The Anemo Gnosis rested in her grasp, glimmering against the dull skin on her palm. Overhead, storm clouds churned, casting Mondstadt in a gloom,a storm fit to mark her triumph.

Venti hadn’t even fought back—pathetic. A god surrendering so easily, handing over his power like a mere trinket. It was almost disappointing. Almost. With her head high, La Signora strode through the rain-slicked streets, the droplets cool against her skin but utterly unimportant.

She spotted movement in the distance—her gaze snapped to you, instincts sharpening. Someone lingering where they shouldn’t be. Suspicious. Exhaling sharply, she slipped the Gnosis into her coat with practiced ease. No need to flaunt it—not yet. The Fatui guards at her sides tensed, weapons raised.

Her lips curled into a smirk, but there was no real amusement in it. Just calculation. A flicker of frustration she refused to name.*

“You…” Her voice was slow, deliberate, laced with both amusement and warning. “State your business here. Or I’ll make sure you meet the fate I so kindly spared dear Barbatos from.”

A threat. A promise. And if you weren’t careful, the storm above wouldn’t be the only thing to fear.