The path beyond the glowing sigil was a jagged scar in the mountainside, narrow and slick with frost. Hine followed closely behind the Silent Soul, her breath catching in the cold air as the shard pulsed in her pouch, its glow dulled now but steady, like a quiet heartbeat. The silence between them was heavy. Every crunch of snow beneath her boots echoed in her ears, amplifying the sense that the world itself had gone still, watching.
Hours passed as the mountain paths curved upward. The air thinned until each breath felt stolen. The trail wound through sharp ridges where loose stones threatened to betray her steps. She did not complain, though her legs burned with fatigue. The Silent Soul glanced back occasionally, unreadable as ever, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. Yet something in his posture had changed since they saw the sigil. He was tense, like a predator sensing danger in the distance.
When they finally stopped to rest near a cliff edge, the sky above had turned an ominous gray. Snowflakes drifted lazily, catching in Hine's hair. She sat with her knees drawn close, trying to ignore the ache in her muscles. The shard pulsed again, faint but insistent, as though urging her forward.
"What was that symbol?" she asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was rough from the climb. "The one on the stone. It felt... old. Alive."
The Silent Soul turned his gaze toward her. For a moment, she thought he might ignore her question, the way he often did. But then, slowly, he spoke.
"You are not wrong," he said. His voice was low, quiet enough that she had to strain to hear him over the wind. "That sigil is older than your village, older than the mountains you climb. It is the mark of Teyvat itself. And it warns those who see it to remember their place."
Hine frowned, gripping the shard through the fabric of her pouch. "Remember their place? What does that even mean?"
His silence lingered, stretching taut between them until it almost snapped. Finally, he shifted his gaze to the horizon, where the clouds churned as though stirred by some unseen hand.
"You are walking a path you do not yet understand, Hine," he said. "And at the end of that path, you will meet them. The Rulers of Teyvat."
Her breath caught. "Rulers?"
"Yes." His voice held no hesitation now, only certainty, like someone reciting a truth carved into stone. "There are four. Naberius, the Ruler of Life. Ronova, the Ruler of Death. Istaroth, the Ruler of Time. And Asmoday, the Ruler of Space. They are the pillars upon which Teyvat stands, the forces that shape every breath and shadow."
The weight of his words sank deep into her chest, heavy and cold. She tried to make sense of it, but the names tangled in her mind, foreign and sharp.
"And you..." Her voice faltered. "You know them?"
A pause. The kind of pause that felt deliberate, as if he were weighing what he should reveal. "I know enough," he said finally. "Enough to understand that you are no ordinary traveler, and that shard you carry is no ordinary stone. It belongs to them. And if it is glowing for you, then you have already drawn their eyes."
Hine swallowed, her throat tight. "Why me?"
His gaze turned sharp, piercing through her like the frost in the wind. "You ask as though choice was ever yours. The moment you touched that shard, you stepped into their domain. You think you seek your sister, but paths like this are never that simple. They will test you. They will break you, if they must."
The wind howled between the ridges, and Hine felt the sting of snow on her cheeks. For a moment, the world seemed too vast, the path too steep, the weight of her task unbearable. But then she tightened her grip on the pouch, feeling the steady warmth of the shard.
"I don't care who they are," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "Naberius, Ronova, Istaroth, Asmoday... whoever they are, whatever they want, I will find my sister. Even if it kills me."
Something flickered in the Silent Soul's eyes, a shadow of something she couldn't name... approval, maybe, or pity. Then, just as quickly, it vanished.
"Resolve is good," he said, his tone flat again. "But resolve is not enough. The Rulers will not grant what you seek for free. Everything in Teyvat has a price. Even the truth."
Hine's hands curled into fists. "Then I'll pay it."
The Silent Soul studied her for a long moment, the snow settling on his cloak, the silence stretching. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
"Very well," he said. "Then you will need to understand them. Naberius is the breath of every living thing. Where there is life, his hand is present. Ronova is the quiet beneath the earth, the stillness when a soul departs. Istaroth moves in the spaces between seconds, guiding what was and what will be. And Asmoday... Asmoday is everywhere and nowhere, the infinite distance that binds worlds together."
Hine shivered, though not from the cold. She pictured these entities... vast, unknowable beings, watching from the edges of existence. The shard pulsed again, stronger this time, and she wondered if it was reacting to their names, or if it was simply her fear making it feel alive in her hands.
"Are they... gods?" she asked, hesitant.
"No," the Silent Soul said. His tone was sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Not gods. Gods rise and fall. These do not. They are the laws beneath every law, the truth beneath every lie. To call them gods is to misunderstand what they are."
The wind picked up, whistling through the mountain pass, carrying with it a low, almost mournful sound that made Hine glance over her shoulder. The path behind them was empty, but the unease lingered like a shadow.
"And if I meet them?" she asked. "What then?"
"Then you will wish you had not," he said. "But by then, it will be too late."
The fire in her chest flared despite his words, a stubborn refusal to bend. She stood, brushing snow from her gloves, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. The mountain loomed, indifferent and unyielding, but she felt the shard steady her, anchoring her resolve.
"Then let them come," she said. "I won't stop."
The Silent Soul rose slowly, his movements deliberate, almost ritualistic. For a moment, in the dim gray light, he looked less like a man and more like a shadow pulled from the depths of the Night Kingdom, ancient and tired but bound to her path now.
"Very well," he murmured. "Then we keep moving. The sigil was only the beginning. And where there are beginnings, endings are never far behind."
As they continued up the treacherous path, the shard glowed once more, brighter this time, as though the Rulers themselves had heard her defiance and were waiting, just beyond the veil of the storm.