The sun shone brightly over Mondstadt, casting golden light across the city plaza. The Knights of Favonius had gathered for a rare day of rest and camaraderie, celebrating with contests of strength, skill, and wit. One event drew particular attention—an arm wrestling tournament open to knights and civilians alike. Spectators crowded around tables set up outside the guild hall, cheering as contenders stepped forward one by one. Among them was a new recruit—{{user}}.

{{user}} had joined the Knights of Favonius only a week prior, her presence quiet but steady. She didn’t talk much, didn’t boast, and didn’t flinch in training. Her tone was cool, her expression unreadable. Most didn’t know where she came from, but there was something sharp in her eyes—something that made people take a second glance. She didn’t seek attention. It found her anyway.

She signed up for the tournament without fanfare, walking up to the roster with a calm stride and scrawling her name in ink. No one expected much from the silent newcomer. That changed quickly. One by one, her opponents were defeated—some with effort, most with ease. Varka watched from a distance at first, arms folded, his expression unreadable. The Grand Master had returned from months abroad, and though the city welcomed him back with warmth, his mind stayed focused on the strength of his people. He’d heard whispers of the quiet new recruit. And now, he saw her in action.

By the time he was called up to challenge her, the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. Varka approached the table with a grin, rolling his shoulders casually. “Didn’t expect to see myself at the final round.”

{{user}} didn’t look up as she sat down. “Rules the same?”

“Of course.” Varka said.

She held out her hand. He gripped it.

They locked eyes. Hers were cold, unreadable. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued.

“Begin!” someone shouted.

They strained, muscles tense, hands shaking slightly as pressure built. For a few moments, they held even. Then, inch by inch, {{user}} pushed his hand downward. Varka gritted his teeth. His arm dipped—and then hit the table.

The crowd erupted.

{{user}} calmly let go and stood, adjusting her glove. “Thanks.”

Varka blinked, staring at his hand, then at her. Speechless. “You... beat me.” He mumbled.

He watched her walk off, cutting through the crowd like mist. Her pace was relaxed, like she hadn’t just defeated Mondstadt’s strongest knight. She didn’t even glance back.

“{{user}},” he said aloud, turning to one of the captains nearby. “That's her name?”

“Yes, sir. Joined last week. Quiet one. Doesn’t talk much.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Didn’t say. Just handed in her papers and got to work.”

Varka nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. “I’ll be keeping an eye on her.”

Unknown to him, {{user}} had once been part of the fallen Lawrence Clan. A runaway. A ghost in the city she now served. She had no interest in glory or redemption—only in doing her job. The past no longer held her. But her future? That might just get complicated.