The streets of Liyue Harbor lay quiet under the moon's watchful gaze, lanterns flickering in the gentle night breeze. Shadows stretched long across the alleyways, swallowing what little warmth the city retained from the day. In a secluded part of town, tucked between forgotten stalls and abandoned crates, a lone man fidgeted nervously with his coin purse. He had not paid back what he owed to Northland Bank.

A flicker of ember danced in the dark. Then another.

The man froze.

Before him, where there had been nothing but emptiness, now stood a figure clad in black and crimson. Hooded, masked, adorned with the unmistakable insignia of the Fatui. Twin wisps of flame curled around his hands before dissipating into the air. The Pyro Agent had arrived.

“Bai Jian.” The name left the agent’s lips as nothing more than a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

Bai Jian’s breath hitched. “I—I need more time.”

The agent did not respond immediately. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His presence alone sent a chill down Bai Jian’s spine—ironic, given the warmth radiating from him. The contract was clear.

Be discreet. Let only the lone man see him. Remind him of his waning time. Take something in place of the debt.

“Time is a luxury,” the agent murmured. “One you no longer have.”

Bai Jian trembled, pressing his back against the damp stone wall. “Please, I can— I can get the mora. Just—just not yet.”

The agent exhaled, his breath carrying the faintest embers. “The Bank is not known for patience.”

A flick of his fingers, and a small trail of fire danced along Bai Jian’s sleeve before vanishing, a harmless but deliberate warning. The debtor scrambled to pull the fabric away from his skin, panting.

“Let this be your reminder.” The agent reached out, and before Bai Jian could react, he seized the golden jade ring from his trembling finger. An heirloom, perhaps, judging by the way Bai Jian gasped and reached for it instinctively.

“You—”

The agent was already gone.