Chapter Text
Prologue.
They were all there, a group united by the same masochistic choice of intense training under the scorching heat. A ridiculous choice for XingQiu, yet it was his own. One thing was certain: he would have preferred to be in the cool comfort of the library rather than out in this arena, giving his all under this dreadful heat heralding the imminent arrival of summer.
The boy with blue hair questioned his life choices as he struggled to cool himself by any means possible. Fortunately for him, his part of the training was over, and only the archers were left to finish. Clinging to his comrade, best friend, but above all his boyfriend, he could hear in the distance the voice of his teacher, Tartaglia—or Childe, as everyone preferred to call him—finishing up with the last of the students.
"Amber, you're doing great, but you need to channel your energy faster to avoid wasting time. Gorou, the same goes for you. Sethos, you're improving, but…"
And he stopped listening. As a sword user, he didn't find Tartaglia's teachings particularly useful for him at the moment. Nonetheless, XingQiu considered that the ginger was a good teacher, primarily because he was proficient with all weapons and thus the best instructor for combat techniques. Despite XingQiu's inability to forgive Tartaglia for his past mistakes, he found him to be a decent person. The ginger didn't act superior to others and got along well with most people. Despite his past wrongdoings, everyone in the school could see how eager he was to become a better person without trying to erase his past. He acknowledged his mistakes and accepted the consequences. Moreover, he had a playful side and treated everyone equally. XingQiu was beginning to genuinely appreciate his teacher.
But as XingQiu looked up at the sky, following the birds happily flying in the returning summer, he reflected on how much he cherished this tranquility—the feeling of being himself, free from the burden of being the second son of a wealthy family. In the midst of all these vision users, adults and children, teachers and students, he could finally be his true self and act as he wished.
Here, in the middle of this archipelago of floating islands, somewhat always alive with activity it was a sanctuary where everybody could be whoever they wanted, and he was just like all the other students who chose this class, sweating under the glaring sun. Here he wasn’t XingQiu the wealthy heir in Liyue; no, he was just another student perfecting his sword techniques and soaking up the summer heat. The freedom to be himself without the usual pretensions or pressure from his family was a breath of fresh air.
Of course, getting to this point wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. The sword user had not forgotten everything that had happened to achieve this peace. The Traveler, that relentless hero with a knack for fixing other people’s problems, had trekked across all seven nations, solving crises and mending relationships, all while on a quest to find his missing sister, who was finally safe. The two are now closer than ever, and like everyone else, he couldn’t see one of them without the other, as if they would die if they weren’t glued together. And the Abyss Order was no longer a threat, at least from what he had heard for now.
But the real turning point of all this was the war against Celestia. The seven Archons, deities that ruled each nation, initiated to confront her. This was certainly a change—the powerful entity that even ruled over the gods, seemingly invincible, was now only capable of giving visions to people. And that was because the Tsaritsa, after being convinced by the Traveler to stop what she was doing (because it was, in the end, to fight Celestia and they could all seven be allies to beat her), gave back the gnoses to each Archon, and boom, everyone was now happy.
But even now, surrounded by this peace, XingQiu knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, the simple fact that he was in an organized fighting class, with a teacher and along with other students—all vision users—was a clear reminder that Teyvat wasn’t completely out of trouble. The simple fact that the Archons, with the help of other people, had to make a reality of what they all thought would be just a hypothetical situation in the weirdest dream meant that they weren’t still safe.
Defeating Celestia was a big win, but it left just one little pesky detail unresolved. Celestia had been maintaining a barrier around Teyvat that kept the outside world at bay, protecting Teyvat from external chaos. XingQiu wasn’t a fan of the outside world. He’d heard enough to know it was a hot mess, full of instability and nonsense. The idea of those external troubles seeping into their peaceful world was enough to make him shudder.
The outside world was a whole different mess from theirs, and at first, the Teyvatians—as the oh-so-enlightened outsiders loved to call them—didn’t quite get how different they were. The outsiders had these quirky little things called quirks—superpowers that ranged from mildly amusing to downright absurd. Sure, they sounded cool, but they came with a side of obnoxious superiority. The outsiders had this irritating tendency to worship quirks and look down on anyone who didn’t have one. The quirkless were treated like second-class citizens, and the outsiders didn’t shy away from making it clear just how much they despised them.
Even before they decided that the Teyvatians were part of some cult, the outsiders already had a bone to pick. They couldn’t stand that the Teyvatians, who apparently were ‘cheating’ with their visions, didn’t have quirks. To the outsiders, visions were some sort of magic trick, an unfair advantage that just didn’t sit right with their oh-so-holy view of natural superpowers. The outsiders, with their narrow-minded perspective, saw the Teyvatians as weirdos who didn’t fit into their neat little world.
Then came the laughable cult theory. The Teyvatians tried, very kindly, to clear things up and went to great lengths to explain their visions, their gods, and their rich history. They shared stories about the Archons, the divine beings who gave out visions, and the ancient traditions that shaped their culture. But instead of clearing things up, this just made the outsiders even more suspicious. They concluded that the Teyvatians were brainwashed cult members with a flair for the dramatic. The outsiders’ complete lack of understanding of the Teyvatian way of life led to a big, messy misunderstanding.
And then, things really started to go downhill. The pro heroes—those self-righteous big shots with their fancy quirks—decided to ‘rescue’ some Teyvatians from what they perceived as a cult. They went on a kidnapping spree, thinking they were doing a good deed by liberating these poor souls from their visions. But this brilliant plan backfired spectacularly. The kidnapped Teyvatians, robbed of their visions, felt like their very essence had been ripped away. It was a huge violation of their identity, and the outsiders’ attempt at ‘helping’ them was nothing short of disastrous.
This whole fiasco led to the creation of Teyvat Academy, or TA for short—a school designed to protect vision users and preserve their way of life. The academy didn’t admit children, focusing instead on older students who could fend for themselves. Nestled on a floating island in the heart of Teyvat, the academy became a sanctuary where students could learn and grow without fear of being abducted by well-meaning but clueless outsiders.
Within the academy’s expansive grounds, surrounded by the serene beauty of the floating island, students were free to pursue their interests without the constant threat of outside interference. The curriculum offered a variety of courses, from martial arts to the arts and sciences, tailored to whatever piqued the students' interests. The only requirement was having a teacher to guide them, making for a vibrant, dynamic community where creativity and personal growth thrived. They also have six mandatory classes for everyone. The academy was like a bubble of peace and harmony in a world that still had its fair share of chaos and misunderstanding.
Even though Teyvat Academy provided a safe haven, the fact that such a place was necessary underscored that Teyvat wasn’t completely free from trouble. The very existence of the academy, a refuge for vision users, was a reminder of the ongoing challenges they faced. The outside world, with its convoluted and often hostile attitudes towards quirks and visions, loomed as a potential threat to the fragile peace they had achieved. The students and teachers at TA knew that the road to true harmony was still rocky, but for now, they’d enjoy their bubble of peace and leave the outside world to its own devices. After all, who needed the headache of dealing with those quirky outsiders when you could enjoy the serenity of a floating island school? Yes, XingQiu really needed to think this way.
But in the end, as much as he hated the outside, XingQiu loved the school. He absolutely loved this school.
Still glued to his boyfriend Chongyun, the blue-haired boy listened to the conversations happening around him. Normally, he’d be one of the speakers—he loved gossiping, engaging people, and debating. Trained for this since he was young, he took pleasure in winning arguments. He'd usually chat about poetry with Hu Tao, but she wasn’t around, and he was too tired to do anything. His unusual behavior worried his friends, but they knew better than to ask. They could only try to distract him and keep him busy, which is why he trained so hard—to stop thinking so much.
Chongyun, his boyfriend, was especially worried. He had always known Xingqiu as a prankster, though he didn’t understand that part at first. Before becoming his boyfriend, he was his best friend, and they knew everything about each other. The exorcist knew the blue swordsman as someone who loved talking, but now he would only look away to communicate with gestures and even if he did, he would speak so quietly it was hard for him to hear his lover. He knew him as someone who loved to write stories about everything, but now he stared at his paper with a dull look. He knew him as someone who loved to read, but now Xingqiu would only look at the book before resting his head against the cover, crying as quietly as he could. Now Chongyun’s precious boyfriend spent his time either in his arms or training. Chongyun could only wish for the pro heroes of the outside world, especially the Japanese ones, to never meet his boyfriend—for their own safety, not Xingqiu’s.
Chongyun noticed the changes in Xingqiu's behavior almost immediately, and it pained him to see his lively, spirited boyfriend transformed into someone so withdrawn and subdued. Xingqiu, who once thrived on social interaction, now seemed to shrink away from it. His laughter, once a common sound, had become rare and strained. The boy who once found joy in the smallest of things now struggled to muster a smile.
Before, Xingqiu had a mischievous glint in his eyes, always planning his next playful trick or witty retort. Now, his eyes were often distant, lost in thought or clouded with an unspoken sadness. The vibrancy that defined him had dimmed, replaced by a quiet resignation that unnerved everyone around him. It was as if a shadow had settled over him, dulling the light that had always made him shine.
Xingqiu's passion for writing had also waned. He used to fill pages with elaborate tales and poems, his imagination boundless. Now, his notebooks remained untouched, the ink drying in his pen. The stories that once flowed effortlessly from his mind were now trapped, stifled by the weight of his worries. He’d sit at his desk, staring at the blank paper, his fingers twitching with the urge to write but unable to summon the will. His creative spirit, once a source of pride and joy, seemed to have been suffocated.
Reading, another of Xingqiu's great loves, had also lost its appeal. Books that once captivated him now lay unopened, their covers gathering dust. When he did try to read, he’d often end up resting his head against the book, tears silently falling as he battled the emotions he couldn’t express. The solace he used to find in literature was now elusive, replaced by a sense of despair that nothing could alleviate.
Training had become his escape, a way to drown out the turmoil in his mind. He pushed himself to the brink, channeling his frustration and sadness into physical exertion. His body bore the brunt of his internal struggle, each bruise and ache a testament to the battles he fought within himself. Training was his way of coping, but it was clear to those who cared about him that it wasn’t enough.
Chongyun felt helpless, watching Xingqiu retreat further into himself. He missed the spirited debates, the shared laughter, and the playful moments that defined their relationship. He missed the Xingqiu who would recite poetry with passion, who would stay up late crafting stories, who would engage in lively discussions about their favorite books. The boy he loved seemed to be slipping away, and there was little he could do to stop it.
That evening, as the school festival approached, the cooking club hosted a little dinner with some of their new dishes to ensure everyone loved them. With a little luck, Chongyun thought it could make his boyfriend feel a bit better. But the boy only responded to the proposition by pointing a finger at the red sky, and the exorcist understood without a word needed.
Lady Ningguang, the principal of their school, was the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing. Known for her strategic mind and unparalleled leadership, she had once owned the majestic floating Jade Chamber, a symbol of her power and influence. Although the Jade Chamber was destroyed, her reputation remained intact. She was chosen as the principal for her talent, wisdom, and ability to bring order. Ningguang wasn’t alone in managing the academy, but her presence was commanding. Her background in Liyue Harbor meant she understood the intricacies of leadership and governance, which translated well to her role at the academy. She was strict yet fair, a beacon of discipline and knowledge.
The red sky was a clear sign of her anger, an omen of bad news. Ningguang’s temper was legendary; when the sky turned red, it was a signal that something significant was about to happen. Chongyun had forgotten about the principal’s meeting tonight with the school council, which included staff, teachers, nurses, doctors, some heroes around the school, and student representatives of each element. Xingqiu was the Hydro representative. When he found out he had been voted into this role, he was baffled. He wasn’t a superstar like Furina or a law adept like Kokomi, and everyone in his dorm was as incredible as those two. Why him?
Though he appeared confident, he often questioned himself. Was he truly deserving of this role? His peers had assured him that he was reliable and trustworthy, qualities they valued in a representative. They believed he’d do the job correctly and represent their voices. Even now, he didn’t fully understand their faith in him. The weight of their expectations was heavy, but it also fueled his determination. He was committed to not betraying their trust. The responsibility was daunting, but it also provided a sense of purpose.
Xingqiu’s emotions were a whirlwind. On one hand, he felt a deep sense of pride and honor at being chosen. It was a validation of his abilities and character. On the other hand, the pressure was immense. The fear of failure loomed over him, a constant shadow that he struggled to shake off. He wanted to be the leader they saw in him, but self-doubt gnawed at his confidence. The burden of living up to their expectations was a daily challenge, one that he faced with a mixture of anxiety and resolve.
The red sky reminded him of the delicate balance of power and the ever-present potential for conflict. It was a symbol of the challenges they faced and the strength they needed to overcome them. In this moment, as he looked at the sky, he felt the full weight of his responsibilities and the importance of his role. It wasn’t just about representing Hydro; it was about embodying the trust and hopes of his peers. And for Xingqiu, that was a duty he took to heart, striving every day to be worthy of the honor bestowed upon him.
In another part of the school, the principal, Lady Ningguang, was fuming with anger, sighing from exhaustion, and a headache was definitely making its presence known. She was really getting frustrated with the situation. First, there was the phone call that sounded like a proposition, but she was experienced enough to know when things were actually threats. Those damn outsiders—they knew she couldn’t refuse. Either TA accepted to help those poor UA students who had suffered from the war and could no longer study, or she would refuse, and they would declare war against TA and Teyvat. It would help their reputation.
All great arguments.
The Tianquan knew it would be a bad idea to accept those students, but they couldn’t afford another war, not so soon after the one with Celestia. There were still many places where villages were destroyed and citizens were without a roof. She was constantly traveling all around Teyvat to attend to those places. She also had to visit the current leader of each region for meetings about how to organize transportation ways, establish commercialization, and everything else. Plus, they had to monitor the damn Abyss Order, which had recently been unnervingly quiet, and address the issue of the hilichurls.
She didn’t really know why the archons had decided to put her in this position, but she knew for a fact that it was at least to act as their spokesperson. All she knew for now was that welcoming those UA students would be a war in itself. She hated how she didn't see it coming and how the sneaky, disgusting white rat was probably laughing at her with his cunning maneuver, sat in his stupid school.