Genshin Impact:-What if the Sovereigns Started a War

Inside the Chaotic Castle of Raiclaus…

She was beauty sharpened into weaponry.

Her skin shimmered with patterns like shattered crystal, veins of jagged light trailing down her arms like frozen lightning. Her dress—sleek, war-ready—bore the motif of countless blades: elegant, hiltless, deadly. No embellishments. No softness.

Even her heels were weapons—high, narrow, and cruel—each click against the stone like the ticking of a countdown.

With a smile curved like a dagger's edge, she held the scroll of invitation delicately in her hands.

"Interesting... To think Orion—that kid—stepped forward to resolve the tensions of the last war. A magnificent development.

Though that war was a façade… it left real scars on my people."

She didn't sigh. She grinned, the kind of grin that ends battles or starts worse ones.

---

Meanwhile, in the northern lands of Nyxhara…

The knight squad was making their way back toward Arian, their task complete.

Behind them, the Monolith moved—slowly, like mountains adjusting their posture.

A scroll hovered before him, unfurling as Varnak'Thul read.

"This event may offer little aid… but I will allow it."

The wind shifted.

Someone had arrived.

A man stepped into view—his back to the Sovereign.

He wore a white robe with a long hood, loose wide pants that whispered against the stone. His hands were orange-hued, lined with vein-like markings that shimmered faintly.

Long, dark brown hair was tied back in a rattail, the ends fading to a bright amber. The rest of his mane danced like it had never truly stopped blowing in the wind.

Varnak'Thul's voice dropped, not with fear—but memory.

"In the last war… we fought Xiuhcoatl's firstborn.

You were the only one who did any fighting…

Morax."

The name cracked the silence like a tremor.

Morax didn't turn. His voice was calm, calculating—his words measured like currency in a room full of gods.

"It is included in our contract.

I will attend this exchange."

"My role remains your informant in Celestia. But in exchange for the secrecy of my true name, I shall extend my hand."

He lifted one of those glowing hands, as if already casting a pact into the air.

And behind his still expression, the old Archon had a thought not even the wind would hear:

"This is tiring…

Perhaps I'll fake my death someday.

Let the Sovereigns and Celestia squabble without me."

In the Depths of Nyxhara's Waters

The Knights swam upward, struggling through the pressure of ancient tides. Below them, the water itself stirred—not by current, but by consciousness.

A scroll floated before the abyss like an offering.

The sea read.

A pulse rippled through the deep, resonating like the breath of something ancient.

"The last war was too cruel," came the echoing voice, layered and immense. "Even if it was at Raiclaus's request, the curse I placed upon the Thunderstorm Dragons... was my doing."

Neuvillette's form manifested from the gloom—a towering silhouette of shifting pressure and solemn power, his hair flowing like kelp in deep water.

"This event... I shall attend it myself," he declared.

"And I will walk the land in human form."

The ocean quieted as if holding its breath.

---

On the Highest Mountains of Nyxhara

Blinding sunlight blazed above the snowless peaks, painting even stone in hues of molten gold. The Knights of Arian squinted at the sky, shields raised instinctively—not for battle, but for mercy from the relentless heat.

"Captain..." one of them murmured, sweat beading down his neck, "does the Pyro Sovereign really live in... the sun?"

The Captain gave a dry, fearful chuckle. "Aye. And his Firstborne too."

The squad stood in awkward silence, weapons sheathed. How does one deliver a message to the sun itself?

"I don't think even our voices will reach him," the Captain admitted with a helpless shrug.

But then—

A single ember drifted down.

Then another.

Then hundreds, swirling around them in an impossible wind.

The sun above pulsed.

A lance of solar fire streaked from the heavens, not with violence, but command. The mountain beneath their boots glowed—sigils in ancient script igniting like wildfire across the stone. The heat was immense, but it did not burn.

Instead, it whispered:

"We are listening."

Just as the mountain wind stilled—just as the Knights wondered if they'd merely imagined the sun's flicker—a sudden, sharp hiss cut through the air.

Steam.

From the moisture clinging to their armor and the snowmelt in distant crevices, mist began to rise… twisting, condensing, folding itself like silk in the wind.

And from it, a shape emerged.

Tall. Serpentine. Graceful.

A figure formed—not with a crash, but with a scholar's silence.

He was unlike any beast or man the Knights had seen. Brown and beige scales shimmered like polished stone across his torso. His upper body was humanoid—shoulders square, four fingers on each hand ending in delicate talons—but below the waist, his form shifted into a sinuous tail, coiled and ending in a feathered green tip that fluttered like a leaf in the wind.

Two long, flat horns curved back from his brow. From either side of his face bloomed feathered bundles—two-toned green, like jungle fronds kissed by firelight.

He wore white and grey robes, adorned with triangular patterns on the sleeves and a scaled motif flowing across his lower form.

The mist whispered around him as he spoke.

"My name is Izel, the Tenth Firstborne… born from an offshoot of the Primal Flame."

He moved not with threat, but with purpose—stepping forward like a historian entering a library.

"Do you have a message?"

The Knight-Captain, suddenly feeling very small, offered the scroll with both hands. "It's an invitation," he said, voice formal yet cautious. "To a Cultural Exchange... where the Sovereigns' subjects may—perhaps—ease the tensions between us."

His boots scraped backward in reverence.

Izel accepted the scroll gently, holding it with a scholar's care.

"I will take this to my eldest brother, Xiuhcoatl, the Pyro Sovereign."

With a final look—neither warm nor cold, but thoughtful—Izel vanished, his body unraveling once more into vapor, as though he had never been.

Only the scent of heated stone remained.

The Next Day — Knights Academy, Main Lecture Hall.

The classroom buzzed with idle chatter as sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, painting the floors with shifting hues of elemental crests. At the front stood a man who looked like he'd walked straight out of a Liyuean opera—minus the patience.

Long jet-black hair was tied back with a pale green ribbon. His jade eyes, sharp enough to slice through excuses, scanned the classroom with quiet disdain. Pale skin marked with faint, scale-like tattoos peeked from beneath his elegant white and gold robes. He was the kind of man who could tell you the square root of disappointment just by looking at you.

Qinyue, the Lecture Master of Aetherian History, cleared his throat—more like a quiet threat than a polite cue.

"Since we've allegedly covered the War of the Sovereigns last week—and seeing how half of you stared at the wall like it owed you Mora—I'll go through it again. Thoroughly. Painfully."

He paced the front of the room like a predator in silk, until a whispering trio caught his ear. Elynas, Merry, and Tera—the Academy's resident gossip committee—were deep in hushed conversation.

Qinyue didn't break stride. He strolled right up behind them and smacked all three on the head with a rolled-up scroll like it was holy scripture.

"Congratulations. You've just angered the lecture gods."

The class stifled laughs.

He returned to the front, still unbothered. "Ahem. Long ago—before your ancestors learned to sharpen sticks properly—the Seven Sovereigns ruled the world under their own primal laws. But Celestia, in its infinite grace and jealousy, couldn't let anyone else hold power."

He gestured with a flick of his wrist, and an illusion formed behind him: a constellation being shattered into seven fragments.

"The Sovereigns were overthrown. Their elemental Authorities stolen—fractured. Forced into hiding, they chose patience over pride."

"But patience alone wouldn't be enough. So… they devised a deception."

The illusion morphed into scenes of brutal war—flickering mirages of fire, lightning, and storm.

"They faked a war amongst themselves. A grand theater of violence, bloodshed, and betrayal. So convincing that even their allies fell for it."

He paused dramatically.

"Pyro Sovereign's Firstborne dueled a lone man of Varnak'Thul. The man won."

A ripple of disbelief passed through the students.

"Hydro Sovereign's Oceanoids clashed with Raiclaus's Thunderstorm Dragons. That wasn't a war—it was a massacre. In the end, the Thunderstorm Dragons were twisted into the first Electro Lectors… Abyss-born monsters."

Whispers followed, some students glancing toward Elynas, whose eyes were wide with awe.

"And then… there was the Anemo front. Zephyr's Revenants waged war on the Emblems of VlastMoroz—our own protectors. That battle wasn't glorious. It was cannibalistic. Torture. Horror. The kind of stuff I'm not even legally allowed to lecture you on until you're eighteen."

A hand rose.

"Elynas," Qinyue sighed, "make it quick."

"What about Apep?" she asked, genuinely curious. "The Dendro Sovereign didn't fight?"

Qinyue's expression softened just a little. "Apep... didn't participate in the facade. She—"

BANG.

The heavy double doors of the lecture hall creaked open. A rush of wind swept through as knights entered in full armor, parting like waves.

Then, he entered.

King Orion.

His presence turned every head. He wore deep navy robes, stitched with silver filigree tracing the shape of constellations tangled in thorned vines. Small gems glittered along his sleeves—each representing one of the noble houses of Arian. Across his chest, a silver sash swept like a comet's arc.

He surveyed the room quietly before smiling—a soft, tired smile that held entire galaxies behind it.

"So… these are the new generation of Royal Knights my father selected," Orion said, his voice warm and melancholic. "May the stars guide your blades… and your grades."

The class, stunned into silence, slowly stood in awe.

Even Qinyue looked mildly impressed—which for him was the equivalent of throwing a parade.

//////The next scene is Fan service

Orion blinked. Twice.

Then pointed dramatically at the pale man standing at the front of the classroom.

"Wait a damn second... QINYUE?! YOU'RE ALIVE?! I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU SINCE CHAPTER 22!! WEREN'T YOU A DOCTOR?!"

The entire class turned with synchronized gasps, Elynas whispering to Merry, "Chapter twenty-two? That's, like, ancient history..."

Qinyue, calm as a cloud in Liyue, scratched the back of his head, giving a sheepish smile.

"Oh yeah, uh... the author kinda forgot I existed."

A single cricket chirped in the silence. Then Tera deadpanned,

"Damn. That's rough, buddy."

Qinyue coughed awkwardly. "So... I changed careers! Medicine was too bloody, you know? Teaching traumatized teens about ancient wars and celestial betrayal is way more relaxing."

Orion squinted at him. "You didn't even change clothes."

Qinyue shrugged, "Author didn't update my character model either."

From the front row, one student slowly raised their hand. "Sir... is this fourth-wall break canon?"

Orion and Qinyue looked at each other.

Then Qinyue replied, "It is now."

And class continued.