The first light of dawn crept over the jagged horizon, faint and fragile, spilling pale gold across the ruins of Liyue Harbor. I could hear nothing but the faint crunch of my boots on broken stone and the hollow sighs of a city that had once sung with life.
I had followed the twin-star constellation through the night, its faint glow guiding me like a pulse in the dark. My heart thudded against my ribs—not from fear, but from anticipation, from hope. That hope, fragile as it was, had become the only thing keeping me moving. Every step felt like a vow: I would not fail him. I would find him, no matter the cost.
The wind remained absent. Even the slightest breeze, which I had once taken for granted, was gone. The banners that had flown across Liyue Harbor in celebration, marking trade and prosperity, lay in tatters, soaked in the remnants of storms long past. Yet amid the wreckage, I glimpsed faint traces of life: small buds of green stubbornly pushing through the cracks, birds' wings catching light as they fought through the silence. Teyvat was tired, broken, but it was not yet dead.
I paused at the edge of the harbor, staring down at the calm waters. The reflection of the sky was fractured, broken into fragments like shards of glass. I reached out with my fingers, letting them brush the surface. And there it was again—a faint pulse, a warmth beneath the world. Aether.
I whispered his name, barely audible, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile connection I felt. "Aether…" My voice trembled. "Where are you?"
No answer came, only the echo of my own voice bouncing off the ruined docks. Yet the sensation persisted, as if the ley lines themselves, though weakened, still throbbed with his presence. He was here, somewhere. I knew it.
I started walking along the shoreline, stepping carefully over debris, over the broken remnants of boats that had once sailed these waters. My mind wandered, replaying fragments of memory I had not dared touch since the war. I remembered the day before the gods fell, the final clash that had torn the skies and split the earth. I remembered his laughter, light and free, as we fought side by side. I remembered the weight of his hand in mine, the promise we had made.
And then I remembered the moment I had lost him.
Aether's eyes, wide with desperation, had met mine. His fingers had slipped from mine just as the ground beneath us shattered. The sky had split open, and he had been swept away into the unknown, leaving me grasping at emptiness.
I shook my head, forcing the memory away. I could not dwell on what I had lost. I had to focus on what remained—the faint pulse, the warmth in the air, the impossible hope that he was still alive.
As I moved deeper into the ruins, I noticed faint markings on the ground. Strange symbols etched into stone, glowing softly with a dim, residual energy. They were unfamiliar to me, yet instinctively, I recognized them as Aether's work. My pulse quickened. Could it be? Had he left a trail?
Following the symbols, I reached what had once been the grand plaza of Liyue Harbor. The fountain at its center had long since dried, and the statues that had adorned it lay broken and weathered. And yet, in the center of the plaza, a faint light flickered.
I approached cautiously. As I drew nearer, the light coalesced into a small orb, hovering above the cracked stone. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, and I felt a surge of emotion so powerful that my knees nearly buckled. I fell to the ground, tears streaming down my face.
"Aether…" I whispered, reaching out. The orb responded, pulsing brighter at my touch. I could feel his presence more strongly now, a tether pulling me forward. Not a voice, not a shape, but a warmth, a connection that had survived the collapse of gods and the end of the world.
I stayed there for a long moment, letting the sensation wash over me, grounding me in the certainty that he was out there. And then, steeling myself, I rose. There was no time to linger. The world was broken, but it was not beyond repair. And I would find him.
I left the plaza, following the faint trail left by the orb. The streets grew narrower, the ruins denser. Buildings that had once housed merchants and travelers now leaned precariously, their walls crumbled and interiors exposed to the elements. Yet even in the decay, I saw traces of life—small blooms of stubborn flowers pushing through cracks, the flutter of birds' wings. Teyvat endured, and so would I.
As I walked, memories of our childhood surfaced unbidden. I remembered the way Aether had always protected me, even in small, ordinary ways. How he had held my hand when I was afraid to climb, how he had encouraged me when I faltered, how he had always looked at me as if I were the most important thing in the world. That look, that unwavering certainty, had become my anchor.
I could feel it still, even now, a beacon in the desolation. It guided me, gave me courage, gave me hope. And with each step, I felt the bond between us strengthen, transcending distance, transcending absence.
By midday, I had reached the outskirts of what had once been the bustling market district. The ruins were thick here, twisted metal and shattered stone forming a labyrinth through which I had to navigate carefully. And then I saw it: a figure, distant and blurred by the haze, moving among the wreckage.
My heart leapt. I called out, my voice cracking with emotion. "Aether!"
The figure froze. For a moment, I thought I had imagined it. But then he turned, and my breath caught in my throat. The sunlight glinted off familiar golden hair, and those eyes—those eyes—met mine. Alive.
I ran, stumbling over rubble, calling his name again and again. The world around us seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us, separated by nothing more than distance and time.
He smiled, a faint, weary smile, and raised a hand. "Lumine…"
Tears blurred my vision as I reached him, collapsing into his embrace. His arms were warm, firm, and real. I clung to him as if I could never let go. "Aether," I whispered, over and over, "I thought I had lost you."
"You didn't," he murmured, holding me close. "I never left. Not really. Even when everything fell, even when the world ended… I was always with you."
We stayed like that for a long moment, the ruins of Liyue around us, the sun casting long shadows across broken streets, and yet it felt as though the world had returned to its center. The pulse of Teyvat, faint but persistent, throbbed in time with our hearts.
Finally, I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against his. "Where have you been? How… how did you survive?"
He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's a long story. One that I will tell you, but not yet. Right now… we need to move. The world is broken, Lumine. And we are not the only ones still wandering through the ruins."
I nodded, taking his hand in mine. The warmth of his fingers, the certainty of his grip, was all I needed. Whatever lay ahead—whatever dangers, whatever mysteries—we would face them together.
And as we stepped forward, leaving the plaza behind, the twin-star constellation shone faintly above us, guiding our path through the shadows of a world without gods.
Somewhere deep within the ruins, I felt the stirrings of hope. Not the hope of a normal world, not the hope of the old Teyvat, but a new hope—one that belonged to us, and only us.
And I knew, with a certainty that went beyond words or logic, that we would rebuild. Not the world, not yet. But we would rebuild each other.