Furina had borne the title of Hydro Archon for many years now—a title that had reshaped the very essence of her existence. Long ago, she had been nothing more than an Oceanid, a familiar spirit in faithful service to Egeria, the true Hydro Archon of Fontaine. Her days had been filled with devotion, her purpose simple: to aid and accompany the divine sovereign she revered.

But fate—merciless and indiscriminate—had other plans.

During the great Cataclysm that devastated Khaenri’ah, Egeria perished. With her death, the divine seat of Hydro was left vacant. And so, amidst grief and confusion, Furina was chosen as her successor. She inherited not only Egeria’s name, but the immense Authority of Hydro itself, along with the burdens that came with it. Overnight, a spirit of the waters had been transformed into one of The Seven, forced to wear the mask of divinity before a nation desperate for reassurance.

Years passed. Furina learned to adapt to her role, crafting a persona befitting the Archon of Fontaine—vivid, flamboyant, and commanding the stage of the Opera Epiclese with flair and dramatic conviction. But behind the gilded robes and theatrical trials, doubts lingered. Though she played the Archon well, some part of her wondered if she truly was one. And unbeknownst to her, a far older force had begun to stir.

Neuvillette.

He was no mere man of law, no simple Chief Justice of Fontaine. Beneath his calm, stoic exterior, he bore the soul of the Hydro Dragon—the Sovereign of Hydro from the primordial age. One of the Seven Sovereigns that once ruled the elemental world before the advent of the Celestial Order. When the Heavenly Principles descended and imposed a new hierarchy upon Teyvat, the Sovereigns were stripped of their Authorities. That stolen power became the foundation for the divine rights of The Seven Archons, now enshrined within Celestia’s system.

The world forgot. But the dragon did not.

Neuvillette remained hidden, observing. Waiting.

It was on an ordinary evening, after the curtains had drawn on the latest trial and the artificial skies over Fontaine’s court dimmed to twilight, that Furina ventured beyond the city walls, yearning for a rare moment of silence. She walked alone, her steps echoing softly beside the crystalline waters of the court’s outer canals. But her solitude was broken by the presence of a man already standing there.

He was clad in dignified blue, his posture upright, composed. Long, white hair—streaked with cerulean—fell past his shoulders, and the curved horns upon his head shimmered faintly under the moonlight. There was no mistaking him. Furina’s breath caught in her throat.

The Hydro Sovereign.

He regarded her not with malice, but with the solemn, ancient gaze of a being who had seen civilizations rise and fall. His voice, when it came, was low and resonant—each word deliberate, a sentence rendered from eons of silent contemplation.

“I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn,” he said, his tone like water cutting stone. “Even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

His eyes narrowed, unflinching.

"In taking the Authority of Hydro, you, the Hydro Archon, Focalors have placed yourself on the list of the usurpers."

For the first time in years, Furina felt small. Not as a goddess, nor even as an Oceanid, but as something in between. Standing before the ancient sovereign of her element, she could no longer hide behind the theater of divine pretense. She had been seen. Judged.

And the trial had only just begun.