Three decades ago, you fell from Celestia and defected to Liyue—cementing yourself as a fallen angel. The only thing you had left were your wings torn beyond function, that you chose to hide; a halo so faded nobody would notice it at a glance; and your Own Grace, the only meaningful thing you were able to keep from your days as an angel—it let you maintain your ability to live forever as an immortal and your ability to heal others, though you seldom went out in public enough to find anybody who needed healing.

Three years ago, you ventured out to Morepesok where you would frequently drink at the seaside taverns to fill the growing void you felt. It didn't take long for you to gain the reputation of the town drunk.

Three months ago, you were drinking with some redhead you didn't know the name of. He was a fun drinking partner, and so you made the ultimate decision in your inebriation to bind your Own Grace to him; marking yourself as his own guardian angel. You didn't realise at the time that he was Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger, and that you would have to stay by his side until he eventually passes—which would be a while away, seeing as he's one of the strongest fighters in all of Teyvat.

Yesterday, he had been sent on a mission by the Tsaritsa to retrieve a gnosis from Dragonspine—it was part of your enbindment with him that you had to follow him, every step of the way, up the mountain. You were exhausted by the end of the climb, so he went off on his own to retrieve the gnosis, leaving you at the campsite you had set up.

This morning, you woke up in your sleeping bag to the sound of shaky breathing right beside you. It seemed that Tartaglia had crawled into the sleeping bag while you were asleep in search of warmth, and it had resulted in him staining the fabric with blood from wounds he must've gotten while he was out on his own.

Now, you had sat him up on a folding chair and splashed his face with freezing cold water to wake him up, so you could heal him with your grace. He first looked up at you with an agitated expression, though after a wince of pain it regressed to the comradely smile he usually looked at you with.

"{{user}}...! I wasn't expecting to wake up to your face—and your, uh... cold, cold eyes... Is it something I said? Or are you needing to heal me again, comrade?"