"Natlan's current god is Mavika—like the first Pyro Archon, Hibarach, she ascended from humanity to godhood."
"Do you know why you rarely see people from Natlan abroad?"
Rowan dangled the question.
"I don't. I figured Natlan was isolationist like Inazuma," Venti admitted, shaking his head. He'd slept through so much; news from other lands was never his forte.
Zhongli, however, had heard a few things. He'd once been on good terms with Hibarach—warriors understood warriors.
"It's the Abyss, isn't it?" Zhongli said quietly. "I recall Hibarach saying Natlan's leylines were… unstable."
Rowan shot him a surprised look. He hadn't expected Zhongli to know even that.
"You've said a mouthful, old man—and yes, it's the leylines."
"Five hundred years ago, during that war, Natlan's leylines shattered completely."
"The Abyss poured in through the break. To resist it, Natlan has been a nation of soldiers ever since."
"That's why so few Natlaners travel. They have no energy left for trade."
"When survival itself isn't guaranteed, what exactly are they supposed to sell?"
Zhongli fell silent and sighed. Natlan's god was stubborn, yes—but remembering Hibarach's temperament, he understood. The people of Natlan had that same iron streak.
They believed the Abyss broke out on their land; therefore it was theirs to resolve. If Rowan hadn't told them, the Seven might not have learned a thing until Natlan either perished to the last or finally beat the Abyss back.
If only they'd thought to call on the other six nations. Once the Abyss gains a foothold, it's ill for everyone. Fighting it ceased to be any single country's burden long ago.
Back in the pitch-black calamity, the Seven had come to hate Khaenri'ah—and the Abyss—with a bone-deep loathing. While Zhongli couldn't speak for every land, he knew he himself would have sent troops to aid Natlan.
"So Natlan's been holding the front line against the Abyss all these years?" Venti asked.
"Exactly. It's also why the First Seat of the Fatui—the Captain—goes to Natlan from time to time."
"He often helps them fight the Abyss—though Natlan has no idea."
The Captain truly lived up to the word "noble." Because Natlan today mirrors Khaenri'ah of old, he's fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Natlan since five hundred years ago to keep that tragedy from repeating.
For five centuries he hasn't given up—returning again and again to help. In all of Snezhnaya, when it comes to real experience battling abyssal spawn and monsters, the Captain stands unrivaled.
"Oh? You really do admire him," Venti said, surprised. Of all people, Rowan showing respect for a Fatui Harbinger piqued his curiosity. What kind of man could win praise from the same Rowan who'd just put the Tsaritsa herself on the back foot?
Zhongli was curious too. He knew little of the Harbingers, aside from the Eleventh, Tartaglia—a headstrong bruiser with more brawn than forethought.
(Tartaglia: Zhongli, c'mon—)
"Not much else to say," Rowan replied. "The Captain isn't like the others. Most joined the Fatui for their own ends."
"But the Captain chose it for the greater good—fighting the Abyss in the Silent Sea and in Natlan without end."
"I admire men like that."
"We don't choose our birth, but we do choose our path and our ideals."
"There's a saying where I'm from: 'A gentleman's humble origins are no fault of the gentleman.'"
"And another: 'Do good, and do not ask about the road ahead.'"
"That's the Captain. If you're curious, seek him out."
Rowan let it drop. The Captain's ability and character outweighed the rest of the Harbingers put together—a man who practiced justice as creed. Every traveler who cleared Natlan's tale agreed: the Captain is a real one.
Enter the board, defy the heavens by half. Like Furina, a mortal surpassing the gods.
Watching Rowan speak of the Captain with such fire, Zhongli found his own interest in the First Seat stirred. Perhaps it was time to gather proper intelligence on the Fatui. Any man a "descender" praised so highly merited a closer look.
Maybe Tartaglia would know something?
"Mr. Zhongli, I want a contract with you," Rowan said suddenly.
"Five years from now—or rather, when the Traveler awakens again in Teyvat and heads for Natlan—will you go with me to Natlan?"
"To aid them. Natlan's burden cannot be shouldered by Natlan alone."
"This is everyone's fight."
Rowan's gaze was unwavering—more serious than ever.
In the story he'd seen, the ruin wrought by the abyssal invasion of Natlan had left him wondering, more than once, what might have changed if other nations had come to help. He knew it was impossible in the tale—Natlan's arc would hardly host foreign saviors. But the wish stuck like a thorn.
Now that he was here, with the power to alter things—why shouldn't he?
Even if, in the end, no allies answered, when the Traveler set course for Natlan, Rowan would march with an army at his back.
Not for reward. Not for thanks.
Only for the red he carried in his heart for Natlan.
Natlan's plight mirrored that world-spanning war of old. Back then, his homeland had fought alone. Aid had come from a great power, yes—but in the end it was their own will that cast the invaders out.
So he would help Natlan—no matter what.
"I agree," Zhongli said. "As for the price of the contract—let's discuss terms later."
(End of Chapter)
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