"So… where to first?" Felix asked, his voice light as the clouds he soared through. Orion sat astride his back, his cloak fluttering in the wind as they flew high above the skies of Mondstadt.
"I'm not sure," Orion admitted, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. "Which of the three is closest — the Nation of Dendro, Pyro, or Hydro?"
Felix tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hydro would be the nearest, but... we shouldn't push too far in one flight. Long trips in one go might be risky."
"We can take a break at Wangshu Inn," Frieda chimed in from within, her voice laced with a soft smile. "It's not far from here, and from there, we can travel through Chenyu Vale and reach Fontaine with ease."
"Wangshu Inn?" Orion raised a brow, curiosity flickering across his face. "I wonder what kind of place that is."
"I've heard whispers," Felix muttered, his tone a little hushed. "They say a Yaksha roams those parts… a guardian spirit. I wonder if we'll see one."
"Wangshu Inn is newly built in the Bishui Plains," Frieda explained, her voice warm, drifting like a story told under a starlit sky. "It stands at the southern edge of Dihua Marsh, but it's more than just a resting place. The locals say it's a haven for moonlit lovers' rendezvous… and that even the Adepti, in their hidden grace, sometimes visit to bask in its stillness beneath the moon."
Orion blinked in surprise. "You remember a lot about this inn, Frieda."
There was a pause. Then a gentle laugh — tinged with something quieter.
"I actually… wanted us to go there," she confessed. "Back when we were still in Mondstadt. Back when I was still the Captain."
Her voice softened, carrying with it the ghost of memories not fully faded — warm fireside plans, never-spoken invitations, dreams deferred by fate.
And loss.
As Felix landed softly on the wooden platform of Wangshu Inn, Orion dismounted with ease, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face as the wind whispered around them.
The inn loomed above them like a quiet guardian — lantern-lit, standing tall over the silver-drenched marshes of Dihua. The air here was different. Not dangerous, not hostile… but watchful.
"This place…" Orion muttered, scanning the inn's upper balcony. "It feels—"
"Old."
The word echoed not from his thoughts, nor Felix's — but from someone else.
Someone present.
Orion froze. His gaze lifted toward the rooftop.
A lone figure stood there.
Slim, motionless, clothed in dark green and obsidian. His eyes, golden like twilight trapped in crystal, watched them from beneath wind-tossed hair. A polearm rested across his back, like a blade held in trust by a warrior too tired to wield it unless absolutely necessary.
"You carry the scent of ancient things," the stranger spoke — his voice calm, distant, as if he hadn't used it in days. "And something fractured. But not broken."
Felix took a cautious step back. "Uhh... friend of yours?"
Orion shook his head slowly. "No. But I've heard of... protectors, in these lands."
Inside his mind, Frieda stirred. Her voice came quieter than usual, curious.
"I… don't recognize him. But I feel something. The way he stands. The way the wind moves around him… he's not normal."
"Guardian spirit?" Felix whispered.
The stranger's gaze turned toward them.
"I am no spirit," he said, answering as if he'd heard them anyway. "But I guard what I must."
He stepped from the rooftop — not falling, not jumping — just appearing beside them at the edge of the platform. Close enough now to be seen clearly. And felt.
"You carry grief," he said to Orion. "But also someone else."
Orion's lips parted, unsure what to say.
The stranger turned his gaze toward the marsh. "This place draws those who walk with burdens. You'll rest here. But don't linger."
"Who are you?" Orion finally asked.
The figure paused — then glanced back with eyes like the first flicker of stars.
"Xiao. Nothing more."
And with that, he vanished into the drifting mist — no flash, no sound. Just absence.
Frieda exhaled, awestruck.
"...I don't know who he was. But I think... he knows."
As Orion stepped into the main floor of the Wangshu Inn, Felix followed closely behind — his delicate claws tapping lightly against the wooden planks, wings partially folded, breath faintly frosting the air with every exhale.
The moment they entered, the room fell silent.
Dishes clinked mid-air and were never caught. Conversations froze. Chopsticks trembled in stunned fingers.
Eyes widened. Mouths gaped.
And then the murmurs began.
"Is that real?"
***"Oh my god I can't believe my eyes."***
"Oh my Adeptus, what am I seeing?"
Someone dropped their tea. Another reached for their vision like it might explain what their eyes couldn't.
Felix, ears twitching and tail curling tightly around his feet, let out a low grumble.
"I don't like it here," he muttered under his breath. "Too much noise. Too many... people staring."
He took a cautious step back, wings beginning to unfurl.
"Just call for me when it's time to leave," he said, looking up at Orion. "I'll find somewhere quieter to rest."
And with that, he turned, walked calmly to the edge of the inn's outer railing — and leapt.
Wings snapped open like twin sheets of moonlit silk, catching the wind with flawless grace. Snowflakes spun around him in a spiral, trailing his flight like silver petals caught in a breeze.
He soared upward — not hurried, not escaping — but gliding in perfect control, arcing through the sky above the inn like a stroke of frost-painted elegance.
Below, the patrons watched in stunned reverence. No one dared to speak.
A frost dragon — real, living, breathing — had just flown before them like a myth refusing to stay a myth.
Orion exhaled slowly, watching his friend vanish into the upper mist.
"He likes his quiet," he said softly, to no one in particular. "And... he deserves it."
Later that night, when the inn had quieted and most of the guests had drifted into sleep, Orion found his way to the rooftop.
The breeze was gentle — not cold, just cool enough to whisper against his cheeks and flutter the ends of his cloak. The marshes below shimmered with reflected moonlight, soft and silver, like the earth itself had stilled to listen.
Above him, the full moon hung proudly in the sky — glowing like a coin of destiny cast by the gods.
Orion sat alone, his legs drawn slightly up, arms resting on his knees as he looked out over the world in thoughtful silence. For once, Frieda was quiet — not asleep, just... watching with him. Together, wordless.
The peace felt rare. Almost fragile.
Then — not a sound, not a warning — the air shifted.
And Xiao appeared beside him.
No flash. No footsteps. One moment there was stillness, the next — presence. Like the night had decided to sit down with him.
Orion didn't flinch.
"You're quiet," Xiao said softly, eyes on the moon. "For someone who speaks with the will of a Sovereign."
Orion's eyes flicked toward him. "You know about them?"
Xiao didn't answer at first. The silence stretched until it almost snapped.
"I've... encountered things," he finally said. "During the last war. Not on the frontlines — but in the shadows between realms. The Sovereigns weren't visible, but their echoes were. Their... leftovers."
He paused, then added, quieter still:
"One of them tried to speak through a rift. A wound in the world. I heard it. Felt it."
"It took me weeks to silence it in my head."
Orion's face darkened slightly. "Which one?"
Xiao closed his eyes. "I don't know. I never asked. I only sealed the gate. And made sure no one ever found it again."
A silence settled between them like frost.
"So yes," Xiao said at last. "I know Sovereigns. I know what it means to carry something... too big for one soul."
Orion let out a long breath. "Then I guess we really do have something in common."
That earned him a sideways glance — not annoyed, just... amused.
They sat like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, though not quite touching. Companionship in its quietest form.
"I don't like people," Xiao said eventually. "Too loud. Too temporary."
"I'm not really a people person either," Orion murmured. "But I'm supposed to be the Envoy now. That means I have to be... everything I'm not."
Xiao was silent again for a beat. Then: "Burden shapes us. We either break beneath it, or we become something else."
"You speak like someone who's been broken."
"I have."
Another long silence. Only the chirping of distant marsh crickets filled the gap — even they seemed to keep their voices low tonight.
"You remind me of me," Xiao said at last. "But brighter."
"I'm not sure that's true," Orion replied, voice nearly a whisper. "I'm just better at pretending."
That made Xiao turn fully to him, studying him for a long second. Not judging — just... understanding.
"You won't find peace on this path," Xiao said. "Not soon. Maybe not ever."
"I'm not looking for peace," Orion said. "I'm just trying not to lose myself."
Xiao nodded once — the closest thing he gave to approval.
Then, just as suddenly as he arrived, he stood.
"When you leave, don't look back too much. The past... pulls."
And before Orion could answer, Xiao vanished into the wind — just a ripple in the moonlight, leaving behind nothing but the sound of the marsh, and a strange sense of comfort.
Orion looked up at the moon again.
"Thanks for that," Frieda whispered gently.
He smiled to himself.
"Yeah... me too."