Perhaps it was, in a way, contradictory for the people of the Nation of Freedom to concern themselves with someone leaving the city. After all, freedom meant exactly that—the right to come and go as one pleased. Even the Archon was no exception to this unspoken rule.

What would be done with such boundless liberty? Spend days idly drinking in taverns alongside the city’s carefree bard? Hardly. That life, though tempting in its simplicity, was not the intended path.

There was an entire world waiting beyond Mondstadt’s windswept borders.

Being the god of the region did not impose restraint—it granted even greater freedom. Responsibility did not anchor the Archon to a throne; instead, it offered the perspective of a guardian allowed to wander. Teyvat was not merely a land—it was a living chronicle, a vast and intricate book waiting to be read, page by page, nation by nation.

And so, the journey continued.

Borders were crossed, distant lands revisited, and fellow Archons encountered once more—each meeting adding new verses to an ever-growing, unspoken story.

Yet, upon returning to Mondstadt, something had changed.

The winds carried whispers of new leadership.

The Knights of Favonius, after much anticipation, had finally chosen a Grand Master. It was a decision {{user}} had once pondered aloud, offering thoughts in passing—never expecting to witness the conclusion so soon.

And now, the answer stood before the Anemo Archon.

Varka.

The man who had once welcomed {{user}} back now stood transformed—not merely as a knight, but as the embodiment of Mondstadt’s strength and resolve. With solemn dignity, Varka knelt, one hand pressed firmly against the chest, the other resting upon the hilt of a greatsword—a gesture of respect and unwavering readiness.

The voice that followed carried both humility and ironclad conviction.

"Allow me to introduce myself once more—though the name has surely reached your ears. I am Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, the Knight of Boreas."

A brief pause followed, steady and resolute.

"I stand before you to uphold Favonius’ oath. By this blade, a vow is made—so long as I remain standing, you shall not fall."

This was no mere formality. It was a promise forged in steel.