Could she really be a secret master healer?Yula kept thinking that to herself as the corruption on Dvalin's wound faded. She had watched the poison recoil from light as the Traveler poured her energy into the dragon. Little by little, the rot withdrew, the black veins receding like ink being wiped from skin.
Dvalin's heavy breathing grew steadier. The stunned fog in his eyes cleared until at last the lordly dragon fixed his gaze on the battlefield with the same ancient awareness he had before the corruption. He bowed his great head toward the city as if apologizing.
"Sorry, Barbatos. I'm the one who caused all this," Dvalin rumbled, voice like wind through ruins.
"It's the Abyss Order's doing," Barbatos replied lightly, trying for a smile. "You didn't choose it. Come on — help us finish sweeping up what remains."
Dvalin nodded. "That I will."
Back in Mondstadt the tide had turned. With Dvalin clear-headed again and Barbatos — Venti — present, the defenders now had both dragon and Anemo Archon fighting on their side. Kael's intervention earlier had been decisive; he'd already done more than enough for the moment. He wasn't here to wrestle for credit or points with allies. The livestream was switched off, and he teleported instead — straight to the Lawrence estate.
Where once the Lawrence home had stood proud, the rooms were now torn and bloodied. The estate smelled of smoke and metal. Abyss monsters had poured through a rift and spilled into the halls; the resulting fight had been brutal. Yula and Diluc were fighting back-to-back, claymores swinging in synchronization, part of the chaotic attempt to hold the breach until the portal could be sealed.
The Abyss Herald had escaped earlier — the Herald's presence had been enough to tip the scale of danger — but Diluc's blade and resolve had prevented the worst. Yula watched him and felt something like awe. He moved like a man who'd been sharpening himself for a single purpose. In the onslaught, he'd cut through elite Abyss forces with a calm that bordered on terrifying competence.
"The leyline siphon is closing. No more monsters will come through," Diluc said finally, wiping crimson from his sword and looking at the ruined room. "I'll take my leave."
He looked over at Yula in a way that was hard to interpret. "Take care of the family that remains," he added, then melted into the shadows.
Yula swallowed. She had never known Diluc well: their lives had run different courses. But in the span of an hour he had saved her life, and maybe more. She felt gratitude and a complicated unease.
"You look like you want to ask me something." Kael's quiet voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She glanced up and found herself — somehow — added to a chat. The device blinked: Ding! Congratulations on joining the group.
Her hands trembled as she read the messages rolling in: greetings from Jean, Diluc's terse welcome, Venti's exaggerated cheer, Ningguang's practical acknowledgement. A cold twist ran through her gut as she took in what the group represented: a resource for power, for purification, for growth — everything she hadn't had.
"So, you made me join without asking," Yula said, crossing her arms. "I'll remember this."
Kael only smiled, but the smile didn't feel warm. "Hold onto it. Grudges are useful fuel. There'll be a surprise later."
A surprise? How could anything surprise her now, when the family estate had been burned and blood ran in every corridor? She tried not to think of parents, cousins, children — all the faces whose futures had been ruined by a few men's greed.
Kael's hand on her shoulder was steady. "Come on. We don't have time."
In an instant they appeared at Mondstadt's gate.
The city was alive with noise: cheers, cries, the crack of clashing steel and the roar of winds. Venti and Dvalin were working in tandem now — the dragon's great wings carrying Venti high while the bard's music guided gusts in precise, surgical strikes to clear pockets of Abyss corruption. Monsters fell in waves as the pair redirected and dispelled the worst of the chaos.
"Lord Barbatos!" the crowd shouted, a single voice amplified into a thousand. The presence of their god rallied the citizens; faith, for now, outweighed fear.
On Dvalin's back Venti raised his lyre and beamed. "My people! For centuries I have slept, but your courage is the song that wakes me! You've stood when it mattered — I am proud!"
"Lord Barbatos!" the city responded, their chant swelling into something like a benediction. Tears and laughter mixed as people hugged, cheered, and cried for the wind that had returned.
Venti grew more serious. "I must apologize to you. I did not notice Dvalin's suffering earlier. For that I failed. The corruption took advantage of that, and the Abyss used him as a blade. I own that failure."
"No!" Barbara cried from the crowd. "It wasn't your fault, Lord Barbatos. It was the Abyss Order." Her small voice cut clean and certain through the roar of celebration. The people surged on her words until the chorus of condemnation for the Abyss drowned the remorse Venti tried to bear.
Venti nodded and turned his attention to those who had helped fight. "And to the brave: Acting Grand Master Jean, Diluc, and all the Knights, adventurers, and citizens who stood fast — I thank you."
Jean, in the center of the melee, blushed with a strange mixture of professional pride and embarrassed gratitude. The people's adoration had doubled overnight; her reputation, already strong, now felt cemented in a manner she had not expected.
Venti continued, gently weaving the public narrative with a bard's care: "When the attack began, the Lawrence estate became a threat — Schubert Lawrence worked to open a portal. But courage broke that plot. Yula and others fought to the end; with Diluc's help, much of the danger was stopped."
A swell of applause rose for Yula and for those who had defended their city from traitors within.
Kael watched the crowd respond and felt an ache he could not quite name. He had not come to be praised. He had come because someone had to stand where no one else could or would — and because leaving it to chance would condemn the city to a slow, quiet death.
He turned his head toward the statue of La Signora the city had set in stone earlier — a reminder of arrogance turned to humiliation. The Fatui presence at the gates had to stand and fight now or lose face to their superiors. For the moment, the Fatui did fight, motivated by self-preservation. That messy alliance was useful.
The stream of people, the shouts, the songs — it all felt fragile. Kael knew the Abyss would not stop here. Their test had been successful: they'd drawn out Barbatos, seen his limits, and pushed to corrupt him. They had failed this time, but they'd measured the response; next time they might adopt a subtler, more devasting plan.
Still, for now, there was celebration — sober, hard-won, and raw.
After Venti finished speaking the crowd chanted again. Kael felt their warmth, accepted it as one might a bandage applied to an open wound — helpful, necessary, but only partial protection. The deeper incision remained.
He pulled Yula aside. "You can't fix everything at once," he said. "But you can choose how you grow from this. The chat will help. Learn. Train. Don't let your anger become the same kind of poison your enemies use."
Yula's jaw tightened; her eyes flashed with a mix of grief and stubbornness. "I won't be a puppet for anyone."
"Good," Kael answered. "We'll see how you grow."
Later, when the rift's echo had died and the city's wounds had been tended, Kael sent updates into the group: who had fallen, who had stood, which portals had been closed, and which people would need aid. Messages of strategy, condolences, and praise pinged rapidly — the device was a nervous hive of coordination, but it was also a line to hope.
Diluc — silent, efficient, aloof — had already vanished into the shadows with duties to settle, but his brief words to Yula had left her thoughtful. Venti, reeling with equal parts exhaustion and joy, celebrated with the citizens, claiming victory while bearing inward the bitter knowledge that the corruption had come far too close.
Kael lingered at the cathedral steps and watched Jean walk among the people, offering comfort where needed. He thought of the many faces he'd met that day: loyal, brave, foolish, noble. He thought of the Abyss Herald — of Sora — and of the knowledge that those who fled today would return to plan anew.
He also thought of the device in his pocket, and the quiet utility the chat offered. The world would not be saved on speeches and prayer alone. It would be saved by people choosing to grow stronger, by alliances that did more than talk, and by quiet, often ugly decisions that cut away rot without becoming rot themselves.
Yula, still tense and unsure, had joined them in the slow work of rebuilding. Kael watched her and felt a tiny, unexpected flicker of hope.
The night cooled. Lanterns along the street kept casting small islands of light in the square. Barrels of wine were shared. Songs rose and fell. The city that had almost broken found itself more whole than it had been the day before.
But Kael could not be fooled: the Abyss had tried to plant a seed, and seeds had a way of finding water. They would soon learn whether Mondstadt's newfound resolve could withstand the drought to come.
For now, though, the people sang. They had their god back, their dragon had been cleansed — and for a few hours, at least, they were free from the shadow that had loomed so close.
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