The night draped Mondstadt in a shroud of indigo, its stars winking through wisps of cloud as a cool breeze swept down from the cliffs, rustling the lanterns that swayed along the cobblestone streets. The city hummed with a quiet vitality—tavern laughter spilling from open doors, the clink of glasses at the Angel's Share, the faint strum of a bard's lyre echoing from a distant square. Beyond the walls, the Whispering Woods stood sentinel, their ancient trees swaying in the wind, their leaves a chorus of secrets against the cliffs' loom. Into this shadowed tapestry slipped an Abyss Mage, its blue robes swirling with Hydro's shimmer, its staff clutched tight as it floated through the city's alleys, its masked face tilted toward the glow of Galehaven Comics—a beacon it couldn't yet name.
The Mage moved with a predator's caution, its Hydro bubble a faint shimmer against the stone, its voice a low hiss of resolve. "Her Highness demands it—silver dragons, blood kin—no slip-ups," it muttered, its staff pulsing with a quiet hum as it recalled Sora's cold command, her eyes like ice piercing the Abyss Order's depths. It had witnessed Twalin's fury—Jean's blade, Diluc's flame, a traveler's shockwave—a clash that left it wary of Mondstadt's might, even without its Anemo Archon's breath. "No God's Eyes, no trouble—stick to the shadows," it thought, its form a ghost in the alleys' gloom, its mission a thread of peril it'd weave with care.
A murmur of voices drifted from ahead—two townsfolk leaning against a barrel, their cloaks dusty from the day's work, their words a spark in the night. "Heard of Galehaven Comics?" one asked, his voice a low rumble as he adjusted his hood, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "Who hasn't? Whole city's buzzing—read comics, get rewards," the other replied, his tone a mix of awe and envy as he fished a telescope from his pouch, its lens glinting in the lantern light. "Snagged this—sees miles clear!" he boasted, peering through it as the first whistled, his voice a gasp—"No kidding—sharp as a hawk!" The second grinned, his teeth flashing as he lowered the scope. "Small fry—I hear Jean and that traveler scored big, real power stuff."
The Mage froze, its bubble shimmering as it pressed against the wall, its voice a whisper of shock. "Jean—shockwave wielder? The traveler—Her Highness's kin? From a comic shop?!" Its mind reeled, its staff trembling as it scribbled the intel on a spectral scroll, its Hydro runes glowing faintly—Galehaven Comics: rewards, power, Jean, traveler. "What sorcery's this?" it thought, its masked gaze narrowing as it pictured a shop of miracles, a nexus of might it couldn't fathom. With a flick of its staff, a tendril of water lashed out—snap—the townsfolk crumpled, their telescope and coins vanishing into its robes, a thief's harvest for Sora's ears.
It drifted deeper, the city's chatter a chorus of Galehaven's fame—merchants boasting skates, kids clutching glowing recipes, tales of dragons and duels spilling from every corner. "Too much—too strange," it muttered, its staff pulsing as it stunned a baker with a loaf from Little Master, a seamstress with a Sakura ribbon, their treasures snatched as its scroll grew—Common items, glowing food, pervasive influence. "Dragons first—shop later," it resolved, its mission a tether as it veered toward the Lawrence estate, the afternoon's glimpse of three silver heads a lure it couldn't shake.
Near the estate, the cobblestones gleamed under lantern light, the air thick with the scent of old stone and fading roses from the manor's overgrown gardens. Eula and Amber strolled side by side, their boots clicking in rhythm, their voices a quiet hum against the night's hush. Eula's navy cape swirled with her stride, her Cryo Vision glinting at her hip, her silver hair catching the glow like frost on steel. Amber bounced beside her, her red bow swaying, her Pyro Vision a flicker of warmth, her rabbit ears bobbing with her eager steps. "Golden egg fried rice—really glows?" Eula asked, her tone a mix of skepticism and intrigue, her noble brow furrowing as she pictured her family's ancient feasts—none radiant, none magical.
"Totally—Jean swore it," Amber chirped, her green eyes glinting with confidence as she clutched her bow, her voice a burst of faith. "Harlan's shop—pure magic. Glowing rice? Small potatoes there," she added, her grin widening as she recalled Lumine's dragon, Jean's Haki, a shop of wonders she'd defend with her scout's honor. Eula's lips quirked, a rare smile breaking her stern facade as she nodded, her voice a quiet hum. "If it's his place—plausible," she said, her mind tracing her Blue-Eyed Ultimate Dragon, a titan born from Yu-Gi-Oh!'s cards, a marvel she'd summoned that afternoon.
The Abyss Mage lurked behind a crumbling wall, its bubble shimmering as it eavesdropped, its staff trembling with each word. "That shop again—omnipresent," it thought, its masked gaze narrowing as Amber's voice cut through—"That three-headed silver dragon this afternoon—you make it?" Eula's smile widened, her tone a proud lilt. "Blue-Eyed Ultimate Dragon—fused three Blue-Eyes. Handsome, right?" she said, her cape flaring as she pictured its roar, its scales a storm of white against Mondstadt's sky. Amber clapped, her rabbit ears bouncing as she gasped, "Handsome? Epic! Harlan's stuff's unreal!"
The Mage's staff clattered against the stone, its voice a hiss of disbelief—"Ultimate Dragon—from that shop too?!" Its scroll flared—Blue-Eyed Ultimate Dragon: three silver heads, comic origin, immense power—its mind a whirl of shock and dread. "Common trinkets, glowing food, dragons—what is this place?!" it thought, its Hydro runes trembling as it traced the threads—Jean's might, Lumine's kin, Eula's beast—all tied to Galehaven, a nexus of chaos it couldn't ignore. "Must see it—report to Her Highness," it resolved, its voice a whisper as it turned, its bubble shimmering with intent.
"Who's there?!" Amber snapped, her green eyes flashing as she spun, her bow drawn in a blink, its string taut with Pyro's glow. The Mage jolted—"Curses!"—its whisper too loud, its shock a betrayal as it darted back, its staff flaring with a Hydro burst—splash—a wave crashing against the wall as it fled, its blue form a blur in the alley's gloom. "Abyss Mage!" Amber growled, her voice a scout's alarm as she leapt forward, her boots skidding on the stone, her bow tracking the shadow. Eula's blade rasped free, her Cryo Vision pulsing as she stepped beside her, her tone a cold command—"Pursue it—could be Twalin's kin!"
"I'll fly—you tell Jean!" Amber barked, her hand snagging her Sakura wand, its wood gleaming as she summoned it with a flick—whoosh—its magic lifting her skyward, her red bow a streak against the stars. Eula nodded, her cape swirling as she turned, her boots pounding toward the Knights' headquarters, her silver hair a banner in the wind. Amber soared, her wand a hum of power as she chased the Mage, its Hydro bubble darting through the alleys, its staff trailing water like a comet's tail.
The pursuit was a dance of speed and shadow—Amber's wand wove her through the air, her Pyro arrows sizzling as they grazed the Mage's bubble—hiss—steam rising where they struck, the night alive with their clash. "Gotcha!" she snarled, her green eyes locked on its form as she dove, her bow flaring with a fiery burst—boom—the cobblestones cracking where it landed, the Mage veering with a yelp. But its flight was honed, its bubble a shield of agility—she'd barely mastered her wand, her turns clumsy against its grace—and with a final splash, it vanished into a storm drain, its blue glow snuffed by the dark.
"Damn it!" Amber roared, her bow slamming against her thigh as she hovered, her breath a furious pant, her rabbit ears drooping with defeat. Twice now—Twalin's agents, then this—slipping through her grasp, her scout's pride a wound she'd nurse with fire. She circled, her wand's hum a quiet lament as she scanned the streets, the Mage's trail cold, her resolve a ember stoked for another day. "Back to Eula—Jean'll know," she muttered, her wings folding as she glided toward the headquarters, Mondstadt's night a canvas of her frustration.
In a shadowed corner near the city's edge, the Abyss Mage slumped against a wall, its bubble flickering as it gasped, its staff trembling with relief—"Escaped—close call." Its masked gaze darted, its voice a low hiss—"Can't stay—too hot." But as it turned, its eyes widened, its staff clattering to the stone—Galehaven Comics loomed before it, its sign a humble glow in the dusk, its window a flicker of lantern light. "The shop—here?!" it gasped, its Hydro runes flaring as it stared, its mission a thread now tangled in wonder, a report to Sora that'd shake the Abyss's depths.
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