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Jean’s sword was stuck in the beast. It was a beautiful blade, decorated in white iron and gold-plated steel, with a deep black handle and a carefully intertwining guard made in lattice-like vines. The sword’s point had struck straight and true, piercing the porcelain-white flesh of the beast until the skin had shattered, and the creature heaved thick, ink-black blood onto the floor. The beast was dying; innumerable teeth that had left fist-sized dents in her armor now gasped with final breaths.
When it stilled, Jean rose. She stepped forward into the mire of its blood, already thickened like tar. It clung to the steel of her sabatons and the edges of her greaves, and with each step, she wrenched them free. Again and again, until the handle was within reach. She grabbed it, adjusting her grip within the palms of her gauntlets, and pulled until the beast’s corpse ceded her sword.
Finally, she could go home.
Lisa checked and triple-checked her ingredients. Scraps of animal fur, glowing bits of amber, ground dust of a unicorn’s horn—all of it had its place, carefully organized within the folds of her traveling pouch. She might be able to gather more ingredients on the road, to replenish those that she will inevitably use—herbs such as borage (for bravery), garlic (for strength), and rosemary (for protection) grew well enough in the jungles of Sumeru, but once she made it further into the Wastes, who knows what she would find. It was best to be prepared for anything, she reasoned.
If Lisa was being honest with herself, she did not want to travel across the inhospitable, uncharted land of monsters that was the Wastes. She would much rather stay here, continuing her studies in the halls of the Academia, under a dry roof and with a warm bed. But all the books in the world did not hold the information she sought, and the allure of the unknown—and with it, knowledge, the etching of her name onto the annals of history—called to her from deep in her bones. The knowledge of beasts and blood, of magic and mortality lay somewhere out there, and Lisa intended to bring it home.
So she put aside her studies. She packed all she could of her magical ingredients, and sold the rest. She bought traveling clothes and rations, tools and supplies. Her books, however—her vast collection of treasured tombs—could not make the journey with her. Instead, she left them with her most cherished friend, with the promise to return for them soon. In truth, she did not know how long she would be, but she was powerful and stubborn—she was not known as the most promising student of the Academy of the last 200 years for nothing.
With everything Lisa loved carefully tucked away, she left Sumeru on a day that was clear and bright.
Jean expected to feel relief, maybe, that her nearly two-year journey was finally at an end. She had followed this beast, from where it had ravaged the outskirts of Mondstadt and destroyed crops, cattle, and villagers alike, deep into the Wastes. She slayed it, so that it would never again threaten the lives and livelihoods of her people. And yet, she felt nothing but the slamming force of exhaustion in her bones. Her feet moved not because she willed them to, but out of sheer memory of the act.
She retraced her steps through the forests, deserts, and open plains of the sparsely populated land. She skirted paths around fire-breathing monsters and silver-speaking trees until all she confronted was lumbering animals, each watching her with ambivalent interest before returning to their grazing. The weather started clear and bright, but it did not hold.
The rain came down in heavy sheets, unrelenting and all at once. And it rained for days, and days, leaving her soaked and shivering to the bone until she realized that to continue in this chill meant certain death.
It was by pure coincidence that Lisa saw the campfire. It was tucked away in a cave, its small glow barely visible in the beating rain. Lisa was not a fool—there was no way to know who awaited her in such a place. But she was cold, and wet, and miserable, and the glow of a warm fire seemed preferable to sleeping on the damp earth for another evening.
When she approached, she saw the glint of their armor. A knight.
Few people who dressed like a knight often were one. Callous and brutish, with sneering lips and hungry eyes that betrayed nothing of the chivalric ideals they were supposed to hold dear. Sometime, in the last hundred years or so, the image of somebody devoted to the protection of others had been conflated with arrogance and entitlement—the belief that just because someone wore glittering armor meant they were gods-on-earth. All such armor told Lisa was that they had the money to afford it.
And maybe she should turn back now. And maybe she should return home. But she watched for a moment, her approach muffled by the falling rain.
The first thing she noticed about the knight was the weariness that exuded from her. Lagging footfalls, slow movements, eyes barely peeking open as she watched the fire before her. She was only half in her armor—breastplate and pauldrons removed and beside her, reflecting the glowing embers in the heavy dents they bore. Her sword was nestled in a dirty scabbard. Her loose, blonde locks were covered in the grime of travel, and now hung limply at her shoulders. Her shoes were coated in thick black sludge and the dust of the cave floor.
She did not look like a knight in shining armor. And maybe, because of that, Lisa cleared her throat and approached.
Jean did not see the mage until she entered the mouth of the cave. Sopping and shivering, overburdened by supplies, she looked meek in the dim firelight. But even though Jean was no wizard, she could feel the hum of magic that reverberated from her, and was not fooled by her charming smile.
The woman was lovely. Tall, with honey brown hair and warm green eyes. She was dressed simply, plainly, in heavy wool and linen clothes, already beginning to show the wear of the Wastes on them.
“Hello,” the mage spoke, softly. “Would you be willing to spare a seat by the fireside for a fellow traveler?” She tilted her head, and the water that had sat in her hat’s brim dribbled to the floor, and Jean could not help but smile.
It was the first time she had smiled since coming to this desolate and lonely place.
“Yes, of course. Please, have a seat.” Jean reached for her scabbard, pulling it closer as she scooted aside. “If you sit on this side, you should be able to avoid some of the scent getting into your clothes.”
“Thank you,” the mage replied, dropping her bag beside her and her wide-brimmed hat from her head. It had done an admirable job keeping her hair and face dry. The rest of her was not so lucky. She turned. “My name is Lisa, by the way. Lisa Minci.”
“Jean Gunnhildr.”
Lisa nodded, and removed the gloves from her hands to lay them beside the fire. She pulled her knees to her chest and splayed her wrists in front of her. She did not have warrior's hands, but they were not soft, either. Jean watched, and when Lisa looked up, they caught eyes. Lisa glanced aside to the armor that still lay in a heap.
“You are a knight, Sir Jean?”
“Not yet,” Jean said, sighing. “But soon. If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Minci, what are you doing out here in the Wastes?"
"I’m a student at the Sumeru Academy.” Lisa said, curtly. That explained her hands, then; dotted with callouses born of rested quills and turned pages.
“And what do you study?”
“Magic. And beasts.” Lisa smiled.
Jean frowned. “Surely there are plenty of books on those subjects,” Jean ventured. “You did not have to travel out here, on your own, simply for that.” She would not state the obvious—that the Waste was dangerous, that it was deadly, that it was more likely a lone, unfortunate soul would die alone and forgotten in this place, rather than return to share their story. Jean knew herself to be the exception, surviving by the grace of the gods and the virtue of good fortune. Lisa had only just begun her journey.
“There are some, yes. But none so rich and thorough to satiate what I seek.” Lisa replied. “When will you be made a knight?”
“When I return home.”
“And where is home for you?”
Oh, home. Home was soft evening breezes, apples piled high at the base of trees, and the flecks of light gleaming off Cider Lake. Home was morning bird calls, and celebratory boar hunts, and bard songs in the town center.
“Mondstadt.”
“I lived there, once.” Lisa said. “But I have not returned in a long time.” She looked forlorn, saddled with a grief that reflected Jean’s own. It was the same sorrow Jean felt within herself. It was a loss over a home that was not, and could never, be the same as one that existed in their memories.
Because the truth was that at such a young age, Jean was already at the end of her life’s ambitions. Once she returned home, with evidence of the beast now slain, she would be knighted as Sir Gunnhildr of Mondstadt. Yet the squire whose dream she fulfilled had choked on the black tar of a dying beast, and it was only Jean who remained.
It was Lisa’s turn.
Lisa spoke about her life as a young girl, in a Mondstadt she had not seen in over two decades. Her parents, and their early passing. Her aptitude in magic and affinity for scholarship. Her application and acceptance into Sumeru.
And it was because of the honesty of Jean’s words, Lisa was compelled to speak honestly, too. Even if it was meaningless—they would never see each other again, after this evening—Lisa wanted to reciprocate.
So Lisa told Jean the truth: that her search for knowledge was not just a way to further her academic career, but a longing. A longing to contribute something greater than herself, to be remembered for more than what she was.
Jean understood. Lisa knew she did. She was a knight, after all. Academics and knights—chasers of eternity, etched in the deeds attributed to their name. A heroic knight was never forgotten. A genius academic was always remembered.
Still, Jean had the audacity to say, in a soft and nervous voice, unbefitting of the blood that stained her steel: “For what it's worth, I think I will remember you for the rest of my life.”
What could Lisa offer to that, other than the most honest truth, held so tightly to her chest? The one truth she had not dared breathe into words, before now?
“I do not think I will live to leave the Wastes.”
The realization struck her, cold and hollow. She was nothing more than a furtive scholar, chasing ambitions that floated higher than waxen wings could carry her. She could be anyone, and because of that her absence meant nothing. She was destined for failure, but she had no other choice. There was nothing left for her in Sumeru, and she feared what would happen when everybody else realized it, too.
Humans are nothing but beasts, driven by their base instincts. And what is more base than fear?
And Jean understood that, too.
The morning was silent. The rain had stopped, but there was no birdsong to replace it. The only light came from the rising sun, just barely casting over the cavern floors.
Jean held onto Lisa, knowing that if she moved, she would shatter the illusion of eternity they had created. Soft resting bodies, curled into one another—each other's rock in a sea of grief that could only be spoken in the comfort of a stranger's arms.
She laid with Lisa for as long as she could.
When Lisa woke, the ground was still warm beside her. Jean was gone, but her supplies were still there, along with a conspicuous footpath trailing outside the cave. Lisa breathed in her scent, still lingering on the quilt splayed on top of her, when Jean returned with breakfast in hand.
They ate in silence. After all, there was no other end to this story.
Jean had a home to return to. She was on the cusp of knighthood, about to begin a life for herself amongst her family and friends. It was what she was always expected to do.
And Lisa had a future to build for herself. She was on a journey seeking the knowledge that would make her immortal, and she did not know if she would find it, or die trying.
They cleaned the camp, sweeping away the bits of their existence with a brush of the hand. Footsteps dusted away, supplies in tow—their aim was to make it look like there had never been people there, and with it, erase any lingering feelings between them.
She helped Jean back into her armor, running fingers over all the grooves and dents that showed a life well-lived. Jean gave her extra supplies for the road: food and clothing that she herself would no longer need, now that she was on her way home.
A handshake felt too formal. A hug felt too intimate. So they nodded at one another, and began walking.