The Game's Extra

Prologue: Through the Singularity

As the battle reached a fevered pitch, Lumine's blade cut through the air, slicing cleanly through Prinz's right arm. The moment the severed limb flew upward, she knew exactly what he was planning. The way his eyes remained calm, even as his blood spilled onto the ground, filled her with dread. She braced herself, realizing that Prinz could teleport to the arm at any moment, using it as leverage for his next strike.

In a desperate attempt to prevent this, Lumine thrust her sword upward, aiming to intercept him the moment he made his move. But then, as her blade reached its apex, her heart sank. Prinz hadn't teleported to his severed arm.

The truth hit her like a blow to the chest: he had swapped places with the arm instead. Now, the bloodied limb floated high in the sky while Prinz stood below, preparing his next attack with unsettling precision. In a frantic scramble, she swapped her element from Light to Anemo, hoping to regain control of the air and slow his approach.

But it was too late.

A deafening, ear-shattering sound pierced through the battlefield as Prinz completed his chant, an incantation she had been too slow to interrupt. The whirring sound below her echoed like the fury of an abyssal vortex, and before she could react, Lumine felt the pull of an invisible force, dragging her violently across the terrain. The sudden motion sent her spiraling, her limbs flailing helplessly as she was yanked toward Prinz's trap.

She struggled against the unseen force, her mind racing. Prinz had used a Light-based attack, a small relief given her immunity to the element. But while the attack hadn't obliterated her outright, it had left her in a far worse predicament: hurtling uncontrollably toward a nearby mountain, with no time to react.

The world blurred, the wind whipping through her hair as she was flung like a rag doll across the map. Her attempts to slow herself with Anemo proved futile—the force Prinz had unleashed was too strong, too precise. She crashed into the mountainside with bone-crushing impact, the sharp rocks tearing into her skin as she tumbled down the slope. Every muscle screamed in agony, her body barely holding together from the sheer force of the collision.

For a moment, the world was silent, save for the ringing in her ears. Was this how it ends?

She asks herself, reminiscing the days with her brother... And with him.

As Lumine's consciousness begins to slip away, her body battered from crashing down against the mountains of Mondsdtadt, her mind drifts into a memory she had buried deep inside. Images of  Kiyotaka come flooding back—memories of their time together in Khaenri'ah, the nation destined for ruin.

She recalls a specific night that lingers painfully clear in her mind. They were walking through the quiet streets of some hidden corner of Teyvat, trying to escape the burden of their respective roles. The stars above shone faintly, and for the first time in what felt like years, Kiyotaka had spoken about his true desires.

That night, Kiyotaka revealed his longing to return to his family—a family that Lumine had never seen but heard in fragments. He talked about them not with divine detachment but with an aching human sorrow. He spoke of children who laughed and played, a world far removed from the cruelty of Teyvat and the impending destruction of Khaenri'ah. It was the first time she had seen him not as the Arbiter of Light and Darkness, the Orchestrator of Grand Designs, but as someone who deeply yearned for a life he could never have again.

Now, as her consciousness flickers, she can see him again, standing in the ruins of Khaenri'ah, holding a child in his arms. The child looked at Kiyotaka as if he were a hero, someone they idolized, unaware of the heavy burdens he carried. Kiyotaka's face had been lit with a smile—one that radiated warmth and affection. But Lumine saw what the child could not: the sadness behind his eyes, the weariness of a god who had long resigned himself to the role he had to play.