Egeria felt... restless.
Almost bored.
Which was weird.
That curious itch at the edge of her existence — not pain, not yearning, not even boredom, exactly, but a sense of imbalance. Restlessness. As though the flow of Teyvat had deviated ever so slightly from its course. It was a strange feeling. She hadn't felt anything like it in centuries.
The last time she did, she'd left the boundless calm of the Primordial Sea and birthed a nation from still waters.
That nation was Fontaine.
Contrary to popular belief, Egeria was not the embodiment of rules, laws, or justice.
She hadn't done it out of obligation. No. The Oceanids she had once created — curious, impulsive beings — had begged her to give them form, voice, and flesh. They wanted to live not as reflections in water but as real people, as mortals. They longed to walk on land, to build cities, to love and to quarrel, to laugh and to weep. Egeria had obliged, not out of affection, but because denying them would've been… tedious.
And so, she gave them structure. Order. A system of laws that mimicked the calm stillness she valued. A construct of justice — not because she believed in it, but because humans needed rules or they fell apart.
The act had drawn the wrath of the Heavenly Principles. Fontaine had been cursed.
Egeria? She thought it was mildly annoying at best.
The little Oceanid who had begged her to grant them humanity would, in her words, "figure it out eventually."
That was that.
Stoic, aloof, unbothered by petty rules or the opinions of others—that was Egeria. She existed on her own axis, far removed from the emotions and concerns of mortals.
So for her to feel restless again?
Unusual.
"I suppose a walk wouldn't hurt," she murmured to herself, brushing aside the divine mist that clung to her form like a silken veil.
And so she did.
Wandering through the winding marble pathways and cascading canals of early Fontaine, she watched the world she'd shaped through the veil of apathy. The people moved in patterns. Predictable. Busy. Content. But she kept walking—past markets, past courts, past shimmering waters—until something caught her attention.
Far north, in the quiet mountains far beyond the city's border, she felt something… off.
A presence.
A flicker of disturbance in the fabric of her creation.
Curious now—truly curious—Egeria ascended toward the snowy ridges, a mere blink carrying her across the distances.
The rocky path that curved through Fontaine's mist-veiled northern mountains was quiet—too quiet. Egeria's heeled steps barely made a sound as she drifted over the moss-covered stones. A veil of clouds clung low over the land, swallowing up the sun and painting the world in cold hues of blue and grey. Normally, she would have found peace in such an environment—stillness was something she understood, something she often craved.
But not today.
Her restlessness had brought her here, to the very edges of Fontaine's civilized borders. She hadn't even fully understood why she came—only that she needed to move, to feel something new. After all, what god did not grow weary of the predictable passage of time?
It was the faint scent of blood that made her stop.
She turned her head slowly, nostrils flaring with divine sensitivity. The scent wasn't strong—just a thread carried by the mountain breeze. But it was there. Recent. Human.
Egeria followed it in silence, the terrain beginning to slope upward as she moved through narrow mountain passes and into a small clearing surrounded by jagged rock walls. Her gaze sharpened.
Several bodies lay strewn across the earth. Adult humans—five in total—wearing crude armor and patched-together cloaks. Blood soaked into the soil beneath them, pooling around their motionless forms. She recognized the markings: mountain traffickers. Vermin who snatched away Fontaine's poor and desperate to sell them across seas or into the underworld's pits.
But it wasn't the bodies that drew her attention.
It was the child standing in the middle of the carnage, a rusted dagger still clutched tightly in his trembling hands.
He looked no older than six or seven. His dark, tousled hair fell messily over his forehead, sticking slightly to his blood-smeared cheek. His clothes were tattered and soaked, and his small frame trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion and the lingering sting of pain. A shallow gash marked his left shoulder, and one of his sleeves was torn off entirely.
Egeria's gaze dropped lower.
The back of his right hand glowed faintly, the unmistakable shimmer of a freshly awakened Hydro Vision pulsing beneath grime and bruises.
Fascinating.
The boy didn't notice her at first. He was breathing heavily, glaring at one of the fallen traffickers as if the man might yet rise again. But then—he looked up. His gaze locked onto Egeria's, and for a moment, the world held its breath.
There was no fear in his eyes. No awe. Just quiet determination and something... far older than a child should carry.
"…You're not with them, are you?" he asked quietly, voice hoarse.
Egeria tilted her head. "No," she replied, her voice calm, smooth like still water. "I am not."
The boy lowered his dagger. Slowly.
"Good. Then I don't need to stab you."
That made her lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. Not a smile, but close. She stepped closer, and the boy didn't flinch. He simply watched her with sharp, guarded curiosity.
"You killed them?" she asked, casting a glance at the bodies.
The boy nodded once. "They were going to sell us. Me and the others. But they split us up. I waited until they let their guard down."
She looked at his hands. Small. Raw. Still tightly gripping the dagger despite the pain.
"You're injured," she said.
He blinked, as if only now realizing it. "Oh… yeah. I guess I am."
Egeria slowly knelt before him, her flowing robes pooling around her like mist. She extended her hand.
"Let me see."
The boy hesitated.
"…Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"…A knight?"
"No."
"Then who are you?"
"I am Egeria," she said softly. "The one who created Fontaine."
His eyes widened a fraction. "You're a god?"
"I am."
A long pause.
"…Will you punish me?"
She stared at him for a moment, genuinely surprised by the question. "Why would I?"
"I killed people."
"You protected yourself. You protected others," she said, brushing a lock of hair from his face. "That is not a sin."
The boy's body sagged slightly. His grip on the dagger loosened. Finally, he let it fall.
"…I don't have anywhere to go," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"Your family?"
"Gone."
Egeria could have left it there. She could have offered him food, treatment, and shelter in a temple and returned to her realm. That was what a detached deity would do.
But she didn't.
Instead, she lifted her hand again, this time brushing her fingers along the mark of his Vision.
"Do you know what this is?"
He nodded slowly. "It… started glowing when I got really mad. I don't know how. I just felt the water answer me."
"Hydro," she murmured. "And not a gift from me. That means you were chosen."
"Chosen?" he echoed.
"By the world," she said. "By fate."
He stared at her in silence, still trying to understand.
Egeria's eyes softened. For the first time in a very long time, something stirred within her chest. A gentle pull. Curiosity, yes—but something more. Something warm and protectively fierce.
A child without a past. Bearing a Vision. Surrounded by death, and yet utterly unbroken.
It had been centuries since she last took a pupil. Perhaps it was time again.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"…Kyle," he said.
She smiled faintly almost invisible, rising to her feet.
"Come with me, Kyle," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You will not be alone again. From this day forward, I will be your teacher."
The boy's eyes widened. He didn't speak. Didn't ask questions. He simply followed when she turned.
And so, the creator of Fontaine walked down the mountain, her robes flowing like a river behind her, a bloodstained child trailing in her shadow—unknowingly stepping back into a world he had once helped shape.