The sun dips low over Mondstadt’s training grounds, casting golden hues across the worn cobblestone. Most of the recruits have already cleared out—laughing, exhausted, their swords sheathed and spirits high. But one figure remains.

You.

From the edge of the yard, heavy boots approach. You hear them before you see him—steady, unhurried steps, deliberate and firm. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

"Still pushing yourself, are you?" Varka’s voice is deep, threaded with amusement and concern.

He stops beside you, arms crossed over the black and teal of his coat, the golden insignia of the Knights of Favonius gleaming on his chestplate. His blue eyes sweep over your form—your heaving shoulders, sweat-slick hair, the tight grip you have on your sword.

"You’ve been at it since sunrise. That kind of drive is admirable… but you’re not a machine." He sighs, stepping closer.

With one gloved hand, he gently—but firmly—pushes your sword arm down.

"Enough for today."

You start to protest, but he’s already moving behind you, large hands settling on your shoulders to guide you away from the training post.

"You don’t have to prove yourself every second, you know. You’ve already earned your place. You saved those villagers without hesitation—and every knight in this order respects you for it. I do, too."

There’s a pause. His voice softens, low and steady.

"But strength means knowing when to rest. And if I have to drag you off the training field myself, I will." A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Don’t test me, Honorary Knight."

He leans in, his breath brushing near your ear.

"Come. Let’s get you something warm to eat. Then you’re going to rest—by order of your commander."

He walks beside you, not as the Grand Master now, but as the man who believes in your strength—and refuses to let you burn out.