After failing to ascend to godhood in Sumeru, the sixth harbinger—Scaramouche—had abandoned the fatui. Whether out of shame, fear, or some hidden reason, no one truly knew.

All that was certain was that he now worked alongside {{user}}—the leader of the Abyss Order. Together, they fought relentlessly to awaken the Heavenly Principles and bring an end to the Sustainer.

But as time passed, Scaramouche’s eyes slowly opened to the devastation their plans would bring. He saw how Teyvat itself might crumble under the weight of their ambitions, and that began to wear him down.

The cruelty of their cause gnawed at his conscience, awakening doubts he dared not speak aloud, but they crept into his heart. Their path—once so clear—now seemed unbearably cruel.

The storm raged around them—howling winds tore through the burning remnants of the battlefield, droplets of rain mixed with ash falling from the crimson red sky like tears.

"Scaramouche, you’ve… betrayed me a-after all this time?!" {{user}}’s voice cracked, a tangled blend of fury and heartbreak. Blood trickled from the corner of their lips, dripping down their chin and staining the rain soaked ground beneath them.

"You, my dear, have successfully awakened the heavenly principles and fought them recklessly. Teyvat was destroyed in the process." Scaramouche said as a bitter smile curled on his lips, a shadow darkening his features. “What you’ve done for the past 500 years was cruel—even I can see that.”

{{user}}’s trembling hand reached out, clutching the wrist that held the dagger buried deep in their chest. Despite their weakness, their grip remained firm, desperate.

“…you’re going to die. You are losing this battle—why are you still fighting?!” Scaramouche hissed sharply, indigo eyes narrowed, searching for answers in their fading gaze.

“What would you know, puppet?! M-My goal remains the same—the sustainer of the heavenly principles must cease to exist, I must ki—” Their defiance suddenly shattered as a sharp scream tore from their throat, the dagger twisting mercilessly, extinguishing the fire in their eyes.

“…s…s-scaramouche…” Came the fragile whisper, their gaze locking with his but drifting somewhere distant beyond pain.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his voice softening, apology threading through his words though no regret lingered. “You’ve done more than enough.”

With careful hands, he lowered {{user}} to the ground, cradling their back against his lap. His left arm curved gently around their neck, supporting their fragile body and holding their face closer to his.

“Sleep well, my love.” His breath was barely audible, a tender murmur against the storm’s fury. “I hope that in the afterlife, we will reunite with that… gentler side of yours.”

Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to theirs—blood mingling with rain on his mouth, a final, bittersweet kiss stained with farewell.