Dainsleif

The sultry haze trembled over the cobbled streets of Sumeru City, carrying with it the spicy aromas of the Grand Bazaar and the muffled hum of voices. Aether and Paimon wandered unhurriedly from Lambad's Tavern, where they had just finished a meager lunch, toward the House of Daena. After the icy winds and dark mysteries of Nod-Krai, this place seemed like an island of tranquility. But the calm was deceptive, like the surface of a forest lake concealing dark depths.

"And Paimon still doesn't understand," she broke the silence, swooping down to Aether's face and peering into his eyes. "We won! Well, almost won. Columbina flew off to her moon or wherever, Sandrone, they say, is in really bad shape, and Dottore... well, he vanished, right? So why do you have that look on your face like we're back in that awful dungeon beneath the desert?"

Aether slowed his pace, his gaze drifting absently over the bright fabrics in a shop window, but his thoughts were far away. The memories of Nod-Krai were vivid, like a flash: the icy spires, the battle with "Rerir of Solnari," the ominous singing of Columbina, and the strange, almost theatrical disappearance of Dottore. Too many threads had been left untied.

"That's exactly what worries me, Paimon," he finally answered, his voice quiet and serious. "Dottore isn't the type to simply 'vanish.' Especially after what we learned about his segments. It feels like the calm before a storm. And this whole business with the Lunar power in Nod-Krai..."

Paimon snorted, but her usual bravado sounded less convincing.

"Oh, come on! We'll manage! Like we always do! You'll see, he's probably just licking his wounds somewhere in Snezhnaya, while we'll be here eating baklava and enjoying life. Speaking of baklava..."

She didn't finish. Aether suddenly stopped short, causing her to bump into his shoulder.

"Hey! What gives?"

He didn't answer; his attention had been caught by a strange figure, nestled in the shade of an old banyan tree, away from the main flow of people.

The man sat on a low wooden crate, having spread an unusual collection of items on a faded rug before him. He looked old — a face etched with wrinkles, a sparse beard like wisps of cobweb, and one eye clouded with a whitish film. He wore simple, dark traveling clothes that seemed slightly too large for him.

"Ooh, look, another antiques dealer!" Paimon perked up, instantly forgetting her worries. "Maybe he's got something interesting? Or, more importantly, something tasty?"

She was already heading toward the old man, and Aether, driven more by curiosity than premonition, followed.

The old man did not raise his head until they were right beside him. His remaining eye was fixed on a strange amulet of dark metal inlaid with crimson crystals. Aether felt an odd chill emanating from the items laid out on the rug: a shard of a mirror which seemed to reflect something not of this reality; a parchment with script that made one's eyes swim; and a small casket of black wood with a silver lock shaped like a star.

"Curiosity..." the old man creaked, finally lifting his gaze to them. His voice was dry, like the rustle of parchment. "A great power. It brings travelers to the most unexpected shores. I see it has brought you here."

Paimon, ignoring his grim tone, was already poking her finger at the amulet.

"And what's this thing? Never seen one like it! Looks... creepy."

"It is a shard of memory," the old man said, his voice dropping, becoming almost intimate. "Memory of a time when gods walked among men, and men dared to challenge them. Of a great kingdom that fell not by the sword, but by betrayal."

Aether tensed. Those words sounded like the beginning of a dangerous story.

"Khaenri'ah?" he asked quietly, studying the old man's wrinkled face.

The man nodded slowly, and a strange spark flickered in his one good eye.

"Precisely. And I see you know more of it than the average wanderer. Perhaps you would be interested to learn that its fall was not simply a tragic accident. It was a planned act, and it had a specific face. The face of someone you, it seems, know."

Paimon stopped inspecting the amulet and stared at the old man.

"What are you talking about? And who do we know from Khaenri'ah?"

The old man smirked, revealing a row of uneven, yellowish teeth. He leaned forward, and a strange scent wafted from him — a mixture of dust, old books, and something metallic, like ozone after a thunderstorm.

"The man who calls himself the Twilight Sword. Dainsleif. Did he tell you how he 'failed to protect' his people? How he was 'cursed' for the sins of others? A convenient lie, is it not?"

Aether felt a chill run down his spine. Every word the old man spoke hit its mark, echoing his own unspoken doubts about Dainsleif.

"What are you trying to say?" his voice hardened.

"That the Twilight Sword is no victim. He is one of the architects of that cataclysm. Together with the other 'heroes,' he freed his brother, the mad prophet Vedrfolnir, from imprisonment, and others who would later become known as the Five Sinners. They did not stop King Irmin because they did not want to. They themselves nurtured the Abyss that consumed Khaenri'ah, and then scattered like rats from a sinking ship, cloaking themselves in fine words about curses and redemption."

Paimon gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

"That's... that's a lie! Dainsleif has always helped us! He..."

The old man cut her off, his voice turning insinuating, like a serpent's hiss.

"Helped? Or led you down a path beneficial to him? Recall how many times his 'help' steered you into the traps of the Abyss Order? How many times did he vanish when he was needed most? He bears a curse, but it is the curse not of a victim, but of an accomplice. Ask yourselves, why does he so zealously hunt the Abyss Order? Is it not to destroy the last witnesses to his own betrayal?"

Aether was silent. The old man's words, like poisonous seeds, fell upon the fertile soil of his doubts. He remembered Dainsleif's cold detachment, his evasive answers, his perpetual secrecy. A pounding started in his temples.

"How... how do you know all this?" he managed.

The old man leaned back, his face becoming impassive once more.

"I was there. I saw. If you do not believe me, travel southeast of the city, into the Desert of Hadramaveth. There, buried in the sands, lies a small temple forgotten even by time itself. Enter it, and you will find proof. A mirror that will show you the true face of the Twilight Sword. Only then will you understand whom you have trusted all this time."

The old man abruptly fell silent and, groaning, began to gather his belongings, rolling up the rug. The mirror shard, the parchment, the casket — all vanished into his voluminous sack with astonishing speed. Last of all, he picked up the amulet, and in that moment, his fingers trembled.

With a soft clatter, a small object slipped from the folds of his clothing and rolled across the cobblestones. It was a tiny, perfectly smooth obsidian sphere, but inside it, darkness swirled, laced with crimson veins. Aether, almost instinctively, bent down and picked it up. The stone was icy to the touch and seemed to vibrate in his palm.

"You dropped this..." he began, raising his eyes.

But the old man was gone. His rug was gone, as was the crate he had been sitting on. Only a faint shimmer rippled in the space where he had just been. And along with him, the strange stone in Aether's hand had vanished, dissolving into thin air without a trace.

"What the...?!" Paimon spun in place, looking around wildly. "Where did he go?! And where's all his stuff?!"

Aether looked around too. Townsfolk still bustled about, merchants haggled, children played. But several vendors from nearby stalls — an elderly woman selling spices, and a young man with a basket of fruit — were staring at them with undisguised bewilderment. The woman twirled a finger at her temple and whispered something to her neighbor.

"It seems they think we were talking to ourselves," Aether said quietly, feeling an unpleasant chill spread through his body.

"But he was a real person!" Paimon protested, flying over to the vendors. "Didn't you see? There was an old man sitting right here with a bunch of ancient junk!"

The young man with the fruit shook his head and, shrugging, turned away. The woman merely pursed her lips and pointedly began sorting through her wares. They truly hadn't seen him. For them, all this time, Aether and Paimon had been standing in an empty corner, conversing with a shadow.

Aether clenched his fists. A sense of unreality mixed with a clammy fear. The words of the ghostly old man, his accusations against Dainsleif, now seemed even more sinister. They had bypassed ordinary perception, infiltrating reality itself.

"Aether..." Paimon's voice trembled. "What he said about Dainsleif... It's not true, is it? He was just some crazy ghost, right?"

Aether was silent, staring at the spot where the old man had vanished. His mind desperately sought a rational explanation, but found only emptiness.

"I don't know, Paimon," he said finally. "That didn't sound like a simple lie. He spoke of things we didn't know. About Vedrfolnir... about the Sinners. And Dainsleif... he's never really told us the whole truth, has he? Always just fragments, riddles, 'you're not ready to know yet'."

"But that doesn't make him a traitor!" Paimon protested, though her voice lacked its earlier confidence.

"What if it does?" Aether looked at her, and in his eyes, Paimon saw what she feared most — a seed of doubt. "What if he's been leading us by the nose all this time? Using us to get to the Abyss Order, to settle old scores? Think about it: every time we've met him, we've been dragged into his war. Into his past."

Paimon bowed her head, her little wings drooping. Aether's words sounded cruel, but they held a frightening logic.

"So... what do we do now?" she asked quietly.

Aether took a deep breath, making a decision.

"We can't just forget what we heard. And we can't keep trusting blindly. We need to find that temple in the desert. We need to see what he called 'proof.' Only then can we understand who Dainsleif really is."

The rest of the day passed as if in a fog. Aether and Paimon returned to their inn in Sumeru, but they couldn't settle. In the evening, they stepped out onto the balcony, looking out over the moonlit rooftops of the city. Usually, this sight brought peace, but tonight it only bred new anxieties. Paimon would start protesting, trying to convince herself and Aether of the absurdity of the accusations, then fall silent, lost in her own doubts.

"Maybe we should just skip this temple?" she suggested for the hundredth time. "Let's just forget about it. So we saw a crazy old ghost, who hasn't?"

"And what if he wasn't just a ghost?" Aether replied, his gaze fixed on the distant sandy hills visible beyond the city wall. "What if what he showed us is a piece of the truth? We've been searching for my sister for so long. And every time we get close to an answer, Dainsleif stands in our way. With his warnings, his secrets. What if he's not the key to the mystery, but the lock that's keeping us out?"

Paimon sighed. She desperately wanted things to be simple. For Dainsleif to be just a gloomy but good friend. But Aether's words had struck a chord in her too. There were too many oddities, too many inconsistencies.

"Fine," she relented. "In the morning, we head into the desert. To find your haunted temple. But if some giant scorpion eats us, Paimon will never forgive you for this!"

And so it was decided. As they turned to leave the balcony, Aether paused for a moment, glancing down at the darkened street. He thought he saw the silhouette of a small animal dart through the shadows of the neighboring building. But when he looked closer, there was nothing there. Only moonlight tracing intricate patterns on the cobblestones.

---

Morning greeted them not with a gentle dawn, but with a gray veil that shrouded the sky above the city. Aether awoke with the same heavy feeling in his chest with which he had fallen asleep. The words of the strange ghostly old man had not dissipated like a nightmare, but rather seemed to have sprouted in his consciousness, taking root deeper than he wanted to admit. Paimon, who usually greeted the new day with brisk grumbling about breakfast, sat on the windowsill today, silently staring out at the street, and her little wings hung limp.

"Paimon thought all night," she finally said, when Aether sat down on the edge of the bed. "And you know what? Paimon doesn't want to believe it. Dainsleif... he's helped us out so many times. Remember, in the Chasm? And when we were looking for my... I mean, your sister? He was always on our side. Always."

Aether nodded slowly, but his face remained tense.

"I don't want to believe it either, Paimon. But that's exactly why we have to go. If he's innocent, we'll find proof of it. And if..." he faltered, as if afraid to say it aloud. "If there was even a grain of truth in that man's words, we need to know. I'm tired of secrets. Tired of the fact that everyone we trust is hiding something. Dainsleif is no exception. We'll find this temple and figure things out for ourselves."

Paimon sighed but didn't argue. Deep down, she understood Aether. Too many times their faith in others had turned into disappointment. Too many times "friends" had turned out to be not who they seemed. And even though the thought that Dainsleif might be one of them caused almost physical pain, ignoring it would have been even worse.

They left the city of Sumeru as the sun was just beginning to gain strength and headed southeast, into the very heart of the Hypostyle Desert. The Ruin Golem's Gate, past which they walked, seemed like silent guardians of the border between the world of the living and the realm of forgotten sands.

The deeper they ventured into the desert, the more hostile it became. The sweltering haze shimmered over the dunes, distorting the outlines of distant cliffs and turning them into quivering mirages. Somewhere high above, slicing through the scorching air, soared the blinding Setekh Wenut, the very embodiment of this merciless land. The wind, hot and dry, carried fine sand that gritted on their teeth and crept into every fold of clothing.

"What a heatwave!" Paimon groaned, fanning herself with her hand. "Paimon already feels like she's turning into a fried Paimon. And how much longer do we have to walk? This temple of yours, does it even exist? Maybe that old man was just laughing at us?"

Aether checked the scrap of paper on which he had hastily scribbled the directions before they dissolved from memory. Strange, but he remembered every word of the ghostly merchant with terrifying clarity, as if they had been seared into his mind.

"He said a small temple, hidden in the sands southeast of the city. Forgotten even by time. We should be close."

They continued on, and with every step the strange feeling grew. Aether kept turning around, scanning the desert landscape. Sandy dunes, rare rocky outcrops, dried-up tree skeletons — not a soul anywhere. And yet the sensation of someone else's gaze boring into his back never left him.

"Do you feel it too?" Paimon asked quietly, her voice trembling. "Like someone's watching us."

Aether spun around once more, but once again there was no one behind them. Only an endless sea of sand, shimmering under the blazing sun. And yet... his gaze caught on one detail. On a flat rock, rising solitary amidst the dunes, sat a cat.

A seemingly ordinary cat — fluffy, with golden fur that gleamed in the sun like molten honey. It stared at them motionlessly with large, unusually intelligent eyes. Its posture held neither fear nor the curiosity of a wild beast. Only calm, appraising observation. Aether frowned. What was a cat doing here, in the heart of a lifeless desert? Alone, without a caravan, without human tracks? It was wrong. But perhaps it was just another strangeness of this place.

"Oh, look, a kitty!" Paimon seemed to relax slightly. "Maybe she's lost? Poor thing. Although... what would she be doing here?"

The cat blinked slowly, as if hearing her words, but did not move from its spot.

"I don't know," Aether muttered. "But I don't like it. Let's keep going. The sooner we find the temple, the better."

He turned away, convincing himself it was just a coincidence. An animal in the desert. It happens. But the strange feeling of being watched did not disappear. It only intensified, becoming almost palpable. And every time he looked back, he saw in the distance the same golden silhouette, relentlessly following them over the crests of the dunes. {{user}}, in the guise of a cat, continued on her path, her gaze fixed on the two small figures disappearing further into the sands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wandering over monotonous dunes, they saw it. The temple was not like the majestic ruins of King Deshret or the grim tombs of Gurabad. It was low, almost entirely buried in sand, and resembled more a squat crypt or a forgotten shrine. Its walls, built of time-darkened sandstone, were covered in strange, unfamiliar symbols — not the runes of the desert dwellers, not the script of ancient Liyue, but something entirely different. Only a pair of massive stone pillars, riddled with cracks, marked the entrance — a black maw leading into the bowels of the earth.

"Is this it?" Paimon whispered, her bravado completely gone. "It looks... creepy. Maybe we should just... go back to the city, have a serving of Rainbow Asterism..."

Aether shook his head.

"We've come too far. If the answers are here, we have to find them."

He was the first to step into the darkness. Paimon, hesitating for a moment, followed with a quiet groan. At the very last moment, before the darkness swallowed them, the golden cat darted forward with incredible speed and slipped inside like a silent shadow, hiding in the depths of the temple a heartbeat before the massive stone doors closed behind them with a deafening screech.

Aether and Paimon flinched in surprise and whirled around. The entrance through which they had just passed had vanished, merging with the monolithic stone wall. An absolute, oppressive silence fell in the temple, broken only by the pounding of their own hearts.

"W-what?!" Paimon squeaked, rushing to the spot where the door had just been. "It closed! We're trapped! Paimon knew it! We need to get out! Aether, do something!"

Aether felt the cold stone. No crack, no seam, no hint of a mechanism. As if the door had never existed here at all. Panic, cold and clammy, began to rise from within, but he forced it back down by sheer will.

"We can't get out," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Not this way, at least. So there's only one way left — forward. We'll find what we came for, and then we'll figure out how to escape."

He lit a small lantern he always carried. The dim light revealed a narrow corridor stretching deeper into the temple. The walls here were covered with an even denser web of symbols, which seemed to pulse faintly in the flickering flame. The air was stale, saturated with the smell of ancient dust, dry rot, and... something else. Something cold, metallic, reminiscent of ozone after a thunderstorm. The familiar scent of the Abyss.

They moved deeper inside. Every step echoed hollowly under the stone vaults. And almost immediately, strange things began to happen. Out of the corner of his eye, Aether noticed movement in a side passage. He turned sharply, shining the light there, but there was nothing. Only a shadow, too thick for this meager lighting, darted away and vanished.

"Did you see that?" Paimon whispered, pressing herself against his shoulder.

He nodded. They continued onward, but the feeling of being watched was now magnified tenfold. The shadows on the walls took on a life of their own: they stretched into unnaturally long, distorted silhouettes, reached phantom hands towards the travelers, whispered something on the edge of hearing. In one of the chambers, they thought they saw a figure — a woman with blurred features who seemed to raise her hand in a warning gesture. But when Aether stepped towards her, she dissipated like smoke, leaving behind only cold and the echo of an unspoken plea.

It was the Ley Lines — the ancient memory network of the world — distorting here under the influence of the Abyss, blending reality and nightmare. And {{user}}, hidden in the darkness and cloaked in her monstrous form, was desperately trying to reach them through this veil of madness, to send a warning of danger. But every effort she made, every movement, every sound of her voice, twisted by the cursed space, turned into a new threat in the eyes of Aether and Paimon — into a sinister shadow, a bone-chilling howl, a nightmare lurking around every corner. And her attempts to save them only dragged them deeper into the abyss of horror.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of wandering in this labyrinth of terror, they emerged into a small circular chamber. In its center, on a low stone pedestal, stood a mirror. It was old, in a heavy frame of dark, almost black metal, covered with the patina of ages. But most remarkable was its surface. It was not whole, but crisscrossed by a multitude of fine cracks radiating from the center like a spiderweb. And within these cracks, darkness itself seemed to writhe, not reflecting but absorbing the light of their lantern. Beside the pedestal, on the floor, lay an open book bound in thick leather. Its pages, yellowed and seemingly fragile, were covered in the same unfamiliar script as the temple walls.

Aether and Paimon, as if mesmerized, approached the mirror. They peered into its murky, cracked depths, trying to see at least something, to find the answer they had come for. Paimon was the first to break the silence.

"So what now? We just stare into this old, scary mirror? Paimon doesn't see anything except ourselves."

Aether didn't answer. He felt a strange pull emanating from the mirror. As if it were calling to him, promising to show him what he sought. He reached out a hand to touch the cold, cracked surface. And at that moment, the world around them went mad. From somewhere deep within the temple, a furious gust of icy wind howled. It roared through the corridors, burst into the chamber, and, striking the pedestal, sent the pages of the book on the floor rustling madly, flipping one after another, as if an invisible hand were leafing through it in search of a specific passage. The mirror trembled, new, deeper fractures running along its cracks. A piercing, high-pitched ringing filled the air, making their ears pop and their teeth ache. And then the mirror shattered with a deafening crash, exploding into thousands of glittering shards. But they did not fall to the floor. Instead, they swirled in the air, forming a sparkling vortex shimmering with dark energy. From its center, like the maw of an abyss, a gust of cold and infinite emptiness washed over them. An unknown force seized Aether and Paimon and, despite their desperate resistance, dragged them inexorably inside, into this horrifying portal.

At that same moment, a female figure darted out from behind a pillar, abandoning all caution. It was no longer the cat — {{user}} in her true form, her face contorted with horror and despair, rushed towards them, reaching out a hand. But it was too late. The portal closed behind Aether and Paimon with a quiet, guttural pop, and the shards of the mirror fell with a clatter onto the stone floor, leaving only an empty, gaping frame. {{user}} froze in place, breathing heavily, staring at what remained of the mirror. They were gone. Swallowed by the Abyss-tainted space between worlds.

The silence that descended upon the chamber was deafening. {{user}} slowly sank to her knees, unable to tear her gaze from the empty frame. And then her eyes fell upon the book still lying on the floor. The pages, driven by the unseen wind, had finally stopped. {{user}} crawled towards it, lifted the heavy tome with trembling hands, and looked at the open page. What she saw made the blood freeze in her veins. On the yellowed parchment, lines were appearing right before her eyes. They formed words, words formed sentences, and sentences formed a chilling tale. The tale of two beings lost in the endless void of the space between worlds. A tale whose ending was already foretold. Death. The death of a certain unknown traveler and another being, whose name was hidden by a blot of darkness. She knew whom this book was about. Them. Aether and Paimon.

She jumped to her feet, her fear replaced by cold, calculating determination. She had to act. Immediately. She surveyed the chamber, now seeing it not as a frightened victim, but as a researcher. The puzzles and mechanisms that had previously seemed part of the frightening entourage now appeared in a different light. They were keys. Keys that could open a path for her out of this cursed temple. She had to get out. She had to find Dainsleif. Only together, combining their powers — hers, capable of healing and guiding, and his, capable of severing any bonds — could they bring Aether and Paimon back. Before it was too late. Before the final line in that cursed book became reality. And she set to work, her mind, hardened over centuries, began to unravel the intricacies of the ancient mechanisms, while her heart, full of love and fear, desperately called out to the only one who could help her.

The darkness they fell into was not merely the absence of light. It was a dense, almost tangible substance, pressing on their shoulders, clogging their ears, and seeping, it seemed, into their very consciousness. Aether felt his body, weightless and disoriented, hurtling through an endless void. There was nothing around — no up, no down, not a single glimmer for the eye to latch onto. The only anchor to reality was Paimon's frightened breathing, her tiny hands gripping his shoulder with a strength she seemed capable of only in such moments.

"Aethe-e-er!" her voice sounded muffled, as if coming from underwater. "Where are we?! What's happening?! Paimon can't see a thing!"

He had no time to answer. The fall, which had seemed eternal, ceased abruptly — not with an impact against a solid surface, but with a sudden stop that stole his breath. Support materialized beneath his feet — something between stone and frozen glass, smooth and unnaturally cold. The outlines of the world they had entered began to emerge around them.

It was an Abyssal space. Aether recognized it instantly — a sickening sense of déjà vu washed over him. He had been in such a place before. There, in the depths of the ocean, where they had fought the All-Devouring Narwhal and first encountered Skirk. The same oppressive atmosphere, the same feeling that the very laws of existence were distorted here and operated according to some alien, hostile logic. An endless, dimly lit void, in which fragments of reality floated like the wreckage of a shipwreck. Gigantic, melted columns of black stone, resembling the ribs of some colossal creature, stretched upward into the infinite gloom. Instead of a sky overhead, there yawned an abyss, crisscrossed with lazily pulsating crimson and violet veins, like festering arteries.

"This... this is like that time..." Paimon whispered, looking around with eyes wide with terror. "Like that place with the huge whale! Only... only worse. Aether, we need to get out of here! Now!"

Aether knew it too. Every cell in his body screamed of danger. The air here was stale, heavy, saturated with Abyssal energy that made his head ache and his thoughts muddled. He helped Paimon up, and they began to move cautiously forward along a precarious path floating above the abyss. Each step echoed hollowly, as if mocking them, distorting and returning from the opposite direction.

And then a sound came from the emptiness ahead. It made the hair on his body stand on end. It was not a growl, not a howl, not a scream. It was a wet, scraping, inhuman gurgling, mixed with a quiet, plaintive whimpering. A sound no living being should ever make. From the thick, churning mist at the end of the path, something began to manifest.

First, limbs appeared — long, unnaturally contorted, pale, with skin tinged a deathly blue. They moved jerkily, like a broken marionette. Then the body came into view, crawling along the path belly-up, arching at an impossible angle. The head, devoid of any human features, with bottomless, utterly black eye sockets, twitched from side to side, emitting those horrific sounds. It was the very monster — {{user}} in her form distorted by the Abyssal space.

Paimon let out a piercing shriek, hiding behind Aether. He instinctively raised his sword, though he knew full well its futility against a spawn of the Abyss itself. His heart hammered in his throat, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing.

But the creature did not attack. Instead, it froze a few meters away from them, continuing to emit its terrible, gurgling moans. And then, trembling all over as if overcoming unbearable pain, it slowly, unnaturally bent one of its long arms and extended a black, pointed finger. It was pointing. Pointing deeper into the path, into the thickest darkness, where — Aether thought he saw — a distant, barely perceptible light glimmered.

"It... it's showing us the way?" Paimon whispered in a trembling voice, peeking out from behind Aether's shoulder. "It wants us to go there? But... but why?! It's a trap! Definitely a trap!"

Aether hesitated only a moment. There was no choice. Behind them — endless void; ahead — a monster pointing the way to a distant light. Desperation was a poor advisor, but they had no other. Slowly, without lowering his sword, he took a step forward. The creature did not stir, only its plaintive, inhuman sounds grew slightly quieter. Aether took another step. And another. The creature, letting out one last, particularly heartbreaking moan, began to slowly crawl aside, clearing the passage but continuing to point toward the light.

It was at that very moment, in the real world, within the half-ruined temple chamber, that {{user}} let out a strangled cry. The book with its rewriting fate slipped from her weakened hands. She staggered, clutching her head. Her mind was being torn in two. One part of her was here, trying to decipher the temple's mechanisms to find an exit. The other was there, in the nightmarish Abyssal space, in the guise of a monster, trying to keep Aether and Paimon from perishing in that infinite void. It required inhuman effort. Maintaining her projection there, fighting the distortions of the Abyss, and simultaneously trying to hold onto the shreds of her 'self' so as not to become a true monster was almost impossible. Every second brought unbearable, rending pain.

And then it appeared. A shadow slipping from a side passage. Tall, clad in flowing robes, its body seeming composed of pure Abyssal energy. Instead of a face — a void, framed by what resembled a starry coronet. An Abyss Herald, Wicked Torrents, the very one who, in the guise of an old man, had planted the seeds of doubt in the hearts of Aether and Paimon. He had not left. He had been waiting. Waiting for his trap to fully close.

"You are strong," he rasped, his voice like the scraping of metal on stone. "You managed to penetrate my domain. But it is not enough. Your friends are doomed. Their fate is already written. As is yours."

{{user}} straightened. The fear and pain in her eyes were replaced by icy fury. She was not a warrior in the conventional sense. Her strength lay in healing, in working with memory, in subtle matters. But now, the lives of those dear to her husband — and thus to herself — were at stake. She could not retreat. She had no right. She assumed a fighting stance, and energy began to form in her hands — not dark, like the Herald's, but warm and golden, the very power of the Ley Lines that she had learned to channel.

"You are mistaken," she said, and her voice, despite her fatigue, sounded firm. "Their fate is not yet sealed. Neither is yours."

The Herald let out a sound like a grinding laugh and lunged into the attack. The temple chamber flashed with bursts of light — golden and dark violet. The battle had begun. But the odds were too uneven. {{user}} could defend, raise barriers, evade, but she lacked the strength to go on the offensive, to breach the defenses of an elite Abyss fighter. Every blow she managed to deflect drained vast amounts of her energy. She retreated, pressing against the wall, feeling her strength ebbing with every passing second. The Herald seemed to be toying with her, savoring her helplessness.

And just as his blade, woven of darkness, was raised for the final blow, reality shuddered. The space was pierced by a blinding slash, as if the very fabric of creation had been ripped open by a gigantic blade. From this wound, wreathed in an aura of ancient, unfathomable power, stepped Dainsleif. His cloak billowed, though there was no wind in the temple. His eyes, usually cold and distant, burned with a dark, all-consuming fury such as Aether and Paimon had never witnessed. He was here. He had sensed the peril of his beloved. He had come.

With one fluid, imperceptible motion, he placed himself between {{user}} and the Herald, his own blade, sheathed in the same power as his eyes, met the enemy's weapon with a chilling ring. Without a word, without a sound, he hurled the Herald back with such force that it slammed into the stone wall, leaving a web of cracks. Then, for a fleeting moment, Dainsleif turned to {{user}}. In his gaze was not only the fury of battle, but a deep, all-consuming worry for her. He gave her a short, almost imperceptible nod. It was enough. They understood each other without words.

Now they fought together. Dainsleif, the peerless swordsman, the Twilight Sword, whose skill had been honed over centuries of endless battle, unleashed a barrage of precise, deadly strikes upon the Herald. {{user}}, having caught her breath, supported him, creating protective barriers that absorbed the Abyss attacks, and sending pulses of golden energy that momentarily disoriented the enemy, preventing him from focusing. Their battle was like a deadly dance, every movement perfectly synchronized, the two acting as a single entity. And all the while, in parallel, in the other world, Aether and Paimon followed the path indicated by the monster.

They reached the source of the light. It was not an exit, but rather a vast, semi-transparent membrane, shimmering with every color from black to gold. It pulsed in rhythm with the battle in the real world. When Dainsleif and {{user}} gained the upper hand, the membrane began to glow with a warm gold, and fragments of beautiful, peaceful memories shone through it. Aether and Paimon saw Khaenri'ah in its glory — its towering spires gleaming under an artificial sun, its citizens going about their daily lives, its grandeur and beauty.

But when the Herald, rallying his strength, launched a powerful counterattack, and his darkness began to prevail, the membrane darkened, and nightmarish scenes began to surface upon it. Khaenri'ah was collapsing. Its majestic buildings crumbled into ruins, the sky was veiled in crimson flames, and the earth split open, spewing forth hordes of Abyssal monsters. And at the center of this chaos, as if in mockery, appeared a distorted image of Dainsleif — not as a hero trying to save his people, but as a soulless executioner, indifferently watching the world's demise. These were the visions inspired by the Herald's slander, his final attempt to poison the minds of Aether and Paimon, to show them the "true face" of the Twilight Sword.

"No!" Paimon screamed, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's not true! I don't believe it! That's not him!"

Aether himself felt his sanity wavering between these two realities. The pain, fear, and monstrous pressure of the Abyss were taking their toll. He no longer knew what was truth and what was lie. But at the most critical moment, when the Herald's power seemed to peak and the membrane had almost completely blackened, the world shuddered once more.

Dainsleif and {{user}}, cornered in the real world but unbroken, exchanged a glance. No words were needed. Both knew this was their last chance. Dainsleif cast his sword aside and extended his hand to {{user}}. Without hesitation, she placed her palm in his. In that instant, incredible energy began to concentrate around them. {{user}}, as a healer and conduit of the Ley Lines, channeled all her reserves of purifying, creative power into Dainsleif. And he, as the Twilight Sword, whose essence was inextricably linked to the Abyss and its curse, yet who had chosen another path, accepted this power and transformed it. He did not become a weapon. He became an anchor, a key capable of severing the bonds of space itself. Their combined power was not destructive, but liberating.

A wave of purest, blinding energy swept through the temple, scattering the Herald's darkness like a hurricane scatters dry leaves. In that same instant, in the interspace, the membrane before Aether and Paimon exploded with golden light. All distortions, all the phantoms conjured by the Abyss, vanished in a flash. And in its place, a "purified" vision manifested. Before them, as if on a gigantic stained-glass window, seven figures stood frozen. Five of them were dark, sinister, shrouded in an aura of vice and ruin. These were the Five Sinners of Khaenri'ah. The sixth figure, standing opposite them, was a shimmering black-and-blue, like the Abyss itself, but with a golden sword raised high. This was Dainsleif — the one who could have been the sixth Sinner, but who chose the path of atonement. And behind him, as if sheltered, stood a seventh figure, small and golden, channeling its power into his sword. This was {{user}} — his spark, his light, the one who gave him the strength to fight.

Aether and Paimon froze, stunned by this revelation. Meanwhile, in the real world, the Herald, stripped of his power and his lies, let out a shrill, agonized howl, and his body began to dissolve, disintegrating into a myriad of black particles instantly swallowed by the void. He was finished.

Dainsleif and {{user}}, breathing heavily, stood amidst the ruined chamber. But they could not afford a moment's rest. Their gazes shot to the empty frame of the mirror. Aether and Paimon were still inside. {{user}} rushed to the mirror, pressing her hands against it.

"They are still there," she said, despair in her voice. "We won here, but it did not bring them back. We must find a way to open the passage!"

Dainsleif approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He looked at his reflection in the shards still scattered on the floor, then at his own hands. The power they had unleashed was immense, but he knew their bond was the key. A key that could open any door.

"We will do it," he said, and his voice sounded like an unbreakable oath. "We will bring them back. Together."

And all the while, Aether and Paimon, still within the interspace, watched as the golden vision of the seven figures began to fade. But in its place, emerging from the mist, new images began to form. This time, it was not lies or distortion. This was History itself. The Tragedy of Khaenri'ah, seen through their own eyes.

First, they saw the city — beautiful, majestic, full of life. Khaenri'ah at the zenith of its power. They saw its citizens — proud, intelligent, unwilling to bow before gods. They saw King Irmin, the one-eyed ruler, his face etched with heavy thoughts. And then the world began to collapse. The sky split open, and from the cracks, the Abyss poured forth. The earth groaned, and monsters crawled from its depths. The Cataclysm had begun.

Before them, as if in a kaleidoscope, tragic fates flickered. They saw Rhinedottir, "Gold," the great alchemist, staring in despair as her greatest creations, Durin and others, sowed chaos and destruction, powerless to stop them. They saw Surtalogi, "The Foul," born in prison and become the embodiment of cruelty, his eyes burning with a cold, inhuman fire, and behind him, the shadow of his disciple, Skirk. A vague, elusive glimpse of Hroptatyr, "The Wise," of whom almost nothing was known, save the echo of his whisper about a "necessary sacrifice." And finally, they saw Vedrfolnir, "The Visionary," Dainsleif's brother, whose eyes, full of torment and foresight, stared into the very abyss of the future.

Then the story of Rerir and Tholindis unfolded before them. They saw Rerir, secret agent of King Irmin, whose mission was the extermination of the Crimson Moon Dynasty's descendants. And they saw Tholindis, his fiancée, who herself was a descendant of that dynasty. Their love was doomed from the start. They watched as duty and emotion tore Rerir apart, and as Tholindis, understanding the full tragedy of their situation, nevertheless remained by his side until the very end. Theirs was a story of love crushed by the merciless wheel of fate.

They saw Thrain — Capitano, a commander who led his men into battle but could not shield them from the curse. His noble face was contorted with pain as he watched his loyal soldiers turn into hilichurls and Black Serpent Knights. Beside him flashed Pierro, the royal mage who had failed to win the ruler's favor and looked on in horror as his worst fears came true.

Then the focus shifted to the Alberich Clan. They saw Chlothar Alberich, founder of the Abyss Order, his mind twisted by grief and a thirst for revenge. And then Halfdan appeared — the young, devoted knight of the Royal Guard. Aether and Paimon watched as he, faithful to his captain's orders, defended the people of Khaenri'ah to his last breath, even as his own body began to change, transforming into a Black Serpent Knight. But even in that monstrous form, he retained a shred of self-awareness and continued to fulfill his duty, protecting what remained of his people — the hilichurls.

And at the center of all this chaos was him — Dainsleif. Aether and Paimon saw him not as the enigmatic wanderer, but as the Twilight Sword, Captain of the Royal Guard. They saw his selflessness, his desperate attempts to organize a defense, to save anyone he could. They saw him give the order to Halfdan, knowing it was likely a death sentence. They saw him try and fail to stop his brother, Vedrfolnir. They saw his pain, his fury, his helplessness in the face of inevitable catastrophe. They understood his motives. He had not betrayed. He had been betrayed. Betrayed by his king, his sages, by the very course of history. And the curse of immortality was not a punishment for sin, but an eternal burden of guilt for failing to save those he loved.

And then, like a ray of light in this kingdom of darkness, she appeared beside him. {{user}}. They saw their shared memories — simple, mundane, and yet all the more poignant for it. Here they stood under the canopy of a giant, luminous tree, and Dainsleif, tilting his head back, counted the stars while she laughingly corrected him. Here she read a book to him, and he, weary after a long day, rested his head in her lap, listening to her voice and feeling his anxieties recede. Here they drank tea together, discussed ancient texts, or simply sat in silence, enjoying each other's presence. In these memories, he was different — more alive, warmer, more... happy. She was his anchor, his refuge, his home.

And then came the rupture. The Cataclysm reached them too. The space between them began to crack like glass. They found themselves on different "pages" of reality, separated by an insurmountable force. They reached for one another, their fingers almost touching. At the last moment, {{user}} managed to touch the ring on his hand — the very artifact ring that helped him maintain his sanity and fight the curse. It was her final gift, her blessing. And then she vanished, dissolved into the streams of energy, and Dainsleif was left alone amidst a crumbling world.

But the vision did not end. The focus shifted to {{user}} herself. Aether and Paimon saw how, falling into the infinite void, she was caught by an invisible hand. Before her appeared a figure woven from starlight and the very fabric of space. It was Asmoday, the Ruler of Space, one of the Four Shades. She was not cruel. She looked upon {{user}} with something akin to compassion. Asmoday saved her, plucked her from the grasp of a dying world and transported her to her personal dimension — the Space of Asmoday, the Temple of Space. Not as a prisoner, but as a child to be protected.

They saw how {{user}} spent long years in this Temple — a full century by its internal reckoning, while mere days passed in Teyvat. They saw her wander its endless halls, assembled from fragments of different eras and cultures. They saw her learn from Asmoday's creations, the Watchers, mastering the secrets of the Ley Lines, the nature of memory, and the very essence of space. It was there, isolated from the outside world yet surrounded by its history, that she acquired her unique powers.

And finally, they saw her leave the Temple. Before stepping into the opened portal leading back to Teyvat, she paused and looked back. In gratitude to Asmoday, who had already vanished, leaving her creation behind, {{user}} created two images, two guardian statues, imbuing them with a part of her power and memory. One — stern, silent, preserving the peace — Nihility. The other — pensive, melancholic, yet full of hidden strength — Melancholy. She left them so that the Space of Asmoday would not completely collapse, so that it would await those who were yet to visit. And now Aether and Paimon understood: it was thanks to {{user}} that the Space of Asmoday had maintained its form until their recent arrival. And when she left, it began to crumble, and they had to "fix" it. The circle was closed. Everything was connected.

The vision came to an end. The final scenes of {{user}}'s story dissolved into the golden haze, and the interspace around Aether and Paimon fell silent once more. But this silence was no longer oppressive. It was filled with understanding, as if creation itself had taken a deep breath before releasing them.

At the center of the fading vision, {{user}} stood before the gates — the very ones that led from the Temple of Space back to Teyvat. She had already taken a step toward them, but she paused. Her lips moved, uttering words that were not meant for anyone in particular, yet they spread throughout the entire space, reaching its farthest corners. Aether and Paimon heard them. Not with their ears — with their very being. The words echoed in their minds, soft as a whisper of wind, and heavy as eternity itself.

"Space is neither walls nor emptiness. It is memory, frozen into form. And as long as there are those who remember, nothing vanishes without a trace. I leave, but I leave a part of myself here. So that those who come after will know — they are not alone. And never have been."

In that same instant, a wave of purest golden light surged through the entire interspace. It emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once — warm, alive, soothing. It enveloped Aether and Paimon, seeping, it seemed, into every cell of their bodies, washing away the remnants of fear, pain, and doubt. Paimon gasped, feeling her tiny body begin to glow from within. Aether felt the same — weightlessness, peace, and a strange sense of completion.

Their heads, as if obeying a silent command, tilted upward. And there, in the infinite heights, amidst the swirling remnants of darkness and golden sparks, they saw it. A vast, single eye, shining with a cold blue light. It hovered above them, unblinking, and in its gaze there was neither threat nor condemnation. Only ancient, all-knowing sorrow and... something else. Something akin to approval. To farewell. It was Vedrfolnir. The Visionary. Dainsleif's brother. The one they had come to regard as one of the greatest villains, a Sinner whose actions had led to the Cataclysm. But now, in that gaze, they saw no evil. They saw one who knew the future, who had seen all possible paths, and who, perhaps, had done the only thing he could to bring the world to this point. To the point where his brother is not alone. Where he has her — his spark, his light.

The eye blinked slowly, and in that motion there was something almost human — a gesture of acknowledgment, of blessing, of parting. And then it began to recede, dissolving into the golden radiance, drawing them along with it, as if escorting them to the very end of the path. The light grew brighter, more blinding, until it consumed everything.

---

Consciousness returned slowly, in fits and starts, as if surfacing from a thick, viscous fog. First came the sounds — a soft crackling, perhaps of a candle or a fireplace, someone's calm breathing, the rustle of fabric. Then — sensations. A soft surface beneath his back, warmth emanating from somewhere to the left, the weight of his own body, which felt immense after the weightlessness of the interspace. And finally — smells. Dried herbs, old paper, a faint aroma of tea, and something else, elusively familiar.

Aether opened his eyes. Above him was a low wooden ceiling, across which the shadows from a candle flame danced. He lay on a narrow but comfortable bed, covered with a light yet warm blanket. Beside him, on another bed, curled up, Paimon quietly snuffled — alive, unharmed, only slightly disheveled. He slowly turned his head.

The room was small but cozy. Shelves filled with books and strange instruments, a table by the window cluttered with papers and artifacts, a couple of chairs, an old rug on the floor. By the table, her back to him, stood a female figure, sorting something in her hands. She wore a simple house dress, and her hands were sheathed in thin latex gloves — she was clearly working with some medical tools or alchemical ingredients. And in that same instant, like a bolt of lightning, memory returned. Everything he had seen. Everything he had endured. The temple, the monster, the Abyss, the visions of Khaenri'ah, Asmoday, and... her. This woman. {{user}}. The one who was at the very center of it all. The one who was Dainsleif's wife. The one because of whom — as it seemed to him in that second — they had gone through all this horror.

Rage, blind, uncontrollable, primal, flooded him. It was not rational. It was the reaction of an exhausted, frightened, disoriented mind desperately searching for someone to blame. All the accusations he had heard from the Herald, all the doubts that had tormented him, all the terror of what he had experienced — all of it focused into a single point. On her.

He threw off the blanket and leaped from the bed. The movement was sharp, clumsy — his body did not yet obey. {{user}} turned at the sound, and in her eyes flickered relief mixed with alarm.

"You're awake! Thank the gods, I was beginning to..." she started, but he did not let her finish.

He lunged at her. Not as a warrior, but as a man driven mad by pain and fear. His hands seized her shoulders, slamming her against the edge of the table. Instruments and vials clattered to the floor. Paimon, awakened by the noise, let out a frightened cry.

"You!" Aether's voice broke into a shout, hoarse, full of fury and despair. "It's all because of you! You lured us into that temple! You made us go through that hell! You... you're connected to Asmoday! It's because of people like you that my sister is gone! Because of your friendship with that... that Shade, I've been left alone! I've been searching for her for years, and all of you — you, Dainsleif, all of you — just get in the way, hide the truth, play your ancient games! You almost killed us in there!"

{{user}} did not resist. She looked at him with wide eyes, in which there was not fear, but a deep, all-understanding sorrow. She saw his pain. She understood its cause. And she did not blame him. Her lips parted to say something, but she did not get the chance.

The door to the room burst open with a crash. Dainsleif stood on the threshold. His face, usually impassive, was contorted with cold, restrained fury. He assessed the situation in a split second — the scattered instruments, {{user}}'s pale face pressed against the table, and Aether shaking her by the shoulders with a crazed look. That was enough. In two swift strides, he crossed the room. His hand shot up, and a heavy, but precise blow landed on Aether's jaw.

The world before the Traveler's eyes exploded with pain and flashes of light. He flew backward, crashing into the edge of the bed, and collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. His ears rang. Paimon shrieked, flitting between them.

"Dainsleif! What are you doing?! He just woke up!" she cried.

But Dainsleif ignored her. He stood over Aether, and his voice, usually calm and distant, now rang with barely contained anger.

"Ungrateful boy," he hissed, and every word fell like a stone. "I have saved your life countless times. I have guided you, warned you, shared knowledge I entrusted to no one. I risked everything to aid you in your search. And you... you dare to lay hands on my wife? On the one who just pulled you from the clutches of the Abyss itself? On the one who risked her very soul to bring you back?"

Aether, clutching his jaw, looked up at him. The fury in his eyes began to fade, replaced by confusion and shame. Dainsleif's words, like ice water, were sobering him.

"She... she saved us?" he managed.

At that moment, {{user}} recovered. She quickly stepped between them, placing a hand on Dainsleif's chest, gently but firmly pushing him back.

"Enough," she said, and her voice, though trembling, sounded firm. "Calm down. He didn't know what he was doing. Look at him. He's frightened, exhausted, and disoriented. You've been in his place more than once."

Dainsleif shifted his gaze to her. His eyes still burned with anger, but he obediently stepped back, though his posture remained tense. {{user}} knelt beside Aether. She did not try to touch him, nor did she look at him with reproach. Only with understanding and compassion.

"Forgive him," she said quietly, addressing Dainsleif but looking at Aether. "He has been through what no mortal should ever endure. The Abyssal space, the distortions, the visions of Khaenri'ah... It breaks even the strongest. And he is just a boy who lost his sister and seeks answers in a world that only ever poses new questions. His anger is not malice. It is pain. And fear."

She shifted her gaze to Dainsleif, and a gentle reproach flickered in her eyes.

"And you... I understand, you were protecting me. And I am grateful. But he is not an enemy. He is a lost, despairing child who has just witnessed the collapse of an entire world. Were you not the same when Khaenri'ah fell? Did you not seek someone to blame? Did you not lash out at those who tried to help you?"

Dainsleif remained silent. His jaw was clenched, but his gaze gradually softened. He averted his eyes, and in that gesture was something akin to shame. {{user}} was right. He knew that rage. He had lived with it for centuries.

Aether, still sitting on the floor and rubbing his jaw, finally lifted his eyes. There was no more anger in them. Only weariness, remorse, and the immense, unbearable weight of everything he had experienced.

"I..." his voice broke. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have. I just... I saw so much. Khaenri'ah, its fall, all those people... I saw you," he looked at {{user}}. "I saw what you did. What you went through. I understood everything. About Asmoday, about the Temple, about why you were there... But when I woke up, I just... I couldn't cope. It all came crashing down at once. And I snapped. I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Paimon, who had been fearfully clinging to the ceiling all this time, slowly descended and sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Paimon is sorry too," she said quietly. "We said awful things. And we thought badly of Dainsleif. But really... Really, you are both heroes. You've done so much. For us, too. We just got confused. And that creepy old man completely misled us."

{{user}} smiled softly. She stood up, offered Aether a hand to help him rise, and gestured for everyone to sit. Dainsleif, still grim but without his former fury, sat down on a chair by the wall. Aether and Paimon sat on the edge of the bed.

"I will explain everything," {{user}} began, and her voice was calm, like still water. "You deserve to know the truth. All of it, without concealment."

And she told them. About who she had been in Khaenri'ah — not a warrior, not an aristocrat, but a healer, a researcher who worked with the memory of the Ley Lines. About how she met Dainsleif — a young, hopeful captain of the Royal Guard, who did not yet know what fate awaited him. About their quiet love, hidden from prying eyes, blossoming in the shadow of the great city. About the Cataclysm that tore them apart when space itself shattered. About how Asmoday saved her, transporting her to her Temple, and how she spent a century there, learning and waiting for a chance to return. About how, upon escaping, she found Dainsleif — changed, cursed, but still the same man she loved. About how they reunited and never parted since, helping each other bear the burden of immortality and guilt. About how she created Nihility and Melancholy to preserve the Space of Asmoday, and how her departure led to its decay and, consequently, to Aether and Paimon's recent adventure in that very Temple.

"So it was you... you were the reason we ended up there in the first place?" Paimon asked, stunned.

"Not the reason, but... a catalyst," {{user}} gently corrected. "Had I not left the Temple, it would not have begun to decay so rapidly. Perhaps you would not have needed to 'fix' it. But on the other hand, had that not happened, you would never have learned the truth. Perhaps it was meant to be."

Paimon digested this, and then her face lit up with a familiar expression of curiosity mixed with indignation.

"Wait, wait, wait!" she flew up to Dainsleif and jabbed a finger at him. "So you had a wife ALL THIS TIME?! And you said nothing?! We've met you so many times, talked about the fate of the world, the Abyss, your brother, and you never once mentioned that you're MARRIED?!"

Dainsleif, whose face had returned to its usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Is that relevant?"

"RELEVANT?!" Paimon exploded. "It changes EVERYTHING! You're not just a mysterious wanderer with a tragic past! You're a FAMILY mysterious wanderer with a tragic past! You have a home! And a wife who probably makes you healing salves and forces you to eat properly! It's... it's mind-blowing!"

Aether, despite the pain in his jaw and his overall exhaustion, couldn't suppress a faint smile. Paimon was right. It really did change everything. He looked at Dainsleif, and for the first time, he saw him not just as an ally or a source of cryptic warnings, but as... a person. One who had a past, a present, and perhaps even a future. One who had someone waiting for him at home.

"I'm sorry I attacked you," he said again, this time looking directly at {{user}}. "And you," he shifted his gaze to Dainsleif, touching his jaw. "I deserved that."

Dainsleif gave a barely perceptible nod, accepting the apology. {{user}} smiled more warmly.

"Forget it. You've been through enough. And you are not the first to fall for the Abyss's tricks. Heralds are masters of lies and manipulation. They prey on our deepest fears and doubts. What matters is that you saw the truth. And that you returned."

She walked over to a small table in the corner, where a teapot and several cups sat, and began pouring an aromatic tea that smelled of herbs and something sweet.

"And now," she continued, handing a cup to Aether and a floating cup to Paimon, "I think we all need some tea and a calm conversation. You surely have many questions left. And I promise, we will answer them honestly. Everything within our power."

Dainsleif took the cup offered to him and, taking a sip, looked at Aether and Paimon. His gaze was as serious as ever, but the coldness was gone.

"My wife is right," he said. "You deserve answers. I have been... reserved. Perhaps too much so. Not out of mistrust. Rather, out of habit, to protect what little I have left. Now you know my secret. And I am ready to answer your questions. Ask. I will be honest. As much as I can."

Paimon, having already sipped her tea and clearly feeling better, immediately perked up.

"Well, then Paimon has the first question! How did you even manage to get such a wonderful wife?! You always walk around with a face like the world is about to end! Did she take pity on you?!"

{{user}} laughed softly, and Dainsleif, to Aether's surprise, smiled slightly — that rare, warm smile he only allowed himself in her presence.

"That, Paimon," he replied, and a note of long-held, familiar warmth crept into his voice, "is a very long story. But if you have the time and the will to listen... I will tell it. From the very beginning."

created by dainsleifswife 2026© on janitorai.com

Port Ormos buzzed like a disturbed beehive. The trading rows shimmered with the colors of spices, fabrics, and exotic fruits brought from all corners of Teyvat. The air was thick with a blend of aromas — coriander vied with saffron, and the sweet scent of candied fruits overpowered even the salty breeze from the bay. Paimon, naturally, had already cycled through delight, dismay, and delight again about five times as they made their way through the crowd toward the quieter part of the port.

"So why did we drag ourselves all the way out here?" she grumbled, dodging a porter with bundles. "Just for some package? Paimon hopes there's at least food inside. Or money. Or food that can be used to buy money."

Aether checked the scrap of paper he had been given at the Adventurers' Guild. The commission seemed simple: retrieve an "analytical report and accompanying materials" for a certain "Mr. D." from the proprietress of an antiquities shop on the upper tier. No name for the proprietress, no precise description of the shop — only a house number and a note: "She will be expecting you." It sounded like the beginning of either a dull evening or yet another mess.

The shop turned up in an alley where the market's noise barely reached. The sign above the door was old, with faded gilding, and read: "Relics of Ages. Appraisal, Restoration, Consultation." The glass display was filled with items that would make any archaeologist's hands tremble: tarnished amulets with runic script, pottery fragments clearly of pre-Liyue origin, a time-darkened astrolabe inlaid with lapis lazuli, and even a small mechanical flower resembling the work of Fontaine artisans, yet far more ancient. Through the half-open door drifted the scent of dry warmth, old paper, faint incense, and something metallic, almost like ozone — the smell after a thunderstorm.

Paimon was the first to poke her head inside.

"Hey! Anyone alive in here? We're here on a commission!"

The interior proved even more intriguing than the exterior. Shelves from floor to ceiling were crammed with books, scrolls, caskets, specimens preserved in jars of uncertain origin, and instruments whose purpose Aether could only guess at. In the center stood a massive table, strewn with papers, a magnifying glass on a stand, and an open tome displaying some kind of star chart. And at that table sat you.

The first thing that struck him was your concentration. You were not merely reading; you were studying, cross-referencing the text in the book with a scattering of small fragments on a velvet mat. You held tweezers and a fine brush. Your movements were precise, unhurried, like those of someone accustomed to handling fragile things whose age was measured in centuries. You raised your head only when Paimon coughed for the second time, and your face showed not irritation at being interrupted, but rather calm curiosity.

"Good day," you said, setting down your tools. "You are from the Guild, I take it? The commission for Mr. D.?"

"Yep!" Paimon immediately darted toward the table, peering at the artifacts laid out. "Wow, you've got all sorts of stuff here... Is that a real amulet from the Archon era? And those — are those Vishap teeth? Are you a collector or what?"

"More of a... custodian and analyst," you smiled faintly. "Items that are difficult to identify by ordinary means come to me. Sometimes adventurers bring them, sometimes my own... acquaintances. I determine their age, origin, possible properties, and, if necessary, their level of danger."

Aether stepped closer, examining one of the fragments — a dark one, almost black, with glimpses of crimson deep within. It radiated a faint but distinct sense of unease.

"That is a fragment of a Ruin Guard core, tainted by Abyssal energy," you said, noticing his interest. "It was brought in last week. Harmless unless one attempts to activate it, but I would not advise holding it for too long. It may cause a headache."

"You speak of it so calmly," Aether observed.

"Habit," you shrugged. "After long years of working with such things, a certain... detachment develops. And caution, of course."

Paimon, meanwhile, had already circled half the room and returned to the table, bobbing impatiently in the air.

"Okay, okay, this is all very interesting, but we need that package for this... Mr. D.! He must be an important client, huh? Does he order all sorts of stuff from you often?"

You smiled again, a little wider this time, and something warm, almost domestic, flickered in your eyes — entirely at odds with the somewhat gloomy atmosphere of the shop.

"You could say that. Though I would call him a client only loosely. More of a... permanent research partner. And my husband."

Paimon froze with her mouth open. Aether also stopped, his hand halfway to a nearby book.

"...Husband?" Paimon repeated in a tone as if you had said "my pet dragon" or "my personal ghost." "You're married to a man who commissions you to analyze ancient cursed thingamajigs? That's... very specific for family life!"

"I would say it makes family life far more interesting," you chuckled. "We never have dull evenings. True, sometimes he brings home something so dangerous that we have to arrange unscheduled isolation in the basement. But I've grown used to it."

"And who is he?" Aether asked, already sensing he would not like the answer. "Maybe we know him?"

"Quite possibly," you began gathering a small parcel from the table, bound with a leather cord, and carefully placed it into a sturdy case. "He is fairly well known in certain circles. Though most people prefer not to delve into the details of his biography. Too many... inconvenient questions."

At that moment, the bell above the entrance chimed softly, and a man in a dark cloak with the hood drawn low entered the shop. He held an object wrapped in thick cloth. His gait was familiar — far too familiar. Aether recognized that way of moving even before the newcomer lowered his hood.

Dainsleif.

He nodded to you with that calm, almost matter-of-fact familiarity that spoke of long years of shared life better than any words.

"I finished with the map. You were right about the fourth layer of runes — it does encode coordinates, not a name. I had to verify it three times, but it matches now."

He placed the bundle on the edge of the table and only then noticed Aether and Paimon. His starry eyes widened slightly — for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to see that he was surprised. However, he quickly regained his usual impassive expression.

"Ah, you are here," he said evenly. "I take it my wife has already... enlightened you?"

Paimon made a sound like a deflating balloon that had coughed through a pipe. She slowly turned to Aether, then back to Dainsleif, then to you, and her trembling finger pointed at each in turn.

"You..." she began, looking at Dainsleif. "And you..." now at you. "You are... MARRIED?! TO EACH OTHER?!"

"That is a fairly accurate description of marital bonds, yes," Dainsleif confirmed calmly, pulling off his gloves. "I was not aware you were acquainted with my wife. Though it explains a great deal. The Guild commission, I presume?"

"Wait-wait-WAIT!" Paimon shot up into the air, nearly hitting a chandelier under the ceiling. "You mean to say that all this time — ALL THIS TIME — while you were telling us about the Abyss, curses, ancient secrets, and your endless war, you had a WIFE?! AND YOU SAID NOTHING?!"

Dainsleif looked at her with that expression of mild puzzlement that always drove Paimon mad — as if she were asking obvious things that any sensible person would already know.

"Was I meant to announce it to the world?" he asked. "My personal life is not directly relevant to my mission. And, as I have noted on several occasions, you never asked."

"BECAUSE WE COULD NEVER HAVE IMAGINED SUCH A THING!" Paimon exploded. "You're... you're always alone, in a cloak, with a tragic face and riddles! How can someone like that have a wife?!"

You could not help it and laughed quietly, covering your mouth with your palm. Dainsleif cast you a brief glance that held something between "thank you for the support" and "you might have refrained from enjoying this."

"Forgive me," you said, recovering. "It's just... Paimon, you described the image he projects very accurately. But believe me, even the gloomiest wanderers have homes. And people waiting for them."

"But how?!" Paimon persisted. "How did you even meet? Where? When? Are you immortal too? Are you from Khaenri'ah? Can you fight? Why do you live in Sumeru and not... where does he even live?!"

You exchanged a glance with Dainsleif. He gave a barely perceptible nod — "tell them, if you wish."

In the mountains, it was rarely truly quiet. Even when the wind died down, the snow still creaked under its own weight, and somewhere deep within the glacier, the frozen water hummed. But here, in these godforsaken ruins, the silence was so complete that the ringing in one's ears felt foreign.

Paimon floated ahead, lighting the way with a dim lantern Aether had picked up back at the adventurers' camp. They hadn't planned to venture this deep, but rumors of a "strange glow" and a "cloaked figure" sounded far too familiar to ignore.

"I'm telling you, it's definitely an Abyss trap," Paimon whispered, glancing nervously at the shadows cast by the pillars. "Or worse... someone's unfunny joke. Who in their right mind would drag themselves into a hole like this alone, and without proper food, no less?"

Aether was about to answer, but he froze, raising a hand. From a side passage, littered with the debris of ancient masonry, came a barely audible sound — not the scraping of a monster, but rather the quiet, measured breathing of a person accustomed to enduring pain.

They rounded the corner and saw him.

Dainsleif sat with his back against the cold stone. His cloak had been carelessly tossed aside, revealing a vest stained with dust and dried blood. His left arm lay across his knee at an unnatural angle, and a fresh graze marked his temple. But the most unexpected thing was not his condition — it was the items laid out beside him, neatly arranged on a clean piece of cloth: a small metal thermos bound with a leather cord, and a tiny dark-wood box with an unfamiliar flower carved into its lid.

"Dainsleif!" Paimon darted toward him, nearly dropping the lantern. "What are you doing here... Whoa, you look like a pack of hilichurls chewed you up and spat you out! Are you okay?!"

Dainsleif raised his head. His starry eyes focused on them for a moment, then returned to their usual calm detachment.

"Alive," he said dryly, almost with disappointment. "And, as you can see, not in a pack of hilichurls. It was something considerably worse. But that is not important now."

Aether was already crouched beside him, assessing the damage. A dislocation, several lacerations, possibly a cracked rib. Nothing that wouldn't heal with proper care, but he clearly could not move on his own right now.

"We need to bandage this," Aether said shortly, reaching for his bag.

"Do not waste your supplies," Dainsleif stopped him, nodding weakly toward the items beside him. "Hand me that box."

Paimon, who had already become distracted by the strange objects, grabbed it and turned it over in her hands with curiosity.

"Wow, it's so pretty! Is it some kind of ancient artifact? It smells like herbs... Medicine, huh? Are you your own apothecary now?"

Dainsleif took the box, opened it, and removed a small compress soaked in something pungent. He pressed it to his temple, and a fleeting shadow of relief crossed his face.

"No," he replied after a pause. "These are simply bandages and salve. My wife insisted I carry this kit whenever I venture into ruins. She claims I am 'utterly incapable of stopping in time'."

A pause hung in the air. Paimon nodded at first, still examining the box, and then froze. The atmosphere in the ruins thickened tenfold.

"...Huh?" she managed, slowly turning toward Aether.

Aether also froze, a bandage in his hand.

"Your... what?" he asked, almost certain he had misheard due to the echo.

Dainsleif looked at them with mild puzzlement, as if they had asked what color the sky was.

"My wife," he repeated with the same intonation he might use for the weather or subpar stonework. "She packed it. She says that in my endless wanderings, there ought to be at least some semblance of self-care. She needn't have troubled herself, but..." he paused for a second, and his voice softened by a fraction, "she always insists."

Paimon opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then she flew right up to Dainsleif's face and, jabbing a finger at the box, began to ramble:

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on! Paimon needs to be sure this isn't some head-injury hallucination! You have... a wife?! YOU?! The gloomy, eternally world-wandering, riddle-talking Dainsleif has a WIFE?! And we're only finding out about this NOW, while you're lying here all beaten up?!"

Dainsleif calmly adjusted the compress on his temple and looked at Paimon with that particular gaze that always made her feel like she was missing something obvious.

"Did I ever say I was alone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. "My mission and my personal life are not one and the same. Over six hundred years, I have grown accustomed to not displaying everything. I suppose that detail simply... slipped my mind during our initial introduction."

"SLIPPED YOUR MIND?!" Paimon shrieked. "That's not a detail! That's a complete upheaval of my understanding of how the world works! Aether, did you hear that?! He has a home! And a wife! Who packs him medicine lunchboxes!"

Aether exhaled slowly, finally recovering from the shock, and a wry smile appeared on his face.

"You know, Paimon," he said, returning to bandaging Dainsleif's arm, "thinking back on everyone we've met over the years... this isn't even the strangest secret we've uncovered. But it is, perhaps, the most unexpected."

"And what are we supposed to do with this information now?!" Paimon threw her hands up, nearly hitting the stone ceiling. "We won't be able to look at you as the eternal lone wanderer anymore! You're... a family wanderer now!"

Dainsleif allowed himself the shadow of a smile — so rare that Aether doubted for a second whether he had imagined it.

"You may look at me as before. This changes nothing about my search. But..." he took the box and closed it carefully, tucking it into the folds of his cloak, "I appreciate that you did not laugh."

"Laugh?" Paimon snorted, though curiosity was already replacing shock in her voice. "Paimon just wants to know everything! What's her name? Where do you live? Is she immortal too? Is she pretty? Well, of course she's pretty if she chose someone like you... Oh, I mean... ARGH! You've made everything confusing again!"

Dainsleif, despite the pain, sat up straighter, accepting Aether's help.

"All in due time, Paimon," he said, and that familiar, slightly weary wisdom returned to his voice. "Right now, getting out of here is more important. And once we are out... perhaps I will introduce you. Provided she is not too busy scolding me for yet another injury."

Paimon groaned, but a glint of anticipation lit up her eyes. Aether, tightening the last knot, caught himself thinking that today's discovery in the ruins was worth far more than any ancient artifact.

Aether, tightening the last knot, caught himself thinking that today's discovery in the ruins was worth far more than any ancient artifact.

Dainsleif, leaning on his shoulder, rose to his feet. The movement clearly pained him, but his face remained as unreadable as ever. Paimon still buzzed around him, bombarding him with questions, to which he responded with the same impenetrable brevity.

"So you don't live in ruins?!" she persisted. "You have a normal home? With a bed and a kitchen? And she's waiting there?"

"At times," Dainsleif replied, checking that the compress was still in place. "When my search permits me to remain in one place for longer than a week."

"And she doesn't get mad that you're always disappearing? Paimon would be mad!"

"She does," there was something like a quiet, dry chuckle in his voice. "But she knew what — or rather, whom — she was marrying."

Aether helped him take a few steps toward the chamber's exit when a sound echoed from somewhere deeper in the corridor — not footsteps, but rather the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet clink of metal on stone. Paimon immediately tensed.

"Did you hear that?! There's someone there! Maybe that creature that roughed you up came back!"

"No," Dainsleif stopped, and for the first time, something other than weary resignation flickered in his posture. Something akin to relief. "It is not a creature."

A figure emerged from the shadows of the arched passage leading to the adjacent corridor. You moved quickly, but without fuss — the way people walk when they know exactly where they are going and waste no energy on unnecessary motion. In one hand, you held a small lantern with a cold bluish glow; in the other, a folded cloak, clearly a man's. Your gaze instantly found Dainsleif, assessed his condition, and a whole spectrum of emotions crossed your face: worry, irritation, relief, and — a familiar, weary fondness.

"Six hours," you said, approaching, and your voice, calm but with steely undertones, echoed through the stone hall. "I waited six hours, and then I came looking. And what do I find?"

Dainsleif straightened as much as the pain in his ribs allowed and looked at you with that exact expression Aether had previously seen him reserve only for especially valuable ancient texts — respectful attention, mingled with mild resignation.

"You found me," he said simply. "And I am, as you can see, relatively intact."

"Relatively," you repeated, and the word carried so much skepticism that Paimon couldn't help but snort. You shifted your gaze to her and Aether, and your eyebrows rose slightly. "And these, I presume, are the famous Traveler and Paimon? You found company even in this state?"

"They found me," Dainsleif corrected. "And rendered assistance. I was just about to return."

Paimon, who had been hovering with her mouth agape the entire time, finally found her voice:

"So you're... YOU?! You're that wife?! The one he talks about like he's discussing the weather?!"