The roar of the machine filled the laboratory. The steel-clad walls trembled, the crystal lights on the ceiling flickered, and the warm air was filled with the smell of ozone and metallic fumes.
Sylvarin Kael stood tall in front of a capsule carved with ancient symbols that no one but him could understand. Her red hair was billowing in a vortex of energy, her normally calm golden eyes now burning with determination.
"Yeah… I finally got it done…" she whispered, half to herself. Her hand touched the machine panel as if it were touching an old friend.
She looked back—to the laboratory door that she would never open again. Memories of her family, her friends, and the world she once knew surged through her mind. That world was too damaged, too damaged to be restored.
"Goodbye…" she said softly, her voice drowned in the hum of the machine.
A flash of white light engulfed her entire body. In the last moment before consciousness blurred, she heard something strange—like the echo of nature itself whispering, goodbye
Forgotten Sword Cemetery, Mondstadt
Cold. That was the first thing Sylvarin felt when he opened his eyes. His breath was smoky, his skin bitten by the cold.
He stood on the ground filled with gray mist. The smell of rust and wet soil pierced his nose. As his vision became clear, his eyes widened.
A vast expanse of land stretched as far as the eye could see, filled with rusty swords stuck like tombstones. Some were broken, some were still intact with traces of dried black blood on their blades. The place was quiet, but the silence was not peaceful—on the contrary, it was filled with the whispers of souls who had fallen on the battlefield.
"Forgotten Sword Cemetery…" he muttered, as if the name had just been embedded in his mind.
"Mondstadt…"
The night wind blew, making the swords vibrate slowly. From a distance, the shining lights of the city could be faintly seen—the famous Mondstadt fortress. But before he could take a step, the sound of metal rubbing broke the silence.
One of the rusty swords in front of him vibrated violently. A faint greenish light emanated from the ground around him. The whispering sound that had been faint was now becoming clearer, as if thousands of spirits were shouting at once.
Sylvarin tensed, his muscles stiffened, his heart pounding, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest. His hand reflexively grasped the short sword he carried, the only weapon he brought from his world
The fog swirled. Green light formed a vague silhouette. Something was rising from the ground.
Sylvarin gritted his teeth, lowering his horses.
"If this is how the world will welcome me..." he whispered, a thin smile etched on his lips. "This is how this world will become more interesting."
Chapter 3: Shadow in the Mist
The rusty sword finally crumbled to dust, but from the ground beneath it emerged a creature. A pitch black figure, like a mist that took the form of a human, his eyes burning red like embers. His arms were long, ending in shiny metal nails.
Sylvarin raised his short sword, a simple blade but heavy enough for his muscular frame. His breathing was controlled, his gaze sharp.
The creature roared, a raspy sound like iron rubbing against stone, then charged.
Clang! Sparks flew as the creature's attack met Sylvarin's blade. He was pushed back a few steps, the sandy ground crunching under his feet.
"Fast and strong..." he whispered. "But it's not impossible."
With a counter-movement, Sylvarin swung his sword, stabbing the creature's chest. A cracking sound was heard, but the shadow's body only separated into mist, then rejoined.
He laughed—a piercing sound, like the screams of thousands of souls.
Sylvarin took a deep breath. His body heated up, not from anger, but from something else—a strange energy that had seeped into him since arriving in this world. His hands trembled, and before he knew it, his veins glowed faintly, as if welcoming the energy from around him.
"This…" he paused, his eyes shining golden. "This is no ordinary energy…"
The creature charged again. This time, Sylvarin did not resist. He stepped forward, his sword slashing across with a power he had never felt before.
Wuuussh!
A golden light exploded from the blade of his sword, cutting through the dense fog. A long scream echoed before the shadowy figure shattered into pieces, vanishing into glowing dust that flew into the night sky.
Silence again enveloped him. Only the sound of the wind and the clang of the rusty sword vibrating on the ground.
Sylvarin stood frozen, his chest heaving. His hand still clutching the sword, the faint light slowly fading.
"…So this is how the world works?" he muttered, his lips forming a small smile. "Alright. If this is Teyvat's gift, I'll make the most of it."
But before he could step out of the sword burial area, a loud voice was heard from the direction of the fog.
"Who's there?!"
Sylvarin turned around. From behind the fog, the light of a torch appeared, followed by the gallop of horses. A girl dressed as a Mondstadt scout appeared—a red coat, a bow on her back, and a wary expression on her face.
"This place is dangerous!" the girl screamed, her eyes narrowing at Sylvarin. "What are you doing at the Forgotten Sword Cemetery?"
Sylvarin took a breath, his sword lowered slowly. The silent night finally broke with his first encounter in the world of Teyvat.