//I apologise for my absence, I am having lots of things to do, Learning animations and Pre production course, Is taking a lot of my time and creative quote. It is really stressful so I haven't been able to write.//
"Not so fast—!"
Suddenly, she was swept into the air.
Strong arms held her tightly as a figure sprinted across the broken earth, heading toward the distant lavender light.
"Come on—QUICK!" another voice shouted from ahead.
She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even understand what was happening.
'What… is going on…?'
That thought echoed once, then faded into darkness as her body went limp.
---
She was laid gently onto the glowing field of flowers.
The warmth of the petals met her skin—like sunlight in a world that had never known day.
Faint voices drifted around her...
"Do you think she's alive?"
"She has to be, right?"
"...Why is she naked?"
The world was muffled, underwater, distant.
And then—
She stirred.
Her fingers twitched. Her breathing deepened.
Her eyes fluttered open, barely more than a squint against the faint glow.
"She's awake," someone whispered.
A man with a white coat—his face tired, kind.
---
"Where... am I...?" her voice was hoarse, dry, foreign to her own ears.
She blinked.
Three figures surrounded her.
A woman. A man. A girl.
She was wrapped in a blanket—soft, unfamiliar.
It clung to her bruised skin like a promise.
She ran her hand across the fabric, eyes wide.
"What is... this?"
---
"Easy there," said the man in the white coat, crouching down. "You almost died. Are you okay?"
"Of course she's not okay, Jimmy!" the woman snapped, kneeling down beside her. Her sharp heels clicked even against the soft glow of the flowers. Her necklace shimmered, catching what little light there was.
"My name is Patrica, my dear. You're safe now. Can you tell us your name?"
---
The woman hesitated.
Her voice barely escaped her lips.
"I... I don't know. I don't have a name."
It hung in the air like a wound.
---
"That's not good," the girl piped up. She scooted closer, eyes wide with innocent concern.
"Everyone should have a name."
She paused.
"How about… Ashlyn?"
Patrica sighed and gently tugged the girl back. "Dean, give her some space."
But the woman—now named—reached out slightly.
She gave a tiny nod. Her eyes glimmered with something almost forgotten.
"It's alright…"
A small, fragile smile crept onto her lips.
"I like it."
---
That was the first time the Abyss heard her name.
Ashlyn.
Back in the present... deep within the Abyss.
The air was thick. Alive. Groaning with whispers.
Ashlyn sat still, the flickering glow of corrupted flora casting eerie shadows across her pale, bruised skin. Cradled in her arms was the man-child—silent, blank-eyed, tucked close to her chest like a forgotten doll.
"They were kind people..."
Her voice trembled like a candle in the wind.
"But memories like those... they burn."
She gently ran her fingers through the boy's matted hair, as if trying to comfort herself more than him.
"They found me when I was nothing. Naked. Bleeding. Barely alive."
Her hands paused.
"Jimmy had this coat..." she whispered, voice cracking. "Patrica… these heels. And Dean picked this dress out because she thought it would attract her crush... But they died here...."
She chuckled once, bitterly.
"I tore them from their corpses after the monsters got to them. When I wasn't looking. When I wasn't fast enough."
Her voice broke now. Tears slid freely down her face.
"I wear them so I won't forget. Not their faces. Not their warmth. Not my failure."
She looked down at the child in her arms and wiped her eyes quickly, forcing composure.
"But I'm telling you this… not for pity."
She leaned in close.
"They gave me something I never had before. A name."
Her lips curled into a broken smile.
"Ashlyn."
She slapped the boy's cheek lightly, playfully.
"And I think you deserve one too."
She cradled him again, tighter this time.
"How about Ash? It's short for Ashlyn. I'm not good with names but… you deserve to be someone."
Then—
A scream shattered the stillness.
"HELP ME!!"
A girl was sprinting across the black terrain, limping, arms flailing.
Ashlyn didn't move. Didn't blink.
"They ate my son!" the woman screamed, approaching the edge of the glowing field.
Just as she reached the boundary—
A dozen black limbs lashed out.
She was yanked back into the dark.
Her scream didn't echo.
Just silence. And the sound of something chewing.
Ashlyn looked down at Ash again. Her eyes glistening, but cold now.
"You can't save everyone."
Her voice was soft. Final.
"And this time.... I will just settle with you ... One is enough... One person is enough... As long as you don't leave me too....."
In Mondstad
The streets of Mondstadt glistened in the soft golden light of morning, the wind carrying the smell of fresh bread from the bakeries. Bells chimed faintly in the distance as Frieda stepped into the plaza, her boots tapping lightly against the cobblestones.
Katheryne stood at her usual post outside the Adventurer's Guild, her posture perfect as always.
Frieda offered a warm smile. "To the Stars and the Abyss… That's what it means, right? But why is it the motto?"
Katheryne's reply came in the same calm tone, though sharper—more mechanical—than the voices Frieda would hear centuries later.
"That is because the origins of the Guild lie in a nation destroyed not long ago… Access denied. I am sorry, but I cannot disclose further details."
Frieda tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Nevermind. I wasn't looking for a history lesson anyway. I'm here to join the Guild."
One year had passed in the world of Teyvat.
The Sumeru desert shimmered under a merciless sun, waves of heat bending the horizon. A lone figure moved steadily across the sands, her shadow stretching long and thin across the dunes.
Her skin, kissed by light but untouched by age, glowed beneath the veil of white cloth that shielded her golden hair from the swirling grit. She wore the weathered leather and fabric of a seasoned adventurer—boots dulled by dust, cloak torn at the edges, and a small pack strapped firmly to her back.
Cool blue eyes scanned the endless expanse, sharp and searching.
"Natlan…" Frieda murmured, her voice barely louder than the dry wind that tugged at her scarf. "The last nation… I have to look there as well."
Adjusting her pace, she descended a dune and stepped onto a hardened trail, one of the few trade roads that connected the burning lands of Natlan to Sumeru's borders.
The desert was vast. But her resolve was vaster still.
Frieda's hand flew to her sword as she sprinted toward the source of the alarm.
On the slope ahead, three warriors from the Collective of Plenty were locked in combat with a Yumakusarus whose scales shimmered in unnatural shades of dark violet — a corruption Frieda had never seen before.
To the right, four fighters from the Children of Echoes battled two Secret Source automatons, their gleaming frames marred by strange, shifting hues that looked almost… diseased.
"What in the Archons' name—?!" Frieda slid down the loose gravel, boots skidding as she closed the distance.
One warrior turned, teeth gritted as he parried a heavy blow.
"Stay back, woman! This is a battlefield, not—" he caught the automaton's strike on his shield, "—a kitchen!"
Frieda's glare could've frozen the air. "I'm an adventurer. And a former Knight of Favonius." Her sword flashed free in one smooth motion. "I'm helping — whether you like it or not."
Frieda didn't wait for permission.
In one fluid motion, she ducked under the warrior's raised blade, the wind from the automaton's swing whistling past her hair. Her own sword lit with a pale frost shimmer, the telltale mark of her Cryo mastery.
"Then help quickly, Knight," the warrior muttered, realizing too late she'd already charged forward.
The Yumakusarus shrieked—a sound like stone grinding against bone—and leapt toward one of the Collective fighters. Frieda intercepted, her blade sliding along its jagged claws before she twisted, driving a boot into its abdomen. Frost spread from the impact point, slowing its movements.
On the other side, the Children of Echo warriors were struggling—the altered automations weren't just different in color. Their joints moved with unnatural speed, and every strike was met with a strange hum in the air, as if the machines were drawing power from somewhere unseen.
"What are these things?" Frieda shouted, parrying another blow.
"They're… wrong," one of the Children of Echo fighters grunted. "Not Natlan-made, not Abyss-made either—"
A sudden, pulsing wave of purple energy erupted from the Yumakusarus, knocking everyone back. Frieda slid several feet down the slope, boots carving lines in the dirt.