All of this is an illusion.
It looked like rain.
Ganyu raised her eyes to the cloud mass coiling over The Chasm. Heavy strata spread across the sky; now and then a rent showed a trace of amber light—sun-rain, or perhaps sunset-rain?
Night and day blurred; distant bluish plains sank, the soil turning a brownish shade. The farther one walked, the darker the earth grew.
She could see layer upon layer of rock. Farther still was The Chasm.
Again she recalled that day: when her arrow pierced Bosacius' heart it was raining just like this—sunlight in rain.
Hazy daylight floated in thin lines of water; at the meeting of dusk and night, Bosacius looked calmly at her—then closed his eyes.
Ganyu hated rain; when the chill drops soaked her skin she could not help recalling the past—
The past she had forsaken.
She remembered the corpses in the cavern, the Millelith buried deep, armor shattered, wounds tangled with foul stench; following that source she had found Bosacius at the very bottom.
Bosacius had slaughtered the Millelith: she had seen that twisted aura—coming from him.
She had never regretted the decision that day; she knew if Bosacius lived, more would die.
Had she killed him in Liyue, the soldiers here would not have fallen.
He murdered the Salt-God, butchered Sal Terrae's troops, betrayed and wounded four Yaksha, killed the Millelith, polluted the ley lines and sent Azhdaha mad… Bosacius must not live. He was a sinner, a genuine "oath-breaker immortal."
—For 2,400 years Ganyu had told herself: He is a sin-adeptus; you were not wrong.
He is a sin-adeptus, he is a sin-adeptus, he is a sin-adeptus…
You were not wrong, you were not wrong, you were not wrong.
So she did not know why she had come again to The Chasm. Things were long settled.
She lifted her gaze to the dark rock faces—then stopped.
What… was that?
Golden pupils widened: she saw a sea of fire rising from the Maw.
Smoke covered the leaden dusk; monsters roared to the sky—but she blinked and the flames were gone, silence around her.
An illusion? Yet not a simple illusion.
As Cloud Retainer's pupil she knew such constructs. What she'd glimpsed was no mirage—mirages lack such reality. It was more a projection of a real past.
More projections appeared: twisted beasts, fleeing miners.
Walking through the phantoms, she saw corpses one after another—every wound bore the same foul aura she'd scented that day.
What… was this?
When did it happen?
Frowning softly, she suddenly stiffened—
That man.
Grey-white hair lay on the ground; he leaned weakly against a rock, robe caked in dust, shoulder pouring blood that pooled into scabs.
He looked utterly exhausted.
Was Bosacius ever this old?
She remembered the last she'd seen him—when she killed him—he was young, verbena eyes blazing purple light.
She had never seen Bosacius so small, head bowed under silver rain, like a homeless old hound.
"If you can move… run."
The speaker was a blood-soaked youth, armor in tatters, propping a standard blade, ringed by canine monsters.
Ganyu knew that armor: Millelith issue!
But why… why?
Dazed, heart quickening—yet according to history Bosacius had slaughtered every guard.
Why would a soldier protect him?
She did not understand. Another inner voice answered: It is only the traitor's disguise.
Yes—pretence: Bosacius feigning weakness, using them again.
But… was it so?
For some reason her resolve wavered.
He would never show weakness—always proud from childhood to old age; even betraying, even dying, he would lift his head.
She recalled a summer noon on Mt. Aozang: as a tiny qilin she'd been pounced by a Rifthound; the youth hugged her while its fangs tore his back. She cried; he smiled, patting her horns, repeating:
"Don't be afraid… senior is here… don't fear."
His embrace felt like rock.
All of this is fake.
"This is all that man's disguise," she whispered, shaking off stray thoughts. When she looked again her golden eyes were veiled in heavy mist.
Chaos—inner murmurs pulled her soul in halves.
She had never felt such turmoil.
My name is Boyang.
Tell me… am I a worthy Millelith?
"While the Millelith stands guard," said the soldier.
Monsters flooded; foul breath engulfed. Across twenty-four centuries she could see the claws—so real, so near. For a moment she couldn't tell past from present, illusion from reality; she was that little qilin again, crying while monsters roared.
She watched the maw of teeth nearing—
At the next instant—
"Evil shall never prevail."
Evil could advance no further.
Across the ages the man again blocked before her.
Bosacius raised his head and laughed, laughter lancing heaven; silver hair scattered in the cold night. Two giant arms burst from his back; lightning flashed, world dimmed then cleared—nothing but that towering back!
Ganyu involuntarily stepped back; exhaled; the haze receded from her eyes.
Ridiculous.
Why did a mere projection unsettle her? Real monsters now were no match for her.
She stared blankly at Bosacius laughing amid storm and blood.
"While the Millelith stands guard, evil shall never prevail."—the Millelith oath. She knew it well.
"I shall take this body for the array, exorcise demons and remove evil."
She saw him, in rain and smoke, pick up the youth's battered standard sword—old and rusty like its bearer. He wiped the blade; faint light returned. Dragging it, head low, he marched alone toward the sea of blood at sunset.
—"Of the Yaksha tribe, Marshal Vritras, enters the array."
His voice echoed through heaven and in Ganyu's ears.
Unconsciously she reached out, wanting to follow—but the projection vanished.
The Chasm was quiet again.
Sun-rain silvered the dusk, threads weaving between day and night, falling harder.
Monsters gone, soldiers gone, Bosacius gone—vast Chasm empty save Ganyu.
He had walked away; she could not follow. Bosacius had long been dead; she could never catch him.
…Eh?
What?
She stepped back; the outstretched hand lowered.
What—
Heart still blank.
"Why?"
Exorcise demons—what demons?
He himself was the greatest calamity.
Guard the array—what array?
Where did those monsters come from? Why did the Millelith die?
No.
It cannot be.
It must end only one way, only—only!
She looked down; rain pooled round her feet, reflecting her face, calm eyes.
He is a sin-adeptus, he is a sin-adeptus, he is a sin-adeptus…
You were not wrong, you were not wrong, you were not wrong!
She heard the voices and embraced them—voices she had chosen, heart-demons born of karma.
Yes.
All of this was fake—no "historical projection," merely illusion.
Surely wrought by the Fantastic Compass—yes, Master had given it to him; that traitor forged illusions to twist history, to shake their resolve.
All fake—she told herself again and again.
It must be fake.
Almost obstinate.
Ganyu breathed out; cold rain soaked her. Raising her gaze from the puddle her eyes were once more calm, clouded in thin mist—Dao-heart clear, illusions could no longer disturb her.
She followed his path deeper, passing more "visions." She halted: was that Xiao? The Conqueror of Demons, here too… and with him the two youths who had "offered tribute" to Master before.
Her glance paused briefly on the pale-haired boy; then shifted.
They had not noticed her.
"To live for those you love… because your death is their worst horror… I am different."
The illusions spoke noble, false words.
Ganyu stared at Bosacius' profile; a cold, mocking voice in her heart:
No one mourns your death.
For she had chosen that voice—it was her thought.
"…I can live centuries yet. Don't you believe me?" he laughed.
You cannot live on… I will pierce your heart tomorrow.
Golden eyes dimmed under heavy mist.
"…I am no true Yaksha, but I shan't break my oath."
You never kept oaths.
You are the oath-breaker.
The scene ended with Bosacius leaping into the abyss.
Xiao noticed Ganyu—yet she made no effort to hide. He asked for her view; she answered calmly:
"Only empty phantoms.
Why trust a traitor's illusion?"
Xiao paused, thinking; at length he nodded slightly:
"…You may have a point. Perhaps so.
"But," he added softly, "perhaps false, perhaps true—I choose to believe, because I hope it is true.
Though…" he clenched his chest, "for us it is painful, I still wish it true."
Perhaps an illusion—yet Seino Yaku sensed Ganyu flinch for a heartbeat; next instant she was serene.
"…Heh." She gave a quiet laugh, repeating firmly: "It is fake."
"Images can deceive. Illusions, projections—we cannot trust them."
Xiao turned toward the maw, eyes down:
"Yet deeper within may lie 'evidence'—perhaps the Stone of Morality itself. Will you join us?"
"See it, and what then?" Ganyu said. "Only phantoms."
You were not wrong.
Golden eyes darkened; head bowed, she whispered to herself:
I was not wrong.
Empty phantoms…
Seino Yaku was puzzled, watching the adeptus' certainty.
Called traitor again—but he was thick-skinned; if cursing the old him eased them, so be it.
Since entering The Chasm he felt lost. His task was to fulfil the Seventh Covenant—yet on reaching the Chasm he still had no idea what it was, nor with whom it was made: Xiao? the soldier Boyang? or perhaps Ganyu before him?
He didn't know.
Unconsciously he gripped the salt ruler in his pouch; its cool, faint chill calmed him. He had a strange sense: that yawning pit truly was the mouth of the abyss; inside lay the deepest secret. One step farther and endless darkness would swallow him.
What lay below? He had made a covenant, and the inviter perhaps waited beneath, quietly.
"Baka Seino Yaku," Lumine read his unease, lightly squeezed his hand, whispering at his ear: "I'll protect you."
He turned to her; she flashed a goofy grin:
"Remember what I said? No matter how treacherous it gets down here—I'll get you out."