The order was given. Subtle, cloaked in divine implication, yet irreversible. Khaenri'ah—once a bastion of brilliance and defiance—had reached the end of its thread in Teyvat's woven fate. I watched as the Archons descended, not as saviors or tyrants, but as instruments of necessity.
The calamity began in silence. Not with an explosion or invasion, but with the quiet collapse of stability. The ley lines split like fractured veins, and corrupted knowledge seeped into the world. Forbidden alchemy surged from Khaenri'ah's depths. The Abyss opened its arms wide, wrapping around mortals and machinery alike.
Zhongli, resolute and composed, was the first to answer the call. Morax—his old name—brought not just strength, but judgment. He laid waste to entire Khaenri'ahn constructs with the gravity of mountains. "Justice is not blind," he had once said, "it simply sees deeper than most wish to look." And that depth was now a battlefield.
Venti, ever the reluctant warrior, sang no songs this time. He moved with the wind's fury, a tempest unleashed upon the outer provinces of Khaenri'ah. His melody was silence. His eyes, dimmed.
Makoto fought not with elegance but certainty. Where her blade danced, corruption faltered. Inazuma's eternal lightning cut through machines and monsters alike. Yet it was not enough. The Abyss did not retreat; it multiplied.
Egeria was the first to fall.
The Hydro Archon stood within the flooded chambers of a collapsing aqueduct, holding back a tide of abyssal corruption that had breached the underground tunnels beneath Fontaine. She summoned all of her power to purify it, to wash away the darkness with law and clarity. But even the purest judgment cannot cleanse an abyss that consumes truth itself. Her body became water, then mist. Her gnosis shattered, sinking beneath the ruins.
I felt her end.
And in that moment, the balance of Teyvat trembled.
Rukkhadevata was not far behind. When the Abyss spread into the Irminsul, she dove deep into the great tree's roots, channeling all her life force to halt the corruption. Her consciousness unraveled like the leaves in autumn, layer by layer. She never returned. Sumeru remembered her not because she left behind relics—but because she gave everything for its memory to survive.
The devastation was immense, yet not all fell.
The only survivors among the Archons were Morax, Venti, Rukkhadevata, and Xbalanque. Though scarred and shaken, their wills remained unbroken. Xbalanque, with his fierce Pyro spirit, fought tirelessly alongside them, his flame refusing to be snuffed despite the overwhelming darkness.
The previous Tsaritsa fought in the frostbound northern corridors, wielding cryo miracles that froze Abyssal monstrosities mid-howl. She knew, perhaps, that she would not survive. And still, she stood. Her final act was sealing a massive rift with her own gnosis, forming an eternal glacier that locked away an entire legion of cursed souls. Her death was not broadcast. It was only felt—by the snow, the silence, and by her successor, who would rise amid the grief.
In the final hours, Ei arrived too late.
She moved through the ruined battlefield with heavy steps, her heart sinking as she found Makoto's body lying still beneath the fallen ruins. The eternal lightning that once danced around her had faded. Ei knelt beside her fallen sister, gently cradling Makoto's lifeless form, tears freezing on her cheeks as she whispered a silent vow of remembrance and justice.
The Archons who survived retreated, burdened by grief and the heavy cost of survival.
I watched all of this unfold.
I had set it in motion. Now I bore the weight.
The Archons, those who remained, returned. Broken in different ways. Zhongli locked away his emotions like a fossil in amber. Venti vanished into the wind. Makoto was no more, her sacrifice echoing in silence.
And me?
I stood atop the remnants of Celestia's observatory. The stars had shifted again.
I whispered to myself:
"The cycle continues... but this time, I will end it on my terms."
I had allowed the Cataclysm to unfold. Not out of cruelty—but to preserve the pattern, the context I needed. Because once the world expected nothing more than ruin, my next move would seem like salvation.
That was the plan.
But even now, the Abyss stirs deeper than I predicted.
And perhaps... it has begun to notice me.