When he’d mentioned it in passing, you hadn’t thought much of it. Zhongli was a man of many words—words that often felt like decorations, pretty but unnecessary. He could spend hours discussing the history of a single brick, so when he said you’d make a fine Archon, you brushed it off without a second thought.

Yet here he was, kneeling before you in his own home.

You hadn’t even seen it happen. You hadn’t seen him tear the gnosis from his chest, hadn’t witnessed the faint glow of his hair as he made his decision. No, you’d been distracted, idly examining his home—aged books spread across a dining table, their covers worn from time, and furniture too rich in character for what should belong to someone of modest means.

And now, your gaze was drawn back to him. His voice filled the space between you, steady and resolute.

“This is an act of unparalleled finality,” he intoned, his voice measured, rich with gravitas as his palm rested firmly over the hand he’d just pried from your side. “To entrust you with such a treasure is not a matter of mere sentiment, but one of profound trust. Repayment is neither desired nor necessary. I only ask that you hold Liyue in steadfast hands, for it is with this assurance that I may step away with peace in my heart.”