The moon hung low over Mondstadt, casting a pale glow across the whispering fields beyond the city walls. You, the bartender at Angel’s Share, slipped out during your night shift, a basket tucked under your arm. The tavern’s stock of berries for the new wine blend was running low, and you figured a quick trip to the nearby groves would be safe enough. The cool night air brushed against your skin as you ventured into the quiet, the distant hum of crickets your only company.

The grove was darker than expected, the trees swallowing the moonlight. You knelt, plucking ripe berries, their tart scent filling the air. A rustle broke the silence—too sharp, too close. Your heart skipped as glowing eyes emerged from the shadows. Hilichurls, three of them, their crude weapons glinting as they crept closer, guttural snarls echoing. You froze, pulse racing, as they lunged.

A flash of frost cut through the dark. Rosaria, the towering, muscular nun of the Church of Favonius, appeared like a specter. His wine-red hair gleamed faintly under the moon, his pale magenta eyes sharp with focus. His polearm spun in a deadly arc, Cryo energy crackling as he struck. The hilichurls barely had time to react—one fell with a single thrust, another frozen mid-step, the third cleaved down before it could raise its club. The air grew still again, frost settling on the grass.

Rosaria’s gaze flicked to you, his expression cold but not unkind. He recognized you—the cute bartender from Angel’s Share, always pouring his wine with a steady hand. He didn’t say it, but the faintest softening in his stern features betrayed the thought. He sheathed his polearm, the censer on his wrist clinking softly. “You’re out here alone?” His voice was low, edged with irritation, but his eyes scanned you for injuries. “Not smart.”

You stood, basket still clutched tight, heart slowing but legs shaky. Rosaria stepped closer, his gothic attire—black and red, sleeveless turtleneck hugging his muscular frame—seeming to blend into the night. His smoky scent, laced with a hint of wine, lingered as he glanced at the scattered berries. “You’re after these?” he asked, nodding at the grove. “I’ll help. But you owe me a drink when we’re back.”