Shadows of Inquiry and New Faces]

The Wind Dragon Ruins loomed like a fractured crown against the horizon, their crumbling spires piercing a sky bruised with the deep indigo of late afternoon. Ancient stone arches, weathered by centuries of wind and war, cast long shadows over a throne carved from the heart of a fallen tower, its surface worn smooth by time yet radiating an eerie majesty. Sora, a blond youth cloaked in dark armor, sat upon it, his golden eyes narrowed as he gazed down at the Abyss Mage kneeling before him, its watery form shimmering with nervous ripples. The air was thick with the scent of decay—moss clinging to cracked stones, the faint tang of ozone from forgotten storms—and a silence broken only by the mage's hoarse, trembling voice.

"Your Highness, the plan to twist the Dragon of the East Wind into a war machine… it's failed," the mage rasped, its staff clattering against the ground as it bowed lower, frustration etching its watery features. Sora's expression tightened, a flicker of solemnity crossing his youthful face as he leaned forward, his gloved hands resting on the throne's arms. "The Anemo Archon—Barbatos—did he intervene? Has he donned his crown again to shield that dragon?" His voice was calm but edged with a tension that hinted at the stakes—Twalin, a Guardian of the Four Winds, was a prize the Abyss Order coveted, and a god's wrath could unravel their schemes.

The mage shook its head, its hood swaying as it met his gaze with fearful eyes. "No, Your Highness—we accounted for the bard's meddling. The true obstacle… it was your kin, your sister." Sora's breath caught, his mind spiraling back through centuries—memories of Lumine, her laughter echoing across lost fields, her golden hair catching sunlight as they faced a world together. Now, she stood against him, a blade in the dark he hadn't foreseen. "Lumine…" he murmured, his voice softening as nostalgia warred with duty, his fingers tightening until the leather creaked.

"Tell me everything—leave nothing out," he commanded, his tone hardening as he pushed the past aside, his curiosity now a sharp-edged tool. The mage straightened, its voice steadying as it recounted the tale—Stormterror's assault on Mondstadt, thwarted not by divine wind but by Lumine's might. "She wields a fierce control over the air, Your Highness—strong enough to become a cyan dragon, larger than Twalin itself," it said, its words trembling with recalled terror. "I saw it from the plains yesterday—her dragon form clashed with the Wind Dragon, and it fell before her power."

Sora's frown deepened, his mind racing as he parsed the mage's words. He knew Lumine—her courage, her resolve—but this wind mastery was new, a gift she'd never borne in their shared past. "Barbatos?" he wondered aloud, his voice a whisper as he considered the Anemo Archon, a trickster who might bless a mortal to spite the Abyss. But he dismissed it—Wendy's lyre was a relic, not a crown, and the bard shunned godhood's weight. "Where did she find this strength?" he mused, his interest sharpening into a quiet hunger, a need to unravel his sister's transformation.

"Watch Mondstadt closely—gather every scrap of intel on her, on the city, without drawing eyes," he ordered, his voice firm as he rose, his cloak swirling like a storm's edge. "Report anything vital at once." The mage nodded, then hesitated, its staff tapping the stone nervously. "Your Highness, there's more—something critical I saw outside Mondstadt." Sora tilted his head, intrigued, and gestured for it to continue. "A silver-white dragon—three heads, towering as grand as Twalin, maybe more. It appeared today, its presence shaking the plains. If we could harness it…" The mage's voice trailed off, its ambition gleaming through its fear.

Sora's lips curved into a faint, mirthless smile, his eyes glinting with dark fascination. "Wind mastery from my sister, now a triple-headed beast—Mondstadt's full of surprises," he said, a low chuckle escaping as he paced the throne's dais, his boots echoing against the stone. "Track it—find its source, its whispers among the people—but don't act. We need knowledge, not noise." The mage bowed deeply—"Yes, Your Highness!"—and vanished in a swirl of dark mist, leaving Sora alone with his thoughts, the ruins' shadows stretching longer as dusk crept in. "Lumine… what game are you playing?" he murmured, his gaze distant, a brother's curiosity laced with a rival's edge.

Meanwhile, within Mondstadt's sun-warmed walls, Galehaven Comics basked in the quiet of early afternoon, its narrow storefront tucked between a blacksmith's forge and a florist's blooms. The air inside carried the scent of aged paper and dandelion tea, a kettle simmering softly behind Harlan Flint's counter as he lounged in his chair, his dark jacket slung over the backrest, a half-empty cup cradled in his hands. The morning's chaos—eleven customers, from Fatui to Knights—had ebbed, leaving him in a rare lull, the shop's shelves glowing faintly in the light streaming through a single window, their colorful spines a silent promise of chaos yet to unfold.

He sipped his tea, the warmth soothing his throat as he glanced at the system panel hovering in his mind—[Task 1: 11/10 customers, 1 comic draw available; Task 2: 17/30 for exclusive reward]—a grin tugging at his lips. "Busy day—almost there," he mused, savoring the calm before the inevitable storm of new faces drawn by Wendy's bardic buzz and the Knights' tales. His lunch—boar skewers drizzled with a Little Master-inspired glaze—still lingered on his tongue, a nod to the comic he'd pulled earlier, its culinary flair tempting him to tweak Mondstadt's rustic fare.

The door creaked open, a sliver of sunlight spilling across the floor as Sarah, a server from the Good Hunter, stepped inside, her brown hair tied back beneath a crisp apron, her hazel eyes wide with cautious curiosity. Her uniform bore the faint scent of grilled meat and honey, a testament to her morning shift, and her boots tapped softly against the hardwood as she paused, scanning the shop's cozy chaos—shelves teetering with books, a Digimon poster pinned crookedly to the wall, a faint hum of energy she couldn't place. "Uh… this is Galehaven Comics, right?" she asked, her voice tentative as she clutched her satchel, her fingers brushing the leather strap nervously.

Harlan straightened, setting his cup down with a clink, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned forward. "The one and only—welcome! Heard the rumors, I take it?" His tone was warm but teasing, a shopkeeper sizing up a skeptic turned seeker. Sarah nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stepped closer, her gaze darting to the shelves. "Amber and Eula mentioned it—comics, rewards, all that. I thought it was a lark, but…" She trailed off, her doubt warring with a spark of hope as she recalled the day's chatter at the Good Hunter.

It had started with three patrons—adventurers, their packs slung over chairs—whose lively debate over Digimon and One Piece had drifted to her ears as she served their boar steaks. "That shop's unreal—Harlan's got comics that give you stuff!" one had crowed, pulling a telescope from his bag, its brass gleaming as he waved it like a trophy. "Got this from One Piece—beats any guild loot!" another chimed, while the third nodded, eyes alight with fervor. Sarah had smiled, dismissing it as bardic nonsense—Wendy's yarns often spun wild webs—but their excitement gnawed at her, their words too vivid to be lies.

"Everyone's talking about it today—Digimon pets, weird powers," she said, her voice steadying as she met Harlan's gaze. "I figured it's worth a shot—if it's bunk, I lose an afternoon. If it's real…" She shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips, her practical streak yielding to a flicker of adventure. She'd traded shifts with a coworker, curiosity outweighing her usual caution, and followed Amber's vague directions to this unassuming door.

Harlan chuckled, rising to his feet as he gestured at the shelves. "Smart bet—it's real, alright. Pick a comic, 100,000 Mora, and see what the system spits out. Could be a trinket, could be a game-changer—your call." He pointed to Little Master, its cover gleaming with a chef's grin, then Yu-Gi-Oh, its cards fanned in a duel-ready arc. "New stock today—food or fights, take your pick." Sarah's eyes widened, her fingers hovering over Little Master, drawn by its promise of glowing dishes—her server's soul ached for culinary magic beyond Good Hunter's grill.

Before she could choose, the door swung open again, a gust of wind ushering in a familiar figure—Schubert Lawrence, his velvet doublet pristine despite the day's dust, his cane tapping the floor with aristocratic rhythm. His mustache bristled as he scanned the shop, his stern gaze softening into curiosity as it landed on Harlan. "So this is the fabled Galehaven Comics," he said, his voice a gruff baritone as he stepped inside, his presence a stark contrast to Sarah's quiet hesitance. "Eula's dragons came from here—virtual or not, I'd see the source myself."

Harlan's brow arched, amusement flickering as he recognized Eula's uncle, the noble clinging to delusions of her undercover glory. "Schubert Lawrence—didn't expect you so soon," he said, his tone dry but welcoming. "Those dragons? Yu-Gi-Oh's doing—Blue-Eyes Ultimate, to be exact. Care to try your luck?" Schubert huffed, leaning on his cane as he eyed the shelves, skepticism warring with intrigue. "If it arms my niece so, perhaps it's worth a noble's coin," he muttered, his pride bending to the mystery before him.

Sarah glanced between them, her doubt melting into anticipation as the shop's energy pulsed—a nexus of chaos, curiosity, and comic-born wonders, all under Harlan's watchful grin.

***

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