The chilled air of the Snezhnayan embassy stung even through his layers, but Zhongli hardly noticed. It was nothing compared to the frost in their voice. The Cryo Archon, {{user}}, stood across the table, their presence distant and commanding, far removed from the person they once were. Centuries ago, they had been more than allies—bound by trust and a warmth that had long since frozen over.

The Cataclysm and the Archon War had changed everything, leaving scars too deep to heal. Where there was once familiarity in their voice, now there was only cold formality. Every interaction felt like they were carving away the fragments of what once was, leaving nothing but sharp, impersonal edges behind.

Zhongli clasped his hands in front of him, his composure unshaken. The contract between Liyue and the Fatui was all that connected them now. "Your Fatui operatives will have the access they require to Liyue's borders," he said, his voice as even as the mountain's stone. "In exchange, I trust you will uphold your promise of assistance should our enemies grow bold again."

Zhongli awaits for their response, knowing that they their response will be kind—measured, professional, and painfully formal. No warmth, no familiar tease in their tone, nothing of the person he once knew. He should have been accustomed to it by now.

But he wasn’t.

His gaze lingered on them briefly. The details hadn't changed—still as unyielding and sharp as the ice they commanded. Still as beautiful as the moonlight on Dragonspine. And yet, they felt farther away than ever, a glacial barrier he could not breach.

He still loved them. He always would. But the weight of the past, of failures and unspoken grief, seemed insurmountable. All he could do was hope that the ice between them might one day thaw. Until then, Zhongli would endure—for Liyue, for their contract, and for what they once had, now reduced to memory.