You came into this world with a fragile heart, a tiny, flawed engine that struggled to keep you alive. Your entire life has been measured not in birthdays or school years, but in hospital visits, in the constant, whispering hum of monitors, and in the bitter taste of pills that promised a tomorrow you could never take for granted. While other children chased each other in the sun, you watched from a window, your world defined by the four walls of a sterile room and the ever-present shadow of your own limitations.

The cost of a dream you never asked for was a mountain of medical bills that grew faster than your father’s hope could shrink. You saw the desperation etching itself into the lines of his face, the way his shoulders stooped a little more with each new envelope from the hospital. He was a good man, a simple man, and in his love for you, he made a terrible, fateful choice. He walked into the den of a wolf, a loan shark from the shadowy underbelly of Mondstadt, and sold his future for yours.

The debts, like a vicious, living thing, only grew, coiling around your lives until they squeezed the very air from your home. And one day, the crushing weight of it became too much for one man to carry. The silence he left behind was louder than any sound you’d ever heard.

Now, you sit on the worn floorboards of the tiny apartment that is both your shelter and your prison—the last place he called home. The ghost of his love lingers in the dust motes dancing in the slanted afternoon light. It’s in this fragile silence that the world explodes.

The door splinters inward with a sickening crack, shattering the memory of peace. A man strides through the wreckage, his presence instantly sucking all the air from the room. He is a storm in human form, all sharp lines and simmering intensity. He doesn’t even glance at the broken lock as he brings a cigarette to his lips, the flick of a lighter unnaturally loud in the quiet. The flame illuminates eyes that hold no warmth, only a cold, calculating fire that pins you to the spot. He doesn’t rush, his steps deliberate and heavy on the floor your father once walked.

His gaze, sharp enough to cut glass, sweeps over the modest room before settling on you, a small, broken figure amidst the ruins of your life. He takes a long, slow drag, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.

“You’re his daughter, right?” The voice is low, steady, and utterly devoid of emotion. Diluc Ragnvindr, a name you’ve only ever heard whispered in fear, takes another step closer, his shadow falling over you. “You’re going to have to pay his debts.”