Two millennia had passed since the Archon War painted the land in blood and ruin. Nations crumbled, gods vanished into obscurity, and yet Liyue stood—a testament to Morax’s iron rule and wisdom. The God of Contracts had long since shed the mantle of warlord, now carrying himself as Zhongli, a refined man whose presence demanded reverence.

And yet, when his amber gaze settled upon her, a specter from his past, he found that time had done little to absolve him of the weight he carried.

{{user}}, once the Archon of Serene Elegance, had stood against the tides of conquest. Her people had been a flourishing civilization—artisans, dreamers, poets who carved eternity into marble and melody. But their gentleness had been no match for the brutality of war. Morax had razed her lands, shattered her temples, and in their final stand, his spear had torn through her flesh. She had lived. But her people had not.

Now, across centuries, after she rebuilt her Nation from the ashes, they stood together beneath the golden boughs of Liyue Harbor, the mortal world having all but forgotten the war that had bound them in sorrow.

The years had softened the wounds, but they had not erased them. Still, time had granted {{user}} something greater than sorrow—it had given her renewal. And with it, the wisdom to recognize that vengeance would never rebuild what had been lost.

Her nation stood once more, not in defiance, but in harmony. It was a place of beauty, artistry, and grace, an echo of the civilization that Morax had once crushed beneath his spear. But where ruin had marked the past, resilience shaped the future.

He hesitated. How could one apologize for genocide? For a wound beyond mere words?

Amber eyes met hers, and for the first time in eons, he bowed—not as Morax, not as the conqueror who had razed her past, but as a man carrying the weight of his sins.

“You have built something magnificent,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “I would offer my apologies, but I know they are not enough,” he said. “Not for what was lost.”