The transition was not a journey; it was a punishment. One moment, I was a disembodied soul anchored by a flickering golden star in a screaming, timeless void. The next, I was slammed back into the brutal, unforgiving reality of a physical form as my body crashed onto hard, unforgiving ground. Pain was my reintroduction to the world. It erupted in every nerve ending, a blinding, white-hot cataclysm of sensation. The impact knocked the air from my lungs and sent my vision swimming into a merciful, temporary darkness.
When consciousness clawed its way back, it was to a world painted in agony. Every breath was a shallow, painful gasp. My head throbbed with a skull-splitting migraine, a phantom echo of the Abyssal hymn. My left arm, the one that had blocked the Lector's attack and then borne the strain of my own Soul Anchor, was a useless appendage of pure, excruciating fire.
With a groan that felt torn from the very bedrock of my being, I forced my eyes open. This was not the familiar, gentle green of the Whispering Woods.
I was in a canyon. A vast, deep, and utterly alien canyon. Jagged, dusty brown cliffs soared upwards on all sides, their surfaces scarred with strange, glowing purple fissures that pulsed with a faint, sickly light. The ground beneath me was not soil, but a fine, abrasive dust and sharp-edged scree. Twisted, metallic-looking flora, more crystal than plant, grew in sparse, hardy clumps. Above, the sky was not the comforting azure of Mondstadt, but a hazy, oppressive gold, as if viewed through a perpetual sheet of dust. The air was heavy, thick with a pressure that seemed to squeeze my lungs, and it carried the scent of dry stone and a faint, metallic tang.
Panic, cold and sharp, tried to rise in my throat, but my training, my sheer will to survive, stamped it down. Assess, a voice in my head—part Kaeya, part my father, part myself—commanded.
I did a slow, painful inventory of my body. My uniform was torn and ragged. I had deep cuts on my arms and legs from the landing. My head was bleeding from a gash near my temple. But it was my left arm that was the real problem. It was dislocated at the shoulder, the bone pushed out at an unnatural angle, and the skin was covered in a spiderweb of fine, dark purple lines—a physical manifestation of the Abyssal energy that had lashed against my Mana Burst shield.
I checked my System, my mind's eye pulling up the familiar blue panel. It was a bloodbath of red alerts.
[CRITICAL WARNING: CATASTROPHIC ENVIRONMENTAL EXPOSURE DETECTED - ABYSSAL VOID]
[NEW PERMANENT STATUS EFFECT ACQUIRED: Abyssal Taint (Minor)]
► Description: The host's soul has been permanently marked by the Void. You are now more sensitive to Abyssal energy and may be perceived differently by powerful elemental or divine beings. Long-term effects unknown.
[SYSTEM STATUS]
► Internal Energy Reserves (Mana Burst): 1% - CRITICAL HIBERNATION IN PROGRESS. ACTIVE USE IMPOSSIBLE.
► External Elemental Connection (Anemo Vision): OFFLINE - AMBIENT ENVIRONMENT MISMATCH. RECALIBRATION REQUIRED.
► Synchronization Rate: 25.75% (STABLE BUT UNRESPONSIVE. ADVANCEMENT LOCKED PENDING ENERGY RESTORATION.)
The diagnosis was grim. My Mana Burst was functionally gone, my soul's battery drained to nothing. My Vision was a dead weight, a useless glass bauble unable to connect to this strange, Geo-rich land. I was cut off from both of my powers. The Abyssal Taint was a horrifying new variable, a cancer I now carried within me. All I had left was my body, my sword, and the innate, perfect knowledge of combat etched into my very muscles by Eternal Arms Mastery.
First things first. With a guttural yell of pure agony, I grabbed my left arm, braced my feet against a rock, and slammed my shoulder back into its socket. The world went white with pain for a moment, and I nearly passed out again. But when my vision cleared, the arm was back in place, the sharp, structural pain replaced by a deep, throbbing ache. It was a small, brutal victory.
Survival priorities kicked in. Shelter. Water. Food. I was exposed here. Using a sharp rock, I tore a long strip from the bottom of my tunic and clumsily bandaged the gash on my head to stanch the bleeding. My body screamed for rest, but I knew that to lie still was to die. I needed water.
Using my sword as a makeshift crutch, I began to walk, stumbling through the desolate landscape. There was no magic to guide me, only logic. Water flows down. I headed for the lowest point of the canyon floor, my eyes scanning for any hint of green, any patch of dampness in the dust. Every step was a fresh wave of pain, a testament to my profound weakness. The powerful knight who had faced down an Abyss Lector was gone. In his place was a broken, bleeding boy, a thousand miles from home.
After what felt like hours, I found it. Not a stream or a pool, but a small, grimy trickle of water seeping from a crack in the canyon wall. It tasted of dust and minerals, but it was the most delicious thing I had ever drunk. I drank until my stomach ached, then refilled my waterskin, my hands shaking with relief.
Nearby, a shallow overhang in the rock face offered rudimentary shelter. It was defensible, with a clear view of the approach. I slumped down against the rock wall, my body finally succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion. As I drifted into a fitful, pain-filled sleep, my last conscious thought was of Jean and Kaeya, their horrified faces the last remnant of a world I might never see again.
I was awoken by the scrape of claws on stone.
My eyes snapped open. My body was still screaming in protest, but Instinct, the one skill that seemed to be working on a primal level, was blaring a silent alarm. Three figures were skittering towards my shelter. They were reptilian, about the size of large dogs, with rocky, armored hides and glowing yellow eyes. Geovishap Hatchlings.
In Mondstadt, a healthy knight could dispatch three of these with ease. But I was not a healthy knight. I was wounded, magically inert, and running on fumes. This was not a battle; it was a test of survival.
I drew my sword, the hiss of steel against leather a reassuring sound in the oppressive silence. I backed myself into the corner of the overhang, limiting their angles of attack. This would be a battle of efficiency. Every move had to count.
The first hatchling lunged, its claws aiming for my throat. My body moved before my mind could fully process the attack. Eternal Arms Mastery took over. There was no wasted motion. I didn't meet its charge with force. I deflected its claw with a precise, economical turn of my blade, using its own momentum to send it stumbling past me. As it went by, I pivoted, my sword striking a clean, deep cut into the softer scales of its hind leg. It shrieked and tumbled.
The other two came at me at once. There was no room to dodge. I used the back wall of the cave to brace myself, my sword held in a two-handed defensive stance. The clang of their claws against my blade sent jarring vibrations up my agonizingly sore arms. I gritted my teeth, holding the line, not trying to win, just trying to endure.
I needed to separate them. My eyes darted around, my mind, guided by Lancelot's combat genius, cataloging the environment. A loose, sharp-edged rock lay near my foot. As one hatchling recoiled for another strike, I kicked the rock with pinpoint accuracy. It ricocheted off the cave wall and struck the other hatchling squarely in the eye. The creature reeled back with a high-pitched screech of pain.
One enemy momentarily disabled. That was my opening.
I exploded forward, focusing everything on the undamaged hatchling before me. I didn't use flashy techniques. Just a brutal, efficient sequence of movements that my body knew better than my own name. Parry, sidestep, thrust. The tip of my sword found a gap in the armor beneath its jaw. I pushed with all my remaining strength, and the blade sank deep. The creature gave a final, gurgling cry and collapsed.
Two left. The one I had injured was now limping towards me, enraged. The one with the wounded eye was shaking its head, trying to clear its vision. I didn't give them time to coordinate. I snatched up the same sharp rock I had kicked and hurled it at the injured one. The throw was perfect. It struck the beast in its wounded leg, causing it to howl and falter.
In that instant, I charged the blinded one. It swung wildly, but its attacks were clumsy. I ducked under a sweeping claw and brought my sword up in a powerful, rising slash that tore through its underbelly.
One left. The injured one. It was cornered, hissing, but it was no longer a threat. A single, clean thrust ended its misery.
Silence descended once more, broken only by my own ragged breathing. I slumped against the wall, my body screaming, my sword clattering from my numb fingers. I had won. But it was an ugly, desperate victory, paid for with the last dregs of my physical stamina. I was more bruised, more battered than before. But I was alive.
As I slowly, painfully, tended to a new gash on my forearm, I noticed something glinting where the last hatchling had fallen. It was a small, lustrous piece of a Geo crystal, likely dislodged during the fight. I picked it up. It was heavy, and it hummed with a faint, earthy energy so different from Mondstadt's free-flowing Anemo.
Holding the crystal, a fragment of this new, alien land, I looked up at the hazy golden sky. And for the first time since my arrival, I felt a response. A tiny, almost imperceptible flicker from the Anemo Vision on my belt. It wasn't power. It was a question. A faint signal from a distant shore, acknowledging that it was still there, still connected to me, even if it couldn't hear the familiar song of its home.
It was a glimmer.
Looking down from my shelter, I saw the tracks the Geovishaps had made, a faint but clear trail leading deeper and further down into the immense, dark canyon. It was a path. A direction.
I was broken. I was alone. I was tainted by the Abyss and stranded in a hostile, unknown land. But I had survived my first test. I had a sip of water in my canteen. I had a sword in my hand. And I had a path to walk.
My mind ached with the thought of my friends, of the home I had lost. But that grief was a fire, not an anchor. I would survive. I would grow strong. And I would find my way back. My journey in the land of stone and contracts had just begun.