The skies above Arian were cleared in an instant.
Clouds parted, winds fell still, and the heavens held their breath as the Emblems rose into the firmament like celestial guardians, surrounding the battlefield that now hovered between forgotten peace and remembered war.
At the center of it all—hovering like a storm contained by will alone—stood Seraphyx.
Or rather, Mother Rosen, now fully manifest within her vessel.
Her form radiated calm might, cloaked in shimmering remnants of frost and ancient flame. Her eyes, once soft with maternal light, now glowed with the chill of infinity.
Across from her stood Raiclaus.
The spark between them wasn't just power.
It was memory.
Unresolved. Undying. Unholy.
"Raiclaus," Rosen began, her voice as heavy as glaciers sliding across time. "How long has it been since you let yourself act like this?"
She sighed, not with weariness—but with a distant, disappointed grace.
"I truly believed you would've evolved past this flaw of yours."
Raiclaus chuckled—low, dangerous, and electric.
Her leggings shimmered, deconstructing into threads of violet light that wove themselves into a sleek, hilts-less blade in her hand.
A weapon born from outfit. From self. From intent.
"This," she said, raising the blade like a toast to fate,
"is not a flaw, Rosen."
Her eyes sparkled with the intoxication of remembrance.
"And don't pretend you didn't savor our last battle," she purred.
"That glimmer in your eyes back then wasn't dread. It was thrill."
Rosen exhaled softly, wind curling around her like silk.
"I was only an aeon old," she said. "Still foolish enough to indulge."
Her gaze sharpened, turning toward her right.
"Ignarion," she called, her voice suddenly edged with command. "What are you waiting for?"
Ignarion, burning like a living bonfire, nodded once.
"Yes, Mother Rosen."
From his back, he drew the Divine Blade—a weapon forged of incandescent will and a hilt carved from the severed horn of a great dragon long forgotten by time.
He flung it into the sky—not toward Rosen, but for her.
And she didn't catch it.
The blade spun in mid-air, dancing through the ether like it remembered who it belonged to.
It sang—a piercing hum of returning home—and slid into Rosen's waiting hand as if summoned by fate itself.
---
The air cracked.
Tension mounted.
Somewhere below, knights clutched their spears tighter. Peasants trembled in alleyways. And the skies, once emptied, now shimmered with divine pressure.
It was happening again.
Gods who once waged wars in the unseen realms... were about to remind Teyvat why they had been forgotten.
The silence before the storm stretched impossibly long—until Raiclaus vanished.
Not blinked.
Not blurred.
She vanished—a violet crack in reality flashing where she once stood, as the sky screamed open.
Above them, a soundless streak cut through the heavens like a meteor drawn by instinct. Raiclaus had risen—higher than sight could track—her form spinning into a spiral, arms tucked, blade inverted.
The Falcon's Dive.
It was not a technique.
It was not a move.
It was a truth older than flight itself.
The wind howled in fear.
Lightning curled around her body like reverent chains, and with each heartbeat, gravity begged her to fall faster.
She descended—an unrelenting lance of electro might—her eyes locked on Rosen's heart, her body a raptor sharpened by eons.
And Rosen?
Rosen did not move.
She merely shifted the Divine Blade in her hand.
Her body unfurled just slightly—like a serpent awakening—not in panic, not in defense, but in knowing.
She exhaled once.
Then raised her arm in a single, fluid motion.
The Coil.
A stance not learned, but remembered—as if the cosmos had imprinted it in her bones.
The moment of impact came like a celestial chord struck too hard.
Raiclaus's blade met Rosen's—no clash, no boom—just displacement.
Sound bent. Clouds split into halos.
A ring of silence exploded across the sky.
Raiclaus hovered just above Rosen's blade, suspended—blocked, yes, but only just.
The falcon had met the serpent's eye mid-strike—and for the first time, neither yielded.
Below, the Emblems couldn't speak. Even breathing felt sacrilegious.
Morven whispered, voice like parchment crumbling, "That wasn't speed. That was memory of speed."
Kaelya's eyes twitched. "And she blocked it. Without moving her feet."
---
Raiclaus grinned mid-air, her breath shallow from exhilaration.
"So you remembered the Coil."
Rosen's expression didn't change.
"And you still chase death like a bird drunk on thunder."
Raiclaus twirled back, flipping away with casual grace, landing on air itself.
"I don't chase it, Rosen."
"I race it."
She dove again.
Raiclaus's body flickered once, then split into afterimages, each trailing lightning like wings across the sky.
Another Falcon Dive.
Then a second.
Then a third.
Each sharper.
Each faster.
Each strike punctuated by the shriek of displaced reality—air couldn't keep up, time blinked, and even light refused to stay coherent around her.
To mortal eyes, it looked like the sky was being hunted by some divine hawk, breaking through heaven itself to strike at the earth.
But Rosen stood still—calculating.
The blade in her hands shimmered, shifting shape like a living relic.
The Divine Blade stretched outward, its edge splitting and re-forging into a strange new form—a sword-catcher.
Two curved fangs of steel.
Not designed to cut—but to trap.
As Raiclaus committed to the final dive—her form becoming little more than a blur of violet death—Rosen moved.
Just one step.
One pivot of her heel upon nothingness.
And caught the blade mid-strike.
CLANG.
The Falcon's talon met the serpent's snare.
Raiclaus's weapon halted—locked between the fangs of Rosen's new form. Her body jerked forward, too fast to stop, too committed to pull back.
That's when Rosen twisted.
Her hand snapped downward—and she dragged Raiclaus out of the sky like she was reeling in fate itself.
Their forms spun.
Once.
Twice.
Then the world broke.
The Death Roll.
It was no longer Rosen who moved—but the will of VlastMoroz.
She spun with Raiclaus locked in her grip, the two of them becoming a spiraling god-storm.
Wind shredded into arcs.
Air was chewed apart.
Gravity wept.
Lightning and frost spiraled together in an unholy cyclone as Rosen dragged Raiclaus across the sky—over, under, and through layers of heaven that shouldn't be crossed.
Each rotation was faster.
Each turn stole oxygen from the world.
A crater of wind carved itself into the sky, clouds flung away like children before titans.
Then—
Slam.
Rosen threw Raiclaus toward the mountains below—not out of malice.
Out of discipline.
---
Raiclaus crashed into the stone, tearing through cliffside and centuries-old crystal like paper.
When the dust cleared, she stood.
Wounded? Yes.
Breathing? Heavy.
Smiling? Absolutely.
She wiped blood from her lip, eyes glowing with pure elation.
"Now that…" she coughed once, chuckling, "…that was new."
Rosen's eyes shimmered—not with light, but with void.
Depthless. Eternal. Cold enough to silence stars.
"Come now, Raiclaus," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, yet it echoed across the sky like a prophecy.
"You and I both know these techniques... are for entertainment purposes only."
Raiclaus stood from the fractured mountain, dust rolling off her like mist.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her cheek like warpaint. Her smile hadn't faded—it had deepened.
"Isn't that what this is?"
She exhaled like someone after a good laugh.
"This is just spectacle. A stage play. A bit of fun before the real carnage begins."
She turned her gaze skyward, toward the shimmering capital above. "Just a morale booster... for those below us. Those who kneel."
Rosen stepped forward. One slow, deliberate movement.
The clouds dimmed in response.
"Is that why you came alone?"
Raiclaus tilted her head, her hair whipping in the high-altitude wind. A gleam of something ancient flickered behind her eyes.
"Of course."
A chuckle slipped through her lips, followed by a breathless, girlish laugh.
A hint of red touched her cheeks—not shame, but thrill.
"And before you ask," she continued, twirling her blade lazily, "why I shattered the veil—why I exposed us to Teyvat, when we could've fought in secret, at full strength, in safety..."
She leaned in.
The smile sharpened.
"It's because I want this to be primal.
Raw. Naked.
A battle so pure, even the gods watching above will tremble."
She gripped her blade with both hands, posture widening—ready.
Across from her, Rosen raised the Divine Sword with a slow reverence, shifting back into stance—the coil tightening again.
Neither spoke.
They simply stepped closer.
The wind didn't blow.
It fled.
---
Above them, the Emblems stood frozen.
Kaelya's voice was hushed.
"They're so powerful... it's terrifying."
Ignarion stared, jaw slack, his infernal blade humming softly beside him.
"You say that now…"
His voice dropped to something almost reverent.
"…until you realize—"
He turned to her, awe blooming in his ember-lit eyes.
"They haven't even used their elements yet."