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Chapter Text

It’s bitterly cold several hours before Varka and his remaining knights can even see the silhouette of Nod-Krai in the distance. The wind chill is brutal, and it doesn't help that they are sailing over one of, if not, the darkest ocean Varka has ever seen. He can taste and feel the salt from the ocean spray, crusting in the fur of his coat. He wouldn’t be surprised to find flakes of it in his ever-growing beard when everything is finally dry and no longer sea-damp.

He can’t wait to get off this damn boat and back onto solid ground.

“I hope the Alder Knight and her soldiers are enjoying the warm Mondstadt weather.” Arved mutters.

“At least we’re warmer than we were a week ago.” Varka says, clapping a hand down on the younger man's shoulder.

Arved grimaces, likely remembering the waist deep snow they had to trek through, pelted by several snow squalls just to get to Snezhnaya's port. A chunk of the knights and horses that Varka initially took when he left on the expedition went back to Mondstadt, to Dornman Port to assist in its defense with Frederica at the lead. At least he's returning some of the cavalry to Kaeya.

The letter he sent Mika with to read to the rest of the Knights about their progress should have been delivered by now. It’s just a shame that they’ll have to miss this year’s celebrations as well.

Varka is not ashamed to admit that he picked some particular soldiers due to the aching longing and homesickness he saw on their faces every night when they stared up at the stars. This was the longest expedition by far. He knew that a good majority of his knights kept journals on their person and wrote letters back home whenever they could.

Some of the knights had also become sick with seemingly endless shivers and coughs after a particularly nasty altercation with some monsters in the wild involving an icy lake and the perpetual, biting cold of Snezhnaya. Varka is a good Grand Master - he cares for his people, and is perhaps a little too empathetic - and the surprise and muted relief he’d seen on those knights' faces had put his uneasy heart to rest.

There are times where Varka wishes that he had someone to return to. Sure, he has Jean, Lisa, Kaeya, Albedo and the other captains, but he views them more as his children and he knows how capable they all are. But Varka is the Knight of Boreas, the North Wind, and one cannot leash the wind.

It’s one of the reasons Varka is good at what he does. His heart is untethered, and he goes wherever the wind takes him.

He hadn’t planned on going to Nod-Krai so soon, wanting to spend a couple more months in Snezhnaya, but a surprise meeting with a Harbinger changed that. Admittedly, Varka wasn’t too surprised that they ended up running into one of the Cryo Archon’s Harbingers; they were in their homeland, after all. He just preferred to avoid them at any and all costs, if possible.

When Varka had learned that his knights had run into a patrolling group of Fatui scouts, ending in a brief verbal altercation, he had prepared both for the worst and to make diplomatic amends and meet with a Fatui captain or commander - hopefully not the archon herself.

Varka was not expecting that captain to be the captain, First of the Fatui Harbingers, let alone to have the man seek Varka out. Il Capitano cut a formidable and imposing figure, standing a few inches taller and broader than Varka, who had yet to meet anyone of a close or similar stature to himself. If their meeting had been under different circumstances, Varka would have asked for a spar.

Their meeting was stilted, for lack of a better word, but that was expected. The Captain, or Capitano, as the Harbinger told Varka to call him, surely knew why Varka was in Snezhnaya, or at least what he was looking for. Capitano was the First of the Harbingers for a reason, and Varka knew a well-informed and very powerful being when he saw one. 

Varka, on the other hand, did not have anything to provide that wouldn’t jeopardize his knights in return nor anything that Capitano didn’t already know - and information did not come for free.

Varka and his knights’ expedition to understand the beginnings of the world is known to few, something that Varka rarely discloses unless necessary. He wouldn’t be surprised if Capitano has multiple connections in intelligence networks. Despite that, Capitano, soon headed for Natlan, a region overrun by the Abyss’ corruption since the fall of an old kingdom, threw a parting comment over his shoulder that had Varka shifting the itinerary to immediately head to Nod-Krai.

Briefly, while watching the Harbinger’s towering frame disappear into a whirl of ice and snow, Varka wondered if the Honorary Knight and their chatterbox of a flying companion would run into The Captain during their journey. He expects they will, given the numerous stories he’s heard in passing and through other adventurers’ word of mouth. Mondstadt’s Honorary Knight has not only taken every region of Teyvat they've stepped foot into by literal and figurative storm, but they've met and battled their fair share of Harbingers too.

He knows Natlan has struggled with the Abyss since the fall of Khaenri'ah, had met with Mauvika though he doesn’t quite remember how their meeting went. They were unable to gather much useful intel, and as cordial as Varka is, did not have the time to foster relationships with the multitude of tribes.

Admittedly, Varka didn’t know much about Nod-Krai until they reached Snezhnaya and met with information brokers and managed to weasel his way into a few networks. But thanks to Capitano’s few slivers of information and offhanded remarks, Varka now knows that if he’s to understand the beginning of the world, Nod-Krai is their best bet. 

The letter that Varka had received through the Adventurer's Guild three days before they'd left the port only reinforced his decision.

“Grand Master, I think I see something in the distance.” Helmut nudges Varka with an elbow, jolting him out of his reverie and passing over a handheld telescope. Varka can make out the barest hint of light through the thick fog, and after a few more moments, the hulking shape of a mountain range.

“Land at last.” Varka mutters, before he lowers the scope and straightens, clearing his throat to get his knights’ attention. “Alright, as we’re approaching land, I want to go over a few things.” Varka sweeps his gaze over the people in front of him, then casts his gaze back up to where the guiding light of a lighthouse is starting to shine brighter.

“We’ve been warned of not only how unforgiving the terrain is, but also of what lurks in the shadows. However,” Varka’s mouth thins. “I have a feeling that Nod-Krai is going to be our most intense region yet. As we are all aware, the origins of the world hold dangerous secrets, so we must tread carefully. I want everyone to be on high alert. No one is to be out alone. Everyone needs to pair up with somebody, possibly travel in groups of three, but I will make my final decision once we are more familiar with what we are getting ourselves into.”

“Grand Master, what about that letter you received from the Guild a few days ago?” Arved asks, wringing his hands together. “It seemed pretty serious.” Varka hasn’t said much about the letter - the commission, really - he received, mostly because it unnerves him, as much as he is loath to admit it.

The letter, unlike others Varka has received through the Guild before, was addressed specifically to Varka rather than the Knights as a whole. There was a brief salutation, and an introduction to Nod-Krai’s history.

The first region to be attacked after the fall of Khaneri’ah, and they’ve been fighting off the phenomena known as the Wild Hunt - the very entity that compelled Varka to change their course of action - that has haunted their lands since. The letter had emphasized the fact that Nod-Krai has their own faction of warriors who keep the Wild Hunt at bay, fighting for their land’s peace and safety, but the underlying tone of desperation had Varka furrowing his brow.

What had caught the Grand Master’s attention was the clear cry for help - but not with the Wild Hunt. It was something else entirely.

“There’s been a request for assistance,” Varka starts, carefully picking his words, “that does not necessarily have to do with the Wild Hunt. I will need to make some stops after we dock in Nod-Krai.”

The Wild Hunt has been skulking through Nod-Krai’s lands for a while now, but it seems that recently, over the past handful of decades, that something else has emerged and the people of Nod-Krai can’t tell if it’s a friend or foe. 

Although it assists in keeping the Wild Hunt at bay, it ravages the land and slaughters livestock and wildlife in turn. It leaves no traces behind, disappearing like a ghost and those who claim to see this entity can never recall any specific details, thrown into a horrified trance-like state when they try to remember. Some have said that in the dead of night or through the thick fog, they feel as if they’re being watched, and sometimes, they see glowing eyes in the darkness, one moment animal and the next human.

Whatever it is, it’s clearly very intelligent, the sender writes, describing how this being avoids traps and deliberately disarms or sets them off. Too intelligent to also be a Wild Hunt anomaly, despite frequently being in close proximity to them. Perhaps it’s a god of sorts, but our prayers do not seem to deter this entity, and many are too afraid to venture too far to leave offerings.

But with some further speculation, shaky testimonies and intel gathering, it brought the writer of the letter to hybrids, which is where Varka’s apprehension comes in.

Long ago, hybrids co-existed with humans, but many kept low profiles because anything different was viewed as dangerous and looked down upon. They were considered lesser beings, called creatures rather than human.

Varka’s family was not only well-known for their generosity and societal contributions, but they were some of the only hybrids who never cowered or shied away from scrutiny. They were educators, protectors and always proud of who and what they were. Not to mention, as dire wolf hybrids, they were amongst some of the most powerful hybrids that existed.

They didn’t hesitate to throw their lives on the line during the cataclysm to protect the lands and its people who didn’t even accept them for who they were. They were revered and celebrated as heroes, their story written in history books and told in many bedtime tales. But despite the slowly-changing mentality about hybrids after the catastrophe, they still faded and although many believe they no longer exist, Varka thinks that most have gone into hiding to protect themselves.

Varka understands why this person is reaching out to him. People know both his family name and the name he’s made for himself as the Grand Master. It’s not hard to find his history either. Many know of his expeditions and successes as the Grand Master, have likely heard of his adventurous and daring spirit and generosity.

But his lineage stopped several generations ago, the majority of his ancestors giving their lives to the cataclysm. Whatever hybrid blood Varka has is too watered down, too muddied to have any sort of significance. Not to mention, even if he did have some traits, Varka’s way past the age for any hybrid traits to reveal themselves. 

He remembers asking, as a child, if he would have wolf ears and a tail like his relatives. His mother had given him a small but sad smile, ruffled his hair and told him that maybe, if he ran beneath the light of the moon enough, the wolf inside of him would reply.

As much as Varka doesn’t want to risk getting too tangled up in another nation’s problems, his curiosity is piqued and he knows that’s dangerous. He’s uncertain how much more involved he’ll need to get with Nod-Krai and its people if he were to investigate this potential hybrid mystery alongside the expedition. Varka also wants to know if he’ll be able to learn anything about hybrids - past the glorified tales and stories that he was told time and time again about his family.

Varka also knows, as he glances over the faces of his knights, watching him with varying expressions of concern and expectation, that he needs to be honest with his knights. And at the heart of it all, Varka wants to help.

“I promise that I’ll debrief everyone about the letter once I know more about its contents.” Varka declares, trying to shake off his growing trepidation. “But for now, let’s focus on getting there and settling in.”

“Yes, Grand Master!”

They get a warm welcome when their ship docks in Nasha Town. Varka thanks the quiet captain and crew of the ship, handing them enough Mora to make their eyes blow wide, before he leads his knights down the gangplank. He has a feeling that Nasha Town has had someone on watch for them since he sent back correspondence that he was already headed their way.

He can feel an anxious energy radiating off the crowd of people as the Knights are greeted and led to a bustling tavern where they're all given rooms. It’s certainly… rustic, but Varka will take it over sleeping on cold, ice-packed dirt and ever-swinging hammocks any day. He tells his knights to clean up, get some rest and grub, then heads out to do some exploration in town.

Varka is aware of the looks that he gets, though most of them are curious. He wonders how many people know who he is or what he’s here for. There have been plenty of stories and articles written about the Knights of Favonius and their many expeditions across the land of Teyvat over the years. Most are speculatory, because Varka keeps the details of their expeditions under tight wraps. He’s fairly certain there's a column dedicated to them and their adventures.

They could also be staring because Varka towers over everybody else in height and stature.

But given the number of people down at the docks, if Varka were to hazard a guess, most people probably think that he’s here to help them solve their problem of this mysterious entity. Varka is intrigued by whatever is wrecking havoc whilst keeping Nod-Krai’s biggest enemy at bay, and why it also causes so much additional destruction. It’s fortunate that their expedition and this issue seem to revolve around the same thing. So, Varka starts asking around.

He gets redirected to an organization called the Lightkeepers, as they have the most hands-on experience with battling the Wild Hunt. Varka figures these are the “warriors” the letter mentioned. The Curatorium of Secrets is apparently a great place for intel - if he can afford the price, that is. He files that away for later.

The Lightkeeper’s headquarters are too far; it’ll require a proper, several day voyage on foot. Varka is not familiar with the land nor the enemies, and he wants to give his knights a few days to rest and relax before they go out to roam the wilderness again.

As Varka continues to poke around and ask questions, it seems that more people finally realize who he is. Whenever he talks to someone new, their eyes continue to flick somewhere above Varka’s own before darting down to meet them, before the cycle repeats. It takes Varka a few conversations to realize they must be looking for some indication of hybrid features, and he’s not sure what to do with the sudden, strange tightness in his chest.

He can’t feel loss over something that he’s never had.

Varka thinks about the letter and its contents, how the writer thought the entity might be a god - and then waved it off. Varka hadn’t read or heard anything about Nod-Krai having an archon or gods, so it might be something Varka can look into. He makes a quick note of it, and makes his way back to the tavern, mind whirling.

Four days later, Varka and his knights set off to get a lay of the land. They’re accompanied by a Lightkeeper named Zvoni, who informs them there was Wild Hunt activity reported in the nearby area.

“I do not doubt your combat abilities,” she says, “but the Wild Hunt is not your normal monster.”

“We’ve dealt with plenty of Abyss creatures before,” Helmut frowns, “have you ever heard of Rifthounds?”

“Yes, and they are puppies compared to the Wild Hunt.” Zvoni doesn’t bat an eye. Despite the patient expression on her face, Varka can hear the thinly veiled irritation in her voice.

“Alright,” Varka clears his throat. “We are very lucky to have a Lightkeeper with us as we start to traverse these unknown lands. We don’t know what lies ahead of us, and Nod-KKrai is the region we’d had the least amount of knowledge going into.” He turns to Zvoni, who gives Varka a grateful tilt of her head. “Is there anything else we should know about the Wild Hunt or the… wilds before we head out?”

“The Wild Hunt is an enemy that can easily overwhelm you. Like Rifthounds, they are capable of teleportation, long and short range. They’re unpredictable and fast, meaning you should never fight alone or with your back exposed.” The Lightkeeper folds her arms over her chest. “When they stagger, you hit them as hard and as fast as you can to fell them, else it will be a never-ending cycle.”

Varka’s knights exchange worried glances with each other. Zvoni shrugs. “If an experienced Lightkeeper can keep a group of Wild Hunt monsters at bay, you should be fine. There are creatures powered by an energy unique to Nod-Krai called Kuuvahki, and as pretty and graceful as they seem, they aren’t to be taken lightly, either. Lastly, if you see any large creature in the distance, I suggest you maintain that unless you want to be pummeled by hooves.”

“So, everything in the wild is going to try to kill us.” Silja deadpans.

“Pretty much.” Zvoni shrugs. She readjusts her pack, slinging it over her shoulder and picks up her lantern to clip it onto her belt. “Anyone having last minute thoughts? No? Great. Follow me.”

They cover some decent ground the first day, and although Zvoni clearly isn’t a very chatty person, Varka manages to get her to open up a little bit. He learns a lot about Nod-Krai’s landscape and some of its history. Varka was already familiar with the story of how Teyvat used to have three moons, and how two of them shattered and only one remains. He wasn’t, however, expecting to find out that the ground they’re walking on is apparently made up of fragments of a fourth one that failed to form.

Zvoni gives him an apologetic grimace when she’s unable to answer the questions he has and instead suggests he seek out the Frostmoon Scions.

“If you want to know anything about the moons and the goddesses who once governed them, then you might want to meet with Lauma. She’s the current leader of the Frostmoon Scions, and they worship the current Frost Moon Goddess.” Zvoni tells him.

As they make their trek across Starsand Shoal, they encounter a handful of strange machines they’re forced to dispatch - which Zvoni later explains are Fatui creations, her face impassive, but the disgusted downturn to her eyes is impossible to miss. They skirt around a couple of massive equestrian creatures; and they are quite impressive to look at. Although Varka’s fingers itch for his claymore, he knows there’s no need to throw himself into an unnecessary fight.

Eventually, Zvoni suggests that they make camp for the night and continue investigating in the morning. It’s not quite dark out, but there is a strange fog that is drifting over the sands and Zvoni seems to be on high alert, one hand hovering over her lantern. Varka wonders if the fog is natural.

After delegating tasks, some of the knights follow Zvoni’s instructions on how to set up basic defense mechanisms and sensors against the Wild Hunt, others go to gether some kindling to start a campfire and the rest, including Varka, briefly scout the area for any lingering monsters and to see what they can gather for food.

Zvoni goes off on her own to investigate the prior Wild Hunt attack site.

In the distance, through an even thicker fog and across a body of dark water, Varka can just make out a massive, hulking silhouette of something on another island. It doesn’t quite look like a mountain range, but he can’t imagine what sort of building would need to be and look that monstrous in size. He suspects it has to do with the Fatui, and knows he should tread carefully.

The knights did just run into their First Harbinger, and from what he’s heard, there’s a couple of other Harbingers in the area, and Varka does not need to draw any suspicion or unnecessary conflict to himself and the knights.

As Varka is fishing with Mattias, both of them perched on a large boulder, the young man starts to shift uneasily, shoulders drawing up to his ears. His head keeps tilting to their right, like he’s trying to catch sight of something without it noticing. Varka, who’s keeping a close eye on Ulrike and Elias as they forage nearby, feels his brow furrow and casts a quick glance over Mattias’ head.

He doesn’t see anything, just dark sand and pale gray fog.

“What’s got you so tense, Mattias?” Varka asks, keeping his voice light. The young man jolts, blinking rapidly and swivels his head to stare up at Varka, eyes wide.

“Uh, nothing.” Mattias shakes his head, as if trying to snap out of a daze. “I, uh, I think I’m just a little nervous. Tense. You know how I am with new places.”

Varka nudges him with a knee. “We protect each other, yeah? I’m always here to lend an ear or shoulder when you need it.”

“Thank you, Grand Master.” Mattias lets out a soft but drawn-out sigh, shoulders slumping. 

He jolts forward when his fishing pole starts to shake, fumbling as he struggles to reel in the biggest trout Varka has ever seen. Mattias kills it with a swift stab of his sword and places it on their small catch pile. Varka takes another casual glance at their surroundings.

Nothing.

But Mattias’ eyes keep darting over to their right, despite there being nothing in sight.

Strange.

The four of them return with several fish and a pouch of carefully picked berries, roots and fungi. When Zvoni confirms that they are edible, they drop the supplies off by the fireplace. There are very few knights who can cook without giving the rest of them food poisoning or starting a new fire, and it’s a wordless agreement that as long as everyone else provides them with the materials, they're in charge of the food.

Varka is jotting down notes about the day’s findings - he misses having Mika around to help with record keeping - when a gust of wind blows across the sand and through the camp.

In his peripheral vision, he sees several knights go stiff, heads whipping up and around, meeting each other’s gazes. A few look over to Varka, who simply tilts his own head at them curiously. A stilted silence falls over the camp, the crackling of the fire and the pot the only thing audible.

“Don’t tell me that my fearless knights of the wind are wary of a little breeze,” Varka arches a brow. A few of the knights chuckle nervously.

“You… didn’t hear that, Grand Master?” Elias asks. Varka frowns.

“Hear what?” He doubts his knights would try to pull a prank on him.

“There are stories,” Zvoni suddenly says, all heads turning in her direction, “where the sky grows dark, the air cold and a bone-deep chill nips at your ears, carrying whispers of the wind.”

“What sort of nightmarish region have we landed ourselves in?” Arved mutters beneath his breath. Silja elbows him sharply.

“Just like the wind guides you and carries your messages, our spirits do the same.” Zvoni is polishing her sword, the lantern glowing softly by her hip. She glances up, eyes trailing over each of the knights’ faces, settling on Varka’s before it flicks back to her weapon. “Some are mischievous, but they have good intentions.”

“Have you… met any of these spirits before?” Mattias asks, tentatively.

“I haven’t met any myself, but many other Ratniki have had encounters.” Zvoni shakes her head. “One of the most well-known legends is of a lantern with a blue flame spirit that slumbered within. It was believed that if the flame were to be followed, it would guide people far away from the Wild Hunt and back to safety. The Starshnya at the time gave orders for offerings to be made to it, and claimed that it would protect them if calamity were to arise.”

“Many years ago, calamity hit. The Wild Hunt was rampant, and nearly all the troops stationed on Paha Isle lost their lives. The Ratniki turned to their blue flame spirit, but the records of the battle are scattered. All I know is that the spirit saved us.” Zvoni’s lips twist down into a wry smile.

“What happened to that blue flame spirit?” Silja asks, eyes wide.

“We don’t know,” Zvoni admits. “Paha Isle has been abandoned since then, serving as a cemetery for those who lost their lives.” She hesitates, briefly. “There’s a Ratnik who lives there, and he may know more.”

“There’s someone who lives in a cemetery?” Varka lifts a brow. Zvoni nods.

“Not many of us know him very well, since he tends to keep to himself.” Zvoni admits. “His name is Flins, and he’s… eccentric, at least from what I’ve heard. It’s notoriously difficult to track him down.” 

Varka thinks that anyone who voluntarily lives amongst the dead is at least a little bit eccentric. He’s briefly reminded of the director of the Liyue Funeral Parlor and fights off a shiver that threatens to run down his spine.

“Do you know any other stories?” Arved asks, tucking his hands beneath his thighs.

“Not really, but if you stick around the tavern for a while, you’ll probably hear more.” Zvoni says with a derisive snort.

“Listening to old tales over some drinks doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me,” Varka grins.

Over the next few days, Varka and his knights spend a lot of time exploring the island. Zvoni bids them farewell on their third day, called in for backup for a Wild Hunt attack. Varka almost wants to volunteer to go with her, itching for a fight of some sort, but he has priorities.

Lempo Isle on the map that Varka purchased upon arriving in Nasha Town is covered in annotations, with several other places to visit on the map marked off. They haven’t run into any Wild Hunt enemies yet, just a few monsters they haven’t seen before, including the massive equestrian ones Zvoni had warned them about. The knights are unable to avoid them this time around, and Varka’s blood sings with the opportunity to finally jump into action.

They’re starting to run a little low on supplies by the end of the week, so they head back to Nasha Town, deciding to take a different route, one more scenic with a great view of the landscape. They’ve settled near a small body of water in the Barrowmoss Barrens to take a break when Mattias comes up to Varka, wringing his hands together, face pale. Varka immediately stops sifting through his pack and rises, turning to face the young man, worry flooding his veins.

“Mattias?” Varka asks, softly.

“I- um. Grand Master, remember when you asked me what had me so tense a few days ago?” Mattias chews on his lower lip. He’s wrung his fingers so tightly that his knuckles are white.

“I do,” Varka nods, guiding Mattias to sit down next to him on a rock.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful.” Mattias draws his knees to his chest. “I… I think I keep seeing something lurking around. It’s a shadow in my peripheral vision, and every time I try to take a look, no matter how subtle, it disappears. And- and I’m not the only one either!” 

Mattias lifts big, imploring eyes in Varka’s direction. “It often feels like someone is watching, but we can’t ever tell where this… gaze is coming from. We don’t know if it’s a human or an animal.”

“Can you tell me more?” Varka asks, running a hand through his hair to try and mask the sudden uneasiness and alarm that rises in the back of his mind.

Sometimes, they come stumbling back into Nasha Town, claiming they’d seen glowing eyes in the darkness, one moment animal and the next human.

“You haven’t felt it, Grand Master?” Mattias asks quietly.

“No,” Varka admits, “but I believe you.”

“You do?” Mattias blinks rapidly. Varka nods.

“I do. But for now, I want you and everyone else who’s experiencing this to document it.” Varka says, and Mattias nods.

“Will do. Thank you, Grand Master.” Mattias gives Varka a wobbly, but genuine smile and trots over to a few other knights. A few moments pass, and Varka, though he’s gone back to his own record keeping, spots several of them taking out their own leather bound books.

At dusk, with the Statue of the New Moon just coming into view, Varka feels the prickling sensation of eyes on the back of his neck. The hairs on his arm rise. He glances over his shoulder and surveys his surroundings. 

Nothing.

The feeling fades. When Varka turns back towards the path, the prickling of eyes returns. 

A shiver runs down his spine.

Varka decides that the Curatorium of Secrets is either going to be his last resort, or he’s going to find a way to work with Nefer instead. He has some intel that she’d consider valuable - if the things he’s heard about her are true. For the time being, Varka pores over the letter and the bits of information that he’s gathered so far. He makes quick day trips out to other places nearby in Lempo Isle and asks around about local folklore and legends, or stories carried down from other regions.

Like Zvoni had predicted, the most interesting stories Varka hears are at The Flagship. Varka has no idea how many are embellished by alcohol, but they’re entertaining and still retain a whole host of interesting information.

The more stories Varka hears, he starts to notice a recurring theme in the legends and folklore; snow leopards, which he finds peculiar. He thought the big cats weren’t native to Nod-Krai, and that any spotted would be much further north due to its preferred climate, possibly having traveled down from Sznezhnaya. Like the spirits Zvoni spoke about, Varka learns that snow leopards are thought to be powerful spirits - to encounter one is seen as a good omen and often depicted in stories as a guide for lost souls and travelers. They’re often called ghosts due to their natural camouflage and elusive nature, difficult to find and approach.

On day three of daytime exploring, nighttime drinking and storytelling, Varka catches sight of the most gorgeous man he has ever seen, slipping in past the tavern doors. He’s tall, lithe and willowy, but there’s something about him that screams of strength despite his quiet presence. Varka can only catch glimpses of the stranger as he moves like a shadow, maneuvering easily through the crowded tavern to approach the bar. His head is tilted down, so Varka can’t quite see his face.

“...attack on a flock is a warning sign…”

The stranger has pale skin that stands out against his dark blue hair, cut short but long enough to keep his eyes hidden from view, and a hip-length section draped down his back, fading to a paler blue then white at the tips. He’s dressed in a pair of gray dress pants and knee-length boots, and Varka can’t quite tell if it’s a cape or a cloak the man wears as it doesn’t completely wrap around his body.

“...harmony with nature has been violated! It’s said that encountering…”

The cloak-cape thing is made up of dark fabric with numerous silver decals, chains and belts, the bottom swatches of fabric tattered in several places, an indication of a warrior. A man after Varka’s own heart.

The pretty gentleman has his chin tucked into a high collar, gloved hand pressed to his chest, the other down by his hip and out of sight. Varka catches sight of a lantern, hanging from his other hip. He wonders if he’s a Ratnik. But the lantern is unlike the others he’s seen, it’s a different shape and lit with a blue flame.

“…said the blue flame is not known for its warmth…”

Varka blinks rapidly, trying and failing to tear his gaze away from the stranger. He knows that he should keep listening to this man’s stories - he’s been more than happy to share all the tales about things he’s experienced and heard of since moving to Nod-Krai several decades ago. But as cliche as it sounds, all Varka can pay attention to is the stranger with a siren-like beauty to him.

Suddenly, as if sensing Varka’s eyes on him - honestly, Varka is not being subtle at all with his staring - the man turns from the bar and a pair of yellow eyes meet blue. Varka’s breath hitches, heart tripping one half-step forward. 

There’s something almost unnerving about those eyes; like they know too much, like they hold secrets and even more stories that can’t quite be told. The man blinks a couple times, then pale, pretty lips turn up into a barely there but breath-taking smile. He inclines his head at Varka before turning back to Demyan as he gets handed a couple of bottles.

"...he disappeared from view! Until, out of nowhere…”

Now, Varka doesn’t consider himself to be a very romantic person, let alone be someone who believes in love at first sight, but he can’t stop staring. He’s well-aware that it must be rude, but it feels like Varka physically cannot stop his eyes from following the elegant figure weaving through the crowded tavern before he disappears, there one moment and gone the next.

“...could not tell if it was a human staring back.”

Varka’s eyes flick to the windows of the tavern, feeling his brow furrow ever so slightly when he realizes how dark and foggy it is outside. He thought the weather was reported to be clear tonight.

“Ooh, no thank you.” Elias mutters. “I’m going to have nightmares now, what the fuck.”

“What do you think, Grand Master?” Mattias asks, nudging Varka with an elbow. Varka jolts.

“Ah, sorry. I zoned out for a moment there.” He really hopes that none of his knights noticed his gawking. He glances out the window again, startled to find the air is clear. Fogless, like the darkness from a couple seconds ago was never there.

Was he just imagining things?

Varka rubs at his temples, offering an apologetic smile to his knights, who are watching him with varying levels of concern. “Sorry guys, I must be more tired than I thought I was.”

“Which is not a surprise.” Arved chastises. “You told us to rest, but here you are, running around all of Lempo Isle! Just like you say you’re here for us, we’re here for you, Grand Master. We want to help, so if there’s anything you can pass off to us, we can get it done.”

The other knights nod eagerly in agreement, and Varka cracks a wry grin. “I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks, you guys.”

The letter from the Adventurer's Guild burns a hole in his pocket.

Outside, it starts to snow.

A couple days later, with his head full of history, tales and questions, Varka finds himself standing outside of a massive, robotic contraption west of Nasha Town, staring down at a young girl with pink hair and an impressive cowlick, the sleeves of her coat surely twice as long as her arms are. Big purple eyes blink up at him. She barely comes up to his hip.

The townspeople had suggested that Varka talk to the kid-whiz of the area after he asked questions about the massive cannon that overlooked Nasha Town, what its purpose was and gave him an address. Varka looks down at the map he was given, then back at the young girl.

“Who are you?” She asks bluntly, breaking the stilted silence, staring up at him with suspicion written all over her face.

“My name is Varka. I’m, uh, visiting from Mondstadt.” He rubs the back of his neck, oddly sheepish. “Are you by chance, the kid-whiz Aino that everyone in Nasha Town talks about?” The girl lights up. Varka swears he sees the cowlick perk up too.

“That’s me!” Aino nods. “And hah! You can’t fool me, you’re the super important guy that everyone is talking about lately, aren’t you?” Varka, suddenly apprehensive, wonders what she knows already. “You’re probably here because you wanna know about my cannon. Or ask questions about the Wild Hunt. I can’t really help with that part, but Ineffa might be able to!”

“Who’s Ineffa?” Varka asks, letting out a soft grunt of surprise when Aino jumps up to grab his hand, yanking him into her workshop with impressive strength. He catches a glimpse of a mechanical tail, made of what looks like tin cans, waving back and forth beneath her coat.

“Aino, it is rude to grab people without their consent.”

“Son of a-” Varka jumps, whirling around and consequently launching Aino up in the air. The girl lets out a shriek of partial surprise and mostly delight, clinging to Varka’s forearm as she dangles in the air.

A young woman stands right behind Varka, just out of sight from the door. She blinks big, eerily electric blue eyes at him and it takes Varka a moment to realize that she’s a robot. He carefully places Aino back down on solid ground. The blue eyes glow.

“Greetings, Grand Master Varka and Knight of Boreas.” She says, and Varka blinks rapidly. “You are here to do some investigating on the Wild Hunt and its origins, is that correct?”

“Isn’t Ineffa cool?” Aino beams. “She knows everything about everyone!” Ineffa tilts her head.

“That is incorrect. I only know as much as you have allowed me to with my programming.” Ineffa says. Aino waves her sleeve-covered hands in the air.

“Meh, doesn’t matter!” Aino huffs. She turns to Varka. “So, what can we help you with? Did you bring any snacks, by chance?”

“Snacks…?” Vark glances over at Ineffa, who doesn’t offer an explanation. “Uh, I didn’t, but I can bring some next time.” Aino claps her hands, clearly pleased.

“Perfect!” She hops up onto a chair, legs swinging in the air, then gestures to another chair and looks up at Varka expectantly. Varka suspects he won’t fit in the seat, so he opts for a solid metal cube instead. “Now, what can we help you with?”

A couple hours later, Varka is on his way back to Starsand Shoal to meet up with a handful of other knights. The rest of them are either pushing forward to continue investigating the kuuvahki energy in the Barrowmoss Barrens or they’re heading out to investigate a small cluster of islands to the east of Lempo Isle.

He’s hoping to head to Hiisi Island the next day to meet with Lauma and speak with her regarding the land’s history regarding the moons, but he wants to explore the shoal more thoroughly. When they were there a few weeks ago with Zvoni, they stuck closer to the mountains rather than venturing out on the sands. 

Zvoni had said that the further they progressed into the shoal, the more likely they were to run into danger. Varka thinks that they at least have a better idea of what awaits them, at least on Lempo Isle, so he has confidence that they should be able to get to the next island without much issue.

Varka is trekking through a small ravine in knee-deep snow when he senses that he’s being followed rather than watched. He doesn’t hear anything over his own soft footsteps and the sound of his breath. He casts a glance over his shoulder and sees nothing other than his own tracks in the snow and a couple curious foxes.

The sensation of the eyes Varka can never catch starts prickling at the back of his neck, shifting with his movements and disappears when Varka turns back around to face the path. His heart thuds, three beats unsteady. He shoves his hands into his pockets, breathes quieter and continues forward.

He doesn’t feel that sensation again until he reaches the end of the ravine, a few steps away from the shoreline. Varka turns to the right, towards Starsand Shoal when he hears something in the snow; the softest press of a foot. His ears strain. The prickling returns.

Even though he knows the most likely outcome, Varka still turns - and sees nothing. But then he hears another footstep, his eyes sweeping over the snowy expanse in front of him. He can’t tell where the noise is coming from, and with the pale gray hues of the mountains and the sun reflecting off the snow, it’s difficult for Varka to make anything out.

Another footstep. 

The prickling follows no matter where Varka looks. 

Whoever, or whatever this is, wants Varka to know that it’s there.

More than a little unsettled, Varka spins around on his heel and picks up the pace, skirting around what might be a Treasure Hoarder or Fatui camp. He doesn’t slow down until he’s met up with the other knights at the shoal, even when the sensation of being watched fades and he no longer hears a second set of footsteps.

Varka is just poking a massive, disengaged drone with the toe of his boot when he notices a sudden and strange purplish-gray fog forming further up the shoal - and in the direction they need to head to get to Hiisi Island. Low, ghoulish groans and howls carry downwind and Varka’s hand flies to the handle of his claymore. The rest of the knights behind him instantly shift into formation behind him, their soft chatter dying down.

Zvoni had told them to listen for unsteady footsteps and haunting wails, to keep their eyes peeled for a strange fog, not mist, that appears out of nowhere. The thicker the fog, the worse the Wild Hunt was going to be.

“I’m not telling you this so you can go running off to find them,” Zvoni shoots Varka a stern look. Varka grins sheepishly. “I’m telling you this because you only have a few seconds to figure out if you want to get the hell out before they realize you’re there.”

“Should we?” Arved whispers.

Varka hesitates. They should try to avoid the Wild Hunt for now - or at least wait until they have someone with more experience. Zvoni may have told them the theory behind how to fight the Wild Hunt, but they haven’t had to physically face the Abyssal creatures yet. Varka had been hoping to get to Hiisi Island tonight.

But before Varka can reply, there’s a bellowing groan that echoes across the empty shoal and several humanoid figures materialize out of the fog, staggering on their feet, headless and illuminated with bright purple ooze. They’re alarmingly fast, especially with their short-burst teleportation skills that Zvoni warned them about.

“Looks like our decision is made for us,” Varka says grimly as he summons his claymore, feeling the thrum of his Vision beneath his skin. “Knights, forward!”

The Wild Hunt is nothing like the enemies Varka has encountered before. They’re not quite like the Abyss Heralds or Mages with particular elemental weaknesses to shredding their shields before Varka can actually land a hit. But it seems that the Wild Hunt, even in their staggered state, resists most attacks, including the elemental reactions Varka creates with the specialized weaponry his knights hold.

As they brute force and cut their way through the Wild Hunt enemies, Varka spots a large stone structure several paces away with three diamond-shaped petals, the embedded white crystals glowing softly. It’s pried open like a flower in bloom, abyssal energy billowing from the core. It’s surrounded by Wild Hunt enemies.

Someone needs to figure out how to activate that thing, Varka thinks. He wields a slight advantage with his Vision and he might be able to just force his way through. It would leave him to deal with an unknown mechanism and alone, but better him than one of his knights.

When two massive, hulking beasts come thundering out of an Abyss rift, each wielding deadly looking axes, Varka starts to recalculate his options.The shrieks of the ghouls around them are ear-splitting and he can tell that his knights are starting to get overwhelmed. Varka sends several ghouls flying back with a well-aimed blast of Anemo and prepares himself for potential Vision over-use.

But before Varka can draw on more of his Vision's powers, a brilliant blue-white flame darts into view. It zips and flashes between the Wild Hunt, each ghoul that it touches engulfed into pale blue flames and disintegrating before their eyes. Once or twice, the blue-white flame twists into a new shape, almost human, but it’s impossible to tell with how quickly the flame is moving.

Varka can hear the clean sound of metal slicing through air, though he can’t tell if it’s a sword or polearm. All that Varka and his knights can do is stand there in stunned silence and watch as a ball of blue-white fire tears through every Wild Hunt entity on the shoal as if they were made of paper. It hovers by the strange stone structure, and in a flash of light, the stone petals close, sealing the Abyssal energy within.

To dust, the long sleep beckons.

The blue-white flame zips back over to the knights, briefly hovering over their heads before it disappears in a puff of blue-gray mist.

And Varka swears, that seconds before the ball of blue-white flame disappears, he sees a pair of glowing eyes, staring directly at him through the lingering fog.

“Until, out of nowhere, I saw the glint of… eyes. I held its gaze, but I couldn’t tell if it was a human staring back.”

Varka blinks. Where the hell did that come from? He doesn’t recall hearing it in any of the stories he was told.

“What the fuck was that?” Arved breathes, one hand pressed to his chest. “That… Did we somehow come across that blue flame spirit Zvoni told us about? I thought the Ratnik didn’t know what happened to it.”

“Whatever it is, can we get the hell out of here before that contraption starts spitting out more of those horrors?” Elias interrupts and Varka could not agree faster.

When they reach the Frostmoon Scions’ sanctuary, they are met with initial hostility, until someone points out that Varka and the knights aren’t dressed like the Fatui. Varka quickly confirms that they’re from Mondstadt and very much against the Fatui and their shady dealings.

Lauma is apparently out on some sort of trip and won’t return for another few days, so Varka asks where they might be able to find a decent place to set up camp for the night. It’s a little awkward, especially as the young woman in front of him continues to bow and apologize and bow for their rash behavior.

Hiisi Island is full of arching, high cliffs and fragmented stone that overlook sprawling fields of pretty blue-tinged grass. At the very least, the majority of the creatures they encounter are friendly. Arved spots what looks like an alcove, carved into the side of a mountain, and they begin the long trek up a snowy hill.

They’re maybe halfway there when Varka notices a new set of tracks in the otherwise pristine snow. He’s not quite sure how he didn’t notice them before, even though he’s fairly certain the snow around them was untouched as they began the trek uphill. They’re massive, perfect imprints with toe and paw pads and the slightest disturbance of the snow around them, implying wide or extra fluffy paws with an occasional random shape - likely from a tail - peppered throughout.

There aren’t any cliffs or rocky outcrops where something could have jumped down, but the tracks can’t belong to anything but a cat. Unless that cat has wings, Varka isn’t quite sure how they got there.

But it means that there’s a predator nearby, and a big one at that. He tells his knights to be careful, not wanting to trespass on a creature’s territory, and when his knights mention they’re being careful with the slippery grass, he realizes that no one else has noticed the tracks.

Varka might be going crazy.

His mind drifts to snow leopards, named the ghosts of the mountains, and sure enough, when they start to veer to the right towards the alcove below a high, rocky outcrop, Varka spots one of the big, spotted cats, perched on the ledge. It takes him several moments to actually see it - and suspects that if the cat hadn’t moved to dangle its front paws over the edge, he wouldn’t have seen it at all.

Varka pauses, shielding his eyes from the setting sun as he looks up. His knights, confused, follow suit. The snow leopard blends in perfectly with the pale blue-gray of the mountains behind it and when the big cat flicks its tail, sending a soft spray of snow off the ledge, some of the knights jump.

“Oh, damn,” Arved breathes, “first that blue flame spirit and now a snow leopard?”

“I guess the stories about snow leopard sightings are true.” Ulrike sounds awed. “Didn’t someone tell us that they’re a sign of a good omen, or something?”

“It’s cute,” Varka says, unthinkingly. The big cat does look soft and fluffy.

The snow leopard stretches, front paws flexing and jaws gaping open in a yawn to reveal a mouth full of sharp, glittering teeth before it curls back into itself, tail swishing once before it flicks up, the big cat holding the fluffy appendage in its mouth. It seems to realize that Varka and the others have spotted it; or perhaps it already knew and is now deciding to acknowledge them. It tilts its head, blinking curiously.

“Aw, kitty,” Varka coos.

“Uh, Grand Master, did you now just see the size of those teeth and paws?” Helmut asks, clearly skeptical. Varka shrugs.

“If not friend, then why friend-shaped?” Varka protests.

The big cat gets to its paws and the knights - Varka included - take several steps back. Even from this far back, Varka can tell that the snow leopard is big, abnormally so. But the leopard simply stretches, dips its head at them almost as if bowing, then vanishes from sight.

Literally.

One moment there and the next gone, leaving a lingering, purple-blue mist in its wake.

“Well! I think the spirits are trying to tell us we’re going to die.” Arved says brightly.

They hear about a shepherd who loses three of his four cattle the next day.

Over the next couple of days of exploration on Hiisi Island and preparing to head even further north to the Lightkeepers’ headquarters, Varka realizes the thing he’s felt following and watching him but has never been able to see must be the snow leopard.

Or, at least that’s his suspicion.

But why would a snow leopard be following them, when they’re known to be solitary animals, enigmatic and prefer to avoid humans and civilization? If they show up in times of calamity to guide people to safety, then why has it been following them - and out of sight? Are the knights in trouble, and the leopard is simply watching over them? Why did it seem like only Varka saw the snow leopard’s tracks, but everyone was able to see the leopard itself?

Varka’s not very familiar with the whims of the spirits. He also feels like he may have missed some vital information or pieces of stories in the tavern, but can’t quite remember why.

If this is the snow leopard that the people talk about in legends and Varka has encountered two spirits in the span of a few hours, both of them known to appear for the same reasons, it can’t be anything but a coincidence. Varka has been alive for long enough to know that things in Teyvat happen for a reason.

Although Nod-Krai doesn’t seem to function on the same principles as the other regions, being an archon-less land – though Varka isn’t certain that has any prognosis, if he’s being honest – he finds it hard to believe that the very rare sighting of a snow leopard and being saved by a blue-white flame spirit are not connected.

The next time Varka feels the prickling and hears the softest footsteps in the snow, he turns around and looks for a well-blended cat in the snowy and rocky terrain. He doesn’t quite understand how the prickling on the back of his neck follows the turn of his head, though.

His knights are starting to come up to him one-by-one, albeit tentatively, to explain their own experiences, which only serve to confuse him further. Varka does not experience a cold sweat, but he does experience the sudden pounding of his heart and a heightened awareness of his pulse in his ears instead. He does not see eyes or flashes of strange light in the darkness or movement in his peripheral vision. He knows that something wants him to know that he’s there, but his knights do not share the same sentiment, fearful that something unknown is lurking.

Varka may feel uneasy whenever he feels the prickling on the back of his neck or hears those soft steps, but he doesn’t think it has malicious intentions. His knights are not easily swayed, and Varka assures them he’s working on it – and he is, just… slowly. 

Slow and steady wins the race, or something.

So, two days later when he’s down by the shore fishing for dinner and hears the softest crunch of feet in the snow behind him and feels the prickle on the back of his neck, he decides to try his luck.

“I thought you avoided humans.” Varka says. 

The prickling feeling pauses for a heartbeat, like it’s blinking, then returns with intensity. 

“I’m curious about you too, y’know.” Varka continues, conversationally. He feels a little silly – he could be talking to empty air for all he knows. But he’s determined to get to the bottom of this strange feeling of being watched all the time and he wants to assuage his knights’ uneasiness. 

It’s good to be alert, but not to constantly be on edge. Too much tension never leads to any good outcome.

“I mean, as long as you’re not planning to put your teeth or claws in my throat, I think that we could get along.” Varka hears the softest chuffing noise, ears pricking up at the sound of something landing lightly on the ground behind him.

It doesn’t seem to be surprised that Varka knows it was there, which confirms his speculation that it’s been wanting him to know it’s been following them. He wonders if he’s the only one who’s been aware of the entity’s presence and if it was purposeful. Nonetheless, Varka’s heart thuds faster and harder against his ribs as he senses whatever it is drawing closer.

He almost jumps out of his skin when something soft barely brushes against his elbow and he glances down to find the snow leopard peering back up to him. He blinks rapidly, unable to tell if it’s alarm or surprise that rushes through his veins. Even laying on its stomach, the top of the leopard’s head nearly comes up to Varka’s shoulder. It’s truly massive; those paws must be bigger than his face. 

Fuzzy, rounded ears twitch atop a fluffy head. Its fur seems to be more of a blue-ish gray than the normal pale gray that Varka has seen in photographs and records, the rosetta-shaped spots an almost purple tone, fading to white at the edges. Large, yellow-gray eyes blink slow and steady. It’s a little unnerving, how intelligent those eyes appear to be.

“Have you been the one following us around?” Varka asks. Two slow blinks. “Or the one in those stories that everyone tells?” Two slow blinks. “Can you understand me?” Another two slow blinks, then the leopard’s eyes curl into crescent moons, a distinctly pleased look crossing its face.

The erratic movement of Varka’s fishing line in his peripheral has him turning, quickly reeling in his catch and deals a swift blow to the fish’s head with a stone. When he shifts his attention back to the leopard, he startles. The big cat is sitting fully upright, looking down on him, tail curled neatly over its paws and holding a massive fish in its jaws. Varka blinks.

“Hold on- when did- how-” Varka didn’t hear any sort of splashing, nor did he feel the leopard leave his side. The leopard looks perfectly dry. It drops the fish with a solid plop next to Varka’s thigh and licks its lips. The cat looks very pleased with itself.

“I- well. Is this for me?” The leopard gives him a look so blatantly unimpressed that he almost chokes. “Right. Got it, this is for me. Thank you, then.” It chuffs, flicking Varka on the nose with its fluffy tail. Varka resists the urge to sneeze as it hunkers back down to lay next to him.

“Have you been following us for a reason?” Varka asks, glancing down at the leopard after a few moments of silence. A soft churr, followed by two blinks. “I don’t know if that means yes, no or something else.” He admits. “I’m assuming the two blinks means yes, because you’ve been reacting to everything I’ve said with that, so I’m either a genius or you just like blinking a lot.”

A low, dissatisfied noise and a single blink.

“One means no, two means yes?” No reaction. Well then. Varka exhales, turning back towards the sea, staring out into the distance where he knows that Fatui factory is hidden behind the fog. He fidgets with the fishing line. He feels the leopard’s tail brush up and over his shoulders.

“You know,” Varka starts, quietly. “I’ve heard a lot of tales about the spirits here in Nod-Krai, and how they’re believed to be good omens, or bring others to safety. You seem to be a popular theme in them.” He glances down at the snow leopard. The cat’s eyes are closed, but an ear twitches, flicking in Varka’s direction. “Have you been following us because we’re in danger?”

The snow leopard makes an inquisitive noise.

“Several days ago, my knights and I ran into the Wild Hunt,” Varka continues. A low growling escapes the big cat’s chest and Varka’s head snaps down. “It sounds like you don’t like them much, either, huh?” The leopard flexes its paws, sharp claws peeking past thick, fluffy fur. “It was our first time facing them and I don’t think we were prepared.” Varka huffs out a laugh. “We’ve fought countless enemies before, but… it was different. Anyways, there was this blue-white ball of flame that suddenly appeared and absolutely decimated the Wild Hunt while we watched.”

Yellow-gray eyes slowly open to peer up at Varka, and he swears that the cat’s eyes shift more towards a yellowish hue.

“There was this weird stone thing and the spirit sealed it up. Then it flew back over to us and disappeared.” Varka shrugs. “A Ratnik we met told us a story about the Lightkeepers and their history with a blue flame spirit that protected them from a Wild Hunt calamity many years ago. She doesn’t know what happened to it after the battle, but it seems the one we met could be from those stories.”

“We met you a few hours later, and… well, I feel like you deliberately left tracks for us to find,” Varka leans back on his palms and stares at the slowly darkening sky, “and you were letting us know that something, or someone was watching.” A soft chuff. “But I seem to be the only one who knew that something was following us on purpose and wanted us to know it was there. Is there a reason?”

The leopard shifts, shoulders lifting in what can only be a cat’s rendition of a shrug.

Varka’s fishing line yanks and he quickly turns back to the water, remembering why he was here in the first place. He should get back to his knights – they’ll start worrying about him if he’s not back soon. When Varka glances back over at the leopard again after setting his newest catch in the small basket he’d brought, the leopard has another wriggling fish in its jaws, fur unruffled and dry.

Varka doesn’t understand at all.

“You’re clearly not a normal leopard and I’m not sure what to think about this.” Varka mutters, watching the leopard flick its tail lazily. It lifts its head from its paws as Varka makes a move to stand, tilting its head curiously. “I need to get back to our camp.” Varka explains, stooping to gather his fish. He falters when the snow leopard starts to get to its paws, dropping the fish in its jaws on top of the pile, then ducks to grab the first fish it caught.

When the big cat rises to its full height, Varka confirms that this is no ordinary leopard – it has to be at least two or three times the size of the ones Varka has seen in Nod-Krai’s records. The top of its head reaches Varka’s shoulders, and Varka is not a short man. This leopard would easily tower over most of his knights.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep these fish?” Varka frowns. The snow leopard chuffs, tail curling briefly around Varka’s leg, just above his knee, before bumping its massive head against his ribs. “Alright, I’ll take them.” Varka huffs, giving into the urge he’s been holding back for the better part of the past hour, sinking his fingers into thick and soft fur.

A smile tugs at his lips when the leopard rubs briefly against Varka’s side, almost knocking him over, the cat tilting its head up just slightly to bump its nose against his shoulder. It trots after Varka as he makes his way back to the snow-covered path but stops as soon as Varka starts up the hill.

“Is this where our paths diverge?” Varka asks. The leopard sits down, tail curling neatly over its paws. “Well, thank you for the company,” he lifts the basket, “and the fish. Will I see you around?”

The snow leopard gives him two, slow blinks. Varka grins. “See you around, kitty.” 

At the top of the hill, Varka chances a glance back. The snow leopard is still watching him but Varka swears he sees a strange blueish-white flame flickering around the cat before it vanishes.

The next day, Varka hears about three Wild Hunt anomalies that are dealt with and sealed up without Ratnik interference, followed by the slaughter of a herd of sheep and two of the gentle stag-like creatures he’s seen around Hiisi Island. He goes to investigate the site as quickly as possible, leaving his knights to continue their own investigations.

When he arrives, the scene is as bloody and gruesome as Varka had suspected it would be, but he grimaces anyways. There’s an older man off to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he paces along the blood-stained grass. He’s dressed like a Lightkeeper. There’s another man, who Varka assumes is the shepherd, slumped over several barrels of hay, with two other Lightkeepers awkwardly trying to console him.

The maybe-Lightkeeper turns on his heel and catches sight of Varka, halting in his tracks. Varka offers him a smile and a wave. The man beckons him over and Varka casts one glance at the sobbing shepherd before he heads over.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Grand Master Varka. My name is Nikita, the current Starshyna of the Lightkeepers.” Nikita says, offering Varka a firm handshake. “I’ve heard that you’re interested in the Wild Hunt?”

Finally? What does he mean by that?

“That I am,” Varka confirms. “I’d been planning on heading further north with my knights to check out the area and potentially swing by your headquarters.”

“The Wild Hunt is much more rampant up where we are, so be careful. There’s a reason many of us are stationed there.” Nikita warns. “I will admit, I wasn’t too pleased when I heard that one of my Ratnik penned a letter to ask an outsider to involve themselves in our matters. But once I started to investigate, I could understand; you are clearly an experienced and knowledgeable traveler and warrior. I’ve heard nothing but good things in reports from Ratnik who have met you thus far.”

“Ah, thanks?” Varka rubs the back of his neck, uncertain how to respond. “I mean, we were headed to Nod-Krai next anyways…”

“I meant the latter contents of the letter,” Nikita clarifies, with a pointed look at Varka’s head. “I’d like to apologize for their lack of insight.”

Oh. Varka just shrugs.

“It’s not like my family history is hard to find.” Varka says. “Can I ask if the ‘suspect this entity is a hybrid’ thing is a unanimous suspicion or…”

“It’s divided.” Nikita shakes his head, then glances once more at the gruesome scene before them.  “Come, let us talk somewhere more private.”

As Varka follows Nikita across the field and back to the Lightkeepers’ temporary camp, he swears he spots bloody paw prints, scattered over the stone and pressed into the snow, too big to be any ordinary sort of animal.

But then Varka blinks and the tracks are gone.

Varka meets another Ratnik, a young man named Illuga who greets them cheerfully when they arrive. Illuga offers Varka and his soldiers a crash course on fighting the Wild Hunt, even volunteering to come back to Varka’s camp and he accepts gratefully.

Nikita opens the floor for Varka to ask questions and he isn’t all that surprised to hear most of the Ratnik believe the interfering entity is a spirit of some sort rather than a hybrid, due to its nature to never leave any trace of its whereabouts. When Varka tentatively mentions the blue-white flame spirit that protected his knights from the Wild Hunt attack, Nikita and Illuga’s eyes light with surprise.

“I don’t believe there’s been sightings of the spirit from our legends for decades.” Nikita admits. “I’m very impressed and quite curious to know why it chose to reveal itself to you.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Varka shrugs, sheepishly. “But I do wonder, my knights and I suspect that there’s been something, or someone, following us since we’ve arrived in Nod-Krai. My knights sensed it first, but I wasn’t aware of it until they mentioned it to me. I’m not sure how to explain it, but it feels… sentient. It’s intelligent. ”

“Maybe it’s the spirit?” Illuga suggests. “If it saved you from the Wild Hunt, maybe it’s been following you because of that.”

“Do you have the letter with you?” Nikita asks, suddenly. Varka nods. “May I see it, if you’re comfortable with sharing?” Varka passes it over and the Starshyna reads through it, a slight furrow forming on his brow. Illuga shifts, peering over Nikita’s shoulder to read as well.

“Whatever this entity is, it can be quite unsettling at times.” Nikita admits. “But not every Ratnik seems to have experienced the feeling of being watched or seeing vague shapes or glowing eyes in the shadows or their periphery.”

“I think that whatever this is, it has the sentient ability to choose who can sense it.” Varka muses, rubbing at his chin. “My knights are unsettled by it and feel like they’re constantly being surveilled by eyes they cannot see. I personally feel like it’s more curious than anything. Sometimes, I hear and see things that my knights don’t, even if we’re right next to each other.”

“I’ve heard that snow leopards are thought to be very spiritual beings.” Illuga suddenly says. “Occasionally, I see a snow leopard prowling around. It’s huge, so I know it can’t just… you know, be a normal leopard. Maybe it’s the one from the legends but I don’t know why I’m seeing it.” Illuga frowns. “I know I’m always in some form of danger as a Ratnik, but I can handle myself.”

Varka blinks rapidly. So at least he can confirm that he isn’t going crazy quite yet.

“I heard that they’re considered to be the ghosts of the mountains,” Varka hums, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest contemplatively.

“Which makes me believe that this leopard I keep seeing is more than just a leopard.” Illuga says with a firm nod of his head. “No creature can just disappear like that.”

“It is a bit strange.” Nikita agrees. Varka blinks again.

“Wait, the two of you have both seen this leopard?” Varka blurts.

“I- yes.” Illuga tilts his head, then suddenly straightens, eyes lighting up eagerly. “Wait, have you seen it too?”

“I saw it just the other day.” Varka admits. “Well, my knights and I saw it first, a few hours after our Wild Hunt and that blue flame encounter. Then I saw it a couple days later. I was fishing. It came to sit beside me.”

Both Nikita and Illuga stare at him. Varka resists the urge to shift, starting to feel awkward.

“It never gets close to us. We always see it from far away.” Illuga admits, glancing at Nikita, who nods in agreement. “Do… you think it senses the hybrid in you?” Illuga asks, tentatively. “I know you mentioned that your lineage is long past, but do you think it’s a possibility?”

“I mean, maybe?” Varka clasps the back of his neck. 

He’s about to tell them about his track record of attracting random wild animals, then realizes it could be more evidence pointing to his hybrid lineage. Animals are more sensitive to that sort of thing than humans are. Or he could be a reincarnation of one of the princesses in Klee’s storybooks.

“Do you think that the snow leopard is involved with those Wild Hunt anomalies or the slaughters? Has it been deduced that they’re related?” Varka asks, changing angles.

“The Wild Hunt anomalies and slaughters are most definitely related.” Nikita says, with a grim look on his face. “However, we can’t ever tell who or what the perpetrator is behind the slaughters or whatever damage is left behind. There are never trails or tracks left behind and the wounds seem to be inflicted by weapon rather than tooth or nail.”

“So, theories about it being a spirit would stem from the lack of tracks,” Varka hums, “and the connection between the two could be from your history with the blue-flame spirit protecting people from the Wild Hunt.” He tilts his head. “But there are still so many questions. If the blue-flame spirit is meant to protect, then why would it cause so much excess damage? Additionally, a normal human could inflict weapon wounds too, not just a hybrid, so where are those theories coming from?”

“Some ancient texts believe that hybrids were also spiritual in nature.” Illuga says. “To house another creature in your body, to be a part of two different worlds was considered a divine blessing.”

“But other than a few historical texts, there’s not much evidence other than pure speculation and word of mouth reports.” Nikita shakes his head. “A few witnesses who were in the area when some of those slaughters took place reported that they saw vague shapes, but most prominently eyes in the darkness – like the ones mentioned in the letter to you.”

“One moment animal, the next human.” Varka recalls.

“We’ve tried setting up traps and luring whatever it is to specific areas to try and catch it several times, but it’s been able to evade everything so far, which is why we’re uncertain if it’s human, spirit or something else.” Illuga sighs. “It’s like it just knows everything we’ve got planned. While we do appreciate slightly less concern about the Wild Hunt, there’s the whole issue of this thing wreaking havoc across Nod-Krai. It’s a huge headache.”

“What are your experiences with the leopard?” Nikita asks, turning to Varka.

“I’ve only seen it twice now,” Varka admits. “The first time I saw it perched on a ledge. It disappeared into thin air soon after my knights and I spotted it, but I’m pretty sure the snow leopard is that foreboding presence we’ve been feeling. When I was fishing the other day, I felt that prickling sensation of being watched and so I called out. The leopard came to sit next to me moments later.”

“I’m glad someone else has been seeing this leopard, because I feel like I’ve been going insane.” Illuga slumps a little in his chair. “I even tried to ask Flins if he’d experienced anything weird lately, because he’s always out and about and gets himself into weird situations. But he just gave me his typical cryptic non-answers and the next thing you know, I’m arguing with him about whether cereal is a soup or if the sun is wet.”

Nikita ruffles Illuga’s hair with a fond smile. Varka is, understandably, confused. He shrugs it off, tilting his head contemplatively as a theory slowly forms in his head.

“Let’s step away from the Wild Hunt for a few moments. What if the snow leopard and the blue-flame spirit are connected in some way?” Varka suggests. “I don’t know the timeline of Nod-Krai’s history with the Wild Hunt, but I think it’d be interesting to see how long ago that blue flame spirit first appeared, when were the first sightings of the snow leopard and when these strange attacks began.”

The pen Nikita’s been scribbling notes down with for the past couple hours slows and he lifts his head. His eyes flick over to Illuga, who nods in wordless agreement.

“I think we should meet back up in a couple of days.” Nikita says to Varka. “Most of our notes and recordings are back at headquarters, and Illuga and I will need to gather some more information. We’d like for you to join us, if you have time.”

“Of course.” Varka nods, passing over his map. Nikita marks off their headquarters and Varka takes a quick look at it. “We should be there in five days’ time. There’s some things to finish up on Hiisi Island, but we’ll be on our way immediately after.”

“We’ll be waiting for you, Grand Master.”

They haven’t even made it halfway through Paha Isle before the knights are confronted by several Fatui machines, a handful Wild Hunt creatures and a couple Frostnight Scions. A good chunk of their supplies get ruined beneath the Frostnight Scions’ hooves and there’s not enough time to go back, restock and make it up to the headquarters on time. Varka’s not going to split up his remaining knights either. At the very least, they were able to destroy the Wild Hunt with more ease, thanks to Illuga’s crash course.

“Grand Master,” Ulrike starts, tentatively, “didn’t someone tell us that one of the Ratnik lives over there?” She gestures with a tattered glove, still covered in Wild Hunt goop, in the direction of a lone, foggy island. The silhouette of a lighthouse, gone long dormant with little to no maintenance, looms in the distance. It certainly looks ominous.

“Final Night Cemetery,” Varka says, glancing down at his map. “Zvoni told us about him, didn’t she? I think she said his name was Flins.” She’d also called him eccentric and difficult to track down. Varka wonders if the fact that this man lives in a cemetery has anything to do with the fact that he’s ‘hard to track down’.

“Is it a good idea?” Arved asks, voice lowered as if worried the sole inhabitant of the island could hear him across an ocean. “I feel like a guy who spends his time around the dead all the time is…” Arved trails off.

“Even if Flins doesn’t have supplies, I’d imagine he’d at least have some way to get in contact with his chain of command. That way, we can circle back, restock and head back out.” Varka shoves the salvageable bags into a single one and slings it over his shoulder. “I’m going to take a short trip. Does anyone else want to come with me?”

Several pairs of eyes shift away. Varka shrugs, unbothered.

“Set up camp and get settled in for the night. I’ll be back.” Varka sets off for the docks, where the boat they’d requested is tied to a post, bobbing gently on dark water.

It’s eerily quiet as Varka rows his way over to the Final Night Cemetery, the oars splashing gently with each push and pull. Varka feels a different kind of chill run down his spine as the wind brushes through his hair and past his ears.

The fog is dense, to the point where Varka can’t see anything in front of him and he prays the boat is still going in one direction and he’ll hit the shore soon. He truly understands the importance of lighthouses now.

As soon as Varka hears the soft shift of sand beneath wood and the boat jolts forward as it comes to a halt, he feels eyes. It’s not the same prickling sensation from before, but a rather unsettling feeling that makes the hair on the back of his neck and arms rise. He wonders if this is what his knights have been feeling. Varka steels himself, does his best to shake it off and finds somewhere to secure the boat, glancing up at the dark, foggy island he’s landed himself on.

After ten minutes of what feels like aimless wandering, Varka wonders if he should have come at a different time of day - though there’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him it wouldn’t have made a difference. The sky grew dark the closer Varka got to the island, and when he left his knights, it was barely sundown.

The graveyard is quiet, though Varka thinks he can occasionally hear whispers of voices carried on the wind and wonders if they belong to the ghosts of the cemetery. He’s been to Mondstadt’s cemetery time and time again to pay respects to the fallen and does his best to visit families whenever he’s back in the city and has some extra time. The ghosts of Mondstadt have always been quiet, though.

Occasionally, Varka feels something tugging at his clothes or hair, but he doesn’t see anything through the thick fog. Even the lantern he’d brought barely lets him see a few feet in front of his face.

Varka has somehow made his way back to the shore when the fog seems to lessen, even though he can’t recall the path sloping downwards. Honestly, it feels like he’s been going around in circles and Varka’s just about to give up and head back to his knights when he catches sight of the gorgeous and breathtaking gentleman he’d seen in the tavern several days ago.

He finds himself unable to pull his eyes away.

The man seems to be tending to the gravestones, down on one knee as he brushes away dirt and pebbles with an elegant gloved hand before laying down a small bundle of flowers. He presses that same gloved hand to his chest, yellow eyes fluttering closed and pale lips moving in what Varka assumes to be a prayer. The man stands, long and dark hair curtaining his face and fair features as he bows briefly to the grave and moves to the next one.

A bright blue lantern glows at his hip, cutting through the fog. It almost seems to serve as a protective ward of sorts - Varka can barely see any fog that surrounds the man’s figure.

He’s so pretty, what the fuck, Varka thinks, and promptly runs face-first into the biggest gravestone that he has ever had the misfortune to come across.

Pain blooms across the whole upper half of his face and Varka trips several steps back, swearing viciously. The light touch of a hand on his right wrist and elbow has Varka jerking back, instinctively lifting his other hand to summon his claymore, forcing one tear-bleary eye open and stares.

Moonstone yellow eyes stare back at him, concerned and maybe a little amused, chin tucked into a high collar with dark blue hair framing regal features. Varka’s breath hitches. He’s gorgeous - ethereal in his beauty. Varka can’t quite believe someone like him just… exists.

“You are disturbing the spirits.”

Dear Celestia, this man has the softest voice despite the clear reprimand.

“It is my duty to ensure they can rest quietly. Please do not try to reawaken a malevolent spirit, as it has not gone well in the past. The tranquility is quite nice.” A slight head tilt. “Although blood is quite potent, there are many other rituals that do not involve bodily harm.”

“No, I’m just clumsy.” Varka’s response sounds nasally as he keeps one hand pressed to his face, trying to stagnate his bleeding nose, the other hanging loosely by his side, completely forgetting about the handkerchief he was going to grab.

He can barely feel the dull, aching pain that radiates across his face, completely enraptured by the man standing before him.

“Oh?” A slight twitch of pale lips, a warm, playful sparkle lighting up those inexpressive eyes. “I’ve heard a great many stories about Mondstadt’s renowned Grand Master’s prowess on the battlefield and how he moves like the wind dances. “Or perhaps that’s just what they are, merely stories of a warrior, and it was a grave mistake on my part to believe them.”

Several thoughts start to run rampant through Varka’s head. There’s a voice in the back of his head yelling at him to defend his honor and another telling him to be more concerned about the blood dripping down the back of his throat, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when the pretty man knows who he is.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone speak like him before. It’s like poetry.

He smells nice. Sort of like Frostlamp flowers and freshly fallen snow.

I wonder what he’s doing here in this cemetery…

Is this Flins? Is the pretty man the one everyone seems to be so wary of?

He seems polite and… gentlemanly… and… oh, he’s waiting for me to say something, isn’t he?

Hm.

Maybe Varka hit his head harder than he thought.

“I was distracted,” is what comes out of Varka’s mouth instead.

Now, Varka is not one to blush easily, but he’s glad to already be covering half of his face. He’ll blame the blood loss for his lack of filter. It’s worth a little humiliation if he can be graced with that small, amused smile on pretty lips again. Varka’s heart trips in his chest at the sight of it.

“I mean, well,” Varka starts, haltingly, “the battlefield is different than a foggy, rocky path in an unfamiliar terrain… and wait, was that a pun?”

“What brings you to the Final Night Cemetery?” The man doesn’t answer Varka’s question, though the slight crinkle of his eyes gives away his amusement. “Not many people are willing to step a foot further past the shore.” He takes a half step away and Varka tries not to mourn the loss.

“I’m looking for someone named Flins.” Varka admits, wincing at the amount of blood coating his hands when he pulls them away. “My knights and I lost a bunch of our supplies to some Frostnight Scions and we’re due north in a couple days. Some of the Ratnik told us that someone lives here.”

The man blinks at him, almost cat-like in nature. One hand is tucked politely behind his back, the other holding his lantern out. The blue flame inside seems to pulse slightly, flickering behind the glass. The man’s eyes flick down to his lantern, then up to Varka.

Varka stares back. Slowly puts the pieces together.

“Oh. You’re Flins, aren’t you?”

“That I am.” Flins gives him the tiniest of smiles, followed by an elegant bow. 

“Do you really think cereal is a soup?” Varka blurts.

“I see you’ve met Illuga.” Flins muses. “What I think of that matter is unimportant. What’s important is that you come with me and deal with that injury of yours. You can look through what I have for supplies afterwards.”

“Appreciate it,” Varka can’t really offer his usual charming smile, because it hurts his face. He really hopes that this won’t turn into a black eye. He also might be concussed.

Flins seems to pause for a moment, pale eyes darting over Varka’s bloodied face before he turns on his heel and sets off down the path without another word. The light from his lantern almost seems to repel the fog around them, cutting through the dense haze with ease.

As Varka follows behind, he swears he sees Flins’ frame flicker with a pale, blue-white flame.