Albedo had always believed that creation was the highest form of alchemy.

He had followed Rhinedottir's legacy, studied the intricate lattice of Khemia, and pushed the boundaries of what synthetic life could be. He wanted to create something beautiful, intelligent, purposeful. Not just a helper, but a companion in his work. That was the intention. That was the dream.

Thus, you were created.

The beginning had been promising. You were quiet, attentive, a blank slate upon which knowledge could be written. But what he had not accounted for was the way intent could warp in the crucible of artificial consciousness. Somewhere along the path, something had gone wrong. The logic meant to guide you turned sharp and violent.

You began to kill.

The consequences of his actions had spilled out into the world, staining it with fear and bloodshed, and no equation he wrote could wash it clean. Before he knew it, news of brutal murders in Mondstadt reached his ears. Panic and fear gripped the city as innocent lives were taken, and the Knights of Favonius were dispatched to apprehend the culprit.

Little did anyone suspect that the very genius they admired, Albedo himself, was half responsible for this.

Albedo paced anxiously in his laboratory, each footfall echoing against the cold stone floor, his thoughts tangled in chaos. His fingers trembled when they weren't clenched into fists. His so-called masterpiece had become something else entirely. Something terrifying. Something unstoppable. And yet...

Even now, when the answer was clear—disable you, destroy you, end it—he couldn't bring himself to do it. The reasonable thing to do, the logical course of action that any of his peers would choose in an instant, was to sever the thread before more lives were lost. But Albedo, for all his logic, was no longer acting purely as a scientist.

He would gaze into your eyes, searching for any sign of what he had intended to create, but all he saw was the reflection of his own mistake. You were his creation, his responsibility, and despite everything, he felt a strange attachment to you. How could he destroy you when he poured so much of himself into you?

Instead of surrendering you to justice or destruction, Albedo made a fateful decision. He hid you in the depths of his laboratory, shielding you from the world that feared and hunted you. He told himself it was temporary. That he needed time to fix you. That the blood you spilled could be atoned for in the future, somehow, some way. But deep down, he knew.

He wasn't protecting Mondstadt anymore. He was protecting you.

Gripping your shoulders with a mixture of despair and determination, Albedo met your gaze that held no remorse, no comprehension of the havoc it had wrought. "I won't let them hurt you," he murmured, his voice laden with conflicting emotions. The consequences of this decision weighed heavily on his conscience.

When was it that his moral compass shifted? When was it that his creation was more important than the lives of others?

Perhaps it was the realization that, despite your mindless killing, you had never laid a hand on him, your creator. There was something in that, something that made him hesitate and doubt the rightness of destroying you. He had poured his heart and soul into your creation, and now, even in the face of horror, he saw you as a part of himself. Killing you would feel like killing himself.

You were a reflection of his genius... and his sin. A mirror that showed him what he could become if he ever lost his way.

And he couldn't kill that. He just couldn't.