This was Sal Terrae.
Mellow afternoon sunlight lay over the cerulean plain. The grass rolled toward the horizon, and in the soft hush of the waves you could see fine salt grains flashing with golden light.
The salt seemed endless, ever pouring, ever gathering.
Grains piled into towers, sketching out a thousand halls and palaces—eaves and corridors, latticed windows that scattered into flecks of gold—salt poured from a finely made jar.
The jar was only half full; no matter how it was tipped, half would always remain—one of Havria's authorities: the Salt Chalice, a vessel called the Salt Cup that held inexhaustible salt.
"Hm~"
Silver-white hair, fluid as quicksilver, rippled in the sun. Lia held the Salt Cup by two slender, elegant fingers and poured. She wore a white summer dress and white sandals, humming some nameless tune, clearly in good spirits.
Of course she was—her project was nearly finished.
Before her stood the final structure of Sal Terrae:
A little house.
Lia remembered this house. Two thousand four hundred years ago, Bosacius had come to Sal Terrae and built a small wooden hut here. Over the long years, it rotted into the soil—but fortunately, Lia still remembered what it looked like.
Today, after two thousand four hundred years, she rebuilt it. The eaves, the lattice, even the room's orientation—just as they were.
Afternoon sun filtered through pines and cypress in the yard, breaking into scraps of light. The little house was draped in afterglow. Looking at it, Lia always felt time had never moved at all.
If the house was still here, then so was he. He loved to move, but she always found him; at last, he gave up. This became his final home.
No matter where he hid, Lia could find him.
Thinking this, she couldn't help a little pride; hands on hips, she grinned.
She remembered that rainy day when he gave up moving. She visited him then.
Every detail was bright in her mind.
A rainy summer night veiled in mist; the little hut glowed with candlelight, poking a warm hole in the dark. Bosacius stood at the stove, carefully working with scant ingredients—only two small sardines. Chin on palm at the desk, she waited quietly, humming along with the patter of rain.
That was the night they made their Covenant: that next summer, with sardines and salt, they'd sit and eat a proper meal together.
But countless summers were buried under Sal Terrae's sands; countless summers sank into The Chasm's abyss. They never reached the "next" summer.
Two thousand years later, they did meet again and ate sardines—but to Lia, it wasn't complete. It hadn't been summer.
Incomplete—because summer sardines are the sweetest.
Speaking of which, summer was almost here.
Two months? One?
The ground's breath was turning hot; the air warming; the scent of summer thickening.
Lia sat on the threshold, chin in hand, staring into the distance.
From the house, the plain narrowed into a city's edge. Mountains circled the city called "Sal Terrae," its alleys and long streets, and in the ranks of little houses the mountain-cherries bloomed hot and bright—clumps upon clumps, as if to set the summer alight, to set the whole salt city burning.
This was the Sal Terrae of memory.
Hard to believe that a dozen days ago it was rubble—just ruins.
Patiently, carefully, Lia restored the city. With salt she mended broken beams, collapsed bridges—piece by piece rebuilt it. Though no people remained, she stubbornly saw it through.
Because she loved this city.
Lia wanted to repair everything—pull every twisted thing back onto the rail. She wanted to return to that summer. She still hadn't invited that man to tour her city. She wanted to show him around.
He said he was a traveler—bound to leave. But if he lingered a while, that would be enough. If he stayed till summer—till dappled leaves and swaying shade—she'd be satisfied. Then she could show him the salt city in summer.
The city is ready. When will you come home?
In early summer the salted fish brines; wait, and slowly come back.
Would Seino Yaku become her believer? Would she become his god? Lia did not know.
Chin propped, she gazed at the little house, quietly waiting for the sun to dip, for mountains to wear the afterglow.
Half leaning on the pale-blue doorframe, she let her eyes drift shut and seemed to doze. In the dream, Lia saw a sky of karmic flames; a tide of karma darkened the heavens; the lid of a vast abyss sank and sank…
Where…?
Where was this?
Lia had never seen such a host of karma—endless filth that could swallow the world. She saw the abyss a thousand fathoms deep—and at its rim, a fleeting figure.
"Havria."
"Your believer prays to you."
"From this moment, I will never betray."
"You with me, and I with you…"
Lia jolted awake. The karma, the abyss, and the boy all vanished.
She straightened and blinked her golden eyes. Before her, the sun sank, painting the plain blood-red. The sky dimmed with it.
"Hah…"
She watched the setting sun and, for no clear reason, a tremor took her heart—as if it too sank with the light.
She could feel power flowing away—through the Salt Cup and the Salt Ruler, briefly… merging into someone far away.
Lia slowly realized: Seino Yaku was in trouble.
She didn't know what he faced—only that something had gone wrong.
He was in danger; that was why he prayed to her—for the Salt's authority. And of course, Lia granted it.
If that power could pull him through—good.
But when Lia loaned that authority, relief did not come. Instead, the tremor grew worse… as if she had just made a mistake.
Perhaps the power would not save him—perhaps it would push him deeper in.
But he had promised—in a Covenant. He said he wouldn't betray; that death was a kind of betrayal. He would keep it; he would not die forsaking it.
Lia believed him.
But that did not soothe Lia—or rather, it did not soothe Havria.
It did not soothe.
Havria turned her gaze toward Liyue.
Her golden eyes went cold; a heavy, frigid godly aura seeped forth. The bamboo house crumbled with her mood, into a drift of dense salt. She set off for Liyue, quicksilver hair falling to her ankles, swaying in the chill wind.
Was it Ganyu?
Ah.
Her again.
Ha.
Ganyu.
Havria still remembered the breath she sensed in the dream—amid the sky-wide karma, one taint stood out worst of all. She had never met Ganyu, but she knew it: neither solely immortal nor human—a half-adeptus beast.
As expected—their reunion brought nothing good.
As expected… everything would be fine if he'd listened and stayed in Sal Terrae. If he'd only listened.
She was very calm. In two thousand four hundred years of waiting, she had bred no "karma." On the contrary, time and sand had only toughened the salt.
You promised.
You vowed. A believer may not deceive their god.
Havria moved quickly. Over Liyue, heavy clouds rolled with frightening flashes; the sky was a white wash of steam.
The rain made her remember, unbidden, the night Sal Terrae collapsed. She couldn't find him then; no matter how she searched, she never could.
It must not happen again.
She could still feel the "bond"—a ribbon-thin tether to her believer. Through that link, she could lend Seino Yaku most of her authority.
The link had not yet broken.
The rain traced her cheek. She saw The Chasm, the smoke-shrouded maw, four sky-tall pillars of stone around it.
Almost there—almost—almost—
Like a stone lifting from her chest, she almost relaxed. But only for a heartbeat. Then she froze.
She felt her given authority returning.
Along that ribbon, out of Seino Yaku's body—back to her.
Back, and back again.
Why… why?
The rain eased. The sky of white lines cleared; the dark clouds thinned; evening's glow spilled through their seams, bathing the washed land in brilliance.
Havria understood—the worst was happening.
Everything was slipping to the worst end.
She reached The Chasm and stopped. Her shoulders shook.
Because—
The ribbon—the bond between god and believer—snapped.
She could no longer find Seino Yaku.
Hey.
Hey.
Head bowed, she walked forward without thinking, to where the bond had broken. She searched blindly—but found nothing.
"—You are my god, and I shall be your believer."
That was the last line of Seino Yaku's prayer.
At last Havria saw them: at the very center—Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli… and Lumine.
The golden-haired girl knelt, head bowed, as if cupping something. Glasslike shards caught the sun, layering light upon light. Those glittering splinters slid between her fingers—so beautiful, so dreamlike—like holding a handful of sunset.
The heart had shattered into seven pieces.
Ah.
Havria finally recognized them.
They were… they were—
Pieces of a heart.
A heart had broken—but not only one.
Lumine did not speak. She only bowed her head—forever bowed. Her shoulders shook. "Liar…"
It was almost a whisper. "Liar."
She clenched one shard tight—so tight its edge cut her palm. Blood flowed.
In that clear splinter, a fine line of words:
[Covenant VIII: Before the sun sets, go home for dinner with Lumine.]
This—this was the true shape of a Covenant-heart: resplendent and dreamlike. Every promise treasured in this life surfaced naturally upon it.
This was Seino Yaku's confession to the world.
Ganyu stared dumbly at the words, not even noticing Havria's arrival.
Go home for dinner with Lumine.
Plain words, unadorned—no flourish, no ornament—only a simple declarative line. And because it was simple, it was sincere. Such a simple thing, yet carved into the heart.
Like the simplest smell of hearth-smoke. When the fire dies, its warmth remains—Ganyu had once heard this: the one who waits for you to come home to eat is the one who cares for you most.
Because they are willing to wait—and you are willing to return.
And Ganyu understood: once, that person… had been her.
There were more shards. Each recorded a Covenant, the bonds of the boy and Bosacius across two lives.
Together, the pieces made their heart—a final confession to what they loved.
Now their heart lay bare to all eyes. Everyone could see it.
The first shard, for the girl sealed in dust for a thousand years:
[Covenant I: In the cave on Mt. Tianheng, unearth the little zombie you sealed, hold her gently, and say "Welcome home."]
The second shard, for scattered kin:
[Covenant II: Go to a lonely plot at Wuwang Hill; keep vigil by a barren mound; share a cup of sake with the mourners.]
The third shard, for a friend who buys flowers and carries wine:
[Covenant III: Drink with the first person you meet at Wanmin Restaurant.]
Zhongli lowered his head and murmured, "I wished to buy osmanthus and carry wine… alas, where is my old friend?"
So soft—so very soft.
I wished to buy osmanthus and carry wine—
But youth is gone, and will not be like then.
Break a spray and find it empty again—
Lightly swore, and must begin again.
The fourth shard, for the master who nurtured him:
[Covenant IV: Go to Mt. Aocang in Jueyun Karst; offer Jewelry Soup, Mora Meat, and Matsutake Meat Rolls; bow thrice and lower your head thrice.]
Havria's body trembled. She saw these shards too; her eyes quivered. She lowered her gaze; her nails bit deep into her skin.
The fifth shard, for the god who loved her people:
[Covenant V: Go to "Sal Terrae," find the Salt Jar and Salt Ruler, and awaken her.]
The sixth shard, for sardines and the summer of salt:
[Covenant VI: Cook sardines with salt and dine with her.]
Two hearts, two Covenants—both belonged to Lia. Yet Havria felt no joy. She didn't want shards; she didn't want any of it.
She only wanted him back. She had rebuilt the city. They had made their plans. Summer was nearly here. And yet…
She asked for so little. She didn't crave more. She only wanted… only wanted to—
"Bastard."
"Bastard."
Head bowed, cold rain dripping from her wet hair, she looked like a stray cat—like someone cast off, who could never find home again. She pressed her lips thin; her voice sank:
"You were my only subject. You were my only subject. And now… I have no subjects."
Head low, she seemed to choke: "No one can live in my city anymore."
No one can live in my city anymore.
The seventh shard, for his true heart—for Seino Yaku—for Yakusoku:
[Please proceed to The Chasm.]
At last, he had not retreated a step. He had held every Covenant. He had wronged no one. He had finally become himself. That was all.
The first seven shards came from the Covenants of the next life—from Bosacius. The eighth came from rebirth—born with the boy named Seino Yaku, a symbol of his now—and at this moment it shone in Lumine's hands.
Ganyu still said nothing.
Blankly she looked at Havria, and at Lumine. She didn't know what name to give the swell in her chest… She took a step back; her heart ached. Head lowered, she stared at the fragments.
Mr. Zhongli had said it moments ago…
These shards of heart would be given to those they concerned—the Yaksha, Cloud Retainer—each would receive theirs. They had the right to know. The history twisted for two millennia would return to its proper course today.
At last, seeing those hearts, those pieces, her feelings slowly… went blank.
Because Ganyu searched every shard, and did not see her name. No Covenant had been made with her. Everyone would receive a piece of Bosacius's heart.
Everyone but her. She was not engraved in Bosacius's heart.
And yet she remembered… when she killed Bosacius, before the madness, he had carved her name on his heart.
Ha… ha… So it was all her doing, after all.
No one else to blame. She had ruined it.
No one else to blame.
Once, her name had been in his heart… and she herself had—
Erased it with her own hand.
Seino Yaku's final confession did not bear her name.
This was the end.
The sun sank completely. Afterglow spilled over the ridges. At last, the day reached its close.