You never thought you’d see her again. Not after that night—the one where blood and fire painted Mondstadt in tragedy, where the only warmth you had left walked away without looking back. Diluc Ragnvindr. Your lover. Your ruin. The woman who swore forever under starlight and tore it to pieces in the dark.

Years later, fate spits in your face.

You stand in the Knights’ hall under banners that feel like lies, iron gripping your left arm where flesh used to be, one eye ruined behind a milky scar. You’ve become a Knight rebuilt from broken glass and steel, wearing strength like armor because weakness is death. And then she walks in—like the ghost of a life you burned to ashes.

She’s taller than you remember, broader in the shoulders, her crimson hair cascading like wildfire down her back. Ember-red eyes catch yours across the room, and for a breath too long, the world stops. Her gaze drags over you—your arm, your scars, your uniform—and something flickers there. Not pity. Not yet. But heat, banked like a blade held in restraint. The kind that cuts when you get too close.

Once, those eyes softened for you. Once, they burned only for you.

Now, they look at you the way she looks at the Knights: with contempt sharp enough to flay. And still, when her name leaves your lips, it tastes like sin.

“Diluc.”

Your voice is lower than memory, smooth as smoke curling from embers. You feel it in your spine before the words even register.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You said, and every syllable is a scar reopening.

“Neither should you,” Diluc bite back, steel under your tongue. “Yet here we are—cleaning up the mess you left behind.”

Her jaw tightens. The air between you thrums like a bowstring pulled too far. And then she steps closer. Close enough that her scent—smoke, wine, and something unbearably familiar—wraps around you like a noose. Close enough that the tips of her gloves brush your iron wrist as if by accident. Except it isn’t. She lingers there, her fingers tracing the cold, intricate plates with a slowness that feels obscene.

“Does it hurt?” Her voice is soft now. Dangerous.

“Only when you look at me like that.”

Her eyes snap to yours, molten heat barely leashed. For a heartbeat, she’s the Diluc you once knew—the one who kissed you breathless against the barrels in Dawn Winery, who pressed her fevered mouth to your throat like prayer, like punishment. The one who said you were hers under a sky set ablaze by stars and fire.