The winds outside Mondstadt carried the scent of rain and distant stormfire. At the city gates, three Knights of Favonius leaned against the stone archway, trading quiet complaints the way soldiers often did when they were tired and understaffed.
"Stormterror's been hitting too often," one muttered. "Merchants are bleeding money. Houses too. Repairs never stop."
"And the Knights still need recruits," another sighed. "But where are we supposed to find anyone decent?"
"Well… there's that prodigy. The kid with the sword. Shame he still won't join us."
Their words dissolved as all three glanced toward the bridge.
A boy approached with a steady gait.
Clean lines. Clear eyes. A face Mondstadt wasn't built for—sharp where most were soft, focused where most were carefree. He moved like someone used to walking alone.
"Kael! Heading out again?" a guard called, brightening.
Kael Arclight paused, offering a polite nod. "A collection task. Lampgrass."
"Easy, but stay alert," another warned. "Hilichurls have been gathering near the east ridge. And the Fatui…" He lowered his voice. "They're getting bold."
Kael lifted a hand in acknowledgment and stepped past them, boots tapping lightly over the bridge's wooden planks.
The guards continued talking behind him, unaware that their whispers carried farther than they thought.
"Sixteen, right? Looks older."
"Sword talent like that… pity he doesn't have a Vision."
"Didn't the Lawrences try to recruit him into their family? He still refused."
"Smart kid. Nobles just want to control him."
"And he still lives cleaner than any of us—no alcohol, no gambling, no bad habits."
"Shame he won't join the Knights. He'd outrank me in a year."
Their voices softened as the distance grew.
Kael didn't look back. But the words lingered like the aftertaste of old medicine.
Sword prodigy…
If only talent paid rent.
He slipped through the city's outer road, the forest opening ahead in long, quiet stretches. Whispering Woods was a misnomer—its silence pressed against the ears like held breath.
He let his own breath settle.
Swordsmanship was all he had. The only thing he could grind into himself without anyone stripping it away. In a city quietly ruled by old nobles and subtle politics, an orphan with "potential" was a resource to be exploited, not nurtured.
So Kael played a small game to win a large one.
Stay beneath notice.
Collect coins.
Build a clean reputation.
Join the Knights later—when he could negotiate.
That had been the plan.
But plans were fragile things in a world without a Vision. Without elemental strength, a Hilichurl arrow could kill him. A slime's explosion could erase him. Even the most competent Knights struggled; how was he supposed to survive with only a blade?
A dry laugh slipped from his throat.
"Sixteen years in Teyvat and not a single miracle. Figures."
His steps quieted as the forest deepened. Lampgrass tended to grow near shaded pathways, and he knew these routes well—knew where the branches bent, where the stones cracked, where an ambush might hide.
After three hours, he reached the cliffside trail overlooking Whispering Woods.
That was when the howl shattered the calm.
Short. Sharp. Too close.
Kael stopped mid-step.
The wolves emerged first—grey fur bristling, ribs rising and falling in sharp rhythm. Five… no, six. Their eyes flicked with predatory light.
Then came the Hilichurls, masks cracked, spears tapping the ground in anticipation.
Kael clicked his tongue quietly.
"Wolves cooperating with Hilichurls…? That's new."
This wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't normal behavior.
It was trouble.
And he was in the wrong place at the worst time.
He tightened his grip around his sword hilt. Even a prodigy couldn't outrun a wolf pack if they committed. Forget the lampgrass. Forget the commission reward. Staying alive came first.
He stepped back—
A chime sounded.
Not wind. Not creature.
Something artificial. Crisp. Electric.
A shimmering panel burst into existence before him, cerulean light painting the ground.
Kael froze.
"…That's not from Teyvat."
Lines of text scrolled across the screen in a smooth, unnatural rhythm.
[Amber Era 2158 — Thirty years before awakening.
Birthplace: Jarilo-VI.
Status: Transmigrated infant.
Initial conditions: severe winter, high mortality, Silvermane Guard intervention required.]
Kael blinked slowly.
"Jarilo-VI…? Belobog…?"
His voice came out flat.
The panel flickered—
as if insulted he doubted it.
[World mismatch detected.
Host location: Teyvat (non-Honkai realm).]
He stared.
"…So my cheat sheet got lost between worlds."
The wolves growled, circling.
The Hilichurls rattled their spears.
The panel continued, unconcerned:
[Compiling host history…
Ten years: failed entry into the Path of Preservation.
Fourteen years: mechanical aptitude noted.
Nineteen: assisted in lower district medical triage.
Twenty-four: bodily deterioration detected.
Twenty-nine: hope threshold nearing collapse.]
Kael stiffened.
"Hold on, I didn't live that."
[Thirty years of accumulated struggle recorded.
Ready for transfer.]
[Do you accept thirty years of experience?]
He laughed—quiet, unbelieving.
"Thirty years of pain from a world I never went to?
Sure. Why not? My day was going too smoothly anyway."
He pressed Yes.
The world collapsed inward.
Heat, cold, blood, breath—
Hands learning to mend metal—
Feet running across snowfields—
Muscles torn, rebuilt, torn again—
The weight of survival—
The exhaustion of a life lived three times too hard—
—all of it flooded him.
Kael staggered once.
Only once.
Then his vision sharpened.
His heartbeat steadied.
His breathing aligned with a soldier's rhythm he'd never trained for.
Thirty years of instinct stitched themselves into his sixteen-year-old frame like a second spine.
He exhaled, slow.
"…Okay.
That's new."
The wolves sensed the shift.
They hesitated.
Kael drew his blade.
There was no fear in the motion.
Only calculation.
The first wolf lunged.
Kael stepped aside, weight shifting with unnatural precision.
He caught the creature's momentum with the flat of his blade and redirected it into the earth.
The Hilichurls charged.
Kael met them.
A twist—
a shoulder drop—
a blade whispering past wooden masks—
Every movement was efficient.
Every strike chosen, not wasted.
Not flashy.
Not heroic.
Just lethal.
In under thirty seconds, the clearing still smelled of blood and pine sap, but only the wind moved.
Kael cleaned the blade with a flick.
"Well…" he murmured, "at least something finally went right."
A rustle cut through the clearing.
Then—bells.
Bright, chiming, almost musical.
A small figure burst from the treeline.
A tiny girl, red coat bouncing, oversized backpack clinking with charms and bomb-like trinkets. Her eyes widened as she spotted Kael.
"Eh—?!"
Kael blinked at her.
Of course.
Of all people to stumble into this moment.
"Klee," he breathed.
Or rather—
the system's misidentified version of her.
He sheathed his sword, letting his breath settle.
"Easy," he said gently. "The wolves won't bother you now."
Her face lit up instantly.
"You beat them all? Wow! Are you a super adventurer?"
Kael exhaled the softest laugh.
"…Let's call it beginner's luck."
But inside his chest—
the panel pulsed again like a heartbeat waiting to reshape the entire world.
Everything had changed.
And this time, Kael Arclight wasn't starting from nothing.