The sun stood high in the sky,
its light bathing all of Fontaine in a golden glow.
People moved through the city, each lost in their own world some sketching new designs, others chasing the latest headlines, a few sipping coffee in quiet corners. Nearby, Automatons patrolled alongside human guards, their mechanical steps blending into the hum of daily life.
Beyond the city's borders, waves crashed against the shore in a steady rhythm. A crisp breeze rustled through the trees, sending birds soaring into the open sky. On the nearby sand, a few Blubberbeasts lounged lazily, sunbathing without a care.
It was just another ordinary day in Fontaine.
Not far from the city, where the waves lapped gently against the sand, a black-haired man lounged on a beach chair. Dressed in a loose Hawaiian shirt and dark sunglasses, he lazily held a glass of cold juice, condensation dripping down its sides.
Lucas.
He took a slow sip, his gaze drifting across the horizon the glittering sea, the distant skyline of Fontaine, the Blubberbeasts basking nearby. It was peaceful. Perfect, even.
He still didn't understand how he'd gotten here. Years ago, he'd simply woken up in this world, thrust into this identity with no explanation. But Lucas didn't complain. After all, this was the setting of one of his favorite games. Who would refuse such a life?
Another sip. A quiet sigh.
Then, almost reflexively, his eyes flicked to the corner of his vision—where a small, translucent panel hovered, unchanged:
[99%]
At first, he'd thought himself lucky. A system? In this world? But as the years passed, that number never budged. No quests, no rewards, no answers. Just… 99%.
Eventually, he'd stopped caring.
With a shrug, Lucas leaned back, letting the sun warm his skin
With a sigh, Lucas sat up, stretching his arms as he gazed at the sea one last time. He adjusted his rumpled clothes, folded his beach chair, and trudged away from the shore.
Today marked the end of his holiday.
For an entire week, he had done nothing but laze around, soaking up the sun like a salted fish. But reality called if he didn't work, there'd be no Mora to fund his next escape.
Lucas ran a small shop now just bread and coffee, simple fare. It was a far cry from his old job, the one that had paid well… until problems forced him out.
Tch.
Still, he didn't mind this life. No boss breathing down his neck. No false accusations looming over him. Just quiet mornings, the smell of fresh bread, and the occasional chat with a customer.
As the beach faded behind him, Lucas shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered,
"Back to the grind."
The walk back to his shop—a modest two-story building where he both lived and worked—was a quiet one. The cobbled streets of Fontaine's residential district were bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the air carrying the faint scent of salt from the distant sea. A few regular customers nodded at him as he passed, and Lucas returned their greetings with a half-hearted wave.
Finally, he arrived at the familiar wooden door, its faded blue paint peeling slightly at the edges. He reached into his pocket for the key—
"Lucas?"
A voice, hesitant yet unmistakable, cut through the stillness.
His hand froze. Slowly, he turned.
There, standing a few paces away, was a woman with soft, pale curls framing her face, her heterochromatic eyes—one deep blue, the other a lighter hue—filled with an uncharacteristic nervousness. Her elegant gloved hands fidgeted slightly, and the ribbons of her elaborate outfit fluttered in the breeze.
Furina.
The Hydro Archon herself.
Lucas exhaled through his nose, his expression carefully blank. "Lady Furina... To what do I owe the honor?"
She took a small step forward, her usual theatrics replaced by something quieter. "I... wanted to talk to you. About what happened before."
A beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed.
Lucas closed his eyes for a moment, as if steadying himself. When he opened them again, his voice was flat. "If this is about the incident, it doesn't matter anymore. That's all in the past."
Furina's lips parted "But—"
"Unless there's something else," Lucas interrupted, already turning back to the door, "I'll take my leave now." His tone left no room for argument.
For a second, Furina looked as though she might press further. Then, with a barely audible sigh, she lowered her gaze.
Lucas didn't wait to see if she'd speak again. The key turned in the lock with a decisive click, and he stepped inside, leaving the Hydro Archon standing alone on the quiet street.
The shop door clicked shut behind Lucas, sealing him in the familiar quiet of his modest establishment. The scent of yesterday's bread still lingered in the air—warm, comforting, ordinary. He moved mechanically toward the storage room, retrieving a broom and dusting cloths. The rhythmic swish of bristles against wooden floors filled the space as he began his evening routine.
Through the shop window, the last amber light of dusk painted the empty street. Furina was gone—vanished as suddenly as she'd appeared, likely returned to the opulence of the Palais Mermonia. Lucas watched the spot where she'd stood for a long moment before turning away.
Their history was complicated.
Once, he'd worn the crisp uniform of the Gardes. Once, he'd taken orders directly from the Hydro Archon herself. The memories surfaced unbidden—Furina's dramatic proclamations, her unexpected kindnesses, the way her laughter had once echoed through marble halls.
The broom handle creaked under his tightening grip.
He didn't resent her. How could he? The fault had never been hers. If anyone deserved blame, it was—
A sharp exhale escaped him, fogging the window glass briefly before dissipating.
No use dwelling.
With deliberate focus, Lucas returned to his work. The bristles swept away crumbs and dust, just as time had swept away the remnants of his old life. The motions were simple, methodical, grounding.
Somewhere between wiping down counters and rearranging chairs, the tightness in his chest eased. This was his life now—the quiet ritual of opening and closing shop, the predictable rhythm of dough rising and coffee brewing. No grand schemes, no political intrigues, no heart-stopping moments where a single mistake could cost—
The broom stilled.
Then, with a shake of his head, Lucas continued cleaning.
Chip. Chip.
The sound was distinctly artificial—a rhythmic, mechanical chirping that didn't quite match any real bird. Lucas paused mid-sweep and turned toward the open window.
Perched on the sill was a clockwork sparrow, its brass wings glinting in the fading light. Clutched in its beak was a crisp envelope.
Lucas approached slowly, plucking the letter free. The moment it was released, the bird whirred to life, gears clicking as it took flight and vanished into the dusk.
His thumb brushed over the wax seal—an unmistakable, flamboyant A stamped into it.
Alice.
Klee's mother.
Lucas's relationship with her could charitably be called an acquaintance—if one ignored her… eccentricities. The woman had a habit of dragging him into her schemes, especially since her latest obsession: Teyvat Idol, that bizarre cross-region singing competition she'd concocted.
And just because she couldn't strong-arm Furina into participating…
"Lucas, darling, you'd make such a lovely stand-in! That brooding aura, those sharp features—with the right dress, no one would know the difference!"
His eye twitched at the memory.
With a sigh, he cracked the seal. Whatever nonsense Alice had dreamed up now, it was bound to be trouble.
Lucas unfolded the parchment with growing dread. What should have been a simple invitation quickly revealed itself to be Alice's signature rambling manifesto - at least three pages longer than necessary.
His eyes scanned the looping, enthusiastic handwriting.
"Dearest Lucas~! Have you reconsidered my fabulous Teyvat Idol offer? Just imagine the spotlight! The glamor! The-"
He skipped ahead.
"-and little Klee has been asking about her big brother Lucas every day! Poor child gets so lonely in Mondstadt. Perhaps you could-"
Page flip.
"-no, no, I've decided! Klee should visit you in Fontaine! She's never seen the Court of Fontaine properly and-"
Lucas's eyebrow twitched as he reached the final page, only to find no arrival date, no duration - just Alice's characteristic breezy assumption that he'd naturally accommodate this spontaneous childcare arrangement.
With a sigh, he set the letter aside. So Klee was coming. Wonderful. Adorable. Potentially explosive.
The only question was... when? He flipped the pages over, searching in vain for any semblance of scheduling. Nothing. Typical Alice.
Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known better than to expect logistics from a woman who once tried to mail him a live Whopperflower "as a joke."
Lucas sighed, staring at the unsigned letter. Well... at least he'd get to see Klee again. The thought brought an unexpected warmth to his chest. A bubbly, energetic presence might actually liven up this quiet shop of his.
He could already picture it.
Klee's bright grin as customers entered
Her excited chatter filling the usual silence
Maybe even some... unconventional help behind the counter "Mr. Fluffball says this bread needs more boom!"
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Having the little Spark Knight around would certainly brighten his days - and probably attract more customers too. Who could resist those adorable red eyes and infectious enthusiasm? His sales might actually-
Lucas froze mid-thought.
Wait.
No.
Absolutely not.
He shook his head violently, as if physically dislodging the dangerous idea. Turning Klee into the shop's mascot would be... well, technically brilliant, but morally questionable. And more importantly -
the memory of a certain blond hair Favonius Knight's terrifying smile flashed through his mind.
potentially life-threatening.
"Just... normal visits," Lucas muttered to himself, carefully folding Alice's letter away. "No marketing schemes. No 'special promotions.' Just... one small, very non-explosive child occasionally visiting her big brother."
...He was doomed, wasn't he?
(A/n: Let me live up to my name. I hope so....)