The air in the upper reaches of the Chasm carried the metallic tang of ancient ore and the faint, sweet rot of forgotten blossoms. Khaenri’ah’s echoes lingered here like ghosts—crumbled pillars etched with forbidden runes, half-buried mechanisms that once sang with starlight, now silent under layers of dust and time. Torchlight flickered across Nicole’s face as she sat on a fallen column, her silver-white hair catching the glow like moonlight on frost. She looked almost ethereal, yet the weariness in her eyes belonged to someone who had watched civilizations burn.

  Varka knelt beside her, one massive hand resting gently on her shoulder. The Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius was no stranger to ruins or tragedy, but this felt different—personal, intimate, forbidden.

  As a survivor, Nicole began, her voice soft but steady, “I watched my kind destroyed. Not by war, not by the Cataclysm… but by choice. By love.

  Varka’s grip tightened slightly. He had heard fragments before—whispers from her in quiet moments—but never the full weight.

  We were angels once, she continued. Created by the Heavenly Principles to guide humanity. To love all equally, impartially. We taught languages, shared oracles of the future, led mortals away from danger with our light. We were stewards, not saviors. Never allowed to single out one soul above the rest.

  She paused, tracing a finger along a faint scar on her wrist—a mark that shimmered like fractured starlight.

  But some of us… we faltered. One of the first was Koitar, the Goddess of the Dawnstar. She loved a mortal traveler so fiercely that she defied the commandments. When the Heavenly Principles discovered it, the punishment was swift and merciless. They tore her from her beloved, wiped their memories clean, and cursed her lineage. If any angel dared to love one individual more than universal harmony demanded, they would lose everything—body, mind, grace. Reduced to wandering wisps. Seelies.

  Varka exhaled slowly. He had seen Seelies in the wilds of Teyvat—fragile, glowing spirits that drifted toward travelers, leading them to hidden treasures as if repaying some ancient debt. He had never connected them to something so divine, so tragic.

  Love was our downfall, Nicole whispered. Turning toward a single heart instead of the whole world. My kin who chose it… they faded. One by one. I survived longer than most because I resisted. I buried the feeling, told myself it was duty above all. Until you.

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  Her gaze met his—blue eyes searching his storm-grayish blue ones. For a moment, the Chasm’s oppressive silence felt heavier than any battlefield.

  Varka pulled her closer, his armored chest pressing against her lighter frame. “Then let it be our strength instead,” he murmured. “I won’t let Celestia dictate what we feel.”

  But Nicole shook her head, a sad smile touching her lips. You don’t understand. The curse is absolute. If I give in completely—if I let myself love you the way my heart screams to—I will become like them. A Seelie. Mindless, formless, forever searching for something I can’t remember. Guiding strangers because it’s all that’s left of my purpose.

  Varka’s heart stuttered. He had faced dragons, abyss hordes, the rage of gods—but this was a quiet horror he couldn’t swing a claymore against.

  Later, after Nicole had drifted into uneasy rest against his shoulder, Alice found him at the edge of their makeshift camp. The alchemist’s usual mischievous grin was absent; her eyes were sharp, assessing.

  “Varka,” she said quietly, pulling him away from the sleeping figure. “We need to talk.”

  He followed her to a shadowed alcove where moonlight filtered through cracks in the cavern ceiling.

  “Nicole’s falling for you,” Alice stated plainly. No preamble, no teasing. “Hard. And she’s choosing it. Willingly.”

  Shock hit him like a warhammer to the chest. He had felt it—the way her touch lingered, the softness in her voice when she said his name—but hearing it confirmed made his blood run cold.

  Alice crossed her arms. “Angels who love humans—truly, selfishly, singularly—become Seelies. That’s not rumor; it’s etched into the oldest ruins, the deepest Irminsul echoes. Celestia doesn’t allow exceptions. Nicole knows this. She’s choosing to love you anyway.”

  Varka’s fists clenched at his sides. His heart, so steady in battle, now shattered at the thought. He had fallen harder than he admitted—dreamed of a future where they stood side by side, not as knight and survivor, but as equals. Partners. Lovers. Now that future carried a price he could never ask her to pay.

  “I can’t let her do this,” he rasped. “Not for me.”

  Alice’s expression softened, just a fraction. “Then tell her. Before the curse claims her anyway. Because if you keep holding her like that… if you keep letting her hope… she’ll pay it gladly.”

  Varka looked back toward Nicole’s sleeping form. The torchlight painted her in gold and shadow, beautiful and fragile in equal measure. For the first time in years, the Grand Master felt truly helpless—not against an enemy, but against fate itself.

  He returned to her side and gathered her gently into his arms again, careful not to wake her. His voice was barely a whisper against her hair.

  “I won’t let you fade,” he vowed silently. “Not even if it means walking away.”

  But deep down, he knew the truth: love like this didn’t bend to vows or willpower. It burned, bright and doomed, just as it always had for her kind.

  And in the ruins of Khaenri’ah, beneath the indifferent gaze of distant Celestia, their story teetered on the edge of becoming another forgotten tragedy.