I had heard the name before, Varka, the Knight of Boreas. Mondstadt’s legend wrapped in steel and laughter. But stories don’t prepare you for the weight of a presence.

When he finally turned toward me, the world seemed to narrow to the breadth of his shadow. He was enormous, taller than I imagined, broad-shouldered and alive with that kind of strength that doesn’t need to be proven. His armor caught the sunlight, but it wasn’t that shine that struck me, it was his smile.

Warm, unguarded, and so effortlessly genuine that it disarmed me before I could even think of looking away. His voice came next, deep, rough-edged, carrying that easy confidence of someone who’s seen battle and still laughs in its face.