____________________
The seasons had come and gone in Mondstadt, a gentle, flowing river of time. Three and a half years had already passed since Artoria's arrival.
Spring painted the hills with a vibrant splash of wildflowers, and the air in the Gunnhildr estate was filled with the sweet scent of apple blossoms. Summer brought long, golden days, and Jean, now a growing and serious girl of nine, could often be found sparring with a grinning Varka in the estate's training yard, her wooden sword a blur of focused intent.
Barbara, a bright and bubbly four-year-old, had taken to following her mother around like a small, adoring shadow, humming made-up songs and arranging bouquets of flowers for every room in the mansion. And Bennett, now a rambunctious four-year-old, was a walking, talking, and perpetually hungry force of nature, his insatiable luck leading him on minor, harmless adventures that had the household staff in a constant state of fond amusement.
Mondstadt itself had blossomed under Artoria's guidance. The city was cleaner, its people more prosperous. The reformed Knights of Favonius were a source of pride, their patrols bringing a genuine sense of security to the roads and villages. The muddy tracks that had once connected the city to its outlying regions were slowly being replaced with carefully laid cobblestone, complete with drainage ditches that prevented them from turning into quagmires after every rain. The ambitious project was a slow, costly undertaking, but it was a physical manifestation of the new era of stability and foresight that Artoria had ushered in.
Her influence extended far beyond the main city walls. In Dornman Port, Mondstadt's largest maritime hub, a series of economic reforms, spearheaded by Artoria and masterfully executed by the shrewd mind of Crepus Ragnvindr (an Honorary Knight and an indispensable asset in the Office of the Secretary), had caused a significant boom in revenue. New trade routes were being established, and the port, once a place of rough-and-tumble commerce, was becoming a beacon of efficient, thriving trade. The trickle-down effect was tangible in the city markets, where a greater variety of goods, from Liyue silks, Sumeru spices and even some mechanical contraptions from far off Nod-Krai were becoming available.
Artoria was in her study, a sprawling room lined with books on history, strategy, and even a few alchemical texts Muscovado had insisted she read. A large map of Mondstadt was spread across her desk, dotted with small, hand-carved markers representing ongoing projects and patrol routes.
Three and a half years had passed by since she arrived in this world, and a lot of things had already happened. She was sure that her very presence had already altered the timeline. The Traveler and Paimon had not yet arrived, and they will not be arriving for at least another decade or so. But the world is already changing, hopefully for the better.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," she said, not looking up from the map.
The door creaked open, and Melisa Minci entered, a stack of letters in her hand. She was a capable and efficient secretary, her shy demeanor having long since given way to a quiet confidence in Artoria's presence.
"My lady," Melisa said, her voice respectful. "The latest reports from the Eighth Company. Captain Muscovado has made a breakthrough in his healing potion synthesis. He believes he can now produce a variant that can mend minor fractures in a matter of days, not weeks."
Artoria smiled, looking up from her work. "Excellent news, Melisa. Inform the Captain that his work will be generously rewarded. A supply of these new potions is to be distributed to every frontline company immediately."
Melisa nodded, making a note on her ledger. "And this," she said, placing a sealed letter with the crest of the Dawn Winery on top of the stack, "is a personal missive from Lord Crepus. He requests your thoughts on his proposal to establish a new trade route with Sumeru, circumventing the dangerous passes through the Chasm."
Artoria took the letter, her brow furrowed in thought. Crepus's mind was a formidable weapon, one she valued greatly. A route to Sumeru would be a game-changer, a vein of gold for Mondstadt's economy. But the Chasm... the Chasm was a wound on the land, a place of darkness and ancient secrets. She would need to consider the risks carefully.
"Thank you, Melisa. I will review this."
As Melisa turned to leave, she paused at the door.
"My lady... there is... something else."
Artoria looked up, her emerald eyes questioning. "What is it?"
"It's the stories," Melisa said, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
"In the city. The bards... they're singing new songs."
Artoria leaned back in her chair, her expression intrigued. "Oh?"
"They sing of the 'Lioness of Mondstadt'," Melisa continued, a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Of how you appeared, as if from a myth, to save the Gunnhildr heirs. They sing of your duel with the pretender Randolf, how you turned a training sword into a divine instrument of justice. They even... they sing of the 'Whispering Meadow,' where a dozen villains vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a patch of greener grass, thanks to a mother's wrath."
Artoria massaged her head when she heard that cursed song. Seriously, how did the people know about her little escapade in the hills behind Springvale two years ago against a group of criminals from Liyue?!
She was sure that no one aside from Varka saw the entire event. She even made sure to erase every evidence of the gruesome event with her holy power. 'Could it be Varka?' Artoria thought. 'No, the boy is loyal, he would not betray her trust like that'. She was not angry at the boy, but she had a nagging feeling that this could potentially be a security breach. She needs to have a talk with her young squire. Not as a reprimand, but as a lesson in discretion.
Still, the thought of her actions being turned into ballads, her rage at the threat to her children being immortalized in song, was... unsettling. She was a king who had lived a life of duty and sacrifice, and her actions now were driven by a love so fierce it bordered on the divine. To have it trivialized, even in a heroic ballad, felt like a violation.
"Tell me, Melisa," Artoria said, her voice calm but with an edge of steel. "Do these songs mention my children?"
Melisa shook her head quickly. "No, my lady. They speak only of you. A being comparable to a goddess of justice, a phantom protector, a mother to the city itself. They are... very popular."
Artoria slumped on her chair and let out a sigh. Seriously, she was only doing her job so that she can go back home and smother her kids with hugs and kisses.
"And one more thing, my lady," Melisa added, her voice even softer now. "It's about the Church. Father Theron has been receiving... questions lately. The old legends. The ones concerning Barbatos."
Artoria's emerald eyes narrowed. The Anemo Archon. The sleeping god. She had given him little thought for the past three years. Her world had been consumed by her children, the Knights, the city. But the slumbering deity was a constant, underlying presence, the very reason Mondstadt existed in its current form.
"What kind of questions?"
"The kind that comes from a group of people feeling... adrift," Melisa explained carefully.
"They see Morax holding court in Liyue, the Raiden Shogun's unyielding presence in Inazuma, the Hydro Archon's celebrity status in Fontaine. They know the Pyro Archon walks among her people in Natlan. And they ask, 'Where is ours? Why has our god not been with us?'"
Artoria was silent for a long moment, her fingers steepled before her. She had felt it, too. A strange void in the spiritual landscape of the city. The ley lines were strong, the winds were free, but there was no divine presence. No answering hum of power when she invoked the name of Barbatos. It was a silence that was becoming increasingly loud.
"Father Theron is a wise man," Artoria finally said. "He knows how to soothe the faithful. What does he say?"
"He speaks of freedom, of course," Melisa replied. "That Barbatos's greatest gift was the freedom to govern themselves, to not rely on a god's constant presence. But... the people are worried, my lady. A nation without its god is like a ship without a rudder. They are looking for a sign."
There was silence for a few seconds when Melisa nervously revealed a small gossip that is currently circulating around the pubs and taverns in the City.
"My Lady... there's also this rumor circulating around the taverns and alleyways of the City. A rumor pertaining to you and our Archon."
Artoria raised a brow. "What rumor is this?"
Melisa gulped her nervousness before she answered. "Some people now think...that you are the Anemo Archon, Barbatos. That you're the Archon in disguise or Barbatos' mortal incarnation manifested after waking up from a long slumber, came to lead Mondstadt once again, ushering in a new era of prosperity." Melisa couldn't look directly at her Grand Master after revealing such a blasphemous rumor.
Artoria blinked.
Sheblinked again.
She had been called many things. King. Goddess. Mother. Hero. But a reincarnation of the Anemo Archon? That was a new one!
A laugh, a genuine, unbidden laugh, escaped her lips. It was a rare sound, one that made Melisa's head snap up in surprise. The Grandmaster, the Lioness of Mondstadt, was laughing. Not a small, polite chuckle, but a deep, rich laugh that filled the study.
"Barbatos?" she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Me? The god of freedom, song, and wine? I assure you, Melisa, if I were the Anemo Archon, this city would have far more patrol routes and significantly fewer taverns."
Her humor was a disarming tactic, but her mind was already racing. The rumor, while absurd, was telling. It spoke to a vacuum. The people of Mondstadt had a void in their collective heart where their god should be, and she, with her impossible strength, her sudden appearance, and her tangible improvements to their lives, had inadvertently filled it! They were projecting their need for a deity unto the most powerful figure they knew. Her.
The irony was not lost on her. She, who had once been a god-king who demanded absolute fealty, was now being mistaken for a god of absolute freedom. The cosmos really had a sense of humor.
"Thank you, Melisa," she said, her tone returning to its usual calm. "Please keep me informed of any further... developments on this matter. And give my regards to Father Theron. His wisdom is a bulwark I rely on more than he knows."
After Melisa had left, Artoria's smile faded. She walked over to the large window of her study, looking out over the sprawling city of Mondstadt, the spires of the Church of Favonius rising prominently against the sky.
"Seriously, where are you Venti? How long will the people wait before you wake up from your years of slumber?" Artoria contemplated the whimsical nature of this nation's god.
In the lore, Barbatos would usually hibernate for years in order to lessen the effects of erosion, for although they may live for thousands of years, the gods in Teyvat aren't really immortals and are subjected to the wear and tear of time, hence the name erosion.
Artoria is different from them. She is a goddess by her own right, a goddess whose origin came from beyond this world's sky. The concept of erosion is still applicable to her but the process is far, far slower than that experienced by the Seven Archons. She didn't need to hibernate. She only needs to constantly provide her body with energy, something that is extremely easy for her to do considering she has the Holy Grail in her possession.
The thought of the slumbering Archon stirred a strange feeling within her. It was a mix of professional curiosity as the city's de facto ruler and a personal, almost spiritual, sense of kinship. He was a fellow sovereign and deity, a being who had shouldered the responsibility of an entire nation. She understood the burden of such a power, the weight of a crown, even if his was one of wind and song, while hers had been one of steel and sacrifice.
She wondered what he would think of her Mondstadt. Of the cobblestone roads, the thriving ports, the reformed Knights.
Would he see it as an affront to his ideal of freedom, or would he see it as the necessary structure to ensure that freedom could flourish?
Would he see a rival, or a successor?
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
____________________
The next morning, Artoria found Varka in the training yard, long before the sun had fully risen. The boy was now sixteen, lanky but beginning to fill out with the lean muscle of relentless training. He was practicing his footwork, his movements now fluid and economical, a testament to two years of her hellish regimen.
She approached, her own waster in hand. Varka stopped immediately, snapping to attention. "Grandmaster."
"Varka," she replied, her voice neutral. "The other day, a bard in the city sang a song about the 'Whispering Meadow.' A stirring tale of a mother's wrath and a dozen vanishing scoundrels."
Varka's posture stiffened, but he didn't look away. He knew this day would come. He had told no one, but he knew, with the certainty of a student who knew his master's eyes and ears were everywhere, that she would know.
"I... did not speak of it, my lady," he said, his voice steady. "I swear it in my honor."
"I know you didn't," Artoria said, a surprising warmth in her tone. "Your loyalty is without question. But secrets, Varka, are like stones thrown into a pond. Even if no one sees you throw it, the ripples will always spread."
She paused, letting the lesson sink in. "That day, you saw something you were not meant to see. You saw a side of me that I do not show the world. A power that is not for public consumption. It is a tool for protection, not a spectacle for entertainment. Do you understand?"
"I do, my lady," Varka said, his voice filled with a new, deeper understanding. He wasn't being reprimanded; he was being entrusted with a greater responsibility.
"Good," she said, tossing him his waster. "Now, enough talk. The world is full of secrets, but a knight's duty is to defend the realm, not to gossip about it. Let's see if your footing is as solid as your word."
The training session that followed was more intense than any before. Artoria pushed him harder, testing his limits, probing for weaknesses. She was no longer just forging him; she was honing him, sharpening the blade she had so carefully crafted. And Varka, for his part, met every challenge with a fierce, unwavering determination. He was not just training to become a knight. He was training to become a man worthy of his master's trust.
____________________
Days turned into weeks.
The whispers about Barbatos's absence did not fade; they only grew louder.
The songs about the 'Lioness of Mondstadt' had become more elaborate, more fantastical. It was a strange paradox: the more Artoria did to ground Mondstadt in reality, with roads, trade, and a competent military, the more the people yearned for the divine.
They were a people born of a god's whim, and they struggled to find their footing without his constant, if invisible, hand.
Artoria found herself pondering the issue more and more. It was a problem she could not solve with a sword or a decree. It was a matter of faith, a realm she had little experience with. In her past life, she had been a symbol of faith, a living embodiment of a nation's hope. But she had never been a priest. She had never had to manage the spiritual well-being of an entire nation.
One evening, after a particularly long day of reviewing trade agreements with Crepus Ragnvindr, she decided to seek out the one person in Mondstadt who might have some answers.
She found Father Theron in the small, quiet chapel of the Cathedral of Mondstadt. The old priest was on his knees before the statue of Barbatos, not praying, but simply... being.
His hands were clasped, his head bowed, but there was a sense of quiet contemplation in his stillness, a conversation happening in the silence of his own soul.
Artoria approached, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. She didn't speak, simply standing beside him, her gaze on the statue of the Anemo Archon. It was a beautiful piece of art, depicting a youthful, androgynous figure with a lyre, a gentle, mischievous smile on its face. It was the image of a god who was more friend than sovereign, more artist than king.
Father Theron stirred, slowly rising to his feet. He turned to her, his old eyes holding a spark of recognition. "Grandmaster," he said, his voice a soft, weary whisper. "I was wondering when you would come."
"I come for answers, Father," Artoria said, her voice gentle yet direct. "The city, the nation had been restless. They ask for the whereabouts of their god. What am I to tell them?"
Father Theron let out a slow, breathy sigh. "The same thing I have been telling them. That Barbatos's gift was freedom, and with that freedom comes the responsibility to shape our own destiny. That we are not lost sheep without a shepherd, but soaring birds on the wind of our own making."
"And yet, they do not believe you," Artoria stated. It wasn't an accusation, but an observation.
"No," Theron admitted, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "They do not. Because freedom, in its purest form, is a terrifying thing. It is a vast, open sky, with no land in sight. And people... people need a shore. They need a lighthouse. They need something to hold onto."
He looked at Artoria, his gaze piercing. "And they have found one in you."
Artoria's expression remained stoic, but his words struck a chord. She knows the very nature of her being, yet she's hesitant to reveal it…even to her own children. There may come a time, but not right now.
"I am not a god, Father."
"Are you not?" Theron asked, a gentle, challenging glint in his eye. "You appeared as if from a myth. You wield strength that is beyond mortal ken. You have brought order from chaos, prosperity from years of decay. You have become the mother of the Gunnhildr heirs, the unifying force of a fractured clan, the Grandmaster who reforged the Knights of Favonius. You have become, in the eyes of the people, the lighthouse they were looking for."
He gestured to the statue of Barbatos. "The Anemo Archon gave them the freedom to sail. But you, Artoria Pendragon, have given them a destination. A safe harbor. They may call him their god, but they look to you for guidance."
Artoria was silent, the weight of his words settling upon her. She had been so focused on the practical aspects of ruling, the various infrastructure projects, the patrols, the trade agreements, that she had failed to see the spiritual void she was inadvertently filling. She was not just a ruler; she was becoming an icon. A symbol.
"The rumors," she said, her voice low. "That I am Barbatos, reborn. What do you make of them?"
Father Theron smiled, a faint, knowing smile. "A people starved for a god will see one in a storm, in a bountiful harvest, in a beautiful face that commands with the voice of an angel. They see what they need to see. Whether it is true or not is... irrelevant. What matters is what they believe."
He paused, then his expression grew serious. "But this cannot last, my lady. A nation cannot be built on a misconception. A foundation of faith must be built on truth, or it will crumble. The people's love for you is a powerful thing, but their worship of you...may lead to a dangerous path. For you, and for Mondstadt."
Artoria knew he was right. She had seen what happened when people's faith was misplaced, when they built their hopes on a lie. The results were always catastrophic.
"What would you have me do, Father?" she asked, her voice holding a genuine note of supplication.
"The answer lies not in silencing the rumors," Theron said, his voice wise and measured. "The answer lies in finding the one who can dispel them. The one they are truly waiting for."
"Barbatos," Artoria said, the name a breath of understanding.
"The Anemo Archon," Theron confirmed. "The god of freedom. He must be found. His slumber must end. The people need to see their god, to know that he has not abandoned them. Only then will this city find its true balance."
It was a daunting task. To find a slumbering god in a world as vast as Teyvat. It was a quest worthy of a hero, a challenge that would test even her divine powers.
"Where do I begin?" she asked, her voice now filled with a renewed sense of purpose.
"The Four Winds know," Theron said, his voice almost a whisper.
"Barbatos is the Anemo Archon. His essence is intertwined with the very air we breathe. He is not gone, merely... scattered. Asleep. To find him, you must seek the other Winds of Mondstadt. The great spirits who served him, who were his companions and his confidants. They are his anchors, his connection to this world. They will know where he rests."
He looked at her, his old eyes gleaming with a strange, fervent light. "Seek them out, Grandmaster. The Great Wolf, the King of the North Wind. The Dragon of the East, Dvalin. And the Falcon of the West, the First Knight, whose spirit still watches over this land. They are the Four Winds. Find them, and you may find our missing god."
Artoria bowed her head, a gesture of profound respect.
As she turned to leave, Father Theron called out to her. "Grandmaster, one more thing."
She stopped, turning back to him.
"Be careful," he said, his voice filled with a strange, almost fatherly concern. "The gods are not like us. They are forces of nature, bound by rules and pacts we cannot comprehend. To awaken one is to... take a great risk."
In the briefest of moments, Artoria's eyes glowed with a radiant, divine light that momentarily froze the old priest in his place.
"I am not afraid of the gods, Father Theron."
And with that, she was gone, leaving the old priest alone in the quiet chapel.
____________________
Father Theron just stood in his place, minutes after the grandmaster had taken her leave.
His heart filled with a mixture of hope and a profound, nameless urge to prostrate himself in the very floor that the grandmaster had just stood.
His mind was rattled when he saw those glowing vibrant green eyes. They were like the sun in the midst of a raging storm….those eyes weren't the eyes of mortals!
Barbatos had gone asleep for hundreds of years, yet the person…no, the being that just stood in front of him had somewhat frozen the very air itself in silence by her very gaze. Could it be….could it possibly be?
After a long while, Father Theron kneeled in front of the floor where Artoria stood. His hands clasped in prayer as a single tear flowed down from his eyes.
"Barbatos….is it really you?"
____________________
The next morning, Artoria stood before the full council of her Company Captains. The atmosphere in the war room was tense, a palpable mix of curiosity and apprehension.
They were used to their Grandmaster's unconventional yet very effective methods, but the summons for this meeting had been unusually abrupt, and the topic was a complete mystery.
Sir Hemlock, his face a mask of grim loyalty, stood at attention, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Captain Yuan, leaning against the wall with his customary quiet intensity, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
Captain Muscovado, his rotund frame almost lost in the large chair, his inquisitive mind already trying to piece together the puzzle.
And the others, a new breed of knights, loyal, competent, and utterly devoted to the woman who had resurrected their order.
Artoria stood at the head of the table, her presence filling the room with a calm, commanding authority. She was dressed not in her Grandmaster's armor, but in a simple, practical white tunic and brown trousers, her golden hair tied back in a functional braid.
She looked less like a ruler and more like an adventurer who is about to go on a journey.
"My Captains," she began, her voice clear and steady. "I will be leaving the city for a time being."
A collective gasp went through the room. Artoria had not left Mondstadt since her arrival more than three years ago. Her presence was the bedrock of the city's stability, the anchor of its newfound prosperity. The thought of her absence was a chilling one.
Sir Hemlock was the first to speak, his voice thick with concern.
"My lady, is... is everything alright? Is there a threat?"
"There is no immediate threat, Captain Hemlock," Artoria replied, her gaze sweeping over the room, meeting each of their eyes.
"This is a personal quest. A matter of... spiritual importance." She paused, choosing her words with care.
"As you know, the people of Mondstadt have been... restless for these past few months. They ask for their god. And they have found... a substitute. A misconception that cannot be allowed to fester."
She let the implication hang in the air. She didn't need to elaborate. They all knew the rumors, the songs, the whispers that were spreading through the city like wildfire.
"The only way to dispel these rumors is to find the one they are truly waiting for. The Anemo Archon, Barbatos."
A stunned silence fell over the room. To seek out a slumbering god. It was a quest of mythic proportions, something out of a bard's tale, not a strategic objective for the Knights of Favonius.
"Is that... wise, my lady?" Captain Muscovado asked, his voice a dry rasp.
"To... meddle with the divine? The Archon slumbers for a reason. To awaken him could have... unforeseen consequences."
"I am aware of the risks, Captain," Artoria said, her tone leaving no room for debate.
"But the alternative, to allow this city to be built on a foundation of misconception and misplaced faith, is a far greater danger. A nation's soul is as important as its borders, and Mondstadt's soul is in turmoil."
She then turned her attention to the practicalities. "I will not be gone long. A few days, perhaps a week at most. During my absence, the order will continue to function as it has been trained."
Her gaze fell upon Sir Hemlock. "Sir Hemlock, you will have command during my absence. All company captains will answer to you. The daily patrols will continue, the training will not cease. I expect the city to be as secure, if not more so, upon my return."
Hemlock straightened, his face a mask of grim determination. "It will be, my lady. I swear it."
She then turned to Captain Yuan. "Captain Yuan, your Outriders are to continue their reconnaissance missions. I want to know of any unusual activity, any strange occurrences, anything out of the ordinary. Especially in the areas I will be visiting."
Yuan gave a curt, efficient nod. "Understood, Grandmaster."
And finally, she looked at Muscovado. "Captain Muscovado, I want you to work with Father Theron. He will be the spiritual authority during my absence. The Church must provide comfort to the people, a steady hand to soothe their anxieties. I trust you to ensure the lines of communication between the Order and the Church remain open and strong."
Muscovado nodded, his frail body seeming to straighten with the weight of the responsibility.
"Elspeth and Melisa have my complete confidence," she continued. "They will continue to manage the estate and my correspondence. And my children... they will be safe. Jean is a responsible young lady, especially towards her younger siblings, and I'm confident that Varka will not let any harm befall them."
The mention of the children seemed to ground the room, to remind them of the very human, very maternal reason for their Grandmaster's strength.
"You have your orders," she said, her voice a final, decisive command. "I expect you to carry them out with the same honor and diligence that has become the hallmark of this new Order of Favonius. Do not fail me."
"We will not, Grandmaster!" the room replied in a single, unified voice, their loyalty a palpable force.
And thus Artoria set on her journey to find her people's god. Not as a Grandmaster leading an army of knights, but as a lone traveler, a seeker of answers.
She wore the same blue hoodie she had arrived in, a simple garment that concealed both her identity and the divine power that thrummed beneath her skin. A small pack was slung over her shoulder, containing only the bare essentials: a rope, some rations, a water skin, and the carved wooden waster she used to train Varka. She carried Excalibur not as a blade, but in a dormant, unassuming form, looking like nothing more than a simple, well-worn longsword at her hip.
Her first destination: Wolvendom.
(End of Chapter)
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(Noble Phantasms)
A). Rhongomyniad
B). Excalibur
- The Sword of Promised Victory
- Excalibur is the strongest and most majestic holy sword that symbolizes Artoria Pendragon. As that which can be called the physical actualization of her ideals and the symbol of her heroism, it is one of her two greatest and most powerful Noble Phantasms, the other being Rhongomyniad.
- Excalibur is a Divine Construct, the pinnacle of holy swords, and the strongest holy sword, one of the ultimate God-forged weapons forged by the Planet as the crystallization of the wishes of mankind.
- Excalibur is a "sword that amplifies", converting its user's Magical Energy into offensive power and releasing it. It is a weapon of directive energy that converts the Magical Energy of Artoria into light by accelerating it with her factor of the dragon, intensifying the kinetic energy by convergence and acceleration, allowing for the use of Divine Spirit-level magecraft. It is an "ultimate killing technique" that releases light holding energy rivaling Artoria's entire Magical Energy supply from the tip of the blade once the sword is swung. To an observer, it looks like a giant beam of light, but the attack's target point is only at the tip.
- Originally, the magical energy consumption is extremely high, leaving a servant at the rank of Artoria exhausted after usage, and it cannot normally be fired consecutively. But after ascending into divinity, this problem became a minor inconvenience for her.
C). Invisible Air
D). Bright Enhangwen
E). Avalon
F). ???
G). ???
H). ???
I). ???
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