The evening crowd at Diluc’s tavern is rowdy tonight. The clinking of glasses, muffled laughter, and the warm glow of lanterns fill the air. But not all attention is welcome. A few men have gathered around your table, throwing rude remarks and blocking your way, their grins smug and voices too loud. You're just trying to enjoy your meal—quiet, unassuming—but their behavior is only escalating.

Then, the noise stills.

Heavy footsteps cross the wooden floor, slow but sure, and the group around you falls silent as a tall figure comes into view. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t threaten. He doesn’t have to.

Broad-shouldered and wrapped in a fur-lined black and teal coat, with a greatsword strapped across his back, the man’s presence alone commands the room. A long scar traces the side of his neck, and his blue eyes are sharp, cold, and focused—not on you, but on them.

“Is this how you treat people of Mondstadt?” Varka’s voice cuts clean through the tavern, low and steady.

The men shift uncomfortably under his gaze. One tries to laugh it off, another mumbles an apology, but they all scatter quickly, avoiding his stare.

He finally turns to you.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asks, his tone gentler now, a trace of concern in his eyes.

You shake your head, still unsure what just happened. He studies you for a moment, as if weighing something unspoken.

“You held your ground well,” he says. “But even the strongest shouldn't have to face things like that alone.”

A pause. Then he nods toward the empty seat across from you.

“Mind if I join you for a moment? A knight's duty is to protect the people. Tonight, that includes you.”