Mondstadt's streets pulsed with fervor on the day the third volume of Ye Ruo's novel dropped, the city's wind-kissed stones alive with the chatter of eager readers.
Ye Ruo had been the intended maestro of this literary storm, his tale of Old Mond's rebellion crafted to ignite hearts and cement his name in the land of the free.
Yet the nameless boy, a figure shrouded in the pages of Pupils of the Gu King, emerged as the unexpected soul of the story, his quiet hope stirring Mondstadt's people to tears and dreams.
Their joy—woven from pride and anticipation—teetered as the war's grim dawn revealed a cost that shadowed even the brightest smiles.
The plaza brimmed with life, its cobblestones slick with morning dew, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and dandelion wine.
Bookstores stood proud—[Wind and Bird] branches gleamed, their wooden signs swaying in the breeze, lanterns casting a golden glow over eager crowds.
Lines snaked through the streets, townsfolk clutching mora, their voices a chorus of excitement and impatience.
Clerks scrambled—shelves emptied, stacks of signed editions vanished in moments.
Hardcovers gleamed—collectors' sets boasted wine bottles and noodle packs, treasures for the devoted.
"Sold out—again!" a clerk gasped, sweat beading.
A merchant hauled crates—hundreds of copies for Liyue's trade.
"Wind Knight's gold—pure genius," he grinned.
Readers sprawled—stones became seats, pages turned fast.
The tale sang—Mond's past, raw and fierce.
"History—real?" a baker whispered, eyes wide.
"Barbatos—him?" a guard mused, clutching his copy.
Ye Ruo watched—wind tugged his cloak, unseen.
His Anemo Vision pulsed—city's pulse matched his.
"Smiling—hell ahead," he murmured, bittersweet.
The system chimed in his mind—panel flared.
He smirked—readers' gains fueled his pride.
[Customer Jean completed Old Mond: Liontooth Resurgence—Reward: Aeroblade Crest.]
[Aeroblade Crest: Imbues the user's sword with swirling Anemo, slicing with wind's grace; summons a gust to lift or strike; can unleash a tempest slash, fierce as a lion's roar.]
Jean with wind—duty sharpened.
Pages turned—rebellion bloomed, vivid, raw.
Old Mond loomed—wind walls caged, sky dim.
Tyrant ruled—Gale King's tower cast dread.
Rebels rose—hearts burned, fists clenched.
"Freedom—ours," a smith vowed, blade raised.
Night cloaked—dawn crept, faint and gray.
Guards dozed—sentries slumped, spears lax.
Lords slept—fat, drunk, blind to fate.
Killers struck—Night Attack, shadows swift.
Knives flashed—throats slit, blood pooled silent.
"Positions—ours," a rebel hissed, eyes fierce.
Dawn broke—rebels charged, a tide of will.
Spears clashed—wind howled, steel rang.
Gale King's men rallied—axes swung, shields cracked.
"Hold—push!" a captain roared, voice hoarse.
Rebels bled—arrows rained, bodies fell.
A boy stood—nameless, bright, bow taut.
Wind elf soared—cyan wings cut the dark.
"Tornado—there," he pointed, resolve firm.
Gale King loomed—storm roared, tyrant's might.
"Together—end it," the elf vowed, wind sang.
Arrows flew—wind pierced, storm faltered.
Soldiers screamed—gusts shredded, chaos reigned.
A twist struck—boy fell, arrow struck chest.
"No—stand!" the elf cried, voice broke.
Blood stained—smile held, eyes dimmed.
"Birds—see 'em," he gasped, hand slack.
Elf wailed—wind surged, rage unleashed.
Tornado roared—rebels rallied, tears fell.
"Freedom—his," a woman sobbed, spear raised.
Gale King cracked—tower shook, reign broke.
Victory dawned—wind cleared, sky bloomed.
Mond wept—price paid, hope won.
Readers froze—pages trembled, hearts sank.
"Dead—him?" a girl choked, book clutched.
"Barbatos—alone?" a man rasped, stunned.
Ye Ruo sighed—wind carried his grief.
"Truth—hurts," he muttered, city hushed.
A subplot stirred—Lady watched, cathedral loomed.
"Dragon—distraction," she purred, cloak rippled.
Her Hydro pulsed—harp gleamed, target near.
Rosalia shadowed—"Fools—move," she hissed.
Ye Ruo turned—wind flared, senses sharp.
"Church—now," he barked, boots pounded.
Crowds parted—readers gaped, chaos brewed.
Cathedral towered—spires pierced the sky.
Fools slipped—nuns fled, screams echoed.
Lady stood—water danced, elegance cruel.
"Harp—mine," she sneered, hand raised.
Ye Ruo's gale roared—wind blades clashed.
Hydro whipped—ice met water, frost spread.
Rosalia struck—spear grazed, blood dripped.
"Light—bright," Lady taunted, dodging swift.
"Shadow—cuts," Rosalia growled, lunging.
Water cage bloomed—wind shredded, broke.
"Hell—ours," Ye Ruo shouted, bow sang.
Lady laughed—"Heart—soon," she vowed.
She vanished—water splashed, harp stood.
Ye Ruo panted—"Close—damn," he cursed.
Rosalia's gaze softened—"Saved—still," she said.
Her ice gleamed—bond held, firm.
Mondstadt sighed—dragon slept, Fools stalled.
Readers mourned—boy's end sank deep.
"Smiles—hell," a merchant whispered, awed.
"Real—too real," a guard agreed, shaken.
Ye Ruo's tale spun—freedom's cost laid bare.
The system pulsed—fame a rising tempest.
His light shone—Teyvat's shadows grew wild.
***
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