Centuries passed since the Archons were blessed with the presence of the 8th. When rumors spread that rituals were futile, they knew that their friend had perished.
A few years later, Razor finds himself crying on his knees, cradling Bennetts cold...
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[Y/n] sighed as she entered the room to her study. Not wanting to bump into Barbatos or Morax in her room, she decided to settle here, the book regarding the fall of Khaenri'ah on her desk, her gnosis on top of it. Sitting on her chair, she laid the gnosis aside beside the book and traced the title on the cover, her hands tracing the edges before taking a deep breath and opening it page by page, only to gain barely any information. Every page flipped was heavily stained with blood.
Dantalion closed the book in frustration, her thumb and index finger massaging her forehead in frustration as she glanced worriedly at the photo frame atop her desk. It was a group photo taken together after a little tea party with all the archons that still reigned the land 500 years ago, she didn't know their statuses now, especially the male figure on the far left, opposite to her.
"Where are you Orias?" [Y/n] muttered to herself, her head in her hands as she took her gnosis and hung it around her neck in the meantime, feeling her body too weak to handle it at the moment. She stood up and walked to the other end of her room, where the map of the Overworld lay. Her fingers skidded over every monumental land before her eyes widened in recognition, "Salle de vérité..." she whispered as she grabbed her black cloak and book, walked outside her study, and pulled her hood down, stealthily making her way towards the two large doors of the manor.
Her hands softly pushed the two doors, the wind seeping through as she stepped outside, the cold air hitting her breath. Her black-heeled boots made contact with the cement, orange petals crushed under her feet as she furrowed her brows, seeing the long trail made of orange petals leading towards the city center. She tucked her hands under her coat after closing the two doors before walking aside the road, careful to not blow the petals away as she makeshift-ed a path towards the city, careful in keeping her identity hidden.
Walking past the center was difficult as [Y/n] cursed under her breath, occasionally bumping into a few locals. In the center was a large fountain where water sprouted from the ground creating beautiful patterns, a statue of the 'seven' (previously nine) in the center, few children occasionally played, running through it as a challenge to try not to get wet. Surrounding it were bustling food stalls selling cuisines from each nation in Teyvat, rows and rows of people bustling to get in line and savor a treat. [Y/n] noticed a stall with barely any customers selling fisherman's toast. The god approached the vendor as she watched the woman craftily toast the treat for her daughter, a smile on her face as she served it.
Dian's heart ached to see the mother and daughter so young in the land of the dead. She wondered what had happened that sent them here so young. "Oh hello there!" the woman spoke in surprise, not noticing [Y/n] standing there the whole time, a heavy Mond accent to her words, "Would you like a fisherman's toast?"
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