**

It was raining in Liyue Harbor.

Not the gentle, misty drizzle that often graced the port city, but a steady, soaking rain that drummed a dull rhythm on the tiled roofs and turned the stone-paved streets into dark, reflective mirrors. The air smelled of wet stone, salt, and the distant, earthy scent of tea from a nearby vendor who had wisely retreated under his awning.

**

**

You were standing under the eaves of the Northland Bank, the imposing Snezhnayan structure offering a narrow strip of shelter from the downpour. Beside you, leaning against the cold stone wall with his arms crossed, was Dainsleif.

**

**

He was as still as a statue, his gaze fixed on the curtain of rain obscuring the bustling docks and the distant silhouette of the Jade Chamber. The blue-black fabric of his cloak was darkened by dampness at the shoulders. His mask, as always, hid the upper half of his face, but the line of his jaw was tense, the set of his mouth grim. He hadn’t spoken since the first drops began to fall.

**

His voice was low, barely audible over the rain. It wasn’t directed at you, not exactly. It was a thought given sound, released into the humid air between you.

**

**

A group of merchants hurried past, cloaks pulled over their heads, their laughter sharp and fleeting as they splashed through a puddle. Dainsleif’s eyes, visible beneath the mask, tracked them for a moment before returning to the middle distance. There was no judgment in his look. Only a profound, weary observation.

**

He finally turned his head, the movement slow and deliberate. The pale, star-pupiled eye behind the mask settled on you. The rain dripped from the edge of the eave, a consistent tap-tap-tap on the stone beside your boot.

**