Volume 5 – Chapter 152(Farewell Tea)
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Author Note:
[ ] = When Twilight is speaking.
{ } = When talking through Telepathy.
' ' = When thinking in your mind.
<< >> = When talking with your Pokémon or Tamed Beast.
--- --- = When describing a certain period OR Another place.
** ** = Point Of View, i.e., POV
/// /// = In Call
" " = System, and when talking to it.
「 」 = Thoughts being heard
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---Liyue Harbor---
One of the most prosperous nations among the seven that dotted the lands of Teyvat was no more.
Liyue, the city that once gleamed with the golden luster of commerce and culture, was reduced to nothing but silence and ruin. Its majestic harbor—where merchants once sang songs of wealth and fishermen cast their nets into calm, amber-tinted waters—had been utterly annihilated. The final attack, unleashed with a force that almost rivalled the wrath of the Gods themselves, came not from a foreign invader or a monstrous abomination, but from within. Shenhe, wielding the forbidden power of calamity buried deep within her, and Death Retainer carrying the dark twisted corrupted power of Adepti, brought forth a cataclysm so vile that the gods turned their gaze away in silence.
The explosion tore through the city like the scream of a dying world. It wasn't a burst of light and fire—it was a wound. A deep, black scar etched into the earth, raw and weeping, as if the land itself was mourning. The once-glorious Liyue Harbor now existed only as a massive, gaping crater, endlessly devouring seawater that rushed in from all sides. Where the tall, elegant rooftops of Qingce-style architecture once stood proud, there was now nothing but shards of stone, broken pillars, and the haunting remnants of what once was.
Far in the distance, jagged silhouettes of mountains still clung stubbornly to the edge of the horizon—ghostly reminders of the world that had once been. The smoke had long since dispersed, carried away by the high winds, but what it left behind was far worse. A lingering aura, thick with remnants of a curse that clung to skin and soul alike. The air tasted like ash and grief. A heavy, unrelenting sorrow soaked the very soil.
This power—malevolent and ancient—did not vanish with the blast. It remained, hanging over the crater like a veil of despair. The Adepti, and the god who watched from afar, could still sense it. For them, it was a distant, irritating presence. But for mortals—ordinary people who had once walked the harbor's golden streets—it was death. To step too close was to feel your soul unravel slowly, pulled thread by thread into the nothingness below. Birds avoided the skies. Even the wind seemed hesitant to blow through the shattered bones of the city.
Such carnage will take at least four, perhaps five years before the corruption fades enough for a human to stand there without losing their mind. Not to rebuild. Not yet. Just to exist, even briefly. To light a candle. To say a prayer.
And so Liyue—once the beating heart of contracts, of resilience, of Morax's immortal guardianship—had become a memory. Not a faded one, but a bleeding, open wound carved deep into Teyvat's soul.
A warning.
A grave.
A place where silence screams, and ghosts weep in the shadows of shattered stone.
Bottom of Form.
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Slowly, like a wraith descending from the sky, Shenhe drifted downward through the still-choked air. Her once blinding, ethereal Demonic Form had dissipated, leaving behind only the faint traces of crimson threads that curled around her like fading embers. Her feet touched the surface of the water without sinking.
Each step she took across the mirror-like water was deliberate, almost reverent, as though she were walking through the remnants of a funeral rite. Her white hair, streaked faintly with blood from battle, clung to her face in wet strands. The long silence around her wasn't peaceful. It was suffocating. The kind of silence that followed annihilation. The kind that screamed in your ears because there was nothing left to hear.
As Shenhe reached the jagged, crumbling edge of what used to be Liyue Harbor, Ganyu appeared beside her. Her usual calm expression was replaced by something unreadable. Perhaps it was pain. Perhaps guilt. Maybe both.
They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, at the precipice of the abyss.
Shenhe's Demonic Form may have faded, but its remnants still pulsed faintly within her, protecting her from chaotic energy in the air. Her body still bore the aftershocks of wielding such forbidden power—her veins faintly glowing, her breath coming in shallow, quiet exhales.
Ganyu, for her part, stood silently, unaffected. As a Half-Adeptus, her blood protected her, but not her heart. That, no Adeptus blood could shield.
They both knew it.
Shenhe's final strike had eclipsed the Death Retainer's. Her power had been the one to tip the scale, to bring the end. They had won.
And yet… there was no triumph.
No words of victory. No relief. No solace.
Only grief.
Unspoken. Heavy.
The kind of grief that presses down on your soul and leaves you hollow.
Shenhe's eyes, cold and pale, stared down into the abyss. Her expression was impassive, but her clenched fists betrayed her. The trembling of her shoulders was subtle, but not invisible. She had done what she had to. She had taken her revenge for her master.
And yet, it hurts…
Ganyu didn't speak either. Her gaze remained fixed on the water, but her thoughts were buried far deeper—lost among the shattered memories of the city and people she had once known, of streets she had walked a thousand times, of laughter now drowned beneath the waves.
Both women stood as statues carved in sorrow, bound together not just by blood and fate, but by this unbearable silence—by the knowledge that even victory can taste like ash.
But then, all of a sudden, something unexpected happened.
From the yawning chasm before them—something unexpected began to stir. Amidst the corruption that stained the sky and the water, a different energy rose. Gentle. Pure. Golden.
It shimmered like sunlight breaking through storm clouds after a long-forgotten dawn, soft and warm amidst the lingering darkness. This sacred light drifted upward in a slow spiral, untouched by the chaos that still clung to the world around it. And then, faintly, from the distant peaks of Jueyun Karst and the shattered silhouettes of the surrounding mountains, that same golden essence began to rise. As if summoned. As if called home.
The energies met—one by one—gathering above the massive crater, weaving together like strands of a celestial tapestry. The moment they united, a radiant bloom of golden light exploded outward—not in violence, but in awe-inspiring serenity. It poured across the battlefield like a wave of warmth, chasing away the staleness of death for just a fleeting moment.
Shenhe and Ganyu instinctively shielded their eyes, staggered by the intensity, though the light bore no heat. It did not burn—it embraced.
And then… silence.
As the brilliance faded, they slowly lowered their hands, their vision adjusting through the retreating glow. The world fell into a strange, reverent quiet—like the hush of a shrine after a prayer.
Their eyes widened.
Floating above the gaping void stood a figure—majestic, radiant, and impossible.
A crane. But not just any.
Her plumage gleamed in immaculate white, lined with elegant strokes of blue, gold, and deep obsidian black that shimmered like twilight. Beneath her gentle, ancient eyes lay crimson markings that once commanded mountains and watched over generations. Her very presence felt like the song of the wind through the stone halls of Liyue's temples—timeless and serene.
It was her.
Cloud Retainer.
Ganyu's breath hitched in her throat. Shenhe staggered a step backward, her knees nearly giving way.
They knew.
They felt it deep in their souls, undeniable and absolute. The one who had nurtured them, guided them, loved them in her own strange, profound way—stood before them once more.
She had perished. That much had been true.
But now, in this moment of unrelenting sorrow, she had returned.
Not in flesh. Not in full.
But in spirit.
A shimmering remnant of her soul, forged from the fragments of Liyue's sacred places, drawn by the desperate ache of her children's hearts.
The realization hit both girls at once, and it hurt more than they could have ever imagined. She was not alive. She was not here to stay. She was only… passing through.
A final farewell.
Their chests tightened. The pain was unbearable. That after all they had lost… after all they had sacrificed… they were being given one last miracle—and it would slip through their fingers like sand.
Cloud Retainer hovered a moment longer, her eyes full of something beyond words—pride, tenderness, relief. Then she descended gently, and with the grace of a setting sun, stepped before them.
She opened her wings, broad and soft, and gathered both Shenhe and Ganyu into an embrace that felt like home.
Neither resisted.
Shenhe, usually so guarded and cold, melted into that warmth. Ganyu, who had held herself together for so long, finally let go. Both pressed their faces against the crane's downy feathers, eyes shut tight, as if fearing that opening them would end the moment too soon.
Then, her voice came—soft as silk, strong as mountain stone:
Cloud Retainer: You both have grown up... This one is very proud of you.
The dam broke.
Tears, long denied, came flooding down their cheeks in uncontrollable streams. Their shoulders trembled. Their breathing hitched in quiet, broken sobs. They clung to her—not as warriors or Adepti, but as daughters. As children who had lost the only family they had truly known.
Cloud Retainer slowly stepped back, her wings folding at her sides. With one final gesture, she reached out and patted their heads—the same way she had when they were young. Her smile was radiant… and final.
The light around her began to shimmer, the edges of her form blurring, then softening—until, one by one, golden motes of light drifted from her body and vanished into the air.
Shenhe and Ganyu reached out, but it was already too late.
She was gone.
This time… truly.
And with that, whatever strength remained in them crumbled.
Their knees buckled. Their hands gripped the flowing water that easily broke free from the gap of their fingers. And from the edge of the world, where gods had once walked and legends had been born, came a raw, agonizing wail:
Shenhe & Ganyu: Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh…!
It wasn't a cry of warriors.
It was the cry of two broken souls, mourning not a victory, but the cost of it.
They had won.
But they had lost her.
And for Shenhe and Ganyu—who had never known the warmth of family outside that one gentle crane—that was a price far too steep.
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High above the bustling world below, Primis stood in silence, his gaze fixed on the dishevelled figures of his disciple and battle maids. Seeing their broken appearances, he couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. He remained motionless, an imposing figure draped in a long emperor's cloak that grazed the ground. The fabric billowed softly around him, mirroring the shadows that danced in the fading light.
As he contemplated the scene before him, Primis's mind travelled through the vast expanse of time, sifting through the infinite realities and possibilities he had witnessed in the River of Time. Each vision flashed before him—futures riddled with despair, destruction, and the chilling spectre of eternal servitude, where the victors of countless battles ruled over the vanquished with an iron fist. Among all these grim outcomes, the current reality, though far from perfect, was the best possible outcome.
Ais stood quietly behind Primis, her eyes fixed on the scene unfolding below, absorbing every moment in silence. Then her gaze shifted forward, she took in the sight of her Lord's back, sturdy and resolute against the backdrop of turmoil. Through their deep connection, she can tell that by now, Primis had managed to fully suppress the pain that gripped his heart at Ei's death.
'Primis: With this, Phase I of Liyue Harbor is done. As for Phase II…'
Primis shifted his gaze from the battle-worn figures before him to the distant horizon, where the shimmering expanse of Liyue Harbor stretched out like a mirror of the heavens, reflecting starlight in soft, trembling ripples. The wind stirred the sea gently, deceptively calm, but Primis knew better.
His vision pierced through the layers of the ocean, stripping away illusions and barriers with effortless precision. His gaze cut through the soft surf of the surface waters, past gliding shoals of fish and elegant reefs teeming with color and life. It passed through twisted shipwrecks, long forgotten by history but still guarded by coral and barnacle like sacred tombs. He moved deeper, pushing beyond the reach of sunlight, where darkness ruled and pressure would crush the lungs of any mortal being.
Still deeper — where sea serpents slithered through the cold black like whispers, where vegetation glowed with bioluminescent despair, and even the ancient seals laid down by gods pulsed faintly in the deep like warning signs carved in divine script.
And yet, none of these things could halt his gaze. Nothing could veil what slept in the abyss.
At the very bottom, where no song or prayer could reach, something stirred—something vast, ancient, and monstrous. Its presence was a wound in the ocean's soul—an unnatural silence that bent the very currents around it. Coiled like a shadow given form, it pulsed with slow, malevolent awareness.
There it was. A creature that no name in the human tongue could describe. Not beast. Not god. Not a demon. It was something other — a remnant from a time before time, or perhaps from a world that should never have touched this one. After consuming both Osial and Beisht — titans of the deep, the very monsters that once shook the skies and cracked the mountains — it had become something more.
Not merely powerful. Unstoppable.
Primis could feel it even now, watching. Waiting. As if it knew it wasn't done yet. As if it understood that the war above, the struggles of mortals and Adepti alike, were nothing more than a prelude — a distraction.
The gods, for all their might, could no longer subdue it. It had grown past them, evolved beyond the chains of divine authority or sacred contracts.
All but one.
Morax.
Only the Geo Archon, the one who once held dominion over stone, order, and the very bones of the earth, possessed the strength — and perhaps the wisdom — to stand against it. Not as an equal, but as a force of balance. The last line between the world above and the devouring dark below.
Primis: Are you ready?
He asked.
For a while, no one answered, not even Ais. But then space wrapped behind them, and a person appeared.
The figure moved deliberately, each step measured and purposeful as he advanced. He brushed past Ais, offering a fleeting glance before positioning himself shoulder to shoulder with Primis. To an outsider, this would have seemed like a brazen act of defiance, an affront that could not go unpunished. In another time and place, Ais and the unseen guardians concealed in the shadows around Primis would have drawn their weapons without hesitation and eliminated that person for such audacity. For this person, they just ignored him as he had special privilege from Primis himself.
Zhongli: Before I answer that, can I ask what will happen to these mortals?
Morax, or Zhongli, asked while looking at the last few remaining people of Liyue Harbor. Gaunt survivors draped in makeshift cloth, hollow-eyed children cradled by trembling hands, and wounded fighters leaning on crutches or the shoulders of others. Less than a tenth of Liyue's population had survived the onslaught, and of those, nearly half would never walk the same again.
Zhongli's expression, as always, remained unreadable — the calm mask of a god who had lived for millennia, who had buried friends, cities, and entire civilizations. But within, his heart was crumbling beneath the weight of despair. He had seen every moment of their struggle — every desperate resistance, every act of bravery, every prayer whispered to the heavens as the sky cracked and blood flowed in the streets.
He had watched.
And that was the hardest part.
Jueyun Karst was gone. The sacred mountains that once stood like eternal sentinels above the clouds had crumbled into ruin. The songbirds were silent now. Cloud Retainer's elegant spires had shattered, and the Adeptus herself had fallen. Xiao, ever the vigilant guardian, had fought until his final breath. Guoba, the gentle spirit who once brought laughter to mortal kitchens, had burned away protecting Xiangling.
None of them remained.
Each time Zhongli had felt the urge to step forward, to raise his stone and shield his people, the words of Primis echoed like a curse through his mind:
Primis: If you act now, you will save a few — only for all to be lost later. You must endure. For their sake. For what is coming.
So he had turned away. He had sealed his heart in stone. He had listened, even when it tore him apart.
Now, as he looked over the broken remnants of his people, Zhongli could feel it — that thing beneath the waves. Its presence was not a heartbeat but a tremor in the fabric of reality itself, as if the world recoiled from what waited below. A vile, malevolent force curled at the bottom of the sea, vast enough that the tides bowed to it.
He had considered probing the deep, sending his senses downward to understand what exactly lurked there — but he stopped himself. He didn't need to look. He knew.
If he reached out, it would know.
And if it knew, it would rise.
Instead, he waited. Not out of cowardice, but because he understood now. Everything Primis had warned him about — the restraint, the sacrifices — had led to this moment. A reckoning not just of gods and monsters, but of balance, of legacy.
He had reclaimed his former strength, piece by agonizing piece, in silence. While others fought and died, he had prepared. He had endured. Because he would be the final wall between that thing and what remained of humanity.
But as he stood there — not as Zhongli, but as Morax, the last ancient Archon of Geo — he did not think of the battle to come.
He thought of the people who still breathed.
Children with no homes. Elders weeping beside unmarked graves. Lovers separated by ruin. Survivors haunted by the silence of names never spoken again.
He was not afraid of dying. He was not even scared of failing.
What truly tormented him... was the question that burned in the quiet corners of his soul:
'Zhongli: When the monster rises, and I go to meet it... will there be anyone left to protect?'
For a long while, silence reigned between the two beings — one an ancient Archon carved from stone and memory, the other a presence now older than the Cosmos, whose very existence defied the laws that bound reality.
Zhongli stood quietly, his gaze still fixed on the broken skyline of Liyue. His hands were clasped behind his back, knuckles pale with tension, jaw tight with the weight of everything he had borne in silence. Then, just when the despair began to settle in again, a voice spoke — soft but impossibly steady, like a blade drawn in the dark.
Primis: They will be fine.
The words were simple. Yet, to Morax, they felt like divine thunder — not loud, not violent, but undeniable. The kind of truth that rewrites destinies.
He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing in quiet disbelief. Confusion etched faintly across his otherwise composed features. Primis had not lifted a hand during the war. He had watched. Observed. Not once had he intervened, even when the world cried out for salvation. And so Zhongli, in his heart, had assumed he would remain apart from what was to come. Distant. Removed.
But now, here he was — not only present, but speaking words that trembled with unspoken power.
Primis: They have suffered… seen enough. Their trials have broken them, but they are not lost. They will endure. They will live. Nothing more will touch them. Not while WE still draw breath. This… WE promise.
There was something in the way he said WE — not as a plural, but as a chorus. A legion of power condensed into one voice, carrying the weight of the heavens, the underworld, and everything in between. The Ruler of the Three Realms had spoken — not as a distant sovereign, but as a guardian. A shield. A god above gods.
And Zhongli believed him.
Because how could he not?
No force in existence would dare move against the will of Primis. Not even the monster stirring beneath the ocean, no matter how vast or ancient it was. Not when the promise had been made.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, the tension in Zhongli's chest eased. The invisible shackles of fear and doubt that had wrapped around his heart loosened. A part of the burden he had carried — the unbearable dread of losing what little remained — was lifted from his shoulders.
He bowed his head slightly, eyes closing in silent gratitude and spoke softly.
Zhongli: Then I am in your debt… again.
With that single promise, everything changed.
Now, he could fight — not as a guardian trying to protect what remained, but as a god unleashed, focused solely on destroying the abomination that loomed beneath the waves. No more hesitation. No more restraint. His power, ancient and tectonic, could now be wielded in full without fear of collateral loss.
He would not look back again.
As the winds grew still and the ocean seemed to tremble in anticipation, Morax stood taller — not the gentle Zhongli who had walked among mortals, but the true Archon of Stone, returned at last.
He turned toward the distant sea, where shadows writhed beneath the waves.
And this time… he was ready.
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A day passed in silence, the kind of silence that seemed to suffocate the world itself.
Liyue Harbor was no more. The civilization was now nothing but a faint memory. No birds flew across the sky, no animals roamed the forests, not even the Adepti lingered anymore. The city of stone and spirit, cradled by towering mountains and the ancient spirit of its guardian, had been erased. Not a soul was left, save for Morax.
Perched atop the Jade Chamber, now a solitary sentinel in the abyss of an empty sky, Morax lay on the cold stone, his golden eyes shut in quiet contemplation. His body, still as death itself, blended seamlessly into the vastness of the world around him. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, as though the world itself had drawn a breath, preparing for something terrible. Inside the Jade Chamber, all was empty; the halls, once filled with purpose, now echoed only the hollow sound of forgotten time.
The wind, once warm with the scent of bustling life, had turned sharp and bitter. Then, a tremor—the kind that gnawed at the very soul—reached through the earth and water alike. Morax's eyes flickered open, two pools of molten gold that shone with ancient fury and wisdom. He did not jump or startle. He had long since learned that it was only in the face of true calamity that the world revealed its true form. He rose, his presence as unyielding as the mountains themselves, and in one fluid motion, he descended from the rooftop, his feet landing softly upon the stone of the Jade Chamber's edge.
His gaze was fixed on the sea below—a sea that, in moments, would bear witness to the rise of something beyond mortal comprehension.
The waters shifted, subtle at first—like the whisper of a dying breeze—but it did not take long for the disturbance to grow. A vortex began to form, a spiral of darkness that stretched into the deep, curling inward like an unnatural wound in the fabric of reality itself. The very sea around it seemed to recoil, bending to the will of the void. Morax's eyes narrowed. He knew what this was. And it was not of this world.
The vortex expanded, devouring everything in its path. The islands that once dotted the coast of Liyue vanished without so much as a gasp, swallowed whole by the monstrous hole that was opening in the sea. The land trembled as the very earth itself seemed to crack and groan, torn from its moorings and drawn toward the abyssal maw. The hole in the center of the vortex deepened—darker, colder, more oppressive until even the light itself seemed to abandon it. It reached the very depths where light and time ceased to be.
Soon, half of Liyue itself was consumed, the waters of the sea swirling in a terrible rhythm as the land began to buckle beneath the weight of the pull. Yet, despite the chaos that enveloped his home, Morax remained unmoved. The cold rain began to fall, a cascade of ice-like droplets that shattered against his stone-cold skin without leaving a trace. His arms crossed before him, standing as a stoic sentinel, he awaited the inevitable. The temperature plummeted to a point where even the air itself seemed to freeze, the once-warm ocean now a shifting, jagged mass of frozen terror.
But still, Morax did not move. His expression was unreadable—an ancient god, unperturbed by the chaos unfolding before him, as if he had been expecting this very moment for an eternity. There was no fear in his eyes, only the cold certainty of inevitability.
The vortex reached its peak, and then—silence. For a moment, the world stood still.
Then, the sea began to glow.
A blue luminescence—unnatural, unsettling—began to pulse from the heart of the abyss. It was as though the sea itself was alive, its depths filled with a presence far older and more malevolent than the world above. The water churned, its glow deepening, brighter, and more intense until it broke the surface in a violent eruption. The creature that rose from the depths was no mere beast; it was a living nightmare.
A massive, serpentine creature, its form coiling around itself in an endless spiral of sleek, glowing scales. The very sea around it seemed to warp, twisted by its presence, as if the laws of nature themselves bent to accommodate its monstrous shape. Its scales shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly glow—iridescent blue that burned against the darkening sky. The creature's eyes— glowing spheres of light—appeared empty and hungry, gazing down upon the world with a predatory malice.
Its maw opened, revealing a vast expanse of jagged teeth, gleaming with the sharpness of forgotten centuries. Horn-like tendrils twisted from its head, dripping with dark ichor, while whiskers of luminous energy flickered from its body like tendrils of lightning. Every movement it made rippled through the ocean with violent grace, its body shifting and weaving with a terrifying elegance, as though it had danced in the void of the abyss for so long.
Around it, the waters erupted in chaos—waves like jagged mountains rose and fell in violent crescendos, crashing against the rocks that jutted out from the sea with the fury of a storm long forgotten. Mist swirled around the creature, swirling into a cyclone of madness, while jagged rocks began to rise, breaking the surface of the water as if they, too, were drawn by the serpent's will.
The very air itself seemed to tremble in its presence. It was a force born of the world's deepest nightmares—primordial, terrifying, a being that had been slumbering in the unfathomable depths of time, now awakened by an unseen hand.
The serpent—no, the dragon—was not just a creature. It was an ancient force of destruction, a manifestation of the ocean's wrath and the earth's buried horrors. It was beauty incarnate in the most primal sense: a shimmering nightmare that carried with it the weight of forgotten millennia, the power of an age that could not be understood by the fragile minds of mortals.
And still, Morax stood, a god among men and monsters alike, unmoved. His gaze was not filled with fear, nor awe. Only the cold recognition that this was but a shadow of what the world had seen before.
And yet, for the first time in millennia, even Morax could not help but wonder if this time—this moment—would be the last.
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Pic: The Dragon Serpent
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Ever since the Dragon Serpent emerged from the depths of the ocean, its menacing, burning eyes had fixated on nothing but Morax. The beast's gaze was unwavering, as if it saw through time and space itself. It knew—just as it had always known—that the world around it had been reduced to a barren wasteland. There were no living beings left in Liyue except for Morax, the Geo Archon. But that thought barely registered in the creature's mind. It had no interest in the puny mortals that once roamed these lands. To it, they were nothing more than insects—insignificant specks of life whose existence would amount to nothing.
The Dragon Serpent, a creature of pure destruction, was above such trivial concerns. Its very presence caused the earth to tremble, and even the very ocean waves seemed to bow in submission. The only being in this land that could be worthy of its attention, the only one that could challenge its supremacy, was none other than Morax himself.
Morax stood unwavering, his stoic expression betraying no fear. The towering form of the Dragon Serpent loomed before him, a creature so vast and terrifying that even the strongest of gods might hesitate in its presence. But Morax, Rex Lapis, did not flinch. His eyes locked with those of the beast, neither giving an inch. This was not the first time he had stared down an enemy of immense power, nor would it be the last.
In that charged silence, Morax was suddenly enveloped in brilliant, radiant light. It glowed like the first spark of dawn, blinding in its intensity. Without a moment's hesitation, the light erupted, lifting him from the earth and sending him soaring into the sky. His body, now alight with the very essence of the earth itself, streaked upward like a comet, leaving a trail of glimmering light behind.
The Dragon Serpent raised its head, its neck arching as it followed Morax's ascent. The dark clouds above Liyue parted, as if the heavens themselves were being torn asunder. For a moment, there was nothing but the vast, ominous sky. Then, as though someone had pierced a hole through the firmament, a blinding burst of sunlight streamed through the breach.
The warmth of the rays was sudden and overwhelming, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the cold darkness. The light washed over the land in waves, casting the entire world beneath it in a glow of molten gold. And with it, came a roar—a thunderous, earth-shaking cry that seemed to come from the very core of the world. The sound reverberated through the mountains, across the plains, and deep into the heart of Liyue itself. It was a roar that echoed across time, reminding all who heard it of the ancient powers that once ruled these lands.
Then, from the hole in the sky, emerged a creature of sheer majesty: a dragon, immense beyond belief, its body cutting through the air with power that could level entire cities. Its body was an intricate tapestry of deep red and orange scales that glimmered in the sunlight, shimmering with a brilliance that seemed to outshine the sun itself. The dragon's head was crowned with a flowing mane of flames, each strand flickering with golden-yellow highlights that burned with an otherworldly intensity. It was a sight both beautiful and terrifying, divine and destructive in equal measure.
The dragon's very presence exuded an aura of ancient power, a celestial grace that seemed to bend the laws of nature itself. It soared through the air with an elegant precision, its claws outstretched like the hands of a god, its tail curling and flicking with fluidity. The warm, radiant light that bathed the dragon's scales only served to enhance its imposing figure, casting shadows of fire across the land beneath it.
It was then that the true nature of the dragon became clear. This was not merely a beast of myth, a creature of folklore. No, this was the true form of Morax—the Geo Archon of Liyue. Or, as he was known by those who revered him, Rex Lapis. The god of stone, the protector of the land, and the ancient guardian of Liyue, now standing before the Dragon Serpent as an equal.
For a moment, the world stood still as the two beings, one born from the depths of the ocean and the other from the heart of the earth, locked eyes. The heavens themselves seemed to hold their breath, awaiting the clash of these ancient powers. The air crackled with tension, the earth trembling beneath their feet. The Battle between the Dragon Serpent and Rex Lapis was about to commence.
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Pic: Rex Lapis
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ROAR!!!
ROAR!!!
The earth itself trembled as the twin roars of destruction echoed. The Dragon Serpent and Rex Lapis, the two titans of ancient power, bellowed their defiance, neither showing an ounce of fear, nor the slightest hint of retreat. Their clash was inevitable—a test of supremacy, a contest to decide which among them would reign supreme. The very land, sky, and sea quivered under the weight of their voices, as if the world itself had been caught in the throes of an eternal struggle.
And then, as if the air had suddenly grown thick with anticipation, both dragons surged forward. Their colossal forms charged towards each other with a speed so blindingly fast that no mortal, no Adeptus, no force of nature could hope to track their movements. It was as if they existed in a dimension outside of time—impossibly swift, beyond comprehension.
CRASH!!
Their heads collided with a force that could shatter mountains, and the impact sent shockwaves across the entire region. The very oceans and clouds parted before the devastating force of the collision. The shockwave spread out, shaking the land from the peaks to the deepest corners of Liyue, and beyond. The sound of the impact—like the cracking of the world itself—reverberated through the very bones of the earth.
Yet, in a miraculous defiance of nature itself, neither dragon was harmed. The scales of the Dragon Serpent remained unmarred, and Rex Lapis stood resolute, unwavering. They separated, a brief, fleeting moment of respite before the battle recommenced.
With a roar of fury, Rex Lapis, the mighty Geo Archon, struck first. His massive claws slashed through the air, aimed directly at the Serpent. But the Dragon Serpent, with its sinuous and fluid body, coiled and twisted like water, evading the blow with the grace of a predator.
SHIN!!
The claw sliced through the air, narrowly missing its target, but the sheer power behind the strike was enough to send ripples through the sea. The ocean's surface was torn as if a giant blade had carved through it, sending waves crashing in every direction. The land, too, bore the mark of that immense force, as deep gouges appeared along the coastline.
The Dragon Serpent, unperturbed, retaliated with its serpentine body, attempting to coil around Rex Lapis, to crush him in a vice of scales and fury. But Rex Lapis was no mere beast to be easily ensnared. His ancient agility, honed over several millennia, allowed him to slip free of the Serpent's coils, his massive form twisting and sliding effortlessly as if he were one with the very rock and earth itself.
In the same motion, Rex Lapis swung his tail with unimaginable force, crashing it against the Serpent's head.
BAM!!
The sound of the strike echoed like a thunderclap, a shockwave rippling through the air as the force of the blow burst the surrounding atmosphere. Yet, despite the force, there was no sign of injury upon the Dragon Serpent's head. Not a single scale was out of place. It was as though the Serpent itself were invincible, its ancient hide impervious to even the most devastating of attacks.
But Rex Lapis did not falter. He soared higher, his form streaking upward like a comet against the heavens, gathering the very essence of the earth beneath him. From the depths of the land, the power of Geo surged, and countless massive Geo spikes erupted into the sky. They pierced the air like spears of stone, glittering with deadly energy as they formed a colossal, lethal rain, ready to fall upon the Dragon Serpent.
The Dragon Serpent, however, was not easily intimidated. With a snort that rattled the heavens, it commanded the sea to rise in its defense. In an instant, a vast tidal wave rose from the depths, an impenetrable wall of water that shielded the Serpent from the falling barrage of stone.
For a brief moment, the world held its breath. The Geo spikes, crashing down from above, met the wall of water with a deafening roar of impact. The water surged, cascading over the land and leaving a misty veil between the combatants.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the Dragon Serpent was gone—its massive form vanishing beneath the waves, sinking deep into the ocean.
Rex Lapis, high above in the sky, narrowed his eyes. He knew the waters were the Serpent's domain. Here, in the depths of the sea, he would be at a disadvantage. Hence, he began to climb higher into the sky, seeking to gain an advantage, to distance himself from the battle below. But the Serpent was faster than he anticipated.
Before he could ascend further, the sea exploded. From beneath the waves, the Dragon Serpent shot upward like a living missile, its body coiling and twisting with an unimaginable speed. It tore through the ocean's surface, propelled by sheer power, and in the blink of an eye, it was upon Rex Lapis.
BANG!!
Before Rex Lapis could react, the Dragon Serpent's jaws closed around him with the force of an ancient calamity, sinking its teeth deep into his body. It was as if the world itself had broken apart.
The two titans collided with the sea below in a deafening BOOOM, sending a shockwave that sent tsunamis crashing across the shores. The earth shook, and the sea churned violently, as if the battle between the two was rewriting the very fabric of reality. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the entire region, rattling the cities and mountains alike.
Rex Lapis, stunned and momentarily disoriented, was dragged beneath the surface of the sea, the Dragon Serpent's grip unrelenting. In desperation, the mighty Geo Archon lashed out, his claws carving through the water, attempting to strike the creature. But the Serpent was swift, evading each attack with ease, slipping between the blows as though it were made of water itself.
Rex Lapis' mind raced. His power was formidable, but in the Serpent's element, his strength was limited. He reached deep into the very heart of the earth, calling upon the power of Geo once more—but this time, no spikes appeared. Instead, something else materialized.
From the depths of the ocean, a monolith emerged—a towering pillar of stone, created not by the earth above, but by the very bedrock beneath. The Serpent had not expected such an attack to come from the ocean itself. Its speed faltered for a moment, and the monolith was struck by the Serpent's horn with such force that it cracked from the impact.
BAM!!
The monolith shattered, but it had done its job. The Serpent's momentum was halted, just for a moment. In that precious instant, Rex Lapis seized the opportunity. He leaped forward, his massive claws latching onto the Serpent's horn, and with all his strength, he hurled the creature back toward the shattered monolith.
BAMM!!!
The force of the collision sent waves crashing against the shore, as though the very ocean had been torn asunder. The Serpent, though resilient, was caught off guard. Its mind was dazed for a moment—a single breath of hesitation, long enough for Rex Lapis to escape the depths of the sea.
Rex Lapis, rising from the water, back to the sky above.
Even though Rex Lapis had managed to escape the clutches of the Dragon Serpent beneath the sea, there was no relief in his eyes—no sense of triumph, only silence. He hovered above the shattered ocean, his massive chest heaving, steam rising from the heat of his Geo aura clashing with the cold remnants of the deep.
But then, he felt it.
A biting numbness spread through his right forearm, colder than any winter he had ever summoned from the mountains. He glanced down—and his heart sank. His claw, the very one he had used to seize the Dragon Serpent's horn, was encased in jagged, crystalline ice. Not just frost, not superficial chill, but a deep, bone-shattering freeze that reached into his very essence.
He forgot that the Dragon Serpent had devoured both Osial, the ancient god of the sea, and Beisht, the cryo leviathan. It now carried within it the essence of both the Hydro and Cryo elements, fused into a devastating dual force. And when Rex Lapis had gripped its horn, the Serpent had deliberately funneled the Cryo energy into that very point of contact, embedding its power like venom into his limb.
CRACK!!
A sharp, harrowing sound tore through the skies as the frozen limb, brittle from the concentrated Cryo energy, shattered like ancient glass, scattering fragments of gold and stone into the air. Rex Lapis's dragon arm—one that had shaped mountains, moved tectonic plates, and defended civilizations—was gone. Shattered. Lost.
But he did not roar in pain.
He did not falter.
He only watched.
With eyes as deep and ancient as the earth itself, Rex Lapis turned his gaze toward the sea. The Dragon Serpent was still down there, hidden beneath the waves, biding its time. It showed no urgency to rise again. It had made its move, struck a grievous blow, and now sought to draw the battle further into its domain—where the water would muffle power, where speed was king, and where the Geo Archon would be disadvantaged.
But Rex Lapis had made a decision.
If the Serpent would not rise—then he would bring judgment to it.
He soared higher into the sky, climbing through the dark veil of clouds that blanketed the nation. His golden body glowed with the essence of Geo, a blinding molten aura that grew more intense with every beat of his colossal body. Sparks of burning light flared in the sky like dying stars, at first faint… then brighter… and then unbearably hot.
Then the clouds parted.
The heavens ignited in a cataclysmic blaze as hundreds—no, thousands—of searing Geo meteors began to manifest. They emerged from the ether, glowing with the heat of the planet's core, each one large enough to annihilate a mountain. The dark skies above Liyue turned into a glowing inferno, as if the sun itself had descended upon the land.
And then, with Rex Lapis's silent command,
the meteors fell.
They screamed through the air like heavenly judgment, raining destruction upon every corner of Liyue—its highest peaks, its deep forests, the jade plains, and the forgotten islands. Even the tranquil sea was not spared.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOOOOOM!!!
Each impact was a cataclysm unto itself. Mountains cracked and crumbled. Vast forests were reduced to smoldering ash. The very crust of the earth rippled and broke. The ocean surged and twisted in pain as explosions erupted beneath its surface. The nation trembled as if it were being unmade.
The Dragon Serpent, deep within its watery refuge, was forced to move. It twisted and spun through the currents, trying to dodge the flaming rain. At first, it succeeded—its body a blur of grace and speed, a serpent forged from the abyss itself. But then came the shockwaves. The seabed shattered beneath the meteoric impacts, and the resulting force disoriented the beast.
It began to slow.
And that's when the meteors found their mark.
One after another, they struck the Serpent's armored body. At first, its scales resisted the searing heat. But as the deluge continued, even its divine hide began to blacken and crack. Burns appeared, small at first, but growing—each one a scar marring its once-pristine form.
Far above, Rex Lapis watched with his single remaining arm, his eyes glowing like molten gold. There was no hatred in them. Only the expression of a god fulfilling his duty—a silent understanding that one must sometimes destroy to protect.
The meteoric rain continued for what felt like hours, but was only minutes.
And then… silence.
The last meteor fell.
Steam hissed from the ocean. The skies were clear, but scorched, painted in furious hues of crimson and gold. All of Liyue—once a land of prosperity—was now a battlefield. Smoke rose in thick columns, the scent of fire and salt in the air.
And then—the sea stirred once more.
The Dragon Serpent emerged, breaking through the steaming surface in a violent burst of fury. Its scales were charred, parts of its divine form cracked and still smoking. But it lived. It endured. And its eyes… those eyes burned with rage—not because it had been bested, but because it had been scarred.
Rex Lapis hovered high, solemn and silent. His arm was gone, and golden ichor still dripped from where the limb had been severed. Yet he remained unmoved, unwavering, his body casting a divine shadow across the war-torn sea.
Their eyes locked once more. Two Titans. Two ancient forces.
One forged in the foundations of the world.
The other, born of the abyss, now wielding the power of sea and ice.
Neither would yield.
And with a deafening cry, the battle resumed—
A storm of divine fury, written in fire, stone, and sea.
.
.
.
.
A month went by.
Thirty days and nights of unrelenting war. The skies above Liyue had long lost their blue. What remained was a churning storm of ash, lightning, and celestial fire. The ground, now a scarred canvas of desolation. Mountains had crumbled into canyons. The seas had surged inland, filling enormous fractures in the earth, turning valleys into haunted gulfs. Forests were incinerated. There was no Liyue anymore—only a shattered expanse of ruin and silence, broken only by the echoes of an unending clash.
And at the heart of this devastation... two titanic beings still battled.
The Dragon Serpent, an ancient behemoth born of the depths, its once-proud coils now twisted and broken, body half-submerged in the roiling, blood-soaked sea. Its scales—once unbreakable—lay shattered in countless places. Jagged geo spears, remnants of divine wrath, jutted from its flesh like a grotesque crown. Its massive horns had been sheared clean off. Where water should have been, blood now flowed—thick, dark, endless.
Rex Lapis, the Archon of Stone, hovered above in the scorched sky, body of rock and crystal barely intact. One arm had long since been obliterated. His once-pristine golden armor, infused with divine essence, was fractured and scorched black. An entire side of his draconic face had been lost, leaving behind a burning singular eye of molten amber that still burned with unwavering resolve. Glacial shards—gifts of the serpent's cryo mastery—had embedded themselves deep within his body, slowly corrupting his form like a venomous frost.
Both were no longer gods.
They were forces of cataclysm.
Neither moved for a moment. The world itself seemed to pause. Even the winds held their breath.
And then… they made their choice.
Their final blow.
Rex Lapis drew upon the dregs of his divine core. A golden halo flared behind him like a dying sun. Every remaining ounce of geo, every shard of his immortal essence, surged to his mouth. The air bent around him as if reality itself could not bear the pressure of his fury.
Below, the Dragon Serpent coiled the last of its might. The oceans churned. The tide reversed. The water and ice heeded their master's final call. A storm of hydro and cryo energy crackled around its fanged maw. The sea trembled in reverence and terror.
The heavens burned gold.
The sea froze blue.
And then—they roared.
Rex Lapis unleashed a celestial breath of molten earth and divine flame—so hot it seared the sky into glass. The Dragon Serpent answered with a howl of absolute frost, a beam so cold it stilled the ocean in mid-motion, turning entire tsunamis into monuments of ice.
The collision was apocalyptic.
BOOOOOOM!!!
A cataclysmic explosion erupted, greater than any seen since the birth of the world. The very sky split in two—one side blazing like the heart of a dying star, the other entombed in absolute winter. The explosion didn't just destroy—it erased. It consumed the entirety of Liyue, and more. Mountains hundreds of miles away shattered. Tidal waves rippled across the distant seas. The heavens wept light—and the world watched in stunned silence.
In the distant nations—people saw it. A blinding light unlike any sunrise, a roar louder than the wrath of ten thousand storms. Some fell to their knees in awe. Others in terror.
And then, there was silence.
The battle between Rex Lapis and the Dragon Serpent had ended.
The land was gone.
The sky dimmed.
And in the center of it all—where gods had fallen—was nothing.
Just silence. And the memory of war that would echo through time itself.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Birds sang in the distance.
Their soft, melodic chirping weaved through the quiet morning air, accompanied by the faint rustle of the grass swaying gently in the breeze. It was a serene, tranquil sound—one that felt almost… foreign, after all the screaming, the thunder, the shattering of stone and sky.
Zhongli stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, golden irises blinking against the light of a soft sun. He drew a quiet breath, his chest rising with ease—no pain, no ice digging into his veins, no searing wounds. Only air. Only peace.
He sat upright, surprised to find himself in a chair—a simple, elegant piece of craftsmanship nestled within an open field that stretched endlessly in all directions. The earth was blanketed with tall grass that danced in the wind, dotted with wildflowers in full bloom. The scent of lilac and honeysuckle clung to the air.
But it wasn't the beauty of the field that stole his breath.
It was what he saw beyond.
Far in the distance, at the edge of the horizon, there rose a city—new, shining, alive.
Zhongli's breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't Liyue—at least not the one he had known. The city before him bore the soul of Liyue, but it was something greater now, something reborn. He saw the elegant curves of Mondstadt architecture alongside the sharp elegance of Inazuma's design, and within it all, the unmistakable heart of Liyue's stonework. Streets wove together like rivers through the land, lined with lanterns, trees, gardens, and laughter.
And the people—his people—were there.
The last survivors of Liyue. Once broken, hollowed by war, their eyes haunted by despair. Now… they laughed. They smiled. They lived. Children chased each other through the streets, their giggles lighting up the air. Merchants argued over fruit prices, new lovers held hands under cherry blossom trees. Soldiers marched—not in fear, but in ceremony.
And beside the people of Liyue, he saw others—Inazuma and Mondstadt.
This was not just a city.
It was a miracle.
It was Teyvat, reborn through unity—a city where the fragments of shattered nations had come together, not in conquest, but in harmony.
Zhongli's throat tightened. His hands trembled slightly in his lap.
A voice, warm and steady, gently cut through his thoughts.
???: Congratulations on your victory.
He turned his head.
Seated beside him was Primis—not adorned in celestial grandeur, but appearing as THEY always did: timeless, calm, and composed. Between them, a small table had appeared, its wooden surface polished and bare, simple and sacred in its own way.
For a moment, Zhongli said nothing. He was too stunned. Too full.
Then a quiet chuckle escaped his lips—low, rich, weary.
Zhongli: Well… thank you.
Primis said nothing more, nor did he. They simply sat, watching the city.
They listened to the chatter of people, the thudding of footsteps, the whispers of the wind through blossoming trees. It was a peace Zhongli had fought for across millennia… and one he had never truly known until now.
He exhaled slowly.
Zhongli: YOUR MAJESTY…Thank you.
He said, voice hushed, reverent.
Primis didn't look away from the city.
Primis: WE had a promise to keep.
A small smile ghosted across Zhongli's lips. It was filled with a lifetime of gratitude and a quiet sadness that tugged at his chest.
Primis raised a hand with practiced ease. With a soft shimmer of golden light, a porcelain teapot and two cups appeared on the table between them. The steam that rose from the spout carried with it a fragrance that reminded Zhongli of ancient mountain springs and the gardens of Guiyun.
Primis: How about some tea? WE are sure you will love it.
Primis asked softly.
Zhongli nodded, his voice barely more than breath.
Zhongli: It would be my honor.
The pot poured itself, two elegant streams of amber liquid falling soundlessly into the cups. Zhongli lifted his with both hands, reverently, as though holding the last sacred thing left in the world. He took a sip.
His eyes widened.
Zhongli: …This is the finest tea I've ever tasted.
He whispered.
Primis smiled faintly.
Primis: WE're glad you like it.
A silence fell between them again, this one full of warmth. It was not the silence of things unsaid, but of mutual understanding.
Zhongli's gaze lingered on the city, his eyes tracing the skyline, the laughter of children, the families reunited, the lovers embracing without fear. Peace—genuine peace—had taken root.
And with that, his voice cracked ever so slightly.
Zhongli: Thank you… again. It seems I have said those words to you more than any other lately.
Primis: It seems so.
Primis said gently.
Zhongli chuckled again, quiet and tender.
Zhongli: But… it's the only thing I can offer in this moment. And it feels right.
He finished the last of his tea.
Primis, silently, poured him another.
He drank.
And another.
Until at last, he set his cup down with finality, his fingers lingering on its smooth edge.
He looked up toward the sun.
Zhongli: Now that I've seen them—truly seen them, smiling, laughing, living—I feel something I haven't in a very long time…
His voice caught.
Zhongli: …Freedom."
Zhongli turned to Primis.
Zhongli: YOUR MAJESTY… I know our time together has been brief. Fleeting, but… I cherished every second.
He gave a soft smile.
Primis gave a slow, solemn nod.
Primis: WE did too, Morax.
Zhongli closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of flowers one last time.
Zhongli: Then… I am at peace. I leave the rest to you.
Primis did not speak. THEY did not need to.
Zhongli stood.
And though he stood as a man, the world seemed to hold its breath—recognizing that a god was rising for the final time.
He gave one last glance toward the city.
Then turned back to Primis, eyes soft and golden as dawn.
Zhongli: Now then… it's time. Goodbye… YOUR MAJESTY.
Primis rose slightly from THEIR seat, just enough to offer the respect due to one of the oldest gods to ever walk Teyvat.
Primis: Farewell, Morax.
Zhongli smiled.
And then his body began to shimmer.
Golden light lifted from his skin like the petals of a thousand glowing flowers. His form dissolved gently—there was no pain, no sorrow. He became stardust, peace incarnate, the last breath of an immortal who had fulfilled his duty.
He faded into the light, into the breeze, into the memory of the world.
.
Thus, Phase II of the Planer War of Liyue Harbor ended…
…with the death of their god.
The God of Contracts.
Morax.
.
He did not fall in battle.
He passed with peace.
With fulfillment.
With hope.
His memory would never fade—not from the earth he shaped, nor the hearts he protected.
And in the city of Teyvat, where people of all nations lived as one, every step, every smile, every shared cup of tea whispered his name.
Zhongli.
Morax.
The God who gave everything… so they could live.
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*A/N: Please throw some power stones.
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