing a swirling vortex where violet auroras coiled with rivers of molten gold, shifting like the veins of two worlds colliding.
Faint echoes drifted through the rift—whispers too distant to make out, yet heavy with emotion, as though both realms were aware of this crossing.
"The flow of time is unstable between Nyxhara and Teyvat," Morven said, his voice low but steady over the soft roar of the portal. "I will see to it that you arrive in a moment not far removed from this one."
The chamber lights flickered as the rift pulsed, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though the entire castle leaned toward it, urging Orion forward.
The portal churned like a wound torn through the fabric of the world, its light spilling over Orion's face in shifting patterns—gold, violet, silver—like the blessings and curses of a hundred different fates.
He stood before it, his pack heavy on his shoulders, though not nearly as heavy as the resolve in his heart.
Behind him, the King's Chambers were silent, save for the faint hum of the rift and the slow drift of frost melting from where Seraphyx's breath had touched him earlier.
Morven's pale eyes watched him closely, his robes caught in the gentle pull of the vortex. "Once you step through, Orion… there's no guarantee the road back will be the same."
Orion's lips curved into the faintest smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"It never is."
He took a step forward.
The air shifted instantly—warmth and cold colliding, gravity itself seeming to change its mind about which way was down. The moment his boot crossed the threshold, the portal's pull seized him, drawing him into its swirling heart.
Auroras wrapped around him like living ribbons, each shimmer whispering fragments of other voices, other times. The scent of lavender fields from Nyxhara mingled with the sharp tang of Teyvat's coastal winds.
For a heartbeat, the two worlds overlapped—the echoes of Arian's halls bleeding into the distant cry of gulls over Mondstadt's skies. Then, with a soft snap, the rift sealed behind him, the last snowflake dissolving into the air.
Orion was gone.
Morven remained in the chamber, his gaze lingering on where the portal had been, his thoughts unreadable.
"…I hope you're ready for what you're going to find," he murmured, though no one was there to hear.
The cool night air carried the faint aroma of sweet dandelion wine, mixed with the crisp scent of the lake. Orion's boots clicked softly against the cobblestones as he passed under the shadow of the great windmills, their blades lazily turning in the moonlight.
The guards at the gate had barely looked at him—just a tired nod from one, the other already dozing against his spear. Mondstadt slept with the kind of peace that only came from ignorance of what stalked the world beyond its walls.
As Orion walked deeper into the city, the laughter of a few lingering drunks echoed between buildings, carried by the wind like a song half-forgotten.
"Venti… can you hear me?" His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the night.
Nothing. Not even the faintest hum of wind magic in reply.
He gave a small, knowing smile. "He must be in the Tavern again…"
The thought pulled him toward the familiar glow of the Angel's Share. From outside, he could already hear the muffled strum of a lute and the uneven rhythm of clapping hands. Inside, the air would be heavy with wine and the scent of roasted boar, the perfect place for Mondstadt's so-called god to disappear into his cups.
Orion adjusted the strap of his bag and muttered, "Might as well get my brooch back if I can…"
His hand brushed over the empty space on his chest where the brooch had once been fastened, the metal now sitting somewhere in the bard's careless possession.
And as he neared the tavern doors, the music inside faltered—just for a moment, like the building itself recognized the man about to walk in.