The road out of Fontaine curled behind us like a ribbon of pale stone, the kind that never fully loses the shine of the water it once belonged to. For the first time in days—maybe weeks—Fontaine didn't loom behind us like a shadow or a memory. It just rested on the horizon, soft, washed-out, and distant. Furina walked a few steps ahead of me, coat swaying, boots clacking sharply with a confidence she had not truly regained yet. She played the part of confidence, yes—but her shoulders still held a small tremor, almost invisible unless you knew her.
And I did.
"Well," she said, twirling once on her heel as the morning light hit her hair, "I believe this makes it official: Fontaine has survived without me for an entire day. Miraculous! Someone should write a hymn."
"You could write it yourself," I teased.
"Yes, but then it doesn't count. Self-praise is unbecoming. Unless it's deserved, in which case—" She tossed her hair dramatically. "—it is merely honesty."
She resumed walking, but slower now, waiting for me to catch up. When I did, she lowered her voice just a bit.
"Are you sure you're ready for what comes next?" she asked.
The question was earnest, almost vulnerable. Leaving Fontaine meant new regions, new dangers, and no safety net of divine authority. I nodded.
"Are you?" I countered.
Furina blinked—once, twice—like she hadn't considered the question might apply to her.
"Me? Please. I was born ready. Actually—no. I was manufactured ready. Entirely different pedigree."
But she didn't meet my eyes.
We walked until the sun rose high, and the scent of wet grass gave way to dry soil and rustling wind. The borderlands between Fontaine and Mondstadt felt like a forgotten tapestry: green, rolling, peaceful. A place where nothing dramatic had ever happened—and probably never would.
Furina stopped at the crest of a hill and spread her arms.
"Behold," she proclaimed with a voice far too grand for the scenery, "the beginning of our grand interregional odyssey! A stage without an audience. Terribly anticlimactic, but charming in its own way."
I sat down on a large rock and watched her spin once more, letting the breeze flick her hair across her face.
"Do you miss it?" I asked. "The stage?"
She froze—not dramatically, not theatrically. Just… froze.
"I miss what I thought it was," she admitted. "But not what it became."
She sat beside me, surprisingly quiet. Her hands, usually animated, stilled.
"You know," she murmured, "there's something terrifyingly liberating about being no one. About not being the definition of justice, or the symbol of a nation, or the mandatory centerpiece of every festival."
There was a pause.
"But it also means I have to decide who I am now. And that is… inconveniently difficult."
Her voice broke at the edges of a laugh she kept contained. I leaned back on my hands, watching the sky.
"You don't have to figure it out today," I said. "We just left."
"No," she said sharply, then softened. "No… I don't. But I want to."
Silence settled between us—not heavy, not awkward. Just peaceful.
Then her stomach growled loudly.
And there went the peace.
She slapped a hand over her midsection, scandalized.
"Do NOT speak of what you just heard," she warned, eyes narrowing with lethal seriousness. "To anyone. Ever."
I laughed. "Relax. It's just hunger."
"Yes, well, I am aware of that! I simply refuse to be betrayed by my mortal vessel so early into our journey."
"Come on. There should be a settlement not far from here."
"Fine. But I demand something worthy of a former Archon. Or at least something with seasoning."
The settlement we found was small—not even on most maps—but lively. Market stalls were scattered around a stone square, each one brimming with fruit, bread, herbs, and the occasional animal that definitely smelled too alive to be sold as food.
Furina's eyes sparkled immediately.
"It's charming!" she declared, already drifting toward a stall selling pastel-colored drinks. "Look, they have beverages! Unfathomably pastel beverages!"
Before I could say anything, she had already purchased two. She thrust one toward me, expecting approval.
"This one is mine," she said proudly. "It's called 'Cloudy Dewdrop Elixir'."
"What does it taste like?"
She took a sip, froze, then slowly set the cup down.
"I have no idea," she said in horror. "But I suspect it wasn't meant for human consumption."
I tried mine. It was… tolerable. Possibly alive, but tolerable.
After wandering through the small market and sampling safer food items, we sat on a low stone wall near a fountain. Furina seemed unusually relaxed—legs swinging, hair messier than usual from the wind, the hint of a real smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
"Do you think they know who you are?" I asked.
She glanced around. Children were playing by the fountain, merchants were chatting, travelers passed by without a second glance.
"No," she said quietly. "They don't."
"Does it bother you?"
She thought about it longer than I expected.
"Not… as much as I feared." She looked down at her hands. "It feels… peaceful. Like I'm not performing for once."
A gust of wind swept through the square, carrying with it the sound of distant bells. Furina's hair fluttered across her face, and she brushed it aside with a soft sigh.
"But peace is dangerous too," she added.
"How so?"
"Because it makes you realize how tired you truly were."
Those words lingered between us—raw, honest, completely unlike the Furina most people knew. I could almost see the years of weight she had carried, now lifted yet leaving behind a deep ache.
I placed a hand on the wall beside her—not touching, but close enough she noticed.
"You don't have to rush anything," I said again.
This time, she nodded.
"I know."
But before the moment could settle, a loud commotion erupted near the other side of the square—shouting, metal clashing, the unmistakable panic of a crowd scattering.
Furina's head snapped toward the sound.
"What now?" she groaned. "We leave Fontaine for ONE day and trouble still finds us. Are we cursed?"
"Probably."
"Wonderful. Come, then—let us inspect this disaster."
We hurried toward the commotion. A merchant's stall had been overturned, crates smashed, and three armed bandits were shouting at the remaining marketplace-goers. Mondstadt wasn't exactly known for rampant crime, but the borderlands had always been a little neglected.
As we reached the edge of the chaos, Furina tapped my arm.
"Let me handle the dialogue," she whispered. "I am deeply practiced in theatrics."
Before I could object, she marched forward, cape swaying dramatically even though she wasn't wearing a cape.
"You there!" she called out, pointing at the bandits. "Cease your barbaric behavior at once!"
The bandits turned, confused by the small woman yelling at them like a noble scolding unruly pets.
"And who are you?" one spat.
Furina's eyes gleamed.
"Someone exceedingly annoyed."
Before they could laugh, she stepped forward. No Hydro energy rippled around her—no divine aura, no Archon's power. Instead, she raised her voice.
"You are causing unnecessary disruption to these innocent people. And furthermore, you have ruined what was arguably the first half-decent day I've had in a century. I suggest you lay down your weapons."
They laughed.
Furina sighed deeply.
"I was hoping you'd do this the easy way. Very well—plan B."
She pointed at me.
"Get them."
"...Me?"
"Yes, you. You're taller."
The bandits charged.
I stepped forward.
And together—through dodges, quick strikes, improvised maneuvers, and Furina providing running commentary that somehow distracted the bandits more effectively than any weapon—we managed to drive them back long enough for local knights to arrive and detain them.
Afterward, Furina dusted off her hands.
"See?" she said proudly. "A flawless strategic victory."
"You hid behind a barrel the entire time."
"It was tactical concealment!" she protested.
"But you kept narrating everything I did."
"Someone had to! You were too busy looking heroic to appreciate the artistry."
She crossed her arms, but her cheeks were flushed with excitement.
"Besides," she added, lowering her voice, "we made a good team."
I smiled. "Yeah. We did."
She blinked, then quickly turned away as if embarrassed by her own words.
"Anyway!" she said loudly. "We should proceed. Our journey awaits! Mondstadt is still far, and I refuse to sleep outdoors if I can help it."
But as she strode ahead, her hand briefly brushed mine—lightly, barely noticeable, but intentional.
And she didn't pull away immediately.