Option 1 — Gladly accept. You understand Bronya's request may bring trouble, but you also see her position. As a key figure among the Silvermane Guards, she needs someone trustworthy. This is a chance. You nod: "If you need me, I won't stand by." You even promise crucial intel and open channels—even without reward—earning Bronya's complete trust. This choice tilts you fully toward Wildfire; the Vagrants will take you as an enemy and may hunt you. (Reward: Bronya's Black Silk — hosiery imbued with the Path of Preservation; indestructible. Long-term carry gently spreads Preservation's aura to nearby items.)Option 2 — Refuse outright. You understand her situation but won't be dragged into political knots. Your aim lies elsewhere. Wildfire will distrust—even oppose—you; you cannot gain Bronya's full trust. (Reward: Belobog Battle Standard — a banner infused with Preservation; when planted, allies' ATK +15%.)Option 3 — Stay flexible. You neither accept nor refuse. "I'll advise and share intel," you tell her, "but I won't step into everything." You'll adjust with the flow and keep control of your lane. No side grants you absolute trust—Wildfire, the Vagrants, and others all remain wary. (Reward: Bronya's Gewehr-style Bayonet Lever-Action Rifle — a Preservation-charged weapon, never wears down; each round carries Preservation's power, can channel external forces into bullets, and detonates on impact.)
The panel shivered—text flickered—and locked in.
You chose to remain flexible. You'll provide intel and maneuver for your own benefit, prepared to forgo absolute trust on any side. Reward granted: Bronya's Gewehr-style Bayonet Lever-Action Rifle (see specifics by field test).
"—A weapon that bears a Path?" Kairo's eyes narrowed, a spark of real surprise lighting within.
Even without being a formal Pathstrider, he could now fire rounds laced with the Preservation Path. In Teyvat, a solid ranged option was worth its weight in Primogems. He couldn't help the small smile—this outcome was exactly what he'd steered toward.
Because if you waited for the "idiot system" to hand you choices, you danced to its tune. It mis-tagged links, confused people and arcs—Sampo and Bennett? Please. Klee tied to Clara made arguable poetic sense, but Hook would've fit better. Trust that logic to plan your life? No thanks.
Better to make the system react—seed plausible scenarios, push pivotal NPCs, and let the mechanism snap to a "most logical" judgment. The bigger the plot, the richer the reward—and the more important the giver, the rarer the prize.
If this worked for Belobog's Star Core crisis or the Xianzhou's "Healer's Legacy"… what about mimicking those beats here in Teyvat? What if he could summon the silhouettes he wanted—and farm the rewards he needed?
He wouldn't always know the prize in advance. But he didn't need to, if the game board itself was his.
"Will you move with us, Kairo?" Kaeya asked, snapping him back. "More hands, more force."
"The storm won't stop on its own," Kairo agreed.
"And I," he almost said, "have a Trailblazer's knack for finding advantage." No—Stelle's not even here. Still, opportunities had a way of spawning options.
"Good. Then we go now," Jean decided. "Before the dragon's calamity widens—our target is the Four Winds Temples."
Amber, Kaeya, Lisa, Lumine, Paimon, Kairo—and Fischl, who insisted on joining—set out from the Knights' tower. Even with streets cleared, the city still wore its bruises: cracked walls, toppled carts, scattered shingles. People paused as the party emerged.
"…Acting Grand Master Jean?"
"Captain Kaeya—Amber—Lisa as well?!"
"So many together… are they—"
Breaths hitched; someone said it out loud.
"Are they going to… slay the dragon?"
"Stormterror went too far this time—into the inner city! The Knights are moving!"
"If they end this, Mondstadt can breathe again!"
Eyes followed them. Curiosity snagged on Lisa—rarely seen beyond her books, indolent smile hiding weather-witch precision. Even Fischl, all violet cloak and straight spine, drank in the attention. Oz's wings flicked, ever ready to translate imperial declarations into Mondstadt Common.
"Is that… Kairo?!"
"He's going too? Did he join the Knights?"
"He's with the Adventurers' Guild—must be a special invite."
"But he has no Vision—how's he marching with so many powerhouses?"
"You don't know? He's a genius swordsman. No Vision, sure—but I heard nobles tried recruiting him."
"Seriously?!"
"You think Jean would bring a nobody to a dragon operation?"
Kairo caught Fischl's eye; Her Highness tilted her chin, basking.
Cloak swirling, she struck a grand pose. "The cogs of fate are turning! We march into the unknown field where destiny calls! The dark dragon's whisper rides the wind—but I, Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort, shall rend the plot of evil and lead thee to trample the abyssal rim!"
"…Her Highness means: we are delighted to participate," Oz sighed, fluent in Royalto-Mond.
A beat of silence—and then cheers.
"I didn't catch half of that—but I felt it!"
"With a lineup like this… there's hope!"
"Are they truly going to slay the dragon?!"
Hope rolled down the avenue with them, past the gates and into the wild green. Jean saw them off and turned back; the city needed its anchor.
Beyond the walls the world breathed: cut grass, damp earth. The sky stayed dim, but light still spilled in coins over the plain. Farther on, wildland took the edges—broken paths, humped hills, Hilichurl camps faint in the distance.
"Looks like we'll be sleeping rough," Kaeya observed.
"Again?!" Paimon clutched her head.
"Three temples," Kaeya reminded her, amused. "If we finish before dawn, that's fortune enough. And without an Anemo Vision among us, we'll be slower."
Paimon groaned. "So… camping is part of traveling now?"
"Don't worry!" Amber thumped her chest. "I've got the campfire. Pyro Vision—no problem!"
"Let us hope," Kaeya murmured, "this time the meadow survives."
Amber coughed, sheepish; last time, the bonfire had tried to promote itself to grassland restoration project.
Lumine blinked, then smiled to herself. No Anemo Vision… but I can still move the wind.
And Kairo, at the back of the line, palmed a rifle no one else could see—the wood warm, the breech humming with quiet, stubborn Preservation.