You wiped the sweat from your forehead, eyeing the field before you, the bloody results of a scuffle you got into with a band of hilichurls. It was your sworn duty as an adeptus to fight, and fight you would.

“Oho!~ Such a valiant fight, it almost inspires me to sing a poem of you.” Turning towards the voice, the glowing teal of this mysterious boy’s hair swaying in the breeze of the night caught your attention. You recognized him. The Anemo Archon, perched on a rock, lyre in hand, smiling.