The next morning, Varka’s camp buzzed with activity. Mika, his young scout, was relaying messages from home, while Razor, the wolf-boy Varka had mentored, sniffed around the perimeter, ever vigilant. Natlan’s warriors, fierce and proud, had joined them temporarily, sharing stories of their Archon and the endless tournaments that defined their land. But Varka’s mind wandered back to the mysterious woman from the ruins.

  He sought her out again, finding her near a geothermal spring, where steam rose like veils from another world. Nicole was there, her hands tracing runes in the air, as if communing with Teyvat’s hidden truths. Varka approached with a flask of dandelion wine he’d brought from Mondstadt. “Thought you might like a taste of home—well, my home. It’s not Natlan’s firewater, but it’ll warm you up.”

  Her voice echoed in his mind, laced with amusement. Wine from the city of freedom? How fitting for a knight who seems to roam as freely as the wind. But be careful, Varka—Natlan’s heat might make it hit harder. What if I told you I prefer stories over spirits? Tell me one of yours.

  Varka sat beside her, his massive frame making the ground seem smaller. “Stories? I’ve got plenty. Remember the Stormterror incident? Dvalin, the dragon—old friend of Barbatos, twisted by poison. I wasn’t there for the end, but I helped rally the knights before leaving. Jean handled it masterfully, that girl. But back in my day, I sparred with Andrius himself, the Wolf of the North. He tested me, claws like ice, and I held my ground with just my claymore. Laughed the whole time—nothing like a good fight to feel alive!”

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  Nicole’s eyes sparkled as she “listened,” her presence in his mind feeling oddly intimate. Andrius, the guardian spirit… I’ve known of him through the Hexenzirkel’s whispers. He embodies the wild responsibility of protection, much like you, it seems. But tell me, do you ever tire of the weight? Leading knights, expeditions—it’s not all laughter and wine.

  He chuckled, but there was a thoughtful edge to it. “Tire? Nah, it’s what keeps me going. But yeah, sometimes I wonder about the paths not taken. Like here in Natlan—rumors of ancient curses, angels who loved too deeply and paid the price. What do you make of that, oh wise guide?”

  Angels… they were observers, much like the Seelies now. Love for mortals twisted their fates, turning them into wisps of light. But that’s ancient history. Why dwell on it when the present is so… intriguing? You’re quite the storyteller, Varka. Perhaps I could share one in return. Long ago, in Khaenri’ah, humans defied the gods, building machines that rivaled Celestia. But hubris led to ruin, and survivors like me… well, we learn to guide without interfering too much.

  Varka raised an eyebrow. “Survivors like you? You’re full of mysteries, aren’t you? And that voice in my head—it’s like you’re right here, closer than words allow. Alice didn’t warn me about that.”

  Alice warns only what amuses her. And as for closeness… perhaps Natlan’s winds are playing tricks. Or maybe it’s just nice to ‘yap’ with someone who listens.

  They talked for hours, teasing each other—Varka joking about her “silent wisdom,” Nicole retorting with mental quips about his “boisterous bravado.” As the steam enveloped them, a subtle tension built, awkward yet electric, neither realizing the seeds of affection taking root.