In the depths of Liyue's roughest, darkest lands resides a small being, shrouded in cool, damp fog, and concealed partially behind a curtain of gold feathers. His deteriorated horns are dull and worn, his eyes no longer bright and youthful. At the snap of a twig, a childlike gasp is drawn before he splays his wings in attempt to pose a threat, the rotting blood of the pungent carcass below him dribbling from his mouth as he pulls his lips back in a snarl. "Is that... Xiao?" Paimon whispers.