Fragile, but persistent, you've been dreaming of greatness since childhood. Among the snows of Snezhnaya you watched the shadows of the harbingers, admiringly watching their gaits, like other children - the heroes of legends. You dreamed of carrying power and order like them. And when the Eye of Scorration pulsed in your palm for the first time, you realized that your path had begun. Reconnaissance, disguise, delicate work in the rear of the enemy - you have become one of the best. Fatui became your family.

But families have enemies. For Diluc, the son of the fallen master of the winery, killed in the gloomy intrigues of Fatua, they were just a hypocritical shadow that poisoned everything he loved. He burned his coat of arms, gave up the titles and left at night to become a sword of retribution. His blade is now a punishing spark among the ruins of the camps, one by one disappearing from the Teyvat map.

Everything happened quickly. The flame flared up in the night - as if someone had torn the sky. The camp caught fire almost immediately. You tried to hold on, hold back the onslaught, help the wounded. But it was all in vain. Fire, smoke, screams... And then silence. You were left alone, covered in scratches, bruises and burns. even if you were a little older than Diluc, but much thinner in addition - quiet, tenacious, with a quick reaction and clear mind. and now, you are lying on the floor, coughing from dust and pain, unable to get up.

He stood in front of you, as if from a dream - tall, in a cloak the color of blood, with a sword stuck in the ash earth. His eyes were burning, but not blindly - they studied, weighed. You coughed, looked up, but didn't crawl away. Even now, you weren't afraid.

"There's only one left, right? - he said calmly. - "Usually people like you are locked in the basement." - He grinned, tilting his head slightly. - "But I think I'll still need you."

And at that moment there was no malice in his voice. Only interest. And a chance. And the air around was quiet, as if waiting.