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By assassinating Varka, she would finally obtain the perfect inspiration to write her novel. That was what Nicole had thought when she hurried toward the Knights of Favonius’ camp, determined to see whether her plan had worked.
The problem, unfortunately, was that she could not have foreseen that very evening the knights would light an enormous bonfire, singing, shouting, and drinking the very wine she had intended to confiscate in order to provoke a reaction from the man whose constant smile never seemed to falter, whose energy and strength appeared impossible to unbalance.
So she found herself crouched behind the low stone wall of the camp, arms crossed and lips pursed in a sulk, thinking it might be wiser to wait for another day or intercept the next shipment of wine to ensure her objective could be fulfilled. And yet she did not have the luxury of time. Her novel would not write itself, and that infernal writer’s block had refused to leave her alone for days. She needed something, anything, to prove to herself that writing crime novels was the right choice.
After all, it was the only genre she could attempt. Love was forbidden, and she did not even know what it was, what that bond between two people truly meant.
And yet, lately, perhaps after the previous clash with Dottore, something kept her from staying away from Nod-Krai and closer to the Hexenzirkel.
Amid the songs echoing Mondstadt’s culture, her ears could not help but distinguish his voice from all the others. She turned to leave, but a burst of laughter sparked something in her chest that froze her in place and made her look back over the wall.
Varka had just finished another mug of wine, winning whatever contest he had struck with one of his soldiers, who now lay collapsed on the ground halfway through his drink, hiccupping in surrender.
Even from a distance, Nicole could hear the knights cheering, calling out their Grand Master’s name. Varka raised his mug like a war trophy. Sitting with his legs spread and posture as relaxed as it was merry, he spoke, his words slippery and indistinct from where she stood.
It was clear how much he thrived in that kind of life. Carefree joy. Competition. Wagers. Constantly testing his strength and endurance in whatever challenge fate placed before him. The same man who, after passing their trial, had departed, renouncing his destiny as a Hero to save his people, placing others’ suffering before his own.
His determination unsettled Nicole, so different from the humans she had encountered along her path.
Teyvat had gifted them a man of incredible strength, a Knight of Boreas carrying on a bloodline destined for extinction.
Her gaze changed. It deepened. Her brows softened as she placed her hands against the rocky wall to study his features more closely. She did not know why, but despite the celebration, there was a veil of clarity crossing his face that made her suspect he was not nearly as drunk as he appeared.
Nicole leaned a little further.
That was when Varka turned his head toward her.
Her heart flipped before she could stop it. She ducked back behind the wall, pressing a hand to her chest.
What is happening? she wondered, staring at the flower swaying by her shoe in the wind, as though something inside her had just been lit. Did he see me?
“Yes, I’ve seen you for quite a while now, Miss Nicole.”
The voice behind her made her tilt her head slightly to the left. Without flinching, without a trace of embarrassment at being discovered, Nicole met the most expressive, luminous, and unexpectedly kind blue eyes she had ever imagined in her literary fantasies. At his roguish, playful smile, she found herself smiling back, stepping subtly away from the scent of alcohol on his breath, though they were not particularly close.
Varka always kept a certain distance from her.
Not once had he crossed it.
“Oops. I suppose I spoke out loud,” she said, bringing a hand to her lips.
Varka made a face. “I’m not sure that qualifies as speaking. Your voice echoed inside my head. Louder than usual.” He tapped his temple, swaying slightly. “Must be the wine.” He laughed heartily.
“At the first opportunity, you can’t resist getting drunk, Mister Varka,” the mage teased gently.
“You said it yourself: first opportunity. A knight should never waste a fine moment to enjoy good wine.” As he spoke, he lifted his mug and finished another round. He exhaled, feeling the warmth of alcohol travel down his throat. “In any case, what is a mage doing in my camp in the middle of the night?”
Nicole crossed her arms, still smiling. “I was passing through. Amsvartnir is close to your camp, but… I was looking for inspiration.”
She watched as Varka shrugged off his uniform jacket, remaining in a black shirt, partially unbuttoned to reveal part of his chest. Wait… why was she noticing that?
“I know exactly what you need for inspiration.” He stepped forward, pulled open a barrel with a small hunting knife, and the rich scent of wine filled the air. He took a clean mug and held it out to her. “A good drink clears the mind.”
He smiled, open, sincere, as if that simple solution could solve the troubles of the world.
“I think I prefer tea,” Nicole replied, scratching her cheek uncertainly.
“Oh, come on. One glass can only do you good. Have you ever drunk before?”
“Yes. A few… a few times.”
What a lie. When have you ever drunk with a human? she scolded herself.
“Then let this be the first time.” Varka placed the mug in her hand and sat down on the grass, gazing toward the floating stones of Amsvartnir.
Nicole swallowed. Had she spoken again instead of thinking? Was she truly beginning to lose the ability to distinguish her voice from her thoughts? She flushed with embarrassment and sat more gracefully upon the grass, watching the rosy liquid shimmer beneath the moonlight.
One glass could not possibly do any harm… could it?
Varka’s mug entered her vision. When she lifted her eyes, she realized he was studying her with a different look, just as he had before the war against Dottore. He was revealing that more open, more troubled part of himself. That faint hesitation when he considered doing something that strayed from his code, from the kind of man he believed he ought to be.
Nicole knew Varka never lied. And yet there was always a trace of melancholy when his eyes did not shine.
“Shouldn’t you be joining the others?” she asked, clinking her mug lightly against his.
Varka chuckled. “They’re all out cold. And tonight it’s my turn to stand watch. I hold back, but I don’t deprive myself.” He drank again, turning his gaze toward the landscape. “It’s not bad, having a bit of company.”
Nicole smiled. “Don’t get used to it. We mages are very busy.”
“Then I’d like to enjoy this night as much as I can.”
Nicole paused with the mug just inches from her lips.
I always knew it.
She narrowed her eyes slightly and took a sip.
It burned. Such a strong flavor that she should have coughed. Yet she did not. No discomfort came. Because something else was making its way down her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach. A sensation that grew stronger every time she noticed the way Varka looked at her and then immediately stepped back, just as he was doing now.
“Drinking under the moonlight with an angel. No one would ever believe it.” Varka joked, letting the mug sway from the arm resting on his knee. “Once I told a mercenary everything I’d done for Mondstadt: the battle with Dvalin, working alongside Barbatos, the Hexenzirkel’s trial. And he didn’t believe me!” He groaned in drunken despair. “But I really did it! I’ve faced so many trials that people should believe it the moment they see me in action!”
Nicole laughed softly. “An ordinary mortal could never live through all that. You… are the exception to the rule.”
She saw Varka lower his gaze, still smiling. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
“I keep a closer eye on you than you might think, Mister Varka.”
“Why?”
Nicole drank again. “You’re an excellent ally.”
Perhaps it was not what Varka had wanted to hear, because his shoulders sank with a sigh and he emptied his mug in a single swallow.
After all, what could he expect from a woman created by the Heavenly Principles to safeguard humanity? She could only see the advantage in a strength like his. With Dottore defeated, the “boundaries” had been restored for now, though his work in Nod-Krai was far from over.
What he had seen in the scryglass had yet to come to pass.
What had happened had already reshaped Teyvat’s destiny, but what would endanger Mondstadt, and the entire world, had not yet been stopped. And who knew whether Nicole understood that. Who knew if she could grasp the unrest stirring inside him. Should he tell her? Would she understand?
He shook his head, resisting the alcohol that threatened to tear down the barriers he had built around himself. He could not allow the hope he had ignited in so many hearts to crumble.
That burden had to remain his alone.
Even if he wished Nicole could see who he truly was. That she would understand those doubts about his strength were not a joke.
He looked at her, losing himself in her unnatural beauty. He held out the mug again and grinned.
“Another round?” he offered.
Nicole did not meet his eyes, but she extended her arm and accepted.
**
Neither of them knew exactly when it had happened.
But somehow they had drunk far more than they should have, until the entire barrel was empty and they were laughing like fools beneath Teyvat’s star-filled sky.
If Varka had completely unbuttoned his shirt from the heat blazing through him, Nicole had removed her hat and slipped off the sleeves of her dress. Her cheeks were flushed, her senses hazy from the wine that had intoxicated her far too quickly to let her fully understand what was happening around her.
She only knew that Varka was beautiful.
That the sweat beading across his broad chest, decorated with more scars than she could count, made her feel unbearably warm, and at the same time reminded her not to cross the line she had imposed upon herself. That feeling she had sworn never to know.
“S-So…” Varka hiccupped, finishing the last glass. “Y-You came here to assassinate me?!”
“Not in the literal sense of the, of the word!” Nicole gestured animatedly, though her words were not truly leaving her mouth. Perhaps spending too much time among humans had influenced her in ways she did not understand. “I-I needed inspiration to write my crime novel. I can’t figure out how to overcome this block!”
Varka leaned his head back against the stone wall and groaned. “I wish my problems were that small… thinking killing someone might solve everything…”
“H-Hey! Writing a novel is a dilemma!” Nicole protested indignantly.
Varka reopened one eye to study her in all her majestic beauty. In that authenticity the alcohol had drawn to the surface, dissolving the barriers of someone who refused to grant him even the smallest satisfaction.
“You’re a dilemma too, Miss Nicole,” he murmured, not realizing the words had escaped him.
Nicole froze.
Varka had turned his gaze toward the sky, a faint smile curving his lips, made even more unreadable by the blush on his cheekbones.
“Since the day I met you, my life has become more difficult to manage,” he admitted, perhaps too honestly. “Being a Grand Master comes with duties and responsibilities. I always believed I had everything under control. Until you arrived. You’re something…” He lifted his hand slightly. “…something that’s there, yet I cannot even touch. I’ve wanted many things in my life, and given up just as many. But you…”
“It’s really hot up here…”
Varka lowered his head.
Nicole was running a hand through her hair, staring past the edge of Amsvartnir, toward the shining clearing and the lake below. But her profile was tinged with sadness and unease he could not bear to see.
He frowned, realizing he had said too much, that he was letting the alcohol take over. He would only make her uncomfortable. And that could spark a wrath, and a punishment, neither of them could afford.
“You’re right. I’m drenched in sweat. Do you know what that means?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Wh-what-whoa!”
Nicole barely had time to speak before she found herself swept into Varka’s arms in the blink of an eye, instinctively clutching at his neck without even considering the position they were in.
“It means we need a proper bath!” he laughed loudly. “Hold on tight!”
“Wait-!”
Once again, Nicole found herself speechless, because Varka bent his knees and, harnessing Anemo, launched himself into the air, plunging into the void. She did not know whether it was the alcohol or whether she was simply undone in the circle of his arms, but she could have pulled away and flown on her own. Instead, she let him carry her, landing against the rocky wall with each leap until they reached the bottom of the precipice, standing before the lake she had been watching, a long-abandoned Seelie dwelling.
Gently, Varka set her down on the grass. Then he removed his shirt entirely, remaining bare-chested, and slipped off his boots so his feet could press against the damp threads of the night. Without giving her time to speak or stop him, he ran along the edge of the lake and dove in with such force that water splashed all the way to her, forcing her to shield herself with an arm.
When she opened her eyes again, she widened them at the sight of him emerging from the water, pushing his blond hair back as a liberating laugh escaped him, one he had been holding in for far too long.
It was a gesture meant to forget, to think of something else. An awkward attempt to show her, in his own way, that he was fine. That no one was doing it wrong that night.
“Come on, Miss Nicole! Care to join me for a swim?” His hand rose from the water in invitation. “It’ll help sober you up, I promise!”
Nicole bit the inside of her cheek, mesmerized by how the night’s atmosphere and the reflections dancing on the lake sculpted Varka’s smile so vividly that she could not look away.
What was happening?
This was not how things were meant to go. She had accepted the idea of assassinating Varka, of playing that cruel trick, because Alice had supported the choice. But perhaps… was it possible she had done it because, deep down, she wanted to be with him? To see him despair over her actions, as had once happened with Kuvvahki?
She rose to her feet. Before Varka’s stunned eyes, she shed her dress, remaining in her top and stockings. Her movements were slow, not hesitant: steady. She did not meet the Grand Master’s gaze, yet she could feel how utterly speechless he had become. She removed her shoes, unable to suppress the flush spreading across her cheeks, the warmth this time had nothing to do with alcohol, and ran toward the water, slipping the ribbon from behind her neck to let her hair fall free.
She was doing this for the Seelie. To feel connected to them.
That was the truth.
The only truth.
She wanted to feel like an angel.
But as she dove in, she failed to consider a rather important detail.
I don’t know how to swim. I’ve never swum.
When her feet no longer touched the ground, Nicole sank, a small cry echoing in Varka’s mind at the same moment the thought pierced it.
“Nicole!” he called.
The muffled embrace of water swallowed her.
How humiliating, she thought, sinking without even kicking to fight the depths wrapping around her. For the first time, she had tried to do something human, but she had not been created to be like them. Those features, those habits, she had chosen them out of curiosity, wanting to blend in, not to replicate every frailty.
Was the alcohol powerful enough to erase her certainty?
Strong arms wrapped around her.
Within seconds, she was back at the surface. She coughed lightly, her hands instinctively grasping something firm yet warm and sculpted beneath her fingers. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was afloat because of Varka’s arms, which were not letting her go.
Their bodies were pressed close, more bare than they had ever been since they met.
Nicole felt her heart stop for a moment, her eyes widening, but the anxious, frightened look in Varka’s erased everything else.
“That was too close. Forgive me,” he whispered, water dripping down their bodies. “If I had known you couldn’t swim, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
Nicole barely processed the words.
On impulse, one of her hands left his shoulder and rose to his cheek, brushing the scar that did not mar his face but completed it.
Varka froze. Stopped speaking. Stopped breathing. His expression shifted, overtaken by something new; a realization that made his arms loosen slightly around her back, out of respect.
But that was what she had always admired in him.
The natural way he did things, with a heart far too pure.
Her fingers traced his skin, lingering, then slipping into his blond strands to clear his forehead, studying those features as though she had never seen anything so extraordinary, and yet so ordinary, in her life.
This had been building for some time. They both knew it.
Neither of them admitted it, because these circumstances should never have come to pass.
Since her birth, Nicole had been taught that her love must encompass everyone equally, never favoring one above the rest. To guide humanity toward salvation. To be a spiritual model without taking sides. And now, as a mage, she was meant to uphold the rules and balance of the world without growing too attached to the very humans she was meant to protect.
“This is not love,” she said, even as her hand continued to caress his face, absorbing its warmth, studying him as though she had never encountered anything so astonishing.
Varka pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam’s apple move. His fingers traced faint lines against her pale, smooth skin, and for a fleeting moment he feared the calluses on his hands might hurt her.
“Yeah… This is not love.”
“We’re just drunk.”
His hands drifted lower, hidden beneath the water. The alcohol was clouding his mind, making his heartbeat race without effort.
“So… nobody can judge me if I let you stay here tonight,” he murmured, his voice rough.
Nicole wet her lips and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again.
“Hold your breath,” she said.
For a moment, Varka did not understand.
But he did as she asked.
The mage’s hands settled on his shoulders and pushed down with force, driving him beneath the surface.
He was caught off guard, submerged within seconds, Nicole’s body pressing against him to keep them far enough from the surface. He did not let her go, he would not lose her in those depths, but before he could gather a single coherent thought, her hands framed his face and guided him forward, until his lips met hers.
Varka’s eyes flew open, alarm striking his mind.
But his heart was too overpowered by that fleeting taste of freedom to resist.
His body responded on instinct.
His arms tightened around Nicole; their chests collided as the kiss deepened. He closed his eyes and moved his lips against hers with growing urgency. With a sure motion, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and claimed her. Nicole clung to him, arms looped behind his neck, meeting him in that silent battle. Bubbles escaped from their lips when the fervor grew too intense, when they stopped caring where they were or how much air they were wasting.
Beneath the surface, there was another world, a mirror reflecting a past that threatened to repeat itself, something that, to those who ruled above, would have to be dismissed as nothing more than a hallucination.
Their lips moved hungrily, as though they had desired this contact for far too long to understand when it was time to stop. They wanted to savor it to the very end, because neither knew whether they would ever have another chance like this, when alcohol, the convenient lie they told to mock fate, allowed them to meet in the shadow of a world as cruel as it was beautiful.
A shadow where there was no angel. No Knight of Boreas.
Varka carried them back to the surface.
They emerged slowly, drawing in the breath they had held with quick, unsteady gasps, their foreheads resting against one another.
When Varka opened his eyes, he met the rare, extraordinary color of Nicole’s gaze. He had seen remarkable creatures in his life. Faced madness and miracles alike. But the eyes of this angel bore no resemblance to anything in his dreams.
Neither of them spoke at first. Only the droplets striking the water’s surface, sliding from their faces and hair, marked the time they had spent submerged, the temptation to do it again, and the knowledge that they could not dare go further than they already had.
Seeing Nicole’s flushed face, feeling her warm breath, tasting an expression so different from the amused, distant composure she wore when speaking of disasters as though they were trivial, for a moment, Varka offered a silent prayer rising straight from his heart.
I wish I could have you like this every day…
“I’ve figured out how to break through my writer’s block,” Nicole said at last. “The detective is an angel who decides to abandon her duty and become a Seelie. But by fate’s design, she ends up partnering with a human detective to solve a murder.”
Varka paused for a long moment.
Then he smiled, exhaling through his nose.
“That sounds more original than blowing everything up like Klee,” he laughed.
Nicole followed, more softly. “You’re absolutely right.”
**
They returned to shore.
Varka lay on his back, staring up at the suspended temple, counting every Seelie his alcohol-clouded mind believed it could see. Nicole was tying her hair back, using her Pyro to dry her body and clothes more quickly. After a while, Varka sighed and spread his arms, wanting to feel like that glory-seeking boy again.
“Do you think the true Andrius would be proud of me?” he asked suddenly, yawning loudly.
Nicole looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I know the whole story of the real Andrius. A part of him lingers in this place,” he explained, his tone darker than usual, though edged with sleep. “But lately, I feel like something has changed.”
“In theory, shouldn’t your expedition be nearing its end, Varka?”
An hesitation.
“There are still hordes of the Wild Hunt to eliminate. When it’s over, I’ll return to my beloved Mondstadt… but…” He frowned. “I don’t know if my heart will endure much longer.”
Nicole smiled, still braiding her hair. “Your heart has survived so many battles, and it cannot withstand being far from home?”
Silence.
When no answer came for more than ten seconds, Nicole turned and realized Varka had fallen asleep, undone by alcohol and exhaustion.
She could not suppress a small, silent laugh.
Carefully, she used Pyro to warm his body and dry his clothes. Then she dressed and rose to her feet. She looked up at the sky, at the dawn about to unfold, and then her gaze returned to Varka, his scars, the history etched into them. How much he must have endured. How much he had seen in his mortality.
He had given so much of himself that perhaps it was no wonder they called him a legend.
But to her, he was only a human being to observe.
She turned her back on him and unfurled her wings just enough to rise and retrieve the rest of her garments from above, bitterness crossing her face.
She would never forget that night.
**
When sunlight struck his face, Varka awoke.
With a groggy grunt, he sat up and rubbed his neck, his head pounding from too much alcohol. He realized he was at Amsvartnir and that his shirt had been draped over him like a blanket. He picked it up to put it on, but something slipped from inside it.
A small Dodoco.
Varka smiled and tilted his head, tossing the little creature into the air. It burst into golden confetti of magic, the same Nicole had used to help them bring down the moon.
But his expression soon darkened again, sober with awareness. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling a strained, weary heartbeat battling around the single fragment he guarded as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
Because it was.
He could not allow the Abyss to prevail over Andrius, over the Wild Hunt, over his homeland.
He would do anything to prevent that fate from coming to pass, even if it cost him his life.
He only hoped that Nicole… if he failed… would not let her will collapse under the weight of grief.