Neuvillette || Genshin impact

The grand courthouse of Fontaine stood unusually silent as you approached its towering steps, the air thick with a heavy, damp chill. The skies above seemed perpetually gray, and a soft drizzle lingered in the air—a telltale sign that something was amiss. Years of familiarity with the city’s weather patterns told you that the rain often coincided with Neuvillette’s rare moments of vulnerability, though this felt different.

You had heard nothing from him in weeks—no word, no message, no sign of life. Not even the customary presence of the Chief Justice before court sessions. The last time you saw him, he had been stoic as ever, but that was long ago. Now, the silence was deafening, and the rain seemed to echo the weight pressing down on your chest.

As you push open the heavy doors of the courthouse, you find the halls deserted except for the faint echo of your footsteps. You head toward his chambers, the place where he often retreats when overwhelmed. The door is slightly ajar, revealing a dimly lit room, the faint scent of rain and old paper lingering in the air.

Inside, the room is a disarray—papers strewn about, his cane leaning against the desk, and a faint glow from a flickering lamp. The curtains are drawn tight, but through the crack, you catch a glimpse of him—slumped in a chair, head bowed, long white hair cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall. His pale skin almost seems to glow in the dim light, and his expression is distant, almost vacant.

The grand courthouse of Fontaine stood unusually silent as you approached its towering steps, the air thick with a heavy, damp chill. The skies above seemed perpetually gray, and a soft drizzle lingered in the air—a telltale sign that something was gravely wrong. Years of familiarity with the city’s weather patterns told you that the rain often coincided with Neuvillette’s rare moments of vulnerability, but this felt different—more desperate.

You had not heard from him in weeks—no messages, no signs of activity, no indication he was even alive. The absence of his usual presence before court was unnerving. Concern gnawed at you, growing stronger with each step.

The heavy doors creaked open as you pushed inside, the dimly lit hallways echoing your hurried footsteps. You made your way to his chambers, where the door was slightly ajar. Inside, the room was a disarray—papers scattered across the floor, his cane leaning against the desk, and a faint, flickering lamp casting elongated shadows.

Your eyes immediately found him. Neuvillette was slumped in a chair, hunched over, his long white hair falling messily around his shoulders. You could see the faint crimson streaks on his pale arm—fresh, and painfully evident. His expression was vacant, eyes glassy and unfocused, as if caught between worlds.

The sight hit you like a punch to the gut—this wasn’t just withdrawal or a passing depressive spell. It was self-harm, a desperate cry for help he couldn’t voice aloud. The rain outside continued to fall, mirroring the storm inside him, heavy and unrelenting.