The panel returned without ceremony, its pale light folding over the damp leaves. Kael frowned and scanned the clearing. No witnesses beyond the trees. No hidden ears. Only the girl in red, knees dusted, bells still ticking like a heartbeat.
The system's prompt was blunt and oddly personal.
[Because you helped Clara and eased her danger, she is grateful and offers to form a relationship with you. Choose:]
[1 — Stranger: keep distance. Reward: Swaro's mechanical arm.]
[2 — Debt: claim her indebtedness; enforce obedience. Reward: Clara's leg ring (infused with destructive Path residue).]
[3 — Family: assume the role of guardian; be called father. Reward: Clara-branch skill — Family (35% chance to remove one negative effect when attacked).]
Kael stared at the lines and felt something like amusement and annoyance in equal measure. The choices had the usual system flavor—mechanical rewards tethered to social scripts—and the scripters of crossover prompts evidently had an odd sense of family roles. The real problem was not the rewards. It was the feasibility.
Option one required a clean departure. Walk away. No good. The girl had his sleeve in a small, stubborn grip. He could not walk off and pretend not to care. People who saw him flee would write their own stories.
Option two asked him to manufacture a debt, to browbeat a child into servitude so the system could hand him an enchanted trinket. No. The optics would be ruinous. Even if he played it as a joke, the rumor mill in Mondstadt was merciless. His name could turn into a smear across tavern conversations and the stablehands' gossip. He kept his leverage by not burning social capital on cruelty.
Option three was the outlier: spectacularly risky, but possibly useful. Claiming a familial bond with a child who had guardians among the Knights and several Vision-bearers would draw attention. It would also create a durable tie into Mondstadt's social webs. A genuine guardian could call favors, be trusted at markets, and—most importantly—provide a plausible cover for being seen with Klee again and again.
Kael let the possibility sit. He did the arithmetic in his head the way he evaluated weapons. Political cost versus long-term yield. The Family route cost reputation in the short term but bought him influence and protection in a place where being formally connected could shield moves he wanted to make.
He looked at the girl. Up close she was all blunt joy: a small, bright face, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline, eyes that saw the world as an endless set of puzzles. She tugged at his pant leg, enormous trust folded into a tiny hand.
"Do you not like Klee?" she asked, voice tremulous at the edges.
Kael's mouth twitched. "I have nothing against explosives as a hobby," he replied dryly. "But you are reckless."
She pouted, then brightened the way the sun does after rain. "Klee brave."
"Bravery is not the same as sense," Kael said. He let a sliver of warmth thread his tone. He could see how this might read to others. He could imagine whispered reports and the novelty of a young man claiming guardianship. He could be mocked. He could also be given access to kitchens, beds, and a network of people who would assume he was honorable.
He made his choice.
Kael tapped the panel with the same detached gesture he used on any small instrument. The system accepted without comment.
[Family relationship established. Reward queued: Clara-branch skill — Family. Effect: 35% chance to remove one negative status when attacked.]
A faint shiver of promise slid along Kael's nerves. Practical, not sentimental. He imagined the mechanics already: an emergency dispel triggered by the mind's protective association, a small mercy in combat and politics. Useful.
He crouched to meet the girl's face at eye level, keeping his expression soft enough to avoid alarm but firm enough to read as assurance.
"I'll keep watch over you," he said. "Not because I pity you, but because it's useful for both of us. You stay visible. You stay fed. You stay with a family. I'll be the one the family greets at the door. Understood?"
Her eyes widened at the grown-up syntax of the last sentence. Then she nodded solemnly like a deal had been struck and all the world made sense.
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise," Kael said. A promise that was a contract in a softer language.
The system pinged again with a small administrative note:
[Relationship status: Guardian. Public recognition pending. Social risk: moderate. Political access: increased.]
Kael made a mental note. Public recognition pending meant he could manage exposure. He could control how and when the story spread, maintain leverage without surrendering all of it at once.
Klee—because the world had names and the system had other names—burst into proud chatter. She dug into her pack and produced the three lampgrass she had promised earlier, eyes shining. Then, with the naive frankness children possess, she handed him a folded scrap of a map.
"This is a map," she announced. "Klee knows place with lampgrass. Klee share."
Kael took it. The map was small but clear—hand-drawn markers, a crude path through the wood, a cross marking where lampgrass bloomed in clumps. Whoever had helped her draw it had been generous with detail. This was more valuable than a trinket. This was actionable intelligence.
He checked the lampgrass, three small, glowing blossoms whose light felt like a candle in his palm. They would help the task he'd accepted. They would also net him some Mora if he sold the surplus later. The map, however, was the real thing: a local resource network, the kind of thing merchants paid for when a new route opened. Klee had handed him a means to move faster.
The system remained politely quiet in the background. It did not celebrate. It simply existed as an accounting method that had begun to prefer Kael's choices.
"You owe me twelve," Kael said, playful in tone, and tapped two fingers together. "Three won't cover it."
She blinked, then grinned. "Klee get more!"
He rose. The dirt of the clearing clung to his boots. The forest breathed around them. For a moment the decision felt smaller than the consequences it would set into motion—familial ties in a city that kept a ledger of everyone who claimed kinship.
He tucked the map into his pocket, kept the lampgrass, and let the newly minted guardian relationship sit in the soft fold of his strategy. It was a connection he could cultivate, display, and protect. It was also a liability. Good allies were double-edged like well-tempered blades.
Kael allowed himself a dry thought as he started back toward the path.
Relationships were investments. He treated them accordingly.
Behind him, a pair of small bells chimed, bright and obstinate. The sound threaded through the trees like punctuation.
He had taken another small credit from fate, and he intended to spend it wisely.