Inazuma.
Dark clouds boiled above Narukami Island, lightning clawing across the heavens. In the still heart of Tenshukaku, where silence usually reigned, the Raiden Shogun stirred. Purple eyes snapped open, disbelief flashing like a blade drawn in haste.
"An order… from Sky Island."
For a long moment she did not move. She had been born in twinship before the Demon God War, a pair forged to endure eternity. Her elder sister, gentle and brilliant, had been the one to carry divine correspondence. Not she. Never she.
Her rule had been inherited in grief, when her sister fell in the Khaenri'ah calamity five centuries ago. The only decree she had ever received was to take the vacant throne of Electro. Beyond that, silence.
Now the silence was broken.
Her jaw tightened. Resentment burned quietly in her chest: Sky Island had sent her sister—ill-suited to war, vulnerable—to Khaenri'ah, where she met her end. How could she not resent? And yet… awe, too, pressed on her shoulders. Sky Island's authority was absolute.
If eternity was her pursuit, it was because eternity was the closest she could reach to heaven.
She rose, armor whispering with static, and became lightning itself. With a thunderclap she split the sky, streaking upward toward the realm above. Even her sister had only gone there once—when she had ascended the throne of God. What awaited this time, she did not know. But she knew one thing with certainty: to ignore Heaven's call was death, for herself and for Inazuma.
Below, at the highest shrine of Narukami, Yae Miko looked up as the bolt shot heavenward. Her eyes widened. "She's rushing to Sky Island? Has she gone mad from five centuries of solitude? Has the erosion finally cracked her?"
Her tail flicked, unease curling her words. She had never seen divine punishment fall, but she had seen the aftermath: the frozen bones of Mondstadt's mountains, the hollow scars of Sumeru's deserts. She shivered. To offend the heavens was to invite annihilation.
"Broken," she whispered. "I have to act… before it's too late."
…
Four Archons rode their power skyward. Venti and Morax, neighboring nations, met first as wind brushed against stone.
"Five hundred years, old man, and you haven't aged a day," Venti said with forced levity, trying to drown unease in mischief.
Morax's amber eyes softened. "You too, Barbatos. Still as free as ever." His voice was tinged with nostalgia. The Geo Archon had buried too many comrades, seen too many leave the stage. To find even one or two still standing—it was a treasure rarer than gold.
"Free, yes," Venti admitted, hovering closer, "but not safe. Tell me, Morax, why are we summoned? You're the oldest, you must know more than the rest of us. Give me something to settle my nerves."
Morax shook his head slowly. "I do not know. But I know this: when Heaven speaks directly, it is never trivial."
Venti winced, shoulders sagging. "Not what I wanted to hear." He knew it was true. The last time Heaven summoned all Seven… five centuries past. And the cost then had been unimaginable. "If it's another calamity, I'll be next, won't I? The winds don't fight as they used to."
Morax laid a steady gaze on him. "Relax. Your strength is not so meager." It was reassurance, but not a lie. Both had waned under erosion, their power less than half what it once was. The enemy was not rivals—it was time itself. In another few centuries, their sanity and memory would rot as surely as strength. Even now, the danger of becoming another Ruin Serpent like Azhdaha loomed.
"Alas… Ei and Focalors too," Venti sighed as streaks of violet lightning and silver-blue water joined them on the ascent.
"Barbatos," the Raiden Shogun said curtly, her voice steel wrapped in thunder. There was no time for chatter.
"Morax, Barbatos, Raiden Shogun," Focalors greeted, her tone restrained, her composure a fragile shell over fear. She had never met these elder Archons before. To her, they were legends—and now, fellow travelers to judgment.
"First meeting, Focalors," Morax acknowledged, nodding with solemnity.
She bit her lip, then blurted the question gnawing her bones. "Do you know why Heaven summons us?" She looked from one ancient face to another, desperate for answers.
Morax and Venti exchanged a glance—one heavy, one helpless.
"We don't know either," Venti admitted, hands raised in surrender. "When we arrive, we'll all learn together."
Focalors exhaled, tension trembling through her fingers. She prayed the sins of Fontaine had not yet reached Sky Island. If they had, the verdict would be a cold nail through her world's heart.
…
Sky Island.
The four ascended together. The air was as clear as crystal, the horizon endless. The outer edge looked unchanged—a floating paradise. But at its center rose something new: a palace vast and resplendent, a hundred times grander than the Opéra Epiclese, carved in holy fire and luminous stone.
Venti and Morax, who had seen Sky Island before, shared a silent thought. This transformation could only mean Heaven's order was restored.
For Focalors and the Raiden Shogun, it was their first sight. They believed this was how Sky Island had always looked—an eternal citadel beyond mortal imagining.
They climbed the steps of the radiant temple. At the top waited Asmodeus, the Maintainer of Heavenly Principles, her golden eyes cool and unreadable.
"Heaven awaits." Her voice cut like frost.
Venti raised a timid hand. "Wait, aren't you waiting for the other three? Sumeru, Natlan, Snezhnaya—"
Her gaze silenced him. The faint aura of abyssal corrosion that once haunted her was gone. In its place was pristine authority, radiant and terrifying. She looked as she must have in her prime, before erosion ever touched her.
"It will be only the four of you. Do not waste time."
She turned, descending into the temple.
The four Archons hesitated only a breath. Venti shivered. "Only us…? Then… Sumeru, Natlan, Snezhnaya—" His eyes widened, thought racing faster than the wind. Had Heaven already passed judgment? Were those nations erased, their Archons executed for rebellion and dereliction?
"Gudong." He swallowed hard and followed. Whatever awaited, there was no turning back.