The sun had only just begun to crest the distant peaks of Dragonspine, casting long, cool shadows across the Knights of Favonius training yard. The air was crisp, holding the last vestiges of night's chill, and smelled of dew-kissed grass and damp stone. For most of Mondstadt, the day was still a gentle promise. For us, it had already begun.
The rhythmic shing of steel on steel was the day's first music. Jean was a pillar of perfect form, her practice sword moving through the Favonius sword with a precision that was less about training and more about meditation. Each parry was exact, each thrust a straight, unwavering line. She was the ideal, the textbook Knight, her ash-blonde ponytail a steady metronome marking the beat of her dedication.
Across from her, Eula was a tempest. She eschewed the rigid forms, her body flowing through her family's 'Dance of Frost'. It was a style built on fluid motion, momentum, and deceptive grace. Where Jean was a fortress wall, Eula was a blizzard. Her pale blue hair whipped around her as she spun and lunged, her movements beautiful, aggressive, and carrying an undercurrent of defiance.
And I was in the middle, the fulcrum on which these two opposing forces balanced.
"Your guard, Eula," I said, my voice calm but carrying easily across the yard. I didn't need to raise it. My Tactics skill had long since taught me the acoustics of this space. "You're dropping your left shoulder a half-inch before you feint. A trained opponent will read it."
Eula's fluid motion stuttered. She stopped, breathing hard, and shot me a glare. "My 'vengeance' does not require a flawless guard, only a decisive blow!"
"A decisive blow is useless if you're struck down before you can land it," Jean countered without missing a beat in her own exercise, her tone gentle but firm. "Arthur is right. Discipline is the foundation of all strength."
"Hmph. The Gunnhildr way is not the only way," Eula retorted, but I saw her consciously adjust her stance, her left shoulder rising that crucial half-inch. She wouldn't admit it, but she listened.
I smiled to myself and began my own drills. My style was a hybrid of the two. I practiced the solid, reliable forms of the Knights, the foundation my father had given me. But woven into it were the lessons from my System. I'd use a flicker of Mana Burst in my wrist to make a parry impossibly fast, a whisper of it in my feet to make a sidestep impossibly quick. To an observer, it looked like sheer, uncanny talent. My movements were economical, efficient, each one informed by the constant stream of data from my Instinct and Tactics skills.
We trained like this for an hour, a silent trio locked in our own worlds, yet perfectly aware of each other. The sun climbed higher, warming the stones of the yard, and other trainees began to trickle in, their boisterous chatter filling the morning air. Our quiet, intense session was over.
Our duties for the day were decidedly less glorious than sparring. We were assigned to the Knights' library under the supervision of a scholarly quartermaster named Otto. Our task: to catalogue a new shipment of books from Liyue Harbor, cross-referencing them with the current inventory to check for duplicates. It was tedious, dusty work.
The library was a quiet, hallowed space, smelling of old paper, leather, and sealing wax. Sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, illuminating dancing dust motes.
"By the Archons, this is dull," Eula sighed, carefully placing a heavy tome titled 'Rex Lapis: A Millennium of Rule' onto a cart. "How does reading about history help one swing a sword?"
"A knight fights not only with their blade, but with their mind," Jean recited, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scanned a manifest. "Understanding our history, and the history of our neighbors, helps us understand our present. It's our duty."
I picked up a slim volume. The cover was plain, the title simple: 'On Visions'. I opened it, my fingers tracing the elegant script. It was a philosophical text, debating the nature of Visions. Were they gifts from the gods? Manifestations of ambition? Or simply tools for those with the will to grasp them?
My mind drifted to the System notification. 'Vision acquisition probability is now... actively fluctuating.'
It was a strange concept. In my old world, power was gained through effort, luck, or a credit card. Here, the ultimate power-up was tied to a moment of crisis, a deep-seated ambition. I thought about the Vision users I knew from the game. Jean's unshakeable sense of duty. Diluc's vengeful crusade in the dark. Noelle's desire to be of service. Each Vision was a reflection of the user's soul.
What was my ambition? When I first arrived, it was simply to survive. Then, it became a desire to not be bored. But now? Looking at Jean, so burdened by her legacy, and Eula, so desperate to forge a new one... my ambition felt much simpler. I just wanted to protect this. This fragile peace, this unlikely friendship. I wanted to see them smile, to help carry their burdens so they wouldn't break under the weight. Was that enough? Was that the kind of grand ambition that caught a god's eye?
"Arthur? Are you alright?" Jean's voice pulled me from my reverie. She and Eula were both looking at me.
"Just thinking," I said, closing the book. "This one's a duplicate. We already have three copies."
We worked for another hour, the silence broken only by the rustle of pages and the rumble of the book cart. The tediousness of the task created a comfortable space. Away from the pressure of the training yard, the conversation became lighter. Eula complained about her etiquette lessons. Jean worried about an upcoming exam on the history of the Mondstadt aristocracy. It was normal. It was the life of teenagers, a life I never thought I'd have again.
When Quartermaster Otto finally dismissed us for the afternoon, the sun was high and warm. The city was alive with activity. The central plaza buzzed with merchants hawking their wares and bards singing tales of adventure. The aroma of sticky honey roast from Good Hunter warred with the sweet, floral scent of Flora's flower stall.
"I'm starving," I declared. "My treat at Good Hunter."
"You don't have to," Jean started, ever proper.
"Nonsense. A knight must maintain their strength," I said, steering them towards Sara's stall. Eula followed, feigning disinterest but I could see her eyeing the sizzling meat with anticipation.
We sat at a small table, devouring our lunch while the life of Mondstadt flowed around us. I watched a small, green-clad bard—Venti in his mortal guise, I presumed—charming a group of tourists near the fountain. I saw Huffman, the knight, diligently patrolling his route. It was like watching a living, breathing version of a game I once played, and the feeling was both surreal and deeply comforting.
As we were finishing, a small cry of distress caught our attention. A little boy, no older than six, was standing near the alchemy stall, tears welling in his eyes as he pointed at the roof of the Cat's Tail tavern. His kite, a beautiful thing shaped like a falcon, was snagged on a loose roof tile.
"Oh, the poor thing," Jean murmured, already rising. "We should help."
"How?" Eula asked, crossing her arms. "None of us can climb that wall. We'll have to find one of the knights on patrol and get a ladder."
Jean nodded. "A sound and logical course of action."
I looked at the wall. It was high, but there were handholds. Window ledges, carvings... and it was only a little higher than I could jump. If I timed it right, my inner tactician whispered, a small, controlled burst...
"I think I can get it," I said, standing up.
"Arthur, don't be reckless," Jean warned. "You could fall."
"Trust me," I said with a wink.
I walked over to the wall, took a few steps back to get a running start, and sprinted forward. Just as I reached the wall, I channeled a tiny, precise thread of Mana Burst into the soles of my feet. It was less than a flicker, a spark of golden energy that dissipated instantly.
To Jean and Eula, it looked like I performed an athletic feat of impossible proportions. I leaped, using the momentum to run two steps up the wall itself, then pushed off, my fingers just managing to catch the edge of the roof. With a grunt of effort, I pulled myself up. The crowd of onlookers gasped.
I untangled the kite string, checked to make sure it wasn't damaged, and then carefully lowered it down to the overjoyed little boy. Getting down was easier. I hung from the edge and dropped, bending my knees to absorb the impact. Again, a subtle pulse of mana cushioned the landing, making it look smoother than it should have been.
The little boy hugged my leg, thanking me profusely before running off with his prize.
"Show-off," Eula muttered, though there was no malice in it.
Jean just shook her head, a small, exasperated smile on her face. "That was incredibly dangerous, Artie."
"But it worked," I countered. "Sometimes the most efficient solution isn't the one in the rulebook."
She couldn't argue with that.
As evening approached, we found ourselves drawn to our favorite spot: the massive, outstretched hands of the Barbatos statue that guarded the city. We climbed the winding stairs inside, emerging onto the cold stone palms that offered an unparalleled view of Mondstadt.
The city spread out below us, a tapestry of warm lights and cozy homes. The wind was stronger up here, a constant, gentle pressure that sang as it flowed around the statue. We sat in silence for a long time, watching the sky shift from a brilliant orange to a deep, velvety purple.
"We'll be taking the Knight's Admission Test next year," Jean said softly, her voice almost carried away by the wind. "Everything we've been working for... it's about to begin."
"Are you nervous?" I asked.
She nodded, her gaze fixed on the Knights of Favonius headquarters. "I'm afraid I won't be good enough. That I'll fail to live up to what everyone expects of a Gunnhildr."
"You could never fail, Jean," I said, my voice full of conviction. "Your dedication is stronger than anyone I've ever met. You don't need to worry about being a Gunnhildr. Just be Jean. That's more than enough."
She gave me a small, grateful smile.
"Expectations are a cage," Eula added unexpectedly, her own voice quiet. She was looking away from the city, out towards the dark expanse of the Whispering Woods. "I will become a knight. And when I do... do you think they'll ever see me? Or will they only ever see a Lawrence?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with years of loneliness and scorn. For once, her proud defenses were down, revealing the vulnerable girl beneath.
I leaned back on my hands, looking up at the first stars beginning to appear. "They'll see a knight so skilled, so dedicated, and so ridiculously stubborn that they won't have a choice but to see you. Your actions will redefine your name, Eula. I know it."
My words were simple, but they were the truest things I knew. I believed in them. In this moment, high above the city, with the wind singing around us and my two closest friends beside me, I felt a profound sense of clarity. My grand ambition wasn't to wield Excalibur or change the world. It was this. It was protecting this moment, and all the moments like it to come. It was making sure the two girls beside me could become the incredible women I knew they were destined to be, free from the burdens that weighed them down.
A gentle breeze swirled around us, warmer than the rest of the wind, carrying the scent of Cecilia flowers. It felt... personal.
A soft, familiar chime, for my ears only.
Defining Ambition Detected: [The Will to Protect a Cherished Present].
Resonance with the element of [Anemo] has stabilized.
Host's ambition has been acknowledged.
I felt a sudden, strange weight in the small leather pouch on my belt. My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, I reached into it. My fingers brushed against a smooth, cool, glass-like object. I pulled it out and held it in my palm.
It was a Vision casing, the familiar three-winged Mondstadt design. But the gem in the center was a dull, opaque grey. Lifeless. Powerless.
Jean and Eula hadn't noticed. They were still lost in their own thoughts, comforted by the shared moment.
I looked at the Masterless Vision in my hand. The System hadn't just given me power. It had given me a life, friends, a purpose. And now, the world of Teyvat itself was presenting me with a choice, a challenge. It had given me the potential. But it was up to me to earn it. The grey orb was a question, waiting for an answer written in deeds, not words.
And as the winds of Mondstadt whispered around me, I had a feeling I would have to answer it very soon.