Warning
This fanfic may contain obscene and offensive language, and may touch on delicate topics, such as depression or suicide, but that will be discussed later. If you don't like these kinds of things, you can leave, but if you want to see what the hell I wrote here, well, welcome.
Have a Coffee -------›☕
Here you add milk to your coffee if you like-----›🥛
Writing Style
will be like this (-this-)
Narrative Style
([this] for character narration and this for external narration) when the moment comes, to avoid confusion while reading
"thoughts"
whispers
!SCREAMS¡
"EMPHASIZE SOMETHING"
NOW LET'S BEGIN
Time: 22:55 pm
Location: Mondstadt (Teyvat Territory)
Night descended upon Mondstadt like a peaceful sigh. The warm breeze stirred the leaves of nearby bushes, while the aroma of Cider Lake filtered through the alleys like a sweet echo. The enchanted streetlamps—powered by tiny elemental energy stones—poured their golden glow onto the cobblestones, tinting the gray stone walls and reflecting in windowpanes that still resisted sleep.
In the plaza in front of the Favonius Cathedral, an almost sacred calm reigned. Some couples strolled hand in hand, in silence, enjoying the breeze that descended from the Statue of Barbatos with the softness of a blessing. The murmur of water in the fountain marked a slow rhythm, resembling the heartbeat of a sleeping heart. From the Drunken Sailor escaped laughter, clinking of mugs, and the wandering notes of a lute, played by a bard too drunk—or too in love with his craft—to stay quiet.
Higher up, in the elevated area of the city, the Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius remained active, though only in a few rooms. Inside the office of Jean Gunnhildr, Acting Grand Master, the night disputed with duty.
The oak desk in front of her looked like a meticulously organized battlefield: sealed maps, reports of unusual movements near the Dadaupa Gorge, reconstruction plans for the Temple of the Thousand Winds, and documents signed by various captains. On one of them, freshly inked text registered strange displacements of hilichurls north of Silver Clearing, with a marginal note suggesting: "They could be fleeing from something."
Jean reviewed each line with that mixture of discipline and exhaustion that only she could balance. Her bearing, still dignified, carried the invisible weight of restless days. A cup of cold, forgotten tea rested near her elbow. If Mondstadt could sleep in peace, she accepted the sacrifice.
So absorbed was she that she barely perceived the soft click of the door opening, followed by light, rhythmic steps.
—Jean, I brought tea for both of us—said a melodic voice, dragging the words with that lazy elegance so characteristic of her.
Lisa Minci, the Librarian, filled the room with the discrete perfume of lavender and old parchment. She carried a tray with two steaming cups that gave off a warm aroma of cinnamon and lemon. She advanced with her usual calm, the echo of her heels resonating like serene rain on polished wood, until she set the tray on the desk.
She leaned gently toward her friend, a lazy smile on her lips.
—The night calls for it, don't you think?
Jean looked up. Her eyes, dulled by exhaustion, softened when they found Lisa. A slight smile appeared on her face, like a ray of sun breaking through dense clouds.
—Thank you, Lisa. Just what I needed.
She took the cup with both hands, as if it were a small luxury stolen from duty. The heat returned life to her fingers and, for an instant, the rigidity of her expression gave way.
Lisa, instead of sitting, opened the window so the night breeze flooded the place. She looked outside, and from there she contemplated the illuminated silhouette of the city: the Cathedral's bell tower and even further, the dark line of the mountains where the wind hid its secrets.
The high moon bathed the stained glass, and the howling of the air—that same air that had brought salvation and catastrophe—filtered through the cracks with a persistent murmur.
—Do you realize?—Lisa murmured, not taking her eyes off the landscape—. Mondstadt sleeps in peace tonight. The days of runaway dragons and torn skies seem... so distant. And it's only been a few days.
Jean lowered her gaze to her cup, turning the porcelain between her fingers as if seeking an anchor in that gesture.
—I know. Peace here is always....too fragile.
Lisa turned with grace and let herself fall into an armchair. She crossed her legs naturally, resting her face in the palm of her hand.
—Sometimes I think that if it weren't for you handling most of this city's affairs, Mondstadt would already be just a memory among ruins and sad songs—she commented with a lopsided smile—. But that doesn't stop me from reminding you, dear, that you should sleep more than three hours a day.
A brief laugh escaped Jean, small, but sincere.
—Says someone who locks herself away living among old books.
Lisa arched an eyebrow, amused.
—And I don't regret it! But if you collapse... who will sign my days off?
The two shared a knowing look. In that silence, even the wind seemed to contain itself. Jean and Lisa: two different pillars, invisible to many, but essential to sustaining the city.
—By the way... This morning the Traveler and Paimon stopped by to say goodbye—said Lisa while flipping through a report, her nails shining under the lamp—. They're already on their way to Liyue. The Lantern Rite is the day after tomorrow, and they'll likely arrive before Rex Lapis's descent.
Jean looked up. The festival's name brought back a glimmer of interest beyond the paperwork.
—I've heard it will be spectacular this year—Lisa continued with a nostalgic undertone—. Streets full of lanterns, the Port shining like a sea of stars, prayers to Morax from the dock to the Yujing Terrace... And, with luck, maybe they'll find some clue about her sister there.
Jean nodded slowly, empathy showing in her serene features.
—I'm glad they can take a break. What they did for Mondstadt... was more than many would do for their own homeland. They deserve it.
She sighed, relieved like someone opening a valve that had been closed too long. She put the pen down on the table and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for just a few seconds.
—Meanwhile, we're still here—she murmured with calm, though the weight in her voice was evident—. Reports, repairs, new rounds of surveillance... The city never fully sleeps.
Lisa turned a few more pages with a languid gesture, but her tone lost its usual playfulness.
—This city squeezes every last ounce of patience out of you, huh?—she said in a low voice. Her gaze was warm, genuinely concerned—. Have you slept at all? Eaten, at least?
Jean opened her eyes, turning her face slightly toward her companion. She tried to muster a diplomatic smile, the kind used to reassure others more than oneself.
—Enough.
Lisa clicked her tongue, skeptical.
—Translation: "a piece of bread I found two days ago and an accidental nap over some report I was filling out." I know you too well, Jean. You're going to end up needing a babysitter.
An unexpected little laugh escaped the Grand Master.
—Do you want to apply for the position?
Lisa smiled, this time without irony, with a serene sweetness that she rarely let show.
—Too much work... Although I wouldn't mind reorganizing your schedule to make more room for cups of tea, massages, and tarot readings. Who needs sleep when you can see your destiny in the cards?
Jean shook her head, amused, though she added nothing more. Outside, the moon hung high over the Cathedral's spire, and the breeze carried with it a subtle omen: the coming days might not be as calm as this night pretended to promise.
—And the others? How is everyone doing?
Lisa rested her elbows on the edge of the desk, slowly turning the cup between her fingers. Her expression, normally marked by mischief, became more thoughtful as she mentally went through the list.
—Well....Kaeya finished his patrol a few hours ago. He headed to Angel's Share... according to him, to "strengthen fraternal bonds." In other words: annoy Diluc until they kick him out or get him drunk. Whichever comes first.
Jean raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Lisa, satisfied with the reaction, let a smile slip.
—Eula and Barbara are on the outskirts, near Clear Water Village. There were reports of unruly slimes and rumors of a stolen cart. Eula maintains that offended noble composure that characterizes her, and Barbara... well, she's the only person capable of making even hilichurls feel guilty for attacking, even if she just wanted to make sure no one was hurt.
Jean allowed herself a slight smile; the scene was so vivid she could almost see it.
—And Albedo?
Lisa let out a nasal laugh.
—Buried in the library. Says he found texts relating some Dragonspine ruins to pre-Archontian alchemical practices. He's been gone for three days. And when I asked if he'd eaten, he answered: "it's not a necessary requirement for my cognitive process." Translation: no.
Jean nodded with a tired sigh.
—Yes... that sounds exactly like him.
—Amber and Bennett are in the Whispering Forest. There are reports of hilichurls building impromptu towers near the trails. Amber preferred to get ahead before it becomes a problem. And Bennett... well, I haven't heard anything so far. Which, considering his track record, is worthy of celebration.
Jean tilted her head, silently acknowledging the effort of each of her companions.
—I'm glad to know that everyone is doing their best to maintain order—she murmured, almost to herself.
Lisa looked down, meditative, before raising the cup and holding it in both hands. When she spoke, her tone lacked ornament:
—They do it for you, Jean. Not just for Mondstadt. They admire you... truly, and we don't want you to have a relapse from overwork like last time.
Jean's reaction was subtle, but profound. Her features softened and, after a moment of silence, she inclined her head.
—Thank you, Lisa... truly.
The librarian smiled, not with her usual coquetry, but with genuine warmth.
—Oh, don't thank me yet—she replied, recovering a hint of mischief as she set the cup on the table with a soft clink—. We still have to talk about our little sparkling knight.
Jean looked up, raising an eyebrow slightly.
—Klee?
Lisa sighed with a mixture of resignation and amusement.
—She's still being punished for... you know, the pond incident.
Jean brought a hand to her forehead, letting out a deep sigh. The weight of her days didn't come only from paperwork.
—Is she asleep?
—I hope so—Lisa answered with a shrug—. When I passed by her room before coming here, I saw her watching the stars through the window, but that was a while ago. She was whispering things like "improve Dodoco's power to take out monsters." So she probably fell asleep planning her next mischief.
Jean closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled, letting the mixture of tenderness, exhaustion, and resignation reflect in a sigh that had become all too familiar to her.
Lisa slowly twirled the spoon in her cup, letting the metallic sound blend with the silence of the office.
—The city is calm... for now—she said finally, with a low tone, as if that thought had slipped out without intention.
There was a subtle gravity in her words, a weight that contrasted with the usual lightness of her voice. And Jean noticed it.
—Is something wrong, Lisa?—she asked, setting the cup on the desk.
Lisa didn't respond immediately. She continued playing with the spoon, watching how it spun in the dark liquid, and when she spoke, it was in an almost intimate whisper:
—Well...—she murmured with a heavier voice, lowering her gaze as if the idea weighed—. Now that we're talking about Klee... have you noticed how she's been behaving these past weeks?
Jean looked up from the report she was holding, raising her eyebrows slightly.
—Do you mean that she hasn't tried to escape her room or cause any commotion?—she asked.
Lisa nodded slowly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and held the cup between her hands, as if no longer seeking its warmth, but something to cling to.
—Exactly. This time it took almost a week before she blew up the lake to fish. A week, Jean.—she made a brief pause—. I came to think she was sick.
She released a soft laugh, low... but lacking that ironic lightness that usually accompanied it.
—And when she finally did... there wasn't even an announcement. None of her "Klee's special explosive fishing surprise!" Just... boom, and she left.
Jean carefully moved her cup aside, as if she needed to clear space to think, and leaned back a bit in her chair, crossing her arms. Her expression became more rigid.
Lisa lowered her voice even more. Her eyes drifted to the window, where Mondstadt rested under the golden light of dusk, tranquil, unaware.
—Yes... that's what worries me. She's too quiet. And coming from her, that says a lot.—her fingers tightened around the ceramic—. Sometimes I enter her room and find her by the window, hugging Dodoco as if it were the only thing real. She stays there, not moving... I have to call her twice. Sometimes, I even have to shake her to get a reaction.
She paused for a moment, as if the image still didn't want to leave her.
—And the strangest thing is that she doesn't even ask when her punishment ends anymore. She doesn't try to escape... doesn't insist on fishing with bombs. She just listens to me, smiles a little... and turns away.
Silence fell between them.
Jean lowered her gaze to the papers on her desk. She observed them as if she were really reading them, but she didn't see a single word. Her brow furrowed slightly, just enough to betray that something weighed on her.
She understood Lisa's concern. Klee wasn't just a mischievous child. She was a restless elf, full of curiosity, with the same adventurous—and dangerous—spirit as her mother. Always optimistic. Always luminous. A presence capable of coaxing smiles even from the most serious knights.
To see her like that... wasn't normal.
Jean had seen that attitude before.
And that's why it troubled her so much.
That same day a week ago — Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius
That day, the sun seeped through the windows of headquarters as always at that hour, tinting the corridors with an orange tone that made everything softer... and yet, it failed to dispel a certain sense of melancholy. The headquarters of the Knights of Favonius was calm, a calm too perfect, and Jean advanced with her usual firm step, that controlled rhythm that gave the impression that everything remained under control.
She carried a couple of reports in her hand, though she had no intention of reading them. There was something that had weighed on her mind for days: visiting Klee. Making sure how she was handling the punishment.
Normally, that visit was almost a formality. Klee always found a way to turn even confinement into a small adventure: explosive drawings hidden between papers, whispered plans about new "improved" bombs, or at least a nervous smile accompanied by some dubious promise of good behavior.
It was routine. The usual.
Jean stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath, and turned the handle.
She expected to find Klee being Klee: crayons scattered on the floor, sheets full of colorful scribbles, Dodoco with ribbons attached that were never part of its original design... maybe even some improvised artifact hidden under the pillow.
All of that would have been normal.
But it wasn't.
The room was silent.
Not a peaceful silence, but an immobile one, almost heavy. Jean stepped inside and closed the door carefully.
Klee, who would normally be drawing on the floor and talking to Dodoco, was at the window, her back to Jean. She didn't turn. She didn't react to the sound of the door. She remained completely still, pressing Dodoco against her chest with both hands, as if clinging to him with an unconscious force. Her gaze was fixed on the exterior, lost at some point beyond Mondstadt's walls.
Jean frowned slightly at that.
—Klee—she said softly.
There was no response.
Jean took another step.
—Klee, it's me.
Nothing.
Not a movement or even a slight change in posture. That wasn't normal. Klee usually reacted even before someone crossed the threshold.
Jean approached slowly, watching each step, and cautiously extended her hand.
—Klee...?—she repeated, gently placing her hand on her shoulder.
The reaction was immediate.
—Ah!—Klee jumped back, spinning around. Her eyes opened wide, her breathing accelerated, and Dodoco was almost dropped from her hands—. K-Klee didn't do anything! Klee wasn't planning anything!
The fright was genuine. Childish. Disorganized.
Jean withdrew her hand immediately.
—Relax—she said quickly, lowering her voice—. It's fine. Nothing's wrong.
Klee blinked several times, as if it took her a moment to understand where she was. Her breathing gradually slowed, but she didn't let go of Dodoco. On the contrary, she held him tighter.
Only then could Jean see her face-to-face... and that's when she noticed it.
Klee had dark circles.
Dark circles that, although not very pronounced, shouldn't be present in a young child like Klee.
Klee lowered her gaze almost immediately upon noticing Jean's stare.
—I'm sorry...Master Jean—she murmured—. Klee didn't hear.
Jean shook her head slowly, reacting a bit.
—You don't have to apologize—she responded—. I called you several times. I thought you were asleep.
Klee hesitated.
—Klee... heard something—she said in a low voice—. But it wasn't that.
Jean tilted her head slightly.
—What did you hear?
Klee moved her feet, fidgeting.
—I... don't know—she admitted—. Klee heard someone calling her... from outside. But when she looked, there was no one.
Jean remained silent for a moment, directing her gaze to where Klee had been looking. The windmill was what her sight could make out, aside from that no one passed through that area since it was at a point where knights patrolled, and it was too early in the morning for anyone to approach.
She turned her gaze back to Klee. Her fingers played with one of Dodoco's ears.
Jean observed Klee for a few moments more with greater attention, not as Grand Master, but as someone trying to understand something that didn't quite fit. That quietness she had shown before didn't sit right with her.
—Perhaps you were very tired—she said finally, with a calm voice—. It's been long days in here.
Klee nodded slowly, without looking up.
—Yes...—she murmured—. Klee is tired of being inside.
There were no complaints or exaggerations. Just a simple statement, almost resigned.
Jean took a deep breath. She had gone there with a clear purpose, and yet, something inside her hesitated before saying it.
—That's why I came here—she continued—. Your punishment is over.
She waited.
Klee looked up, but the reaction wasn't what Jean had seen so many times before. There was no jump, no sparkle in her eyes, no hasty question about where she could go first.
—Really?—Klee asked in a low voice.
—Really—Jean confirmed.
For a few seconds, Klee didn't respond. She looked toward the door, as if thinking about leaving... and then, as if changing her mind, she looked down again.
—Can Klee... stay here a little longer?—she asked in a low voice—. Just a little bit.
Jean blinked, surprised. That request was strange by the standards they were used to with Klee. Normally, at that point, she would already be running toward the door or asking if she could go fishing for just a bit.
—I thought you'd want to leave right away—she said sincerely.
Klee shook her head slowly. It wasn't a decisive gesture, but a tired one, as if even moving her head cost her a little. Her fingers tightened around Dodoco, wrinkling the fabric.
—Not now...—she murmured first, almost to herself.
She made a small pause, without looking up.
—Later—she repeated—. Klee goes out later.
Jean observed her for a few more seconds. She didn't insist. She took a step forward and crouched in front of her, maintaining just the right distance, enough not to make her back away.
—Is something wrong?—she asked gently.
Klee gripped Dodoco more tightly and buried her face slightly against him. She took a while to respond.
—Klee has been feeling weird...—she said finally, almost in a whisper—. Lately everything feels weird.
She lifted her shoulders slightly, unsure how to explain it.
—Sometimes Klee hears things... or thinks she sees someone without meaning to—she added—. And then she gets tired, even though she hasn't done anything.
Her fingers nervously played with Dodoco's fabric.
—It's not like when Klee is sad—she murmured—. It's... different.
She made a pause, and then lowered her voice even more.
—But when Master Jean or Miss Lisa are here... everything feels more peaceful.
The words were simple. But Jean felt something close inside her chest.
—Do you feel alone?—she asked carefully.
Klee hesitated. She shifted uncomfortably.
—A little...—she admitted—. But Klee is used to that. Klee doesn't want to bother anyone. Others are busy... and Klee should behave well.
Jean shook her head slowly and spoke even more softly.
—You're not bothering anyone—she said—. And you don't have to behave "better" for feeling this way. Sometimes you just need to rest... or have someone stay nearby.
Klee lifted her gaze slightly.
—Then...—she whispered—. Can Jean stay a little with Klee?
Jean answered without thinking.
—Of course.
Something seemed to loosen in Klee, though it was almost imperceptible. She didn't smile, but her shoulders descended a bit, as if she had released something she'd been carrying for a while. She sat better on the bed and adjusted Dodoco between her arms.
—Dodoco says Jean is strong—she murmured suddenly—. Very strong... but not scary.
Jean let out a small smile.
—I'm glad Dodoco thinks that.
Klee lifted the plush slightly and made him "walk" clumsily over the blanket.
—Dodoco is going to keep watch—she said—. So everything stays calm.
—Then we're well protected—Jean answered softly.
Klee let out a very small laugh. Barely a breath. Brief, contained... but real. She moved her feet a little, swinging them without detaching from the edge of the bed, as if she remembered for an instant how it used to be, and then she hugged Dodoco tightly again. The energy didn't return completely, but it was enough to let the girl she had always been shine through for a moment.
Jean remained there, without rushing. She drew and talked with Klee about simple things. Short stories about other knights or merchants from other lands. Soft words, said only to fill the space and sustain the moment.
Klee recovered some brief sparkles of emotion when she spoke of other lands, sometimes asking Jean more about those places.
Klee felt better after a while, and was already acting like she always did, which was oddly refreshing for Jean.
With the passage of minutes, her responses became slower. Sentences were left unfinished. Her breathing began to settle, becoming more and more regular, until her head finally rested against the pillow without her seeming to notice. Dodoco remained trapped between her arms, firm, as if letting go wasn't an option.
That quietness was anything but normal.
Klee had always been an ignited spark. Even on her bad days, even when punished, her energy found ways to seep through: endless questions, restless movements, ideas that exploded before her own bombs. Jean had seen it a thousand times—Klee trying to stay still in a chair, failing within five minutes, her feet hitting the floor without her noticing. Or her fingers tapping against any surface, that nervous tic that manifested even when she was "being good."
But that... was different.
Jean wanted to convince herself it was just part of the punishment. That maybe she was more tired than usual. That perhaps the confinement, for once, had produced a real effect on her uncontrollable energy.
But not even on the worst days—not after the most serious accidents, not when she had accidentally detonated her bombs inside Mondstadt and the Knights had to contain the damage—had Klee been this.....quiet.
It wasn't tiredness. Jean knew that. She had spent too much time observing this girl not to recognize the difference between exhaustion and... this. Whatever this was.
The image didn't leave Jean.
The girl asleep on the bed, hugging Dodoco tightly, breathing at that rhythm that was too calm, having requested to stay in that room instead of leaving. Jean had assumed it was because of the punishment. That for once, she had understood the consequence of her actions and wanted to atone. An almost hopeful possibility in her mind as an administrator who always looked for the best in each situation.
But now, observing that absolute quietness, Jean wondered if it really was related to the punishment.
That question remained floating without an answer.
Later, back in her office, Jean tried to resume her tasks. She couldn't.
She moved with purpose, as if movement were enough. She sat in her chair, organized the papers in front of her into logical piles, read the first lines of a report on repairs to the north wall. Her hands performed the correct actions. Her mind wasn't present.
She held a cup of tea between her hands—a small gesture, almost automatic, that usually restored some stability during long nights—but left it resting too long on her desk. When she remembered again that it was there, when she lifted the cup to drink, the liquid was lukewarm. Without aroma. Without taste.
She set the cup aside. Then she picked it up again. Then she set it down again. Her fingers sought something to focus on, but found only discomfort.
The office was full of papers, reports, and stamps pending her signature. There was enough work to keep her busy until dawn. Work that demanded her attention, her concentration, her seal of authority. The kind of work Jean had learned to embrace because it was predictable. Because it had clear solutions.
But everything felt stopped. In pause. As if the air inside the room had been sealed in amber.
As if that same quietness she had seen in Klee's eyes—that strange absence, that peace that shouldn't exist in someone so alive—had left the room, had crossed the corridors of the Order of Knights, had entered this closed office...
And had stayed there. With her. Heavy. Waiting.
She stood up. She walked to the window, looking out, peaceful under the midday sky, seeing the knights in their required routines. Everything in order. Everything exactly as it should be.
Everything except that girl in a closed room, sleeping with a quietness that didn't belong to her.
Jean pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window.
And for the first time in a long time, she had no answer.
Jean frowned.
The gesture was brief, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Although she tried to hide it immediately, a small wrinkle of concern crossed her forehead. That memory kept stabbing at her from within.
She took air carefully, forcing herself back to the present.
Then she raised her eyes toward Lisa, seeking her without saying anything. She didn't need to. In the librarian's eyes she found the same reflection: a shared, silent unease that still hadn't dared to take shape in words.
Lisa held the gaze for a few seconds more. Then she lowered her head slightly, as if measuring how much she should say... and how much she was willing to admit.
—You know, I've been watching her more closely lately—she confessed, with a much more serious tone than usual, stripping herself for a moment of her usual nonchalance—
Jean narrowed her eyes and slowly clasped her hands on her lap, expectant, without pushing.
There was a brief silence. The lamp on the desk flickered slightly, and the murmur of wind against the glass panes crept into the room like a distant whisper.
—A couple of days ago I saw her in the library—Lisa added, lowering her voice—. I didn't want to mention it before, but... I was surprised.
Jean blinked. —Klee? In the library?
—Yep. And not a casual visit of the "Lisa, lend me the giant bombs book!" kind—she said with a forced smile, though the tension didn't leave her face—. This time I saw her looking at the shelves. Searching. She even seemed frustrated. The curious thing is that she can't read very well yet, but there she was, flipping through pages with a concentration I've never seen from her.
Jean leaned forward a bit, setting the tea aside. —And what was she looking for?
Lisa walked over to where Jean was and pulled a leather folder from her satchel, as if she still had difficulty assimilating it.
—Apparently geography—she finally responded, in a whisper that seemed to weigh more than it should—. She was interested in books about maps, regions, places. She even asked little Ella Musk to read some passages for her. And she, of course, was delighted. She read entire passages to her while Klee listened quietly, though at times she seemed to be falling asleep.
Lisa let out a brief laugh, though it sounded strangely muted. —She even took notes... well, notes in her way.
With a delicate gesture, Lisa opened the folder and withdrew a carefully folded sheet. She unfolded it on the desk, revealing a drawing made with crayons. It was the kind of stroke that only a very young child—or a small elf with too much imagination—could produce. Afterward, she sat back down in front of Jean.
The image was full of color, though disorganized, as if thoughts had been poured onto the paper urgently. A blue sky with floating clouds floated at the top. In the background, you could make out what appeared to be a mansion, clumsily outlined, with three towers ending in peaks of orange-yellow. In the lower central part, Klee's small figure stood out, smiling, occupying her place in the scene.
Jean tilted the drawing, noticing that on the back there was something else. Two attempts at a title, scribbled in crooked letters, made her frown:
"Ella told me my mom lives here" "Where is this?"
Alongside those sentences was a childish signature accompanied by a heart and a simply drawn Dodoco: a circle with unequal ears, fluffy and an exaggerated smile.
Jean took the sheet with both hands, with an almost reverent care. She analyzed the drawing with attention.
—Did she make this?—she asked, her voice reduced to an involuntary whisper.
—Yes—Lisa nodded, with an unusual seriousness—. She gave it to me just before Stormterror attacked the last time. She said she'd seen that place, but didn't tell me where... and wanted to know if it was real.
Jean slid her fingers carefully along the edge of the paper, as if the texture could tell her something more. The towers of orange and yellow tones rose crookedly but firmly, connected by staircases that seemed to bend back on themselves. The sky was clear. Too clear. At first glance, it was a beautiful place. Peaceful.
And yet, something about it didn't fit.
—Do you recognize it?—she asked without taking her eyes off the drawing, as if waiting longer might make the childish shapes reveal a hidden meaning.
Lisa shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the sheet.
—Not exactly. But...—she lowered her voice a bit—. the structure of the towers vaguely reminds me of some designs I saw in books about Fontaine.
She made a brief pause.
—Though it could be nothing. You know how Klee is. Her imagination has no limits. But when she showed it to me...—she narrowed her eyes, thoughtfully—. I don't know. It was... strange.
Jean traced the drawing again with her gaze. Those saturated colors and thick lines that would normally have brought a smile now seemed to contain something more. Not fear or sadness. Something harder to name. As if Klee had captured a feeling that she herself didn't fully understand.
—And she hasn't asked about it again?—Jean asked, her voice calm, but firm.
Lisa shook her head slowly.
—Not a single word—she responded, letting out a sigh that weighed more than it appeared—. And that's what worries me most. Klee never gives up on a doubt for this long...
She made a brief pause before adding—: Although I do know that she asked Albedo to draw the same thing she made. She didn't tell me why.
Jean raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Klee usually asked Albedo for many things—explanations, opinions, even to try some of her artifacts—but she rarely sought to have someone reinterpret her drawings. For her, drawing wasn't a sketch: it was a way of saying what she couldn't put into words.
The silence that followed was dense. Not uncomfortable, but charged. One of those silences that appear when two people know someone far too well and recognize, without saying it, that something is wrong. That concern doesn't arrive suddenly, but grows slowly, like a crack that opens without making noise.
Jean held the drawing for a moment longer before returning it carefully, as if she feared that a rough gesture might break something that was already fragile.
In that instant, more than ever, it was clear to her that she had to talk to Klee. Not as Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. Not with authority or with rules.
But as Jean.
The person to whom Alice had entrusted the care of her daughter. The responsible adult tasked with protecting her... even from what she didn't yet know how to name. Even from what hid in the shadows, between dreams, drawings, and silences that were too long.
—Yes...—she said finally, with a low but determined voice—. Tomorrow I'll talk to her. Calmly. I'll see what's happening to her.
She didn't say investigate. She didn't say interrogate. She said talk.
Lisa observed her in silence for a few seconds. Not with her usual carefree air, but with a profound tenderness, almost indulgent. In her gaze there was something like pride.
Then she let out a soft laugh, without irony.
—That sounded very maternal, dear—she commented—. If you keep talking like that, I'll soon see you knitting socks for her.
Jean let out a small contained laugh, lowering her gaze with modesty.
—If it helps her feel better—she answered simply—, I would do it without thinking.
Lisa nodded slowly. Her eyes took on a more serious, almost protective glow. She set the cup on the table without taking her eyes off Jean.
—Sometimes I forget that you're as strict as you are compassionate—she said in a low voice—. But I'm glad that compassion doesn't rust among all those reports and responsibilities.
Jean placed her hand on the desk, right next to the childish drawing. The tip of her fingers brushed the edge of the paper delicately, as if she feared undoing something invisible.
Lisa smiled slightly. That half-smile laden with soft irony, though this time tinted with tenderness.
—That's already a good start—she answered—. Although I hope that whatever is happening to the girl... isn't serious.
Jean opened her lips to respond.
BOOM.
The blast shattered the silence with the violence of a lightning bolt too close. It was dry, resonant, as if the sky itself had split in two. The ground vibrated beneath their feet and the windows tinkled with a crystalline hum, as if Mondstadt as a whole held its breath.
Both remained motionless for a fraction of a second, their hearts in suspense, unable to process what they had heard.
Then, as if an invisible cord tensed between their bodies, Jean and Lisa stood up at the same time.
The sky, placid and starry until an instant ago, was tinted with an irregular red. A column of smoke ascended to the east, toward the Star Valley, and its silhouette contrasted against the night like an open wound in tranquility.
Lisa left her cup halfway to the table, still steaming. Her eyes, usually cheerful, sharpened with concern.
—Jean... was that...?
But Jean was already on her feet, her expression hardened, her lips pressed tight, and her eyes burning with urgency. The drawing of Klee was forgotten on the table as she headed for the door.
—No...—her voice trembled barely, charged with denial—. It can't be...
They didn't need to say anything else. They abandoned the office together and quickly went to the next room toward the containment hall.
Jean felt an indescribable weight growing between her chest and temples. It wasn't just concern; it was a premonition, one that hammered like a migraine, beating with every pulse of her heart.
They arrived in front of the containment room. Jean didn't hesitate: she pushed the door hard.
The squeal of the hinges was the only sound that accompanied the revelation.
The room was empty. The sheets untouched. The window was open.
And Dodoco, the plush that Klee never separated from, lay on the floor, thrown aside. One of his little ears was scorched, as if he had been left behind hastily.
Klee... had disappeared.
Jean didn't blink. Everything inside her went blank, as if her mind refused to accept what she saw.
—By the Archons...—she murmured with a low and broken voice, bringing a hand to her forehead.
Lisa arrived right behind her. Seeing the scene, she let out the air she had been holding and bent down to pick up Dodoco. She shook him gently, as if she could find answers in his sewn face.
—And to think I was worried because she wasn't blowing things up...—she whispered. There was no humor in her tone, only exhaustion and anguish—. How did she leave without anyone seeing her...?
Jean didn't respond. Within her, the protocol began to deploy like rusty gears: secure the area, organize escape routes, mobilize knights. But a more intimate, more human part couldn't stop repeating the same question:
"Why did Klee leave alone in the night?"
Both turned around, leaving almost at the same time the empty room.
The headquarters of the Knights was immersed in a tense calm. A couple of guards began moving due to the noise, still without knowing what was happening. But before they could even reach the main entrance, the enormous oak door opened with a familiar squeak, dragging with it a gust of fresh air.
And from the outside, crossing the threshold with a relaxed walk and a half-open bottle in his hand, appeared a well-known figure.
Tall, with a slender but firm physique, with his blue cape waving naturally and that black patch covering his right eye, Kaeya Alberich walked as if the night had been made for him. His long dark blue hair, disheveled, fell over his shoulders, shining barely under the light of the street lamps, and his smile—that half-smile between charming and dangerous—seemed fixed on his face since the moment he arrived in the world.
His silhouette advanced unhurriedly, as if the world hadn't trembled mere seconds ago.
—Well, well... exactly what I didn't expect to see—Kaeya commented with that unmistakable mixture of elegant sarcasm and nonchalance that seemed to accompany him like a second skin. He emerged from the shadow cast by the frame of the headquarters' great door, his silhouette cut against the soft light of the street lamps and the faint reddish reflection still hanging in the sky. A half-smile crossed his face, though his gaze didn't seem entirely relaxed—. Did the city accidentally catch fire again without inviting me?
Jean came to a halt immediately, her brow furrowed at once. The tension in her shoulders marked itself even more upon hearing his voice. There was an edge to her expression, that gesture between duty and concern that so defined her.
—Kaeya. Did you see it?
Kaeya raised his gaze toward the sky again, watching how the smoke trail stretched lazily among the stars, as if refusing to fully dissipate.
—I saw the sky light up as I was coming here—he commented, in that tone of his that bordered on carefree—. I was leaving Angel's Share. Honestly, I was planning a quiet night... but it seems someone else went ahead with the light show.
He diverted his gaze toward Jean, with a spark of irony flickering briefly in his uncovered eye.
—Don't tell me it was Klee again?
Lisa let out a soft sigh, crossing her arms while tilting her head just slightly. Her tone had that characteristic playful touch, but it came tinted with something more serious this time. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or resignation.
—Probably—she said with a slight shrug—. But this time it wasn't a couple of fried fish. Jean and I went to her room... and she wasn't there.
Kaeya lowered the bottle slowly, his expression changing instantly. The soft contact of glass against his glove resonated more loudly than expected in that uncomfortable silence. His eyebrows furrowed.
—Disappeared?—he repeated, lowering his tone of voice—. I said that out of habit. I didn't think it was serious.
—It is—Jean replied firmly, her voice flat but filled with tension—. We don't know where she went, but she left Dodoco behind.
That's when Kaeya straightened completely. His language ceased all the nonchalance from a moment ago. The half-smile evaporated like mist under the sun.
—She never, never leaves without Dodoco—he said, with gravity—. Not even when she launches bombs in the middle of chaos. She takes care of him as if he were part of her. If she left him behind... either she went without thinking, or she was forced to.
Lisa stepped forward, her expression hardened. There was something different in her gaze now, a sharpened determination.
—Whatever it is, we have to get to where the explosion was right now. It was near Star Valley.
Kaeya blinked once. The name seemed to strike him deeply. When he spoke again, there was no trace of lightness in his voice.
—Star Valley...?—he repeated, with slowness, as if savoring the name to make sure he hadn't misheard it—
Lisa nodded, and Jean didn't need more.
She turned on her heels with the calm precision of someone who had done this a thousand times... but this time, something was different. As if that decision weren't just another order, but a visceral response, born from a concern that burned far beyond duty. Her gaze no longer asked for permission: it demanded certainty.
—Come with us—she ordered, without hesitation.
Kaeya raised an eyebrow, barely amused, and then lowered his gaze to the bottle he still held as if he had just noticed it. He turned it slowly between his fingers, contemplating it for a second longer than necessary. There was something strange about that gesture, almost symbolic. As if the weight of what he was about to do forced him to release more than just glass and wine.
With a slight sigh, he walked to a nearby window. Under the pale light of the moon, he placed the bottle on the windowsill with an almost ceremonial calm. It was a silent gesture, but it said more than any words could: what came next... was more important.
—I suppose my night of rest has come to an end—he murmured with a lopsided smile, though more muted than usual—. It's not like Angel's Share was serving me anything more valuable than Klee's safety.
Lisa, who was already walking toward the door, paused just to turn her face and look at him over her shoulder. She tilted her head with that natural elegance of hers, one eyebrow arched and a subtle smile on her lips. Still, her tone was charged with all the tension that had accumulated in the last few hours.
—I'm surprised you didn't throw out some cynical line. Are you softening?
Kaeya gave her a fleeting look. The spark in his eyes was still there, that light mischief that seemed tattooed on his expression... but beneath it, a shadow slipped. One that he couldn't quite hide.
—For Klee, always—he admitted, and his voice lowered a tone, softer—. Sometimes I forget that she's just a child.
The comment hung in the air like a perfume that refuses to dissipate. For an instant, silence embraced them again. Only the wind, high and sharp, broke the moment from the top of the towers. Jean said nothing. There was no longer any need. The firm sound of her boots against the marble was the only warning before she set off toward the exit.
Lisa followed without a word, the slight movement of her skirt catching the rhythm of the wind. Kaeya adjusted his cape with an almost automatic elegance and caught up with both of them with light steps, placing himself at their side without standing out.
Mondstadt's gates were left behind, pushed by the weight of the night.
The path ahead stretched wrapped in shadows, with the air growing increasingly gelid, as if the world itself were holding its breath. But it wasn't just the cold creeping under the skin: it was intuition. That silent premonition that all of them shared, though no one dared speak it aloud.
What awaited them out there... was more than just a simple accident. More than another of Klee's pranks.
Because at the heart of it all, they knew—though it hurt to admit—there was a small girl, with the brightest gaze in all of Mondstadt... and perhaps, too, the most fragile.
Prologue: "When the Wind Began to Burn" Part 1
The east gate of Mondstadt fell behind, swallowed by the nocturnal mist that was beginning to spread like a silent tide over the sleeping fields. The air, impregnated with the humidity of the night, carried an ancestral whisper. The stars twitched with a disquieting rhythm, as if each flicker were an attempt to point to something only the sky seemed to understand.
They advanced without speaking, with a steady rhythm that said more than any words could. The stone path that wound toward Star Valley guided them like an old scar engraved on the earth. In the distance, beyond the darkened vineyards, a reddish light persisted in the folds of darkness.
Jean led the march. Her face, severe, seemed now sculpted in determination. Her hand rested near the pommel of her sword, not by reflex, but by necessity.
Lisa walked at her side, maintaining her relaxed bearing, but her eyes shone with honed lucidity as she scanned each shadow. Kaeya closed the formation, his steps equally firm. His usual smile had evaporated, replaced by something more calculating.
When they finally reached Star Lake, the landscape received them with a silence so thick that not even the crickets dared to interrupt it.
What was once a peaceful shore of crystalline waters had become ruins. The grass was scorched in large sections, transformed into a tapestry of ashes and blackened earth. Nearby trees lay broken in half, some still smoking. The lake, normally clear, had taken on a turbid tone, stained by red particles floating beneath the surface like drowned embers. Craters pockmarked the terrain, their cores still glowing beneath the surface crust. The air smelled of ozone, gunpowder, and something metallic.
There were no birds. No insects. Only smoke.
Jean stopped at the water's edge. Her eyes rested on the craters, the open scars scattered everywhere. When she spoke, her voice was low, controlled.
—Was this Klee?
Lisa took a few steps around the area, observing. Her eyes narrowed as she processed what she saw.
—No—she answered simply, without her usual playful tone—. Her bombs leave different marks.
Kaeya approached one of the largest craters, bent down, and picked up a scorched particle that shone faintly. He let it go with the wind without saying anything. When he straightened, his expression could no longer hide.
—This was a fight.
Jean didn't respond immediately. She continued crouched, analyzing each scar in the ground as if trying to decipher what had happened. The marks weren't typical of carelessness. Something didn't add up.
It was Lisa who moved toward the water first, taking soft steps. She stopped when she saw an anomalous reflection in the turbid surface.
—Here—she called, her voice graver than before.
The other two arrived instantly. A few meters from the shore, in the turbid waters, a red glow pulsed with irregular cadence.
Kaeya exhaled slowly.
—It can't be.
Jean didn't wait. She leaned over and submerged her hand in the icy water. As soon as she touched the surface, a chill ran through her arm, as if something in the lake reacted to her presence. When she withdrew it, she held a Pyro Vision.
A Pyro Vision they knew very well who it belonged to.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Lisa was the first to speak, her voice barely a whisper.
—She wouldn't let it go. Not for anything.
Jean squeezed the Vision between her hands, as if that would give her answers. The light pulsed, weak. Warm.
Kaeya was already moving, examining the wet ground, the irregular marks in the earth. Lisa bent as well, her sharp eyes detecting something among the broken roots.
—Blood—she murmured—. And it looks recent.
Jean incorporated immediately, clenching her teeth. When she raised her gaze, her expression was no longer that of an administrator. It was that of someone determined not to stop.
—We follow the trail. Now.
Kaeya had already turned north, his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
—There's no other choice.
And they began to move, quickly, following the crushed grass and the trail of what had happened not long ago.
It was then that Lisa came to an abrupt stop.
Her skin stood on end as if a discharge had run through her spine. Her eyes rose immediately toward the center of the lake.
The Statue of the Seven, that immutable figure that honored the Anemo Archon, was... changing.
First it was barely a flicker. A subtle tremor in its aura. But then the serene blue began to tint with a deep green, like a subterranean current rising to the surface. The pulsation expanded slowly, impregnating the air with a dense energy. Vibrant. Alive.
Kaeya was the first to react, though barely a whisper:
—Is that normal?
No one had time to tell him it wasn't.
Because in that instant, the wind changed.
What had been a temperate breeze twisted without warning. The air became something alive, dancing in chaotic spirals, dragging ancient dust and ashes that shouldn't have been there. The ground shook as if something beneath was trying to emerge.
The branches crackled. It wasn't the sound of shaken leaves. It was deeper. Guttural. As if the entire forest recognized a power that didn't belong to it and wanted to pull away.
Lisa raised her arm, protecting her face. Her hat almost escaped, but she held it with an unusual strength.
—I don't like this.
The Statue shone. But not like when it receives an offering or blessing. This light was different. More intense. More conscious. It seemed to move like an eye awakening.
And then the Pyro Vision in Jean's hands trembled.
Without warning, it began to glow. A crimson red brilliance that burned from within. A dull resonance vibrated in the air. Lisa took a step back. Kaeya tensed, his gaze fixed on that fragment of power that seemed to have a life of its own.
Jean remained motionless, her fingers crimped around the Vision. Her eyes didn't peel away from that burning light.
The wind grew again. Brutal. It rose in a roar that shook the trees, tore off branches, made the earth tremble beneath their feet. Stones were hurled like projectiles. Roots crackled like broken strings.
And then... it stopped.
There was no transition.
Just silence.
The statue's glow faded. The green retreated. The blue returned, first weak, then stronger. Until nothing remained but stillness.
Kaeya, Lisa, and Jean exchanged glances. They said nothing. Because there were no words.
But just when the atmosphere seemed to calm...
¡BOOM!
An explosion tore the air. Not like the previous ones. This was a rupture. A crack forced open from the inside.
It didn't come from the lake. Nor from the trees.
It came from one direction. From the Temple of the Thousand Winds not far from where they stood.
The earth trembled. Not like a natural earthquake. It was a vibration born in the depths.
Kaeya turned abruptly, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
—What the hell was that?
Lisa stepped back, her gaze fixed toward the horizon.
A new wind emerged from the north. Sharp. Loaded with a pressure so monstrous that it seemed to blow away everything in its path. The trees shook violently. Some trunks snapped. The leaves rose in a frantic dance.
The lake, which had recovered its calm, exploded into furious waves. Water leapt in all directions, dragging stones and mud.
And then... the sky itself changed.
Where there had been darkness speckled with stars, a dense red began to spread. It wasn't red from fire or sunset. It was dark. Bloodied. As if the firmament had been split and the wound still bled.
Jean lowered her gaze and saw that the Pyro Vision in her hand increased its brilliance suddenly, pulsing at the same rhythm as that light in the sky.
Whatever is happening there is making the pyro vision react like that.
Lisa frowned.
—Was that...?
—I don't know—cut in Jean, her voice barely audible.
Kaeya took a step back. It was rare to see him retreat. But in that instant, his rigidity said what he couldn't verbalize.
—Whatever it is, it doesn't fit with anything I know.
The Vision pulsed in Jean's hands, resonating with the red in the sky. And in that moment, the three knew the same thing without needing words:
Klee was there.
Without giving orders, without a plan, they launched themselves northward. It wasn't just a mission. It was pure urgency.
Very far from there, in the Drunken Sailor, someone else had felt the change.
A bard, dressed in green and white, was leaning against the bar. He had been whistling an old song between sips of wine. But when the explosion shook the establishment's foundations, something inside him changed as well.
He set the bottle on the wood with care. The tinkle of glass was the only sound before the silence that followed.
He said nothing. But his eyes rose toward the open window, where the red wind began to tint the sky.
That feeling of power. That pulsation that he could barely feel from the distance...
It was similar to his. Too similar.
Venti brought his hand to where his "Vision" rested. His lips tightened.
—What was that?—he whispered, more to himself.
He could feel it had some of his power. Something of the Archon essence that he possessed.
And he didn't like a single thing about what he was feeling.
He left a few coins on the bar without counting. He left through the door without making noise, and the wind followed him as always.
This time... he had to take matters into his own hands.
Jean, Kaeya, and Lisa advanced with the hurried pace of those who run no longer by duty, but by something more primitive. The wind struck them head-on. Ashes and branches flew through the path, dragged by a force that didn't seem natural.
They didn't talk.
Jean was in front. Not as the Grand Master. Just as someone running against time. Her boots stepped with firmness, but her shoulders trembled barely.
Kaeya walked at her pace, without theater. Without smile. Without game.
Lisa closed the formation. She felt the magical lines of the world vibrate, fracture. As if someone had broken a perfect symphony.
The Pyro Vision in Jean's hands changed.
Suddenly it stopped glowing. It stopped pulsing. It just flickered. Twice. And its red color became faint. As if something inside were fading.
Jean stopped dead.
You don't need to be a mage. A Vision doesn't go out like that.
She clenched her fingers around the crystal. But all she felt was emptiness.
Lisa also slowed down. Her breathing became heavy.
Kaeya turned. He saw it. And for a moment, all his disguise fell away. Only wide-open eyes.
They looked at each other.
Neither said anything. Because if they spoke... they made it real.
Without an agreement, they resumed their pace. Faster.
Kaeya was the first to reach the Temple, followed by the others. They stopped when they saw the state of the place.
What was once a sacred site was now ruins. The columns lay shattered into pieces. Chunks of white marble scattered like broken bones. The collapsed stairs led inward.
In the center, a deep crater. Shattered rocks. Fire still alive.
The three descended without speaking. They stepped carefully. No one spoke. But they all thought the same thing.
Something very bad had happened here.
A pillar of scorched stone fell to the ground, raising a cloud of ash.
Lisa covered her mouth. She had seen things before. In Sumeru. In places that Jean never saw in reports. But this... was something else.
Jean advanced with firm steps, though her legs trembled. The smoke stung her eyes.
And it was she who saw it.
Among the rubble, against what remained of a wall.
Klee.
Without her hat. Without her backpack. Without Dodoco.
Her hair was matted with sweat, ash, and dried blood. Dark lines ran down her cheeks.
Kaeya was the first to move, but stopped immediately. Lisa arrived behind him, letting out a muffled sigh. Jean simply walked toward her.
She knelt.
The body of Klee was covered in cuts, scratches, black burns on her small hands. The wounds weren't lethal, but it hurt to see her like that.
Jean took one of her hands carefully. She brought it to her chest, to her ear.
A second.
Another.
Until...
Thump.
A single heartbeat. Small. Barely perceptible.
Jean breathed.
—She's alive—she whispered.
She wrapped Klee's tiny body against her, embracing it firmly.
Lisa closed her eyes for a moment. She murmured something between her teeth. A prayer. A "thank you." Who knows.
Kaeya remained standing, rigid, his eyes fixed on Klee. The sound of sobs escaping from Jean was lost among the crackle of the ruins, but her trembling shoulders said everything.
Kaeya turned his gaze to the crater. That huge wound still smoking. He didn't need clues. He knew that explosion was Klee's. By instinct and by how the rocks were distributed.
His jaw tightened.
—What did they do to you?—he whispered, his voice hoarse. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation directed at the universe. His fingers crispied as if he wanted to seize something he could explain this with.
Lisa was in silence, observing the place with those eyes that saw beyond what was visible. Her expression hardened with each detail she processed. Then she spoke, but her voice didn't have that playful tone of hers anymore.
—It wasn't an accident—she said finally, as if each word had been carefully weighed—. It looks like a trap.
Kaeya clicked his tongue, a harsh sound that contrasted with the silence of the place. His eyes stayed fixed on Klee, on her tiny body, on those burned hands. He didn't want to look away. As if looking at her was the only thing he could do for her at this moment.
—Against her?—he asked, his voice a little lower, a little sharper—. Who the hell attacks a child like that?
Lisa moved slightly, taking a step to better examine the traces on the ground. Her fingers brushed the air above an impact mark, without touching it. As if she could read the magic in the residue.
—Someone who knew exactly what they were doing—she answered, without her usual playful tone. Just pure ice. Her gaze rose toward Kaeya, and in that meeting of eyes, both knew the same thing without needing words: this had been planned. This wasn't an accident.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Jean continued to cradle Klee.
The smoke began to disperse.
Lisa watched the tremor that still ran through the earth beneath her feet. It wasn't imagination. It was real. Palpable. And that meant only one thing.
—We can't stay here—she said finally, her voice cutting like glass—. That roar was heard far, I'm sure the knights are already coming. And with them...
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. Everyone knew who would come running toward this disaster: Barbara. Jean's sister. The priestess who would never be slow to save someone this time.
Jean tightened Klee against her chest, her arms forming a protective cage.
—Then we have to take her back. Now—she said, clenching her teeth—. She's alive, but she needs real medical attention.
Her eyes found Lisa's for a second, as if seeking confirmation. Or permission. Or perhaps just making sure they weren't alone in this. Klee's body trembled slightly in her arms, so small, so fragile. Jean felt how her chest tightened upon realizing: this was her responsibility. It always had been.
—She's still her, Jean—Lisa murmured, observing the destroyed body of the girl—. If anyone can endure something like that... it's Klee.
But Lisa also knew that "enduring" wasn't enough. The burns on her hands were deep. The trauma was deep. Klee could survive physically. But what had happened here... that was different.
Kaeya shook the soot off his clothing with mechanical movements. His mind was already on the next action. On the next danger. His fingers tapped slowly against the pommel of his sword, a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the persistent tremor of the ground.
—We need a plan—said Kaeya, his voice low but cutting—. We can't simply walk back to Mondstadt with her. If what did this is still nearby...
—Then we'll go quickly—interrupted Jean, but her voice betrayed uncertainty—. As fast as we can.
—That's not a plan and you know it—Kaeya responded, his eyes still scanning the ruins—. And I doubt that will stop whatever did this, if what caused this is still around here.
Lisa moved between them, her expression grave.
—Then let's go before something else happens—
Lisa pointed to the still-smoking ruins, her expression grave. The smoke dissipated slowly, revealing layers of destruction that seemed to multiply as the view became clearer.
—Is there anything worse than this?—she asked, though she knew the answer wouldn't be comforting.
Kaeya let out a laugh without joy. Not humor. Pure sarcasm. The kind of laugh someone lets out when they understand that everything is going to the abyss and there's nothing that can stop it.
—There's always something worse, Lisa—he answered, his voice raspy—. Always.
And as if those words were an invitation to chaos itself...
¡¡¡CRASH!!!
The ground roared. Not an explosion. Something that came from within. From the deep. From the very heart of the destroyed temple. The world shook beneath their feet with violence that made them lose their balance momentarily, their bodies oscillating like trees under a hurricane.
The three recomposed quickly and turned at the same time. Pure instinct. Bodies ready.
Jean wrapped Klee, protecting her with her body. Lisa stepped back, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows. Kaeya drew his sword in a fluid motion.
And in the center of the crater, between the burst rocks and the still-living fire...
Something began to rise.
At first it was just movement. Twisted. Formless. A figure that shouldn't have been able to stand. A leg dragging. An arm hanging, useless.
Skin burned down to the bone in areas where there shouldn't have been bone. Open flesh. What remained of clothes were tatters that hid nothing.
A face. Or what was left of one. A new scar crossed from the cheekbone to the neck, still smoking. One eye shone with sick fire. The other... wasn't there.
The hands were the worst.
Fingers melted, fused by heat. Skin like paper burned. In one you could see white bone through the cracks.
The creature raised its head with difficulty. Each movement creaked as if its own bones resisted obeying it.
A single sigh.
That breath sounded as if it dragged a corpse from within its own chest.
One eye opened. Just one. Red, bloodshot, unstable. A burning ember in a skull that should have been dead.
It let out a low growl, and the heat vapor still inside its body escaped through its mouth.
That froze everyone's blood. Not because it was strong. But because it had no emotional variation. It was the voice of someone whose mind had already died and whose body was simply following the orders of the power consuming it.
And then what flowed through its veins began to manifest.
An energy unknown to them. It was none of the seven elements of Teyvat that they had ever seen, and they even doubted if it was the abyss energy.
The few embers still on it went out.
The plants that somehow survived the nearby attacks withered.
In the mind of that thing, words that that man had said to it at another time echoed in its head:
"To use the technique, the body must be beyond imagination, you must have precise understanding of domain mastery. And in that state of ruin, your mind and soul will enter a state of pure ecstasy upon finally understanding it."
Ecstasy on the edge of the abyss.
And that thing finally understood it.
The pressure expanded in all directions.
The broken fingers began to rise. Trembling. Clumsy. But with precision no one in their condition should possess.
A strange aura of white color surrounded them for a few moments.
One by one it adjusted with an unnatural rattling.
The hand that was nothing but bone and cartilage began to transform. It wasn't smooth regeneration. The strange energy pulled the flesh like water, forcing it to take shape again. Bone covered by tendon. Tendon covered by muscle. Muscle covered by new skin, raw, shining with a dark tint.
In less than a second, the shattered skeleton was complete.
Functional.
Ready.
Its fingers trembled, not from weakness. From contained power. From cursed energy seeking expression.
—...Fascinating—it whispered.
The word escaped like vapor. Its single eye stared at the reconstructed hand as if it didn't belong to it. But it controlled it. It could feel every nerve, every fiber, rewritten by the power possessing it.
And then it placed its hands in a strange position.
Index and middle fingers rose tense like fangs. Thumb bent toward the center. Ring finger crossed diagonally. Pinky curved like a claw.
The atmosphere became unbearable. The pressure that made breathing difficult worsened, as if the very space wanted to collapse upon them.
The Visions shook violently.
And then it opened its mouth.
And an echo resonated throughout the area.
—Domain Expansion...
Space responded.
It didn't crack like glass. Reality itself began to break. As if it were being forced under a weight it wasn't designed to support.
The air vibrated. Pressure multiplied exponentially. It was as if it were trying to separate two different layers of existence.
Reality itself seemed to bend under the weight of what that thing was about to do....
But nothing bloomed.
Nothing manifested.
The wind changed suddenly.
A gust, perfect in its precision, struck with the fury of a thousand hurricanes.
That thing, which still appeared to have human form, was sent flying against some pillars that hadn't been demolished yet.
The three people present didn't react to that. They were still petrified by the pressure that thing had exerted on them.
But their stunning vanished when they heard something fall near them. They turned and saw it.
A person in light green clothing, with a lyre hanging at his side, vibrating with an echo of ancient songs, while holding a bow like a hunter seeing its prey. His eyes, which usually shone with mischief, now held a solemn silence.
Venti had arrived.
And at a better moment.
—Sorry to interrupt—he said with softness, his voice light as a feather, but charged with surprising seriousness—. I heard too much noise...
his eyes traveling through all of them. Jean. Kaeya. Lisa. Klee.
And then his gaze returned to the type that was stamped against the pillars.
—And I came to see what was happening.
WELL, I finally finished this damn thing, man I've wanted to write this story for a long time, I hope you like it.
I honestly want to do it well, because BELIEVE ME WHEN I TELL YOU I HAVE AN IDEA OF HOW TO MAKE THIS WORK
I'll use some things from other places without taking away the originality and canon of Genshin.
Also I might make reference to other stories, with the permission of their respective authors.
Start date: 28/6/2025
Publication date in wattpad: 7/1/2026
Publication date in webnovel: 7/1/2026
The next chapter will be out soon :)
Word count: 11594
Let me know if you find any inconsistencies
Give me power stones and make this story go far please and thank you