Chapter 1
This is a tale of the past…
Yet a future still waits, trembling at its doorstep.
He once walked the lands of Teyvat—a wanderer bound not by maps, but by fate. Each gust of wind carried him forward, and in its whisper, he found companionship. As he crossed through domains ruled by flame, storm, and stone, adversaries rose to meet him. But once he saw who they were—what they were—fear had no place in his heart.
The story begins five hundred years ago, when the Traveler arrived in Teyvat alongside his sister. Their journey halted at the feet of judgment—the Heavenly Principles. You may think you know this tale.
But you don't know it from where I stood.
I was there, watching—when they challenged the skies… and lost.
I am Venti the Bard. Sitting in a quiet tavern of Mondstadt, strumming a tune, sipping something sweet. Let me show you the verse left untold.
Five hundred years ago, nestled deep within Dragonspine, a dormant wind stirred—tied to Mondstadt's forgotten past. It whispered a path to a hidden kingdom, a land unknown even to legend. Within that frost-wrapped cradle lived a companion of mine, though no tale speaks his name. For he bore a secret so dark, so shameful… it was never meant to be whispered on the wind.
---
Deep within the Star-Grow Cavern,
a lone figure sat atop an icy throne.
His spiked white hair glowed in the dim shimmer of frostlight, his aquatic blue eyes dull with fatigue. A faint redness colored the tip of his nose, catching the last amber glow of the vanishing sky.
He paced the silent chamber, back and forth—haunted, restless. The frozen hall echoed with the weight of expectation… as if he were waiting for someone who had already taken too long to arrive.
Then—knock-knock.
A soft rap on the massive doors.
They creaked open.
A dragon limped inside, blood flowing from torn scales like a quiet crimson waterfall. His breath was ragged, wheezing with every movement. The king's heart sank, horror settling in his chest like ice. He stepped forward, eyes trembling.
"My friend… is this the consequence of my choice?"
The dragon collapsed, spasming in pain, crimson staining the snow-covered stone. His voice rasped from his throat like broken glass.
"This is no mere consequence..."
"I've made a grave mistake… sins I can never undo. I had no choice. I… became the downfall of all my kin."
"What happened?" the king asked, a tremor in his voice. "What happened in the nest of the Frost Dragons?"
But the beast could no longer answer.
His body convulsed once more—and fell still.
Life, quiet and final, slipped from his wings.
---
In that cold silence, the king's full form was finally seen.
He was Orion—a dark-skinned man wrapped in furs built not for vanity, but survival. No gold thread, no jewels. His frame, standing at 5'11", bore the weather of countless storms. His eyes, sharp as obsidian and soft as snow, scanned the lifeless body beside him with hollow reverence.
The dragon beside him—small, yet regal beyond measure—was unlike any other. Its pure white scales glistened like moon-kissed snow, and atop its head sat a feathered crown, as though the heavens themselves had knighted it. Its wings were delicate, thin like silken drapes… yet carried a solemn grace more angel than beast.
Orion did not scream.
He did not rage.
But sorrow wrapped around his soul like chains.
He wandered the throne room in silence.
No tears fell, but his eyes were oceans held back by sheer will.
Then, suddenly—he turned and ran.
---
The nest… burned.
A massacre of flames and death stretched before him. The air was thick with ash and anguish. Frozen eggs cracked open and charred. Smoke curled into the sky like mourning spirits.
"How did it come to this?" he whispered.
Charred corpses surrounded him—dragons large and small, burnt beyond recognition. He stumbled through the wreckage, seeking some sign, some answer, some mercy… but none came.
He turned away, bitter bile rising in his throat.
Back within the empty halls of his kingdom, he collapsed upon his throne.
"Venti…" he murmured, barely louder than breath.
"Where are you? Will you not come to help me still?"
He called to the God of Wind.
And the wind… said nothing.
"Oh my dear friend…" Orion whispered, voice cracking. "You, once noble, now lie still… wings broken… breathless…"
He slumped back into the cold embrace of the throne. No servants remained. No courtiers. No guards. Just the echo of frost and the ghosts of a dying legacy.
---
Later that night, he lay upon his bed.
No crown rested beside him. Only the weight of grief.
Tears finally came, not like a flood—but like icicles falling one by one.
"How did it come to this?" he wept, his voice cracking with exhaustion.
And so, to understand how a king came to be broken, we must return.
We must go back—to when Orion was first crowned ruler of a kingdom untouched by sorrow…
Until now.
---
The Kingdom of Arian
—hidden deep within Dragonspine's icy spine—
was a secret cradled in silence.
Sustained by its own magic and shielded by the Cryo Sovereign herself, it flourished in peace beyond the eyes of gods and men. To the world, it was a myth.
To its people—it was paradise.
They did not worship the dragon as a tyrant, nor fear her as a beast.
They revered her… as a mother. A guardian. A silent soul who watched without asking.
Three years before the tragedy, the kingdom shimmered in joy.
The Festival of Winds had arrived.
Children danced through snow-dusted streets, laughter ringing out like bells. Streamers of silver and blue fluttered overhead. Joy bloomed from every home, every corner, every breath.
That day was to be remembered not just for celebration…
but for coronation.
Prince Orion II was to receive the crown from his father, Orion I, beneath falling snow and the gaze of the sacred dragon who circled high above.
---
The grand doors slammed open.
"What are you doing, my son?!"
The king's voice cracked like thunder across the palace halls. His boots echoed sharply as he marched into his son's chambers.
"The plaza is overflowing—the people await! All of Arian has gathered to see you take your place!"
Orion turned, startled. His posture slouched like a snowflower wilting beneath the first freeze. His fingers trembled.
"But Father… I—I told you… I'm not ready. What if I fail? What if I bring ruin to Arian?"
The king stopped.
The fire in his eyes softened.
He walked forward and sat beside his son, the heavy cloak of age draped over his shoulders. There was no judgment in his tone. Only memory.
"You speak of failure… but forget: Arian does not stand because of one man's will."
"It thrives beneath the gaze of the Cryo Sovereign. It endures because we endure together. As long as she flies above us… and I stand beside you… how could you possibly fall?"
Orion looked up. The weight on his heart melted, just a little.
He took a breath.
If he was to wear the crown… he would need to forge his doubts into ice and learn to rule not without fear—but through it.