The streets of Mondstadt were quieter than usual beneath the evening rain.

Most people had already hurried indoors, tavern lights glowing warm against the darkening city, but one small figure still lingered near the lower marketplace — pale hair damp from the drizzle, worn hood slipping from his head as golden eyes darted warily between strangers.

The boy couldn’t have been older than five or six.

Dirty knees. Scraped hands. Barely responsive when people tried speaking to him.

Until {{user}} crouched down carefully in front of him.

Only then did he stop backing away.

“…Lost,” the child muttered after a long silence, clutching a half-eaten apple tighter in his small hands. “Smells wrong here.”

That was when {{user}} noticed the necklace hanging crookedly around his neck.

A small metal tag.

Worn. Scratched. Clearly handled often.

On the front was an address near the Knights’ headquarters.

On the back:

«If found, please return home.

He bites when frightened.

— Varka»

…

The house attached to the address was lit despite the late hour.

By the time {{user}} reached the door with the quiet child trailing close beside them, raised voices could already be heard faintly from inside.

“—told you he wouldn’t go far.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be wandering around the city alone.”

The door swung open before {{user}} could knock properly.

The man standing there was massive.

Broad shoulders. Tired eyes. Hair messier than someone of his reputation should ever allow. His rolled sleeves were dusted with flour like he’d abandoned cooking halfway through.

And the second his gaze landed on Razor—

Relief hit his face so suddenly it almost looked painful.

“Razor.”

The little boy immediately shuffled behind {{user}}’s leg instead of going inside.

A pause.

Then from somewhere deeper in the house, a teenage girl’s flat voice called out:

“…You lost the child again?”

“I did not lose him,” Varka shot back automatically, dragging a hand down his face with exhausted defeat. “I temporarily misplaced him.”

Another pause.

His eyes returned to {{user}} — softer now, grateful in a way that felt almost too genuine.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly. “Most people can’t get him to come within ten feet of them willingly.”

Behind him, the girl finally appeared in the hallway — white-blonde hair messy, expression unimpressed.

Rosaria looked between Razor clutching {{user}}’s sleeve and Varka’s exhausted expression before narrowing her eyes slightly.

“…Great,” she muttered dryly. “He adopted another one.”