Dusk hung like molten lead, heavy and cold, over the spires of Sumeru City. Aether sat on the stone steps of the Grand Bazaar, his fingers unconsciously tracing the carvings on his sword hilt—craftsmanship from Fontaine's artisans, now likely stained with unfamiliar blood. The clamor of the spice market drifted three streets away, mixed with the chime of the Akademiya's towers in the distance. What should have been familiar peace now grated on his nerves like sandpaper.
"Report!"
A sharp cry tore through the twilight. A Sumeru messenger stumbled into the plaza, his boots dusted with desert sand, the scroll in his arms crumpled with sweat. He staggered before Aether, his voice shaking violently.
"Traveler… Fontaine—Fontaine has fallen!"
Aether shot to his feet. The wind glider at his waist hummed faintly.
"What did you say?"
"Yuan Shao's army!" The messenger tore off his wind-tousled turban, revealing eyes wide with terror. "They crossed the Steam River three days ago. Those iron tubes that spit fire—they blasted open the gates of the Hydro Archon's Oracle. The Archon is said to be trapped inside the Opera House. The entire Fontaine Harbor now flies the banner of Yuan!"
"Yuan Shao?" Pang Tong stepped out from behind a pile of spices, the peacock plumes on his feather fan glinting coldly in the dusk. He had just finished discussing inscriptions from desert ruins with Alhaitham. With a snap, he closed his fan, his knuckles white. "That warlord occupying the northern borders of Liyue? How dare he…"
Before he could finish, a silver streak plummeted from the clouds. Zhao Yun's spear struck the stone pavement, sparking.
"I just returned from Port Ormos," he said, lifting his visor. Frost still clung to his dark armor. "Caravans at the docks saw Yuan's fleet blockading the Fontaine Channel. Their armor bears the dark green emblem of Yuan—no doubt about it."
The three fell silent as the sky darkened. In the distance, Dehya was teaching children to wield the Staff of the Scarlet Sands, her laughter ringing like silver bells, making this corner feel all the more frozen by a bitter chill.
Aether thought of his last visit to Fontaine: Navia smiling as she handed him afternoon tea, the Opera House's crystal lights refracting rainbows. Now those lights might be glinting off strange blades and spears.
"Chenyu Vale."
Pang Tong spoke suddenly, his voice low like thunder buried in sand. He strode to a nearby map of Sumeru and jabbed his fan at the valley on the border of Fontaine and Sumeru.
"Yuan Shao's grain and weapons must be stockpiled there. Qiaoying Village in Chenyu Vale is strategically vital—the throat connecting Fontaine and Sumeru. He will not leave it undefended."
Zhao Yun spun his spear in his grip, its tassel brushing loose stones from the ground.
"Qiaoying Village? I heard of it in Liyue. It is Fontaine's largest warehouse. Said to hold enough supplies for three months for a hundred thousand men."
"More than grain." Aether's gaze fell on the winding river on the map. "Fontaine's mechanical workshops lie downstream from Chenyu Vale. For Yuan Shao to build those fire-spitting tubes, he must have hidden stolen armaments there too."
He recalled ancient machinery seen in The Chasm. The power of those steel constructs still made his heart race—and Yuan Shao's army had clearly mastered similar technology.
Pang Tong suddenly laughed, a sharp, determined sound.
"I know of Yuan Shao from my time in Liyue. He commands a host of millions, yet he is arrogant and careless. He thinks taking Fontaine makes him invincible. He will leave his grain to his most trusted general… not knowing that man is a good‑for‑nothing who only skims military pay."
He unfurled his fan. The characters for Wisdom and Strategy on its surface flickered dimly in the dusk.
"West of Chenyu Vale lies a cliff. Legend says it was once a secret passage the ancient Hydro Archon used to divert floods. Now it is overgrown with vines. Yuan's army will never know of it."
Zhao Yun tightened his grip on his spear. The cloud patterns on its shaft glinted coldly in the moonlight.
"When do we move?"
"Tonight." Aether looked up at the night sky. The Big Dipper hung directly over Chenyu Vale. He pulled a Teleport Waypoint from his bag, its familiar elemental energy thrumming beneath his fingers.
"We strike at moon high noon—during the Yuan army's shift change."
Pang Tong pulled a scroll of parchment from his pack and spread it in the moonlight: a rough sketch of Chenyu Vale's defenses, still stained with fresh ink.
"I got this from a Fontaine artisan who escaped," he said, pointing to red marks on the map.
"This is the granary, roofed with fireproof glazed tile. We'll need Anemo to tear it open. Over there is the armory—three layers of iron locks. General Zhao Yun's spearwork will serve us well."
Zhao Yun studied the winding patrol routes on the map, spinning his spear faster in his palm.
"Three hundred soldiers, four patrols. Shift change lasts a quarter of an hour. More than enough time."
Aether took out a few Elemental Particles. Anemo swirled gently around his fingertips.
"I'll signal from the granary. You two seize the armory. We must withdraw before dawn. Otherwise, when Yuan's reinforcements arrive from Fontaine Harbor, we'll be trapped like turtles in a jar."
Night deepened. Thousands of lights lit up across Sumeru.
The three walked side by side out of the Grand Bazaar. Zhao Yun's dark armor glinted coldly in the moonlight. Pang Tong's feather fan brushed against roadside sea buckthorns. Aether's wind glider trembled softly with each step.
In the distance, the desert rumbled with the low cry of a sand worm. Nearby, the river mirrored the stars. Everything seemed the same as always… and yet everything was different.
The road beneath their feet led to a raid that would decide the fates of two nations.
"Oh," Aether said suddenly, stopping. He pulled three apples from his bag.
"Bought these in Mondstadt. They're said to refresh the mind."
Zhao Yun took one, wiping it gently with his scabbard.
"Thank you, Traveler."
Pang Tong bit into an apple, juice splashing onto his beard.
Aether smiled, tossing the last apple into the air. Anemo held it spinning above his fingertips. Moonlight filtered through its texture, casting tiny specks of light on the ground—much like the evening lights of Fontaine Harbor.
He caught it and bit down. Sweet juice slid down his throat, with a faint, unnoticeable bitterness—the taste of war… and the taste of having no choice but to move forward.
Toward Chenyu Vale, the night was thick.
And their steps had already shattered the peace of Sumeru.