Chapter Text
The sky within the Serenitea Pot was no longer the vibrant, ever-changing canvas of the Adepti’s creation. It was a fractured mirror, a porcelain bowl struck by a hammer, where the seams of the reality-distorting ward pulsed with a sickly, bruised violet. The air, which once smelled of silk flowers and the crisp mountain breeze of Jueyun Karst, now carried the heavy, cloying scent of ozone and something ancient—something that had never been meant to breathe within the confines of a pocket dimension.
Aether walked with a rhythmic, heavy tread across the floating islands of the Cool Isle layout, but the sand beneath his boots didn’t crunch with the warmth of the sun; it felt like powdered bone. Behind him, he dragged two figures across the ground as if they were nothing more than discarded sacks of grain. He held them by the collars of their garments, their limp bodies carving deep, jagged furrows into the pale earth.
Madame Ping, the Streetward Rambler, was being hauled like a broken doll, her form flickering between her elderly guise and the ethereal, youthful grace of her true Adeptus self. Her wrists were still stained with the residue of the abyssal pikes, a dark, necrotic energy that resisted even the legendary healing properties of the adepti. Beside her, Shenhe was dragged with equal indifference, her breathing shallow, her silver hair trailing behind her like a waterfall of frozen silk through the dust. She was deeply unconscious, her spirit battered by the sheer weight of the Abyssal energy ‘Aether’ had forced into her.
He dropped them near the center of the main estate, the grand Liyue-style mansion looking like a haunted mausoleum in the dim, purplish light. Madame Ping groaned, her eyes fluttering open as she sprawled on the cold stone. She looked up at the man who wore the face of the boy she had once taught the melodies of the Cleansing Bell.
"I guess... I’m yours now," she rasped, her voice a fragile reed in the wind. There was no anger in her tone, only a exhaustion—a resignation that tasted of dust and centuries.
Aether looked down at her, his golden eyes twin abysses where light went to die. A cruel, thin smile touched his lips, one that lacked any of the warmth the true Traveler had once possessed. "Glad you figured it out fast," he purred, his voice a low, guttural vibration that seemed to rattle the very foundations of the realm. "Because you'll be doing something for me very soon. Your knowledge of Adeptal architecture is... unique. And right now, my home is feeling a bit drafty."
He gestured vaguely toward the sky, where a long, jagged crack in the clouds bled a dark, viscous energy. "Can you feel the integrity of the ward I placed on this realm?"
Madame Ping closed her eyes, her senses extending outward, touching the invisible ley lines that governed this artificial space. She flinched, her entire body trembling. "Yes... it’s weakening. The barrier... it was never meant to hold such... such filth. The Adeptal arts are based on the harmony of the world. You are a discordance that the realm is trying to vomit out."
Aether’s grip tightened on Shenhe’s shoulder as he pulled her closer to the center of the courtyard, his obsidian claws digging slightly into the fabric of her suit. "Well, tell me how to fix it," he commanded. "The heroes of Teyvat are knocking on my door. I want to make sure that when they finally break it down, they find exactly what they deserve."
"Why is the door locked, Aether?"
The small, innocent voice drifted from the outside of the mansion. Klee stood there, clutching the straps of her bag, her face a mask of genuine confusion as she looked down at the scene.
Aether looked up, his predatory grin widening into something even more unsettling. "Because, Klee," he chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering over a grave. "Because the key got vaulted."
Klee giggled, not understanding the malice or the joke, while Madame Ping let out a strangled sob at the sight of the child trapped in this nightmare.
Madame Ping looked confused at that statement.
"Oh, it's a joke from one of the realities that Aether visited."
...
"So where is Durin, Albedo, and Hat Guy?" Aino asked, her voice echoing in the vaulted ceiling. She was leaning over a complex mechanical sensor, her fingers absentmindedly twiddling a wrench.
Varka stood at the head, his massive arms crossed, his presence a mountain of sheer physical will. Beside him, Paimon hovered, her tiny face etched with a seriousness that made her look years older, her usual sparkle replaced by a grim determination.
Flins stood in the shadows, his lantern glowing with a steady, pale blue flame, his yellow eyes tracking every movement in the room with the clinical detachment of a Lightkeeper. Jahoda and Nefer sat opposite each other, a pair of information brokers who had turned their vast networks toward a single, terrifying goal. Lauma, her antlers shimmering with a soft, lunar light, provided a calming influence, though her turquoise and pink eyes were sharp with the wisdom of the Moonchanter.
The Fatui presence was equally stark. Arlecchino stood like a blade of obsidian, her gaze fixed on the map. Sandrone was perched on a high stool, her puppet Pulonia standing guard behind her, its mechanical eyes glowing a dull red. Columbina, the Moon Maiden, sat in a chair near the fire, her form now stable but her expression one of haunting melancholy. And finally, Yelan, the secret thread of Liyue, stood leaning against the wall, her coat draped over her shoulders, her fingers playing with a die.
"Those three are not here as they are focusing on alchemy," Varka rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Albedo believes that brute force won't be enough to separate the Traveler from the corruption. They are working on a catalyst—something that can pierce the Abyssal shell without shattering the soul inside. The Wanderer is providing the... elemental volatility required for the process, and Durin is acting as the anchor."
"Typical," Sandrone muttered, her voice a sharp, mechanical click. "Leave the most delicate work to Hat Guy and the dragon. At least they won't let sentimentality cloud their calculations."
Arlecchino smiled as a look of terror past though Sandrone's face. "Sentimentality is what brought us together, Sandrone. If we were purely pragmatic, we wouldn't even be together, fighting for the Traveler the moment he turned. Besides, your conversations with Columbina says something completely different. What was it again-"
"Sh-Shut up!"
Columbina, slightly giggling, looked up, her voice a soft, melodic chime that silenced the room. "The moon feels... heavy. Like a bough about to break under the weight of snow. Aether's realm is a pocket of stolen time, but it cannot last. He is pulling too much from the outside."
Varka nodded, his gaze returning to the map. "So from what I'm getting, Aether's realm should be breached by tomorrow?"
Columbina closed her eyes, her connection to the celestial currents thrumming. "Yup. The alignment is perfect. The veil is thinnest at dawn. After that..." she paused, a flicker of her old, terrifying power dancing in her eyes, "...we beat Aether until he comes back to us."
The room grew silent. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. A promise of a battle that would shake the foundations of their world.
...
The lush greenery of the Sanctuary felt stifling to Dehya. She paced the length of the platform, her hand resting on the hilt of her claymore. Around her, the most influential figures of Sumeru were gathered, all summoned by a sudden, urgent call from the Lesser Lord Kusanali.
"Why am I here?" Dehya asked, her voice echoing off the crystalline walls.
"I have the same question too," Cyno added, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as stoic as the desert sands. Beside him, Tighnari was fidgeting with his ears, his sensitive hearing picking up the frantic beating of his own heart. Nilou looked pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, while Alhaitham leaned against a pillar, his face a mask of bored indifference that deceived no one. Candace stood guard near the entrance, her shield strapped to her arm.
Nahida stepped forward, her small form radiating a profound, ancient wisdom. Her eyes, usually filled with the warmth of a thousand suns, were now shadowed with a deep, unsettling sorrow.
"I called you here to tell you to not trust Aether," she began, her voice small but carrying a weight that made the room feel as though the air had been sucked out. "The Traveler we knew... he is gone. Or rather, he is buried beneath a darkness that I cannot reach. He has taken the Spark Knight of Mondstadt, and he has struck at the heart of Liyue." She
Nilou gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Aether? But... he saved us."
"Even the brightest star can be eclipsed," Nahida said softly. "I have felt the shift in the Irminsul. The records are being blurred, tainted. He is not just a threat to the present; he is a threat to the very memory of our world. And because of this, I'll be leaving Sumeru for quite some time."
The reaction was instantaneous.
"Leaving?" Alhaitham’s voice was sharp. "The Dendro Archon cannot simply vacate her seat. The bureaucracy—"
"The bureaucracy will survive, Alhaitham," Nahida interrupted, her gaze firm. "The world might not. I must join the others in the North. My connection to the Irminsul may be the only way to track him if he retreats further into the void."
Cyno stepped forward, his eyes burning with a fierce loyalty. "If the Archon goes, the Mahamatra follows. I will not allow you to face such a darkness alone."
"Count me in," Dehya grinned, though there was no humor in it. "I owe that kid a few pointers on how to stay on the right path."
Tighnari sighed, looking at Nilou and Candace. "It seems my research in the Avidya Forest will have to wait. The forest will have to fend for itself."
Nahida looked at them, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. "I expected as much. We depart at sunset."
...
The heat in Xilonen’s forge was usually a comforting, rhythmic thrum, a heartbeat that pulsed through the very stone of the canyon. But today, the air felt like a fever, thick and heavy with a static charge that made the fine hairs on Xilonen’s arms stand on end. She was deep into the shaping of a ceremonial obsidian plate, her hammer falling with a precision that had earned her the title of Name-Bearer, when the heavy leather curtains of the entrance were thrown aside.
Ineffa stumbled in, looking like she had run from the very edges of the world without stopping for a single breath of clean air.
Ineffa her hands trembling so violently that she nearly knocked the basin over. "There’s... no time, Xilonen. The world is breaking. I just came from Nod-Krai."
Xilonen’s golden eyes narrowed. She knew of the gathering in the North—the whispers of a rift, of a corruption that was eating the sky. But to see the terror in Ineffa’s eyes, usually robotic, sent a chill through her that the forge's heat couldn't touch.
"The Traveler," Ineffa choked out, the name sounding like a curse. "He’s not the hero we sang about. He’s... he’s something else now. He’s a void. And Xilonen... the Harbingers are there. The Grand Master of the Knights. They’re all preparing for a war that might not have a winner. We need help."
Xilonen leaned back against her anvil, the hot metal biting into her skin, but she didn't move. Her mind was racing, connecting the dots of the strange tremors she’d felt in the Phlogiston lines over the past week. "So the golden boy turned into a monster?"
Ineffa nodded, "It’s worse. The way they spoke of him... it wasn’t just that he’d changed sides. It was like he was rewriting reality around himself. If Natlan doesn't act, if we don't send word to the other tribes... we'll be left behind in the ashes of whatever's left of Teyvat. The Night Kingdom is stirring because of him, Xilonen. I felt it on the way back. The shadows are hungrier."
Xilonen looked at her unfinished work, the obsidian reflecting the orange light of the coals. She had spent her life crafting things that lasted, things that carried the names and legacies of her people. To hear that the very foundation of those legacies was being threatened by the one person who was supposed to be their greatest ally was a bitter draught to swallow.
"Well, let's try to get the other tribes on our side too."
...
The morning sun in Natlan was a brutal, glorious gold, painting the ancient stones of the stadium in shades of fire and blood. It was a heat that felt alive, a physical presence that demanded respect. Aether walked slowly along the upper tier, his hand resting lightly on the sun-warmed stone railing. He moved with a practiced ease, his gait perfectly mimicking the light-footed grace of the hero who had traversed the seven nations.
Beside him, Mavuika, the Archon of Fire, walked with a grace that seemed at odds with the tension in her shoulders. Her long, fiery hair caught the light, shimmering like a living flame. To any observer, they looked like two legends sharing a quiet moment of reflection. But for Mavuika, the silence was heavy.
"Hey, Aether?" Mavuika asked, her voice soft. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from the woman who carried the weight of a nation’s destiny, who stood as the final bulwark against the encroachment of the Night Kingdom.
Aether turned to her, his expression softening into a mask of perfect, gentle warmth. He tilted his head slightly, the sunlight catching the golden strands of his hair, masking the hollow darkness that lurked just behind his pupils. To her, he still looked like the boy who had stood against the darkness of the Abyss, the golden traveler who smelled of sun-drenched glaze lilies and distant, clean stars.
"Yes?" he asked, his voice a perfect replica of the kind, steady tone she remembered.
"Thanks for spending the morning with me," she said, looking out over the vast arena where the Sacred Flame flickered, its light pale against the dominance of the sun. "The nights have been... heavy lately. The shadows of the Night Kingdom feel closer than ever, like they're pressing against the very glass of our world. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night, reaching for a sword that isn't there."
Aether reached out, his hand covering hers on the railing. His skin was warm, a deceptive heat that mimicked the vitality of life. But beneath that warmth, the Abyss coiled like a sleeping viper, cold and patient. "Don't worry, Mavuika," he said, his voice a silken thread of comfort. "It's a joy to be spending time with you. You carry so much for this nation—the weight of the fire, the expectations of every tribe. Let me be the one person you don't have to be strong for. Just for a little while."
Mavuika leaned her head against his shoulder, a small, weary sigh escaping her. "I appreciate that. More than you know. Sometimes, being the Archon feels like being a torch in a hurricane. You spend so much energy just trying to keep the flame from going out that you forget what it's like to just... be."
Aether smiled, a slow, predatory thing that she couldn't see as her eyes were fixed on the horizon. "I understand. More than anyone. The world asks a lot of us, doesn't it? It takes and takes, and expects us to keep giving until there's nothing left but ash."
He shifted his weight, his arm moving to wrap around her shoulders in a protective gesture. "But you don't have to worry about the shadows today. I'm here. And I promise you, I won't let anything happen to the light of Natlan."
Mavuika closed her eyes, letting the perceived warmth of her friend wash over her. "You've always been a good friend, Aether."
"And I always will be," Aether whispered, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the grand spire of her private quarters. "I'll take all that fear from you, Mavuika. I'll take the burden of the flame. You've earned a rest. A long, deep rest."
Mavuika didn't notice the slight drop in temperature as they walked away from the railing, or the way the shadows beneath their feet seemed to stretch and twist, reaching toward her like hungry fingers. She only felt the comfort of a familiar presence, unaware that the man beside her was already calculating the exact moment her fire would become his.
...
The marketplace of Natlan was usually a riot of color and sound—the shouting of merchants, the squawking of Saurians, and the rhythmic beat of drums. But as Citlali moved through the square, the atmosphere felt brittle, like thin glass. She had just met with Ineffa, and the words the scout had whispered were still ringing in her ears like a discordant bell.
"Wait... I saw Aether with Mavuika earlier in the morning," Citlali said, her eyes wide with a dawning horror as she looked at the group gathered near the central fountain.
Ineffa had just finished informing the Natlan warriors—Xilonen, Varesa, Kinich, Mualani, Chasca, and Ororon—of the danger. The confusion was palpable, a thick, suffocating blanket that threatened to stifle their resolve.
"What?" Ineffa’s voice was a whip-crack, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "He’s *here*? In the city? I thought he was still in the North, or hiding in his rift!"
Xilonen stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade, her expression a mask of stony focus. "If he's here, and he's with Mavuika, then we've already lost the lead. He’s playing a game, and he’s using her as the prize."
"He’s with the Archon?" Kinich asked, his voice flat, but his hand was tightening on the hilt of his claymore until his knuckles were white. Beside him, Ajaw, the Saurian spirit, flickered into existence, his pixelated face twisted into a manic, glowing grin.
"Ooh! Ooh! The big bad wolf is playing dress-up with the fire lady!" Ajaw cackled, his voice a series of digital chirps and glitches. "This is going to be fun! I wonder if he'll let me watch when he starts pulling the feathers off the phoenix!"
"Shut up, Ajaw," Kinich hissed, his eyes scanning the rooftops.
"If he's with Mavuika, she’s in grave danger," Chasca said, her wings fluttering with a nervous agitation that mirrored the racing of her heart. "She’s vulnerable right now. The ritual of the Sacred Flame has taken a lot out of her this cycle. If he knows that..."
"He knows everything," Citlali whispered, her hands beginning to glow with a pale, icy light. "He was there for all of it. He knows her strengths, her weaknesses... he knows how much she trusts him."
"Where did they go, Citlali?" Mualani asked, her usual bubbly energy replaced by a sharp, predatory focus. She was already checking the straps on her gear, her eyes hard.
Citlali pointed toward the grand spire that overlooked the stadium, its peak lost in the golden haze of the sun. "Toward her private quarters. They were walking slowly... like they had all the time in the world."
"Then we move. Now!" Xilonen commanded, her voice booming with the authority of a Name-Bearer.
The group made a mad dash through the streets, a blur of color and steel against the ancient stones. They ignored the startled cries of the citizens, the confused looks of the guards. Every second felt like a year, every heartbeat a drumroll leading toward a confrontation they weren't sure they could win.
As they ran, the air began to change. The vibrant, life-giving heat of Natlan was being replaced by something oily and stagnant. The shadows in the alleyways seemed to pulse, growing longer and darker even as the sun climbed higher.
"Do you feel that?" Ororon asked, his voice a low rumble. "The spirits... they're screaming. The Wayob is silent, but the air is full of ghosts."
"Focus," Xilonen barked. "We don't stop until we reach her."
Xilonen didn't hesitate, her boots slamming against the ground as she prepared to breach the sanctum of their god.
...
The interior of the spire was a sanctuary of warmth and light. The air was filled with the soft, earthy scent of burning incense—cedar and copal—and the low, rhythmic hum of the embers in the grand hearth. It was a room designed for reflection, for the moments when the Archon of Fire needed to shed her mantle and simply exist.
Mavuika sat on the edge of her bed, her head bowed, her hands trembling in her lap. The fear of death, which she usually kept locked behind a vault of iron will, was a crushing weight in the silence of the room. The endless cycle of sacrifice that Natlan demanded—the knowledge that her life was a fuel meant to be consumed—was a burden that few could understand.
But here, in the quiet, she was just a woman named Mavuika, and she was terrified.
Aether sat behind her, his presence a deceptive anchor in the storm of her thoughts. He didn't speak at first, simply letting the silence stretch between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
His touch was light, almost tentative, as he began to slowly caress her back. "It's alright, Mavuika," he whispered, his voice a silken thread of comfort that seemed to bypass her defenses and speak directly to her soul. "I know how it feels. To be the one everyone looks to. To be the one who has to burn so others can stay warm. It's a lonely path, isn't it?"
Mavuika leaned back into his touch, a jagged sob catching in her throat. "I’m scared, Aether. Not for me... I’ve faced death a thousand times in the arena. But I’m scared for what happens if I fail. If the flame goes out because I wasn't strong enough to hold it. If the Night Kingdom swallows everything I love because I was too tired to keep fighting."
"It won't," Aether promised, his fingers tracing the line of her spine with a hypnotic rhythm. "I won't let it. I've traveled across worlds, Mavuika. I've seen stars born and die. I know how to preserve what is precious."
He leaned closer, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "I’ll take that fear from you. I’ll take the weight, the responsibility, the endless, grinding duty. I’ll take everything that hurts you, and I’ll bury it where it can never find you again."
Mavuika felt a strange lethargy beginning to creep through her limbs. The warmth of the room felt heavy, like a thick wool blanket. "Aether... you're so kind. But you have your own journey... your sister..."
"My sister is safe," Aether lied, his voice never wavering. "And my journey has led me here. To you. You need to rest, Mavuika. Your nerves are frayed, your spirit is exhausted. Let the world fade away for a while. Let the fire rest."
As he spoke, he channeled a minute, almost imperceptible amount of Abyssal energy through his fingertips. It wasn't the violent, tearing force he had used on Madame Ping; it was a subtle, sedative darkness, a corruption that mimicked the feeling of a deep, dreamless sleep.
Mavuika’s eyes began to glaze over, the vibrant orange of her irises turning dull and clouded. She snuggled closer into his chest, her breathing evening out as she surrendered to the unnatural calm he was forcing upon her. "Just... for a little while," she murmured, her voice trailing off into a sigh.
Aether smiled, a slow, predatory thing that stretched his features into a mask of pure malice. He looked down at the Archon of Fire, the woman who could incinerate a mountain with a thought, now reduced to a limp, trusting weight in his arms.
"That's right, dear," he crooned, his voice dropping into a lullaby that chilled the air. "Go to sleep. When you wake up, the world will be very, very different."
He could feel the power within her—the raw, primal energy of the Sacred Flame. It was a magnificent thing, a sun captured in a human vessel. And soon, it would be the fuel for his own ascension.
...
The Natlan group was breathless as they reached the final set of grand doors leading to Mavuika’s private chambers. The air here was almost solid with the scent of ozone and the heavy, metallic tang of the Abyss.
"We have to be careful," Mualani whispered, her usual bubbly energy replaced by a sharp, tactical focus. She held her shark-themed surfboard-blade tight, her knuckles white. "If we charge in blindly, we might provoke him into doing something drastic. We don't know what state she's in."
"If we don't charge in, we might be too late," Kinich countered, his eyes fixed on the door. "I can feel the corruption through the wood. It’s like a rot that’s eating the very structure."
Xilonen didn't wait for the debate to continue. She stepped forward, her golden eyes flashing with a fierce, protective light. She was a Name-Bearer, a shaper of the earth, and she would not stand idly by while her Archon was being desecrated.
"Stand back," she commanded. She took a deep breath, drawing on the Phlogiston that flowed through the veins of the mountain itself. Her muscles coiled like springs, and with a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, she kicked the door.
The impact was like a cannon blast. The reinforced stone and wood splintered under her strength, the doors flying inward with a concussive boom that rattled the very foundations of the ground
The dust from the shattered doors hadn't even settled before Citlali, Ineffa, Xilonen, Varesa, Kinich, Mualani, Chasca, and Ororon surged into the room, their weapons drawn and elemental powers flared. They were a whirlwind of fire, water, and steel, ready to face a god-slayer.
They stopped dead at the sight.
The room was quiet, almost peaceful. Aether was sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling Mavuika in a tender, protective hug. She looked small in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes half-closed. Her body was limp, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides. Aether was slowly patting her back, his expression one of serene, almost saintly love.
He didn't even look up as they entered, his gaze fixed on the flickering embers in the hearth.
"Don't you know it's rude to enter without knocking?" Aether asked, his voice calm, almost bored. It was the voice of a man interrupted during a private moment, not a villain caught in the act.
"What—what did you do to Mavuika?" Xilonen demanded, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and a burgeoning, icy fear. She stepped forward, her claymore glowing with the heat of the forge.
Mavuika stirred at the sound of Xilonen’s voice, her head lolling slightly. "Xilonen? Wha—what's happening?" She looked at the intruders with glazed, uncomprehending eyes, her mind clearly clouded by whatever poison Aether had whispered into her soul. "Why are you... why are you being so loud?"
"Nothing, dear," Aether whispered, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly sweet lullaby. He tightened his grip on her, his fingers digging slightly into her skin. "They're just confused. They don't understand that you need to rest. Go back to sleep. I'll deal with them."
Mavuika snuggled closer into Aether’s chest, her breathing evening out once more as she surrendered to the unnatural sleep. The sight of their Archon, the fierce and unyielding Mavuika, reduced to this state sent a wave of horror through the group.
Aether looked up then, and the mask of the Traveler didn't just slip—it shattered. His golden eyes flared with a cold, Abyssal light, and his smile widened into a cruel, jagged thing that seemed to stretch too far across his face, revealing teeth that looked too sharp to be human.
"Let—let her go!" Citlali screamed, her hands glowing with a frantic, icy power. She launched a bolt of frost, but Aether didn't even move. A shield of shimmering violet energy erupted around him, the frost shattering against it like glass.
Aether stood up, still holding Mavuika with one arm as if she weighed nothing at all. He stepped toward the center of the room, his presence expanding until it filled the space with a suffocating, oily darkness that seemed to swallow the light from the hearth.
"You're all so... predictable," Aether sighed, his voice echoing with a hollow, metallic quality. "Always rushing in to save the day, always believing that a little bit of friendship and a lot of screaming can change the inevitable. It’s almost charming. Almost."
"Give her back, Aether!" Mualani cried, her voice cracking. "This isn't you! You're our friend!"
"Friendship is a heavy burden, Mualani," Aether said, his eyes locking onto hers. "You and Aether are friends. And I'm not Aether. So you'll always hold back while I do whatever I want."
He looked around the room, his gaze lingering on each of them with a clinical, detached cruelty. "So... I'll see you on the flip side," he said in a sing-song voice that chilled them to the bone.
"Nooooo!" Citlali cried, launching every ounce of her power into a desperate barrage of energy.
The group made a mad dash for them, weapons swinging, elemental powers erupting in a final, desperate attempt to stop him. Xilonen’s blade was inches from his throat, Kinich’s grapple was reaching for Mavuika’s arm, and Chasca’s arrows were mid-flight.
Aether didn't move a muscle to defend himself. He simply tapped his foot against the stone floor.
A rift, blacker than the deepest night and edged with jagged, pulsing violet light, opened beneath his feet. It wasn't a door or a portal; it was a wound in reality itself.
"Wait!" Xilonen screamed, her hand outstretched.
But it was too late. Aether and Mavuika fell into the rift, the darkness swallowing them instantly. The arrows passed through empty air, the blades struck the cold stone floor, and the elemental energy dissipated into the void.
The rift snapped shut a second later with a sound like a closing tomb, leaving the room silent and empty. The only trace of their presence was the lingering scent of ozone and the faint, purplish mark on the floor where the reality had been torn.
"No..." Chasca whispered, her bow drooping, her hands shaking. She looked at the scorched floor, her eyes filling with tears of frustration and failure. "He took her. He actually took her."
Xilonen stood in the center of the room, her chest heaving, her claymore still glowing with a dying heat. She looked at the empty space where her Archon had been, and a cold, hard resolve began to settle in her gut.
"Nod-Krai is it?" Xilonen asked, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "Citlali, get the maps. Ineffa, get the supplies. We're going on a trip."
"To the North?" Mualani asked, wiping her eyes.
"To the North," Xilonen confirmed. "And we're not coming back until we've brought Aether and Mavuika home."
...
The laboratory was a cathedral of glass, humming machinery, and the sharp, clean scent of alchemical reagents. In the center of the room, a large, ornate alembic pulsed with a soft, gold-and-silver light, the culmination of Albedo’s, Durin’s, and the Wanderer’s tireless work.
"It is finished," Albedo said, his voice level despite the deep lines of exhaustion etched into his face. He wiped his hands on a clean white cloth, looking at the glowing, iridescent liquid within the vessel. "The Alchemical Bridge. It is a bridge not of space, but of consciousness. It will allow us to glimpse a moment in time—specifically, Aether’s perspective, filtered through the resonance of his elemental trace."
Durin, now appearing as a tall, polite young man with a shy smile and eyes that held the wisdom of ages, stood beside the Wanderer. "Are you sure this is safe, Albedo? To look into a mind touched by the Abyss is to risk being pulled into the same darkness."
The Wanderer scoffed, his large hat tilted back, his arms crossed over his chest. "Safety is a luxury for those who aren't currently watching their world burn, little dragon. If we want to find him, we have to see what he sees. We have to know his moves before he makes them."
"We must choose a moment," Albedo said, his hand hovering over the delicate controls of the alembic. "A point of resonance where his focus was sharpest. A moment of connection."
Suddenly, a female voice, melodic and ancient, echoed through the room.
"The dawn of the seventh day after the moon fell. Look there."
"Wh-Who is that?" Durin asked
Albedo didn't hesitate. He set the coordinates, his fingers moving with a practiced grace, and activated the bridge. The liquid in the alembic flared, a blinding flash of silver light that projected a shimmering, three-dimensional image into the air above them.
They were looking through Aether’s eyes.
The scene was the interior of the Serenitea Pot estate, the grand mansion looking pristine and cold. Aether was sitting in a high-backed chair, his obsidian claws tapping a rhythmic, impatient beat against the armrest. In front of him, a shimmering projection showed a figure whose face was obscured by thick, swirling shadows.
"...is building something to try to remove your abyssal corruption," the traitor’s voice filtered through the projection, female, laced with a subtle, sickening undercurrent of desperation. "Varka and Arlecchino are sparring, and that's about it. You'll release her soon, right? Like we agreed?"
The image flickered, distorted by a surge of Abyssal energy, and then died, leaving the room in a heavy, suffocating silence.
Albedo’s eyes widened, his usual composure shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. Durin looked as though he had been struck, his face turning a ghostly, sickly pale. The Wanderer’s expression was a mask of cold, murderous fury.
The Wanderer hissed, the air around him beginning to swirl with the force of his agitation. "The snake was right in front of us the whole time."
Albedo looked at the empty space where the projection had been, the realization a cold, heavy stone in the pit of his gut. There was a traitor among them. Someone who had been feeding Aether information, someone who had been helping him stay one step ahead of their every move. Someone they had trusted with their lives and their secrets.
"We don't tell anyone," Albedo said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that commanded attention. "Not yet. If the traitor knows we know, they'll vanish, and we'll lose our only link to Aether's internal movements. We need to be certain. We need to watch everyone."
He looked toward the window, where the first light of dawn was beginning to touch the snow-capped peaks of the North, turning the white slopes into a bruised, purplish gray. The breach was coming. The final confrontation was at hand. And now, they didn't even know who stood beside them in the dark.