The Cryo Sovereign's Secret

Beneath the argent gaze of the moon, near the still currents bordering Fontaine's Court, Orion's camp lay nestled in the silence of night — a fragile structure resting beneath a sky scattered with constellations, the cold eyes of gods watching mortals dream. The tent, haphazard and reluctant in its assembly, strained against the mist that crept in from the water's edge.

Felix lay coiled beside their shared body, his limbs drawn close like a slumbering sentinel. Despite the ancient chill braided into his essence, he seemed almost domestic now — less a creature born of glacial fury, more a somnolent guardian softened by companionship.

"You can't be mad. There is no conceivable universe in which you fit inside this tent, Felix," Frieda murmured, her voice threading through their shared mouth like a whispered pact, warm with mirth and wrapped in shadow.

The dragon did not stir. Forged by frost, honed in tempests, he was no stranger to the stillness of snow. While he regulated his internal chill with seamless instinct, Orion remained profoundly, inconveniently mortal — and steadily dissolving into a puddle of sweat.

"I should have taken that hotel room," Orion muttered, dragging a clammy hand across his brow. His voice held no real conviction — only the weary murmur of one bargaining with the Archons for mercy.

Frieda's laughter slipped out like silk woven with thorns. "Oh, I'm thriving. Your body radiates steam. Fatigue. Overheating. Mild despair. It's practically a wellness retreat… if the goal was slow, damp ruin."

Orion exhaled through his nose and turned, eyes seeking relief in the darkened landscape. The humidity clung to him like a damp shroud. Even the smallest breeze, a Chillfly's passing wingbeat, would have been a gift from the divine.

Then — something shifted.

A faint pulse — subtle, imperceptible to most — shimmered through the camp like a forgotten sigh. Cryo energy stirred in the air, and with it came the snow: not falling, but manifesting, crystalline specks blooming like stars mid-birth. The warmth withdrew — not in haste, but gently, as though some fevered spirit had been soothed.

Orion went still.

"…How?" he whispered, rising slightly. The cold enveloped him, not with violence, but with reverence — a cloak of stars spun from frost. He parted the tent's flap, eyes narrowing toward the curled figure outside. "Felix? That you?"

But the dragon remained inert, lost in dreams. Talons twitched faintly. His breath misted against the ground in a slow, unwavering rhythm.

Yet the snowfall deepened, and no clouds gathered overhead.

This was Cryo magic — ancient and quiet — but not from Felix. Not from Frieda. Not even from Orion himself.

The chill settled around him like a lullaby. Nearby, the stream sang softly in its sleep. And as the last remnants of warmth faded from the air, Orion surrendered his breath to stillness.

"I have to wake before Felix," he murmured, barely audible. "Tail braiding… maybe freeze his whiskers again..."

The smile tugging at his lips barely formed before his limbs grew heavy. Eyes dimmed.

And the earth — subtle, patient — responded.

Unseen beneath the forest floor, Dendro energy stirred. Roots unfurled like fingers in prayer, weaving through the soil with slow precision. They coiled around Orion's form with care, not threat — an emerald cocoon born from soil and song. Vines wrapped around his legs and shoulders, delicate and firm, as if the land itself meant to cradle him. Petals unfurled near his face, their scent a whisper of moss and forgotten springs.

Time passed.

The stars dimmed, the sky paled. Dawn hovered on the edge of breath.

Then — change.

The roots stiffened.

The coolness evaporated.

And then — the thorns.

Subtle at first. A prick at the side. A prod beneath his ribs. A precise jab between the shoulder blades.

"Agh—! What in the—HEY!"

Orion jolted upright, swiping frantically at the vines like a man besieged by the wilderness itself. The roots retreated instantly, vanishing into the earth with what felt like silent laughter. Only petals remained, scattered in the breeze like the aftermath of a prank.

He blinked down at the soil, affronted. "Seriously? Ambushed by Dendro? That's how we do mornings now?"

The wind stirred in reply — smug, almost pleased with itself.

Frieda, still rousing within him, muttered, "The plants like me better."

Orion glared at the ground. "Cryo had the decency to be silent."

The air around them carried a strange weight — not hostile, but aware. Observant. As if something vast had turned its gaze their way and chosen, for now, to remain hidden.

"You've noticed it too, right?" he asked, gaze fixed on the soil. "The elements. They're… behaving differently."

Frieda's voice, now clearer, replied, "You mean the impromptu Cryo miracle followed by Dendro vines with a sense of humor?"

"Exactly. What's next, Hydro giving me a bath?"

"You do need one."

He ignored that.

Around him, the elemental energy shimmered faintly — no Vision triggered, no invocation spoken. Just... presence. As though the elements themselves had taken an interest.

As if they were listening.

"...We're not possessed, right?" he asked.

Frieda exhaled through a sigh. "Only mildly cursed."

Outside, Felix remained curled like a monument — undisturbed and regal in his repose, his wings draped like a tapestry of glacier.

Orion crouched beside him, palm cupped around a small, flat stone. "Phase one," he whispered. "Pebble crown."

He reached forward—

And halted.

A smooth slab of slate tapped gently against his ankle.

"…Frieda?" His voice tensed.

"What?"

"Did you bring rocks?"

"Why would I bring rocks?"

Another stone floated upward, serene and precise, and fitted itself atop Felix's spine. Then another. And another — spiraling, aligning, forming a quiet mosaic across his back.

"They're… organizing," Frieda said softly.

"They're better at it than I am," Orion replied.

No glow. No heralding hum. Just Geo, expressing itself in motion — in rhythm, in intention.

Then a single pebble rolled between them and tapped Orion's toe. Deliberate.

Everything fell silent.

The stream, once bubbling peacefully nearby, now lay still — surface smooth as polished glass. Not flowing. Not moving.

Felix stirred. The stones clinked faintly as he lifted his head. His eyes narrowed, slits contracting with unease.

"…Something's wrong."

Orion rose. "It's like the world is holding its breath."

"No," Frieda whispered. "It's listening."

The stream split open.

Not parted — ripped.

Water surged skyward in a spiral of impossible grace, its form vast and radiant. Wings of liquid unfurled, translucent and terrible. An Oceanoid — immense, ancient — emerged from the depths, too large for the stream it came from. Its form shimmered, its gaze endless.

It saw them.

No warning. No words.

The water struck.

A column enveloped Orion and Felix, swallowing them in a spiral of blue. Felix barely managed a roar — "What the—BLRRGH—" — before they were dragged beneath.

No resistance. No time.

Only motion — vast, smooth, unrelenting.

Then—

Stillness.

They landed upon stone — slick, pale, suspended in a realm of endless depth and cold light. No sky. No land. Only water, above and below, and the eerie stillness of ancient things waiting.

Felix groaned, dragging claws across the platform. "Did the water just... eat me?"

Orion coughed, voice hoarse. "Correction. It hunted us."

Frieda's voice echoed within. "Where are we? This isn't Teyvat anymore."

All around, the water pulsed — not idle, but breathing.

Something vast stirred far below.

Felix stood, head lifting, stone tiara still clinging absurdly to one horn. His voice darkened.

"If this is one of your schemes, Orion, I swear — I will freeze your lungs from the inside out."

But Orion wasn't listening.

His gaze was locked on the being rising before them — a dragon without wings, colossal and crowned in pressure. Its form was sculpted not for the sky, but for the Trench in Oceans: four immense limbs anchored it to the watery plane, a tail that curved like a whirlpool in motion, and scales that shimmered with the weight of unspoken tides.

A dragon of the deep — one not meant to surface.

"You who carry the essence of VlastMoroz," it intoned, voice resonant and melodic, echoing through the lightless depths like a hymn. "I ask you now, as Sovereign of Hydro — for what purpose do you set your gaze upon the Authority reserved only for Sovereigns?"

Its voice, though beautiful, bore the stillness of oceans before a storm — a melody composed in the language of pressure and silence.

Felix reacted instinctively, body coiling around Orion, protective and poised, his muscles tense with the primal recognition of divine variance. This was no ordinary encounter. This was diplomacy laced with danger — a Sovereign addressing a vessel of another.

And the water held its breath.