The weeks leading up to the Rite of Descension passed in a deceptively peaceful blur. The hoverboards remained their secret joy, used only for occasional, thrilling flights in the dead of night, soaring high above the sleeping city under a canopy of stars. Ren's days were a comfortable blend of Cryo training, quiet inventing, and the simple, happy routine of life with Ganyu.
But beneath the surface of this idyllic calm, Ren's mind was a hive of activity. He kept his ears open, a silent, attentive collector of whispers and rumors. He learned, through the chatter of merchants returning from the north, that the Stormterror crisis in Mondstadt had officially ended. The great dragon, Dvalin, had been purified, freed from the corrupting influence that had driven him to madness. The news was a profound relief, a confirmation that the story, for now, was proceeding as it should. Lumine had been successful.
With the crisis in Mondstadt resolved, the full attention of Liyue Harbor began to turn inwards, towards its own most sacred and ancient tradition: the Rite of Descension.
The city began to transform. Banners of silk and gold were hung from the pavilions of Yujing Terrace. Artisans worked day and night, crafting the intricate offerings to be presented to their Archon. A palpable, electric sense of anticipation began to build in the streets, a mixture of festive joy and solemn reverence.
For Ren, however, this growing excitement was a source of deep, creeping dread. He knew what was coming. The Rite of Descension was not just a festival; it was the opening act of a grand, terrible play. It was the stage upon which Rex Lapis would fake his own death, the event that would plunge Liyue into chaos and set the stage for its greatest test.
His mental calculus of the threats arrayed against the city was a grim, constant recitation.
The Balladeer. Scaramouche was an unpredictable, arrogant agent of chaos. His presence in Liyue was a wild card, a source of potential violence that could erupt at any moment. He was a threat Ren knew to avoid at all costs.
La Signora. Her arrival was no longer a question of if, but when. She was the architect of the Tsaritsa's will, a cunning, ruthless operator who had already succeeded in her mission in Mondstadt. She would be coming to Liyue to finish the job, to claim the Geo Archon's Gnosis. She was the primary, direct antagonist, a force of calculated, overwhelming power. Ren knew she was the one to truly fear.
Then there were the others, the pieces on the board whose roles were less clear, but no less significant.
Sandrone. The Marionette was a complete enigma. She had acted as his protector, yet her motives were entirely her own. She was not an enemy, not yet, but her fascination with him and his technology was a dangerous, unpredictable variable. For now, she was a non-hostile, a neutral power in the coming conflict, but Ren knew that could change in an instant.
Tartaglia. Childe. Ganyu had mentioned his increased activity at the Northland Bank. Ren knew his role in the coming crisis was pivotal. He was the one who would unleash the ancient god, Osial, upon the Harbor. He was the Fatui's primary instrument of chaos in Liyue. But on a personal level, Ren considered him a non-entity, for now. Their paths had not crossed. He was a major threat to the city, but not, as of yet, a personal threat to Ren.
Four Harbingers. A full third of the Tsaritsa's most powerful lieutenants were, or soon would be, converging on this single city. It was an overwhelming, terrifying concentration of power.
Ren felt like a lone watchman on a castle wall, the only one who could see the massive, shadowy army gathering in the forests below. He carried this terrible knowledge alone, a silent, heavy burden. He couldn't warn anyone, not without revealing the impossible truth of his own origins.
He watched Ganyu bustle about, helping to organize the intricate details of the Rite, her face full of a reverent, pious joy at the thought of seeing her Archon descend. He listened to the happy, excited chatter of the citizens in the streets. And his heart ached with the weight of the secret he kept.
He was not afraid for himself. He had his own power, his guardians, his secrets. He was afraid for them. He was afraid for this beautiful, golden city, so full of life and tradition, that was about to be plunged into the heart of a storm it could not possibly see coming. The calm, he knew, was about to break, and the Rite was the first clap of thunder.