The Cryo Sovereign's Secret

Elynas lay unconscious on a humble wooden bed, her breathing steady, her arms resting at her sides. A simple quilt covered her, patched and faded but warm.

Granny Suri sat quietly on a nearby chair, hands folded, her sharp eyes fixed on the girl. Her cane rested beside her.

Tera and Merry sat close to her feet on the floor, watching Elynas with wide, curious eyes. Neither spoke. Only the soft creak of the old house and distant sounds of the village filled the silence.

A sharp whistle came from the kettle.

Granny Suri's eyes fluttered open like she'd just returned from a nap with her eyes open the whole time. She pushed herself up with a quiet grunt.

"Medicine's ready..." she murmured.

She poured the warm, murky liquid into a chipped wooden cup, took a small cloth, dipped it, and gently rubbed it across Elynas's forehead and cheeks. The scent of crushed herbs and something vaguely metallic hung in the air.

Elynas stirred.

Her brow twitched. A soft breath escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered, but they didn't open.

Granny Suri gave a slow nod, like a tree acknowledging the wind.

"Let's give it time. It's all tangled up, after all," she said as she sat back down with a creak.

Merry rushed closer, kneeling by Elynas's side, wide-eyed.

"Who do you think she is, Granny?"

Tera stayed quiet behind her, frowning slightly.

Granny Suri squinted at Elynas again, as if peeling back invisible layers.

"She doesn't look like a noble… her clothes are from a foreign land…" she muttered. "Maybe she's from outside Arian."

In Natlan, between the scorched cliffs of the Stadium of Sacred Flame and the whispering slopes that led to the Masters of the Night Wind, a rift cracked open in the air like torn silk.

Out tumbled a dragon.

Snow-colored scales glinted briefly in the sunlight before his heavy body slammed into the earth with a dull thud. A crown of fine feathers adorned his head, now tilted to the side. Felix groaned faintly in his unconsciousness, his wings twitching with phantom tension.

The sun dipped lower, casting amber light over the horizon.

A pale-skinned woman strolled along the narrow ridge trail. Her long hair flowed behind her—starting pastel violet at the roots, fading to soft pink, and ending in a deep, stormy purple at the tips. Her eyes shimmered with a gradient of oceanic blues, swirling subtly around pink-tinted pupils.

She paused mid-step.

"Ugh. Now what is this?" she muttered, hands on her hips as she approached the crumpled figure. "That's not a native Natlani dragon…"

Kneeling, she studied the flickering threads of power around him.

"The Aether's all tangled up. This one doesn't belong here."

A long sigh escaped her lips.

"Well. There go my drinks."

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Felix's cool forehead.

"You better be honoured, snowball. The best of the best in the Masters of the Night Wind's tribe is watching over you."

With Citlali's touch, the storm within Felix's spirit began to unravel. The churning aether stilled—thread by thread, the chaos untangled beneath her glowing fingertips.

The Scene Shifts towards High above the mortal world, within the radiant spires of Celestia, silence reigned—until footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor.

Ronova exited the grand chamber where Rhindotter had stood moments prior. As the great doors sealed behind her, a mischievous smile crept across her face like ink bleeding through paper.

"You know I don't approve of this action, my dear Rhindotter."

A second figure shimmered into being beside her—an illusion or perhaps something far older. Identical to Rhindotter in every way, yet her aura exuded a more detached, eerie grace.

Naberius.

"I know, Naberius." Rhindotter's voice replied from within the chamber as she pulled out a sealed object—smooth and pulsing with pale light.

A sphere of soul, locked tight with an intricate Seal of Seven Elements.

"But…" She turned it slowly in her palm, smirk tugging at her lips.

"This isn't technically against any of the rules we're bound by."

Naberius narrowed her identical eyes. "You gave Asmoday a fake."

Rhindotter's grin widened. "Yes. I did."

"She'll be furious when she finds out."

"Perhaps."

She raised the soul sphere to eye level, its elemental seal glowing softly.

"But aren't you curious—what this person will turn into... once they awaken?"

Rhindotter exhaled slowly, her breath swirling with divine intent. As it touched the sealed soul sphere, the Seal of Seven Elements cracked—light bleeding from the seams.

CRACK.

The seal shattered.

Within, the fractured three souls spun in a chaotic spiral… and slowly, began to fuse.

Rhindotter stretched out her hands, molding a body—a mortal man's frame, identical to Orion in his prime. Regal, proud. Familiar.

With a flick of her wrist, the soul fusion surged toward the vessel.

Only one entered.

The remaining two were repelled—violently.

A hum of rejection filled the air.

Naberius, ever unfazed, sighed behind her.

"They don't want to be together again, Rhindotter."

Her eyes narrowed. "But… they were. All inside Orion once. Unless…"

Her gaze darkened.

"Unless that fusion was never willing to begin with. Forced. By circumstance."

(A faint memory stirs—Orion drinking Frieda's soul in desperation… A moment of survival, not choice.)

Rhindotter raised her hand again.

With precision, she formed two more mortal shells.

—One: a man with spiked white hair, tanned bronze skin, and aquatic eyes like the deep sea.

—The other: a woman with cool blue eyes, blonde hair, and pale, delicate skin like the early frost.

She placed each soul into its respective body—now separate, now whole in their own way.

Naberius glanced at the three sleeping forms. "What now?"

A crooked grin stretched across Rhindotter's face.

"I wonder what they'll do… if they all wake up in different nations."

She raised her hand again, summoning three rifts in the celestial floor—each glowing with a distinct hue.

"Let's make this a little more fun."

And with casual cruelty only a divine could muster—

She dropped all three naked bodies—Orion, Frieda, and their Child—through separate rifts like misdelivered Amazon packages.

The rifts snapped shut.

She clapped her hands clean. "Let the chaos begin."

The skies shimmered unnaturally—warped like ripples over boiling water.

Another rift tore open.

From within, a figure descended—not with a crash, but with unsettling grace.

The child of Orion and Frieda, soul-forged and reborn, drifted downward like stardust in human shape... and landed directly on top of the unconscious Felix—the snow-colored dragon still sprawled on the rocky terrain.

THUMP.

Citlali's eyebrow twitched.

"...Is this a joke?"

She turned to the heavens like she expected someone up there to be laughing.

"Is the Lord of the Night trying to prank me now? Two celestial dorks in one day?"

She stared at the sleeping dragon with a mortal on top of him, both breathing in tangled rhythm, like some weird Natlan painting symbolizing fate and chronic inconvenience.

Citlali took a long, deep breath.

Then groaned, her frustration bursting from her chest.

"Ugh! Fine! FINE! I guess I didn't want to relax tonight!"

With a flick of her fingers, arcane sigils flared under her feet—the Arts of the Night Wind surging. Thin tendrils of spiritual energy wrapped around the two bodies like vines of wind and thread.

She began to drag them.

One sleeping dragon.

One mysterious, naked, soul-bomb of a man.

Both being pulled like unwilling grocery bags across the cliffs, away from the prying eyes of her tribe.

"Citlali, the best of the Night Wind, demoted to babysitter of cosmically confused men and moaning reptiles," she muttered. "At this rate, the only thing I'll be drinking is my own patience."

Snezhnaya – Rooftops of Zapolyarny Palace

The night was still.

The winds in Snezhnaya always howled, but tonight, they held their breath.

A rift blinked open above the frozen towers—its edges crackling with muted rainbow hues before warping into icy silence.

Orion's body, newly forged, descended like a pale star... naked and unconscious.

He landed softly atop the palace roof, the black tiles groaning beneath him.

But the land of Snezhnaya shows no mercy.

The chill hit instantly.

Crystals formed across his arms. A thin layer of frost etched across his lashes. The warmth of his soul barely kept him breathing, each exhale visible in the frozen air.

The entire roof seemed to hush... waiting.

Mondstadt – Late Afternoon Skies

A second rift tore across the amber clouds, just outside the gates of Mondstadt.

The wind caught it before it could cause alarm.

From the portal, a figure fell—a woman, pale skin glowing in the sun, long blonde hair cascading like golden silk, eyes closed in serene unconsciousness.

Frieda.

And just before she touched the ground...

The wind stirred.

It swirled beneath her, lifting her gently, curling around her body like silk sheets.

From above, a familiar, playful voice echoed through the air.

"My my... I didn't expect to see you like this again."

Venti appeared midair, lyre slung lazily on his back, legs crossed as if reclining on invisible breeze.

His gaze softened, even as a smile tugged his lips.

"Can't have the people of my nation seen in such... bold fashion. Even I have some decency."

He waved his hand. The wind coiled tighter, wrapping Frieda in a long cloak of emerald and white, spun entirely from Anemo threads.

"Let's get you somewhere safe before the Knights start asking awkward questions."

With that, he gently whisked her away—high above Mondstadt, toward the Cathedral's private chambers, face uncharacteristically thoughtful.