The storm raged across Dragonspine like a vengeful spirit, snow whipping through the air in furious gusts that bit at the skin and chilled the bones. Varka’s expedition had been forced to seek shelter in a cavernous ruin, remnants of some ancient Sal Vindagnyr structure long buried under the mountain’s eternal frost. The group huddled around a makeshift fire—Razor growling softly at the howling winds outside, Mika scribbling notes in his journal by the flickering light, and a few Natlan warriors sharing tales of warmer battles to lift spirits. But Varka had slipped away with Nicole to a quieter alcove deeper in the cave, where the echoes of the storm were muffled, and the air held a fragile warmth from geothermal vents seeping through cracks in the stone.
Nicole had guided them here, her knowledge of Teyvat’s hidden paths proving invaluable once more. As an angel turned witch, she knew Dragonspine’s secrets intimately—the whispers of the Irminsul tree that once connected this place to warmer realms, the tragic fall of the princess and her people under Celestia’s indifferent gaze. But tonight, her thoughts weren’t on history; they were on the man beside her, his massive frame a shield against the cold. Varka had draped his fur-lined coat over her shoulders, insisting with his usual grin that “a knight’s duty includes keeping mysterious guides from turning into icicles.” The coat smelled of him—wind-swept freedom, a hint of dandelion wine, and the faint metallic tang of battle scars.
They sat close, the fire’s distant glow casting dancing shadows on the walls. Varka’s Anemo Vision pulsed softly, stirring a gentle breeze to fan the warmth toward them. He was unusually quiet at first, staring into the dim light, his scarred face thoughtful. Nicole, ever the observer, projected her voice into his mind, soft and probing. The storm reminds me of Andrius’s blizzards—fierce, unrelenting. You’ve faced worse, haven’t you? Those scars on your neck and face… they tell stories louder than words.
Varka chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like thunder echoing in the cave. “Ah, these old things? Souvenirs from spars I’d rather forget—or boast about, depending on the audience. The one on my neck? That was from a rift hound during a skirmish near Wolvendom. Nasty beast, but I sent it packing with a swing that could fell a tree. The face? Courtesy of a Fatui ambush years back. They thought they could catch the Knight of Boreas off guard. Ha! I laughed through the pain—nothing keeps me down long. But enough about my war wounds. What about you, Nicole? You’ve got that ethereal look, like you’ve seen eons pass. No scars, but I bet you’ve got stories that’d make even Alice jealous.”
Her mental response carried a teasing warmth, intimate in the confined space. Eons? Flattery, Grand Master. But yes, I’ve witnessed falls greater than any battle you’ve fought. The angels of old… we were meant to observe, not entangle ourselves in mortal affairs. Love was forbidden, a path to self-destruction. Turning into Seelies—lost lights wandering forever. But history is just that—past. Here, in this storm, the present feels… alive. You’re warmer than any Anemo swirl, Varka. How do you do it? Carry responsibility like a claymore, yet laugh like the wind?
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He shifted closer, his blue eyes locking onto hers, the awkwardness of their budding connection making his heart race in a way no fight ever had. Varka wasn’t used to this—romance was uncharted territory for him, as foreign as the depths of the Abyss. He’d mentored Razor, led knights, shared drinks with Diluc at Dawn Winery, but vulnerability? That was new. “Warmth? Comes from good company, I suppose. You’re the one who’s got me thinking beyond expeditions and duties. That mind-voice of yours… it’s like you’re whispering secrets straight to my soul. Awkward as it is, not hearing you out loud, it feels right. Intimate, like you said back in Natlan.”
Nicole’s cheeks flushed faintly, her beauty amplified in the low light—eyes like crystalline skies, hair cascading like golden waterfalls. She was falling harder with each shared moment, willing to embrace the curse of her kind for this human who made her feel seen, not just observed. Intimate… yes. Suffocating silence has been my companion for so long, but with you, I can ‘yap’ freely. Tell you about the Hexenzirkel’s teas, where Alice brews chaos and Barbeloth reads stars. Or how I sculpt not just rock, but perspectives—trusting eyes over illusions. But Varka, you’re no illusion. You’re real, solid… and teasing you is the highlight of these journeys.
He laughed again, the sound bouncing off the walls, but it softened into something tender. “Teasing me? You’ve got a knack for it. Calling out my drinking habits, my bravado. But I give as good as I get. You’re the one feigning ignorance about Alice’s tales—bet she painted me as some heroic fool. And here we are, in a cave on Dragonspine, closer than comrades.” His hand found hers, calloused fingers intertwining with her delicate ones, sending a thrill through them both. The touch was electric, awkward in its novelty, yet charged with unspoken desire.
Closer than comrades, she echoed in his mind, her voice husky with emotion. What if the winds carry us further? Natlan’s fires, Mondstadt’s breezes—they’ve brought us here. But storms like this… they strip away pretenses.
Varka’s breath hitched, his free hand cupping her cheek gently, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Then let’s see where they take us.” He leaned in, hesitant at first—their inexperience making the moment raw and real. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft, exploratory, but ignited like Pyro meeting Anemo. It deepened, hot and sweet, his arms pulling her closer as the storm outside mirrored the passion within. Nicole melted into him, her mind flooding his with whispers of affection—Varka… this is worth any fate. They broke apart breathless, foreheads touching, laughter bubbling up awkwardly.
“Archons, that was… something,” Varka murmured, grinning sheepishly. “Never been one for romance, but with you? It feels like destiny.”
Destiny? Careful, knight of Boreas. The gods might hear. But her tone was playful, hiding the truth she dared not reveal yet.
As the storm waned, they lingered in each other’s arms, sharing more stories and teases, the slow burn of their romance heating the cold night.
