In the vast, volcanic expanses of Natlan, where the earth breathed fire and the air hummed with the echoes of ancient battles, Grand Master Varka of the Knights of Favonius led his expedition through the rugged terrain. The year was one of exploration and duty, as Mondstadt’s finest ventured far from the city of freedom to uncover secrets that might safeguard their homeland. Varka, a towering figure with scars etched across his neck and face like badges of honor, strode ahead with his signature carefree grin. His black and teal coat, lined with white fur, billowed in the hot winds, and his Anemo Vision gleamed at his side, a testament to his unyielding strength. Though he wielded his massive claymore with the ease of a child swinging a toy, Varka’s heart carried the weight of responsibility—he had left Jean in charge back home, trusting her to hold the fort while he chased horizons.
The expedition had camped near a forgotten ruin, what the locals called Nod-Krai, a place shrouded in mystery where the veil between worlds felt thin. Whispers of ancient angels and fallen races lingered in the air, but Varka dismissed them as tales to spice up tavern nights. He loved a good story, after all, especially ones he could embellish with his booming laughter. As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in fiery hues, Varka spotted a figure perched on a jagged outcrop, sculpting something from the volcanic rock with ethereal grace. She was breathtaking—long, flowing hair like spun gold, eyes that held the depth of forgotten stars, and an aura that seemed to bend the light around her. Nicole Reeyn, though he didn’t know her name yet, was no ordinary wanderer. As a member of the Hexenzirkel, codenamed “N,” she had come to Natlan drawn by prophecies of shifting fates.
Varka approached with his usual confidence, his boots crunching against the ash-strewn ground. He had heard from Alice, that mischievous witch, about a “guide who never gets lost” roaming these parts. Alice had teased him during their last encounter in Mondstadt, saying, “Oh, Varka, you’d love her—she’s got more secrets than you have scars!” Chuckling to himself, he cleared his throat and called out, “Hail, fair sculptor! The winds of Mondstadt bring me to your doorstep. I’m Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, Knight of Boreas. Alice might have mentioned me—tall tales of my exploits, no doubt?”
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Nicole turned slowly, her expression calm and wise, yet a spark of mischief danced in her eyes. She was physically mute, a curse from her angelic past, but her voice resonated directly in his mind, clear and melodic, like a gentle breeze carrying hidden depths. Alice? Oh, the ever-elusive one. She does love her stories, doesn’t she? But I’m afraid she hasn’t whispered a word about you, Grand Master. Should I have heard of you? Are you perhaps the one who wrestles hilichurls for sport, or the knight who drinks the taverns dry?
Varka blinked, caught off guard, then burst into hearty laughter that echoed across the ruins. “Ha! Wrestle hilichurls? I’ve done worse on a slow day! And as for drinking—well, let’s just say I can hold my own against the best of Angel’s Share. But come now, don’t tease a man who’s traveled leagues. Alice must have said something. She’s always meddling.”
Nicole’s mental voice carried a teasing lilt, warm and inviting. Meddling is her art, but perhaps she spared me the details to let you introduce yourself properly. Nod-Krai is full of forgotten histories—angels who fell, civilizations that crumbled under Celestia’s gaze. What brings a knight like you here, Varka? Chasing glory, or something more… responsible?
He grinned, leaning on his claymore like a staff. “A bit of both, if I’m honest. My expedition seeks alliances, knowledge—anything to keep Mondstadt free. But enough about duty. What’s a beauty like you doing sculpting in this heat? Looks like you’re crafting a Seelie court or something from the old lore.”
Seelies? Close enough. They’re remnants of what once was, guides for the lost. Much like me, I suppose. But tell me more about this expedition of yours. I’ve heard tales of Mondstadt’s winds carrying heroes far and wide.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, Varka’s booming voice contrasting her silent, intimate projections. As the stars emerged, he found himself drawn in, laughing at her witty barbs, unaware that this encounter would ignite a spark destined to reshape their fates.
