The Cryo Sovereign's Secret

The SoulScrape ruptured.

Kaelya was flung backward, skidding across the wooden deck of the boat, blood streaking from her lips.

Asmoday, too, was pushed back—her grip fractured, her cloak fluttering like a hole in reality trying to reseal.

Floating between them—

A core.

It hovered in Asmoday's hand, not resisting, not moving.

Seven elemental sigils rotated slowly across its surface.

And above them all, sealing them like frost over flame—

Cryo.

Asmoday stared at it in silence.

"This is just a temporary delay," she whispered, voice low with disdain.

Behind her, Sovereigns continued to arrive—one after another, encircling the waters of Fontaine like stars in alignment.

"Ronovoa," Asmoday called.

"Help me undo this barrier."

---

The Sky Tore Open

Reality peeled.

From beyond the veil, Ronovoa, Shade of Death, arrived.

She had no shape, only presence—a stillness so perfect it drowned breath.

Eyes wide, hollow, and ancient.

She did not appear. She was realized, like a memory too powerful to forget.

And below her—

the Sovereigns of Teyvat, gathered.

They no longer stood as rulers.

They stood as weapons.

---

Varnak'Thul, Sovereign of Geo, rumbled—not aloud, but through the earth itself.

"They have arrived."

Xiuhcoatl, blazing wings spread, coiled in fiery gravity.

"So… the hour of war is upon us?"

Raiclaus spun her serrated wings through the air, lips twisted in hunger.

"This is no time for restraint.

Of all of you, I've waited for this moment the longest."

Neuvillette stood unmoving. The sky wept, and the sea bent in reverence.

"This time… justice will not be forgotten.

It will be served."

---

High above, Zephyr's generals could only watch, stunned.

Dolores whispered in disbelief:

"Lord Zephyr… all the Sovereigns are here.

Why are we not attacking?

Why is the Shade of Death just... standing there?"

Seraphyx trembled, voice hoarse in awe:

"Mother... did you always know we would witness this day?"

---

Ronovoa finally spoke—her voice a choir of echoes, stitched from every death that had ever occurred.

"Astounding… some of you have rebuilt your Authority from nothing."

"Without even destroying a single Divine Throne."

The wind moved—unnatural, reverent—as Zephyr narrowed his eyes.

"Those who turn against the Locals…

only learn what exile feels like when it happens to them."

Apep bowed her head toward VlastMoroz, voice soft and reverent.

"Your plan worked, VlastMoroz. Flawlessly."

Snow drifted.

Silence reigned.

Then, from somewhere deeper than the sky, came Mother Rosen's reply:

"I could not have done it without you."

Varnak'Thul added—his tone like stone breaking through bedrock:

"It worked. They thought we were at war,

We tricked the Shades into appearing…

unaware that half of us have already regained our Prime Strength and none of us are at odds."

His gaze sharpened.

"But it will mean nothing if the other two Shades arrive."

---

Asmoday lifted the Core higher, eyes locked with Ronovoa's endless stare.

"Ronovoa," she said calmly.

"Save idle chat for later. Destroy this barrier so I can assemble it with the rest of the segments."

Silence.

Tension coiled like a bowstring pulled to breaking.

Then, from the sky above all creation, Death spoke:

"I can't."

Asmoday clicked her tongue, the sound sharp and dismissive.

"Tch. Then I'll be leaving this mess to you."

She sighed, her expression unreadable.

"My duty was simply to retrieve the last segment. Nothing more."

With a flick of her fingers, reality warped.

Space folded inward like a page being turned, casting an iridescent cube over the battlefield. A sealed alternate realm, hidden beyond space and untraceable to Teyvat's skies.

Everyone—Sovereigns, Emblems, Ronovoa herself—was caught within it.

"I'll do this much for you, at least," Asmoday said with cool detachment.

And then—

she vanished.

Taking the Sealed Soul Core with her.

---

Orion's body, now emptied of soul, glowed faintly.

Then—

disintegrated.

Not violently. Not grandly.

Like snowfall on a bonfire—quiet, and final.

---

Ronovoa stared at the place Asmoday had stood.

Her hollow voice lacked any pretense of amusement.

"Leaving your mess for me to clean up…"

She blinked once, slowly.

"But it is my duty.

So I will not complain."

Her voice fell silent again.

---

The Sovereigns stood like statues—unmoving, unreadable.

Their forms radiated power, but not one reacted.

Not to Orion's death.

Not to the soul's abduction.

Not to the trap they now stood within.

But beneath them—

Seraphyx, head lowered, claws trembling.

Kaelya, clutching her arm, breath ragged from the backlash.

Ignarion, already halfway to drawing his blade again, though his form flickered.

Morven, wounded by the sheer spatial shift, glyphs across his arm shorting out.

Yandelf stumbled, the flask at his hip cracked open, leaking stardust and fermented prana.

And above—

Zephyr's Divine Generals, including Dolores, tried to steady themselves.

"What… what realm is this…?" Dolores muttered, trying not to fall to his knees.

"We can't even feel the sky anymore."

No answer came.

Only silence.

Only the weight of containment.

Though the skies were caged and war hung still on the edge of every blade,

VlastMoroz, Sovereign of Cryo, closed her eyes and sent out a signal—

a frequency older than language.

Older than names.

Felt only by those she had shaped with her own hands.

The five Emblems of VlastMoroz appeared before her in an instant.

No matter how injured, no matter where in space—

they answered.

---

Her voice moved through them, not as command,

but as heartbeat.

"My children… I will explain everything later."

They did not need her to.

They nodded in unison.

> "Will you help your mother through this crisis?"

---

Seraphyx was the first.

"Of course, Mother."

He bowed, radiant eyes unwavering.

His form unraveled into a pure white plume,

curling like a sigh into her whiskers.

---

Kaelya followed, placing one hand over her chest.

"Yes, Mother."

She blossomed—her body disintegrating into a single petal of prana,

drifting gently until it wove itself around VlastMoroz's claws.

---

Ignarion grinned, teeth bloodied, proud.

"We love you, Mother."

He dissolved into a crown of iron frost,

and adorned her horns.

---

Morven, steady to the end, spoke quietly:

"You only need to ask."

He faded into a timeworn watch,

its ticking vanishing into her eyes.

---

Yandelf looked up at her with reverence.

"Mother… Me, and the entire Legion—you've never needed to call.

We've been part of you since the beginning."

She raised her cracked goblet one last time.

Then shimmered into a gilded chalice,

merging into VlastMoroz's heart.

---

And then—

There was only VlastMoroz.

Whole.

Silent.

Armed with memory, love, and five pieces of herself reborn.

The others watched.

They would remember this moment not as a transformation—

But as the return

of the True Mother of Winter.

All across the sealed realm, silence reigned.

The Seven Sovereigns stood—side by side—for the first time in eras lost to time and betrayal.

Their forms towered, shimmered, whispered the weight of existence itself.

And across from them, Ronovoa, Shade of Death, gazed down upon the gathering.

Her eyes did not narrow.

They did not burn.

They simply watched—and calculated.

She peered into each of them:

Cryo's ancient sorrow.

Anemo's wrath suppressed.

Pyro's silent flame of vengeance.

Hydro's justice long denied.

Electro's hunger for release.

Geo's immovable judgment.

Dendro's blooming certainty.

And for the first time in countless eons—

Ronovoa was unsure.

Not afraid.

Not deterred.

But uncertain of victory.