Mondstadt's cathedral plaza shimmered under a crisp morning sun, its cobblestones alive with the rustle of pages as readers devoured Ye Ruo's latest chapter in Pupils of the Gu King.
Ye Ruo had been the intended weaver of this epic tapestry, his tale of Old Mond's defiance meant to stir the city's soul and echo through its wind-swept streets.
Yet the wind elf, a fragile spark of elemental life destined to become Barbatos, emerged as the unexpected heart of the rebellion, its courage a beacon against the Gale King's towering wrath.
Its stand—born of mortal prayers, a fragile hope against a god's storm—teetered as the battle's climax unveiled a truth that shook even the tyrant's throne.
The city pulsed with fervor, its air thick with the scent of ink and the faint musk of dandelions carried on a restless breeze.
Bookstores brimmed—[Wind and Bird] branches stood proud, their wooden shelves groaning under the weight of fresh volumes, lanterns casting a warm glow over eager crowds.
Readers clustered—nuns wept softly, merchants muttered in awe, pages turned with trembling hands.
Ye Ruo lingered—wind tugged his cloak, his Anemo Vision a steady pulse against the leather of his tunic.
"Storm—rising," he murmured, eyes distant.
A nun clutched her book—"Barbatos—brave," she sniffed.
A boy perched on a bench—"Elf—wins?" he whispered.
The tale unfolded—Old Mond blazed, fierce and raw.
Rebels surged—flags snapped, boots pounded.
Gale King's tower loomed—stone pierced the sky, unyielding.
"Freedom—ours!" a rebel roared, spear thrust.
Soldiers fell—axes clashed, lines broke.
Wind howled—tornadoes tore, chaos reigned.
"Push—inner ring!" Gurnhild bellowed, wind flared.
Lackeys reeled—lords scrambled, panic bloomed.
"Counter—hold!" a captain screamed, sword waved.
Rebels bled—steel bit, resolve held.
The Gale King stirred—throne trembled, eyes cold.
"Revolt—why?" he growled, voice shook.
His storm swelled—dreams shattered, rage surged.
"Subjects—mine," he hissed, wind lashed.
Rebels flew—bodies ripped, screams drowned.
Wind elf soared—cyan light flared, shield bloomed.
"Stand—together!" it cried, gusts braced.
Formation broke—hope wavered, storm ruled.
The system chimed in Ye Ruo's mind—panel glowed.
He smirked—readers' gains fueled his pride.
[Customer Kaeya completed Old Mond: Icewind Reckoning—Reward: Frostgale Mantle.]
[Frostgale Mantle: Enwraps the user in a chilling Cryo cloak, striking with icy grace; summons frost winds to bind or slash; can unleash a glacial burst, sharp as a schemer's wit.]
Kaeya with ice—cunning sharpened.
Pages turned—Amos stood, bow taut.
"King—see me," she whispered, arrow sang.
Her shot flew—love burned, aim faltered.
Gale King sneered—wind tore, bow fell.
"Fool—die," he rumbled, storm crushed.
Blood stained—Amos sank, dream broke.
Readers gasped—"Traitor—lost," a girl choked.
"Love—blind," a man rasped, page trembled.
Ye Ruo sighed—"Hearts—break," he muttered.
Wind elf climbed—tower shook, elf faced god.
"Subjects—yours?" it challenged, voice rang.
Gale King laughed—"Ant—bow," he taunted.
His gale roared—tower quaked, wind bit.
Elf stood—power flared, storm clashed.
"Wishes—mine," it vowed, light grew.
Rebels fought—lackeys pressed, blades rang.
"Hold—elf needs us!" a smith shouted, hammer swung.
A twist loomed—elf glowed, aura surged.
"Prayers—lift," it gasped, wind swelled.
Gale King froze—"Voices—why?" he snarled.
His storm faltered—cries pierced, truth dawned.
"Freedom—ours!" a rebel yelled, spear raised.
Wind elf struck—gale met gale, tower cracked.
A subplot stirred—Lady crept, cathedral loomed.
"Harp—now," she purred, Hydro pulsed.
Rosalia shadowed—"Fools—move," she hissed.
Ye Ruo turned—wind flared, senses sharp.
"Church—go," he barked, streets blurred.
Crowds parted—readers froze, chaos brewed.
Cathedral towered—spires gleamed, air hummed.
Fools slipped—nuns screamed, shadows danced.
Lady stood—water gleamed, cruel grace.
"Harp—mine," she sneered, cage bloomed.
Ye Ruo's gale roared—wind shredded, clashed.
Hydro lashed—ice met water, frost spread.
Rosalia struck—spear grazed, blood dripped.
"Light—burns," Lady taunted, dodging swift.
"Shadow—cuts," Rosalia growled, lunging.
Wind broke—cage shattered, harp stood.
"Heart—soon," Lady vowed, water splashed.
She vanished—echoes lingered, threat alive.
Ye Ruo panted—"Close—damn," he cursed.
Rosalia's gaze softened—"Saved—still," she murmured.
Mondstadt sighed—dragon slept, Fools stalled.
Readers wept—elf's stand sank deep.
"God—born," a nun sobbed, book clutched.
"Storm—hope," a boy rasped, awed.
Ye Ruo's tale spun—freedom's dawn carved raw.
The system pulsed—fame a rising tempest.
His legacy soared—Teyvat's winds roared wild.
***
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