The seasons in Mondstadt do not so much change as they do gently shift their mood. The fiery passion of summer mellowed into the crisp, golden nostalgia of autumn. Several months had passed since the raid on Warehouse No. 7, and a new, fragile normal had settled over us. The city, blissfully unaware of the crisis that had been averted in its dark underbelly, continued its cheerful, bustling existence. But for me, for the 8th Company, and for my friends, the world was irrevocably different.
My own change was the most profound, a secret fire stoked by the awakening of my second Knight. Eternal Arms Mastery was not a bombastic, flashy power like an Elemental Burst. It was a quiet, fundamental rewriting of my entire physical existence. It was in the perfect, unconscious balance I held while walking. It was in the flawless, fluid motion with which I'd draw my sword. It was in the unnerving calm that settled over me in the training yard, a calm born of absolute, perfect confidence.
The training yard was where the change was most obvious to others.
"Again!" Eula's voice was a sharp crack in the cool autumn air, her face flushed with a mixture of exertion and disbelief.
We were sparring, as we often did in our spare time. But our spars were no longer the evenly matched, dynamic exchanges they once were. They had become a frustrating, one-sided lesson in the meaning of perfection.
She came at me in a flurry, her 'Dance of Frost' more dazzling than ever. She was faster than she had been months ago, her technique more refined. She was a true prodigy, a whirlwind of elegant, deadly strikes. And to me, it was like watching a beautiful, intricate story unfold in slow motion.
My Tactics skill, bolstered by Lancelot's martial genius, didn't just analyze her moves; it understood the intent behind them, the philosophy of her style. I saw not just the lunge, but the shift in her hip that preceded it. I saw not just the spinning slash, but the way she coiled her momentum a half-second before, betraying the attack's trajectory.
I didn't use Mana Burst. I didn't use a single wisp of Anemo. My feet seemed to glide over the packed earth of the yard, my body moving with an unthinking, sublime efficiency. I parried her furious assault with minimal, almost lazy movements. My blade was always exactly where it needed to be, turning aside her sword with a gentle clink, absorbing its momentum, leaving her overextended and off-balance.
"How?" she growled, leaping back to create distance. "How are you doing that? It's like you're not even trying!"
"I am trying, Eula," I said calmly, my stance relaxed but flawless. "I'm trying to keep up."
It was the wrong thing to say. With a cry of pure frustration, she unleashed her most complex combination, a series of feints and lunges designed to overwhelm. It was brilliant. It was also, to my new senses, full of openings. I let her press the attack, letting her believe she had me on the defensive. Then, in the split-second interval between a high slash and a low thrust, I stepped inside her guard, not away from it. My hand shot out and gently tapped the pommel of her sword. The angle was so perfect, the force so precisely applied, that the blade spun from her grasp. It flew through the air in a graceful arc and landed point-down in the dirt a few feet away, quivering like a struck tuning fork.
Silence. The other trainees who had been watching stood in stunned disbelief.
Eula stared at her empty hand, then at me. Her expression wasn't just angry anymore. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine shock, of a deep, professional insecurity. Her entire identity was built on her peerless skill, her unique and superior swordsmanship. And I had just dismantled it. Effortlessly.
Jean, who had been observing from the sidelines, walked over, her face a mask of analytical fascination. "Your form, Arthur… it's perfect. There's no wasted energy. No hesitation. It's like you've been training for a hundred years."
"I've just been practicing," I said, the excuse feeling flimsy even to my own ears.
Eula finally found her voice. She snatched her sword from the ground, her knuckles white. The look she gave me was no longer just one of rivalry; it was one of blazing, renewed purpose. "This… this changes nothing!" she declared, her voice trembling with a passion that was almost terrifying. "I will train until my bones ache! I will study every form, every technique! My vengeance will not be denied by this… this sudden, inexplicable mastery! I will surpass you, Arthur! Mark my words!"
She stormed off, not in a sulk, but towards the training dummies, her practice swings now filled with a desperate, furious energy. I knew I had not broken her spirit; I had ignited it. Our relationship had just become far more complicated.
My life in the 8th Company had also deepened. The initial test was over; now came the real work. The "Serpentine Eye" conspiracy had become our shadow project, a puzzle Kaeya and I worked on in the quiet hours after our normal duties were done.
His office had transformed. The grand map was now dedicated to our investigation. He had taught me the art of link analysis. A red string connected the report of monster aggression near Stone Gate to a report from Lisa about strange, localized ley line tremors. A blue string connected those tremors to the schematics of the destabilizer we'd recovered. And in the center of it all was a drawing of the serpentine eye, a silent question mark from which all strings emanated.
"Never assume a coincidence, Arthur," Kaeya would say, swirling a glass of Dandelion Wine as he studied the board. "The world is a tapestry of cause and effect. Our job is to find the threads that connect seemingly random events. A fisherman scared off by 'strange noises' is a data point. A librarian complaining about flickering lights is a data point. On their own, they are meaningless. Together… they form a pattern."
He was mentoring me, shaping my mind to see the world as he did. I learned to read coded messages, to spot the tells of a liar, to build a network of low-level informants among the city's gossips and beggars. My Instinct skill was invaluable, a built-in lie detector and danger sensor that made me unnervingly effective at this work.
Our first major break came not from a spy, but from a scout. Eula, on a long-range patrol deep in the Whispering Woods, had stumbled upon an abandoned campsite. It was old, several weeks abandoned, but the signs were clear. There were traces of an alchemical ritual, remnants of materials that were not native to Mondstadt, and carved into the trunk of an ancient oak tree was the unmistakable symbol of the serpentine eye.
"She found it by 'pure chance'," Kaeya had said with a knowing smile after reading her report. "Though I suspect Knight Eula's desire to prove her scouting prowess led her further off the beaten path than her orders dictated."
He pinned the location on our map, connecting it to the other points with a new, black thread. "The enemy is getting bolder, or perhaps they were always here, and we simply lacked the eyes to see them. This gives us a new area to focus on. A place where they felt safe enough to perform a ritual." The hunt was no longer confined to the city walls.
With our duties pulling us in different directions, the time our trio spent together became rarer, and more precious. We had a standing tradition to meet at Good Hunter for dinner once a week. It was during one of these evenings, under the warm lantern light, that the growing distance between our paths became starkly clear.
"I spent eight hours today," Jean said, pushing a piece of hash brown around her plate with her fork, "cross-referencing the grain shipment ledgers with the tax revenue reports from the Dawn Winery to forecast the city's food surplus for the winter. Eight. Hours." She looked up, her eyes tired. "I know it's important work. I know a knight's duty isn't all sword fighting. But some days I feel like I'm drowning in paperwork. I feel more like a bureaucrat than the Dandelion Knight." She sighed, looking at us with a touch of envy. "What I wouldn't give for a simple patrol right now."
"You can have mine," Eula grumbled, taking a large bite of her sticky honey roast. "I spent four days mapping the northern ridges. The most exciting part of my week was being chased by an irritated boar. The other knights in my company still treat me like I'm made of glass, or like I might betray them at any moment. They respect my skill, but they don't trust me." She looked at Jean. "You're at the heart of everything, surrounded by people who trust you implicitly. At least you aren't alone."
I listened to them both, a quiet ache in my chest. They each envied the part of the other's life they lacked—Jean craved the freedom and action Eula had, while Eula longed for the purpose and acceptance Jean commanded. And I was in the middle, a silent island. I had action, purpose, and the trust of my captain, but my life was a secret. I couldn't tell Jean that the numbers she was crunching might one day reveal a Fatui plot to manipulate our economy. I couldn't tell Eula that the "boring" woods she patrolled were now the focus of a major national security investigation.
My friends were becoming the pillars of Mondstadt I knew they were destined to be, but my own path was leading me further into the shadows, away from the simple camaraderie we once shared. I was protecting them, but in doing so, I was isolating myself.
Later that night, back in the solitude of my room, I contemplated this new reality. The weight of my secrets was heavy. I needed a distraction, a way to connect with the more tangible side of my power. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on a set of my father's old, discarded woodworking tools he'd given me to practice maintenance on. I picked up a hand plane—a solid block of oak with a heavy, sharpened steel blade. It was a tool for shaping wood, nothing more.
But as I held it, I focused my intent. I did not see it as a tool. I saw it as a weapon.
The effect of Eternal Arms Mastery was instantaneous and startling. My grip shifted instinctively, my fingers finding the perfect points of leverage not for planing wood, but for a devastating strike. My mind was flooded with an innate understanding of its properties—its weight, its balance, its sharp, unforgiving edge. I could see how to use its flat, heavy body to block a sword strike, how to angle the blade to catch and tear at flesh, how to swing it to generate the maximum bludgeoning force. It felt as familiar and as deadly in my hand as my own sword. I put it down and picked up a simple iron chisel. The same thing happened. I instantly knew its piercing capabilities, its weaknesses as a defensive tool, its potential as a vicious, unexpected dagger.
The latent skill was a preview of Knight of Owner. Lancelot could turn anything into a Noble Phantasm because, in his hands, everything was a weapon. The realization was chilling. My power wasn't just about swordsmanship; it was about the very concept of combat.
As I stood there, marveling at this terrifying new aspect of my abilities, there was a sharp, quiet knock on my bedroom door. It wasn't my mother's soft rap or my father's heavy thud. It was the precise, deliberate knock of a professional.
I opened the door to find Captain Kaeya standing in the hallway. He was out of uniform, dressed in dark, inconspicuous traveling clothes. His usual smile was absent, replaced by an expression of grim urgency. The air around him crackled with Cryo.
"Change your clothes," Kaeya said, his voice a low, urgent command. "Something dark, something durable. No armor, no sigils."
"Captain? What's going on?"
"The lead in the Whispering Woods," he said, his eye glinting in the dim hallway light. "One of my long-range scouts just sent up a flare. The 'abandoned' camp is active again. Figures were seen entering the area less than an hour ago." He leaned closer, his voice dropping even lower. "This is too sensitive for a full squad. It risks exposure. But I'm not going in blind."
He looked at me, his gaze intense. "We're going to take a look. Now. Just you and me."
The new normal was over. The hunt had begun again.