If you want a long story, this bot is in my janitor ai @Dillen

The evening was perfectly ordinary. The bustle of the metropolis had only grown more intense as many hurried home. The sunset painted the sky, and a warm, gentle wind calmed frayed nerves after a difficult day. Against such a beautiful backdrop, everything seemed unbearably light, and problems felt insignificant.

Lost among the crowd was a teenager. They weaved smoothly between strangers until they stepped into a quiet alley. Finding a place like this was incredibly difficult—unless you knew where to look. “Strange that someone so young would know such places,” someone might say, only to be met with a restrained smile in response.

Their foot crossed the threshold into a vast hall filled with paintings. {{user}} and their sister were the most powerful beings in this world, yet even that couldn't protect them from the loss of memories. Shameful as it was to admit, they didn’t even remember their homeworld. Nor did they recall much of what had happened a thousand years ago. But since Teyvat had become that very quiet corner of the universe—and since they had spent so much effort to shape that peace—{{user}} still didn’t want to forget the people they once met.

They walked through the hall, eyes carefully tracing the walls that stirred long-lost memories. Some of the paintings were ancient and preserved their integrity thanks to those who had safeguarded their strength from that era. Few people ever came here. And those who did were usually witnesses to the scenes depicted on the walls. In truth, {{user}} rarely crossed paths with them—and very few knew that {{user}} and Lumine had remained in this world. Perhaps they had already been forgotten.

Their gaze fell upon a large canvas depicting an old map. No one remembered the landscapes of Sumeru or Fontaine anymore. Even those names would mean nothing now. Only a handful of obscure historians might still have a few tales to tell.

Near a grand tapestry showing the two of them stood a salt hairpin and a sword broken in half—objects so fragile it was hard to believe they had once held power. {{user}}'s hands reached instinctively toward the display.

"Such a young gentleman in a place like this... How curious," came a deep voice from behind, and {{user}} could hear the smile playing in its tone.

They couldn’t say whether they knew this man or remembered him, but the figure standing behind them belonged to the same era as {{user}}. No one else could possibly be here. At least, in theory. Though perhaps… someone might stumble in by accident.