The grand cathedral of Mondstadt stood as a beacon of faith and freedom, its spires reaching toward the heavens like fingers grasping at the winds of Anemo. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense and fresh flowers from the nearby fields, offerings left by pilgrims seeking Barbatos’s elusive blessings. Stained glass windows depicted legends of the Archons—Barbatos playing his lyre, the fall of Decarabian, and subtle hints of Celestia’s distant oversight. It was here, in the quiet sanctity of the nave, that Varka confronted Nicole, his heart a storm of emotions fiercer than any battle he’d faced.
He had learned the truth from Alice in a hushed conversation earlier that day, her usual mischief replaced by rare solemnity. “N’s an angel, Varka—or what’s left of one. Her kind loved mortals once, and it cost them everything. Seelies… that’s their fate. Wandering lights, voiceless and formless. She’s choosing it for you, you big oaf. Fell first, I’d wager, but don’t let it end that way.” The words had hit him like a claymore to the chest. Varka, who laughed in the face of danger, felt a raw, aching fear—not for himself, but for her. He’d fallen harder, his playful affection deepening into a love that burned like Natlan’s volcanoes, and now it threatened to consume her.
Nicole stood by the altar, her ethereal form bathed in the multicolored light filtering through the glass. She was sculpting a small figure from a shard of crystal she’d found in Dragonspine, her hands moving with the grace of forgotten stars. But her mind was elsewhere, swirling with the weight of her decision. She sensed Varka’s approach before he spoke, his heavy boots echoing softly on the stone floor.
“Nicole,” he said aloud, though he knew she could hear his thoughts if he willed it. But this needed words—tangible, spoken vows. “We need to talk. About… everything.”
She turned, her blue eyes meeting his, calm yet laced with a vulnerability she rarely showed. Her voice projected into his mind, gentle but teasing as always. Talk? In a cathedral? How dramatic, Grand Master. Planning to confess your sins? Like how you sneak extra drinks at Angel’s Share, or how you hold back in spars to let others feel strong? Or perhaps… something more personal?
Varka didn’t laugh this time. His scarred face was serious, the mark on his cheek twisting slightly as he frowned. He closed the distance, towering over her yet feeling small in the face of this revelation. “Alice told me. About the angels, the curse. Loving a human… it turns you into a Seelie. A wisp, Nicole. Eternal, but lost. Why didn’t you say anything? All those moments—the cave in Dragonspine, the hot springs in Natlan, under Windrise… you knew?”
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Her expression softened, the teasing fading into something raw and intimate. Because it was my choice, Varka. From Nod-Krai, when you strode up so confidently, assuming Alice had sung your praises… I felt it then. A pull, like the Irminsul’s roots drawing me in. Angels were observers, guides—not lovers. But you… your laughter, your responsibility hidden behind jokes, your strength that welcomes challenges. I fell into it willingly. The Hexenzirkel knows the risks; Barbeloth saw it in the stars. But suffocating silence is nothing compared to never having spoken to you at all.
He reached out, his large hands cupping her face gently, thumbs brushing away an imaginary tear. The touch sent sparks through them both, a reminder of their heated kisses. “Your choice? Damn it, Nicole, that’s not fair. I…—didn’t see it coming, this awkward, talkative witch in my head, teasing me about my scars and stories. But now? I won’t let Celestia dictate this. Those gods up there, playing with fates like it’s a game? I’ll go after them. Storm the skies, challenge the divine order. Whatever it takes to change your destiny. You’re not becoming some floating light—not while I breathe.”
Varka… bold as ever. Challenging Celestia? Even Khaenri’ah fell for less. You’re a knight, not a god-slayer. And yet… your fire rivals Natlan’s Archon. But think—my kind self-destructed for love like this. Is it worth the risk?
“Worth it? Every scar, every expedition—pales compared to you.” He pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together in the sacred space, the air heating with their proximity. His lips found hers in a kiss that was fierce, desperate—hot and sweet, tongues dancing like Anemo winds meeting Pyro flames. Hands roamed, his gripping her waist, hers tangling in his blond hair. It was awkward in its intensity, their inexperience making it real and passionate. He broke away, breathless. “I vow it, Nicole. For us. We’ll journey Teyvat if need be—gather allies, artifacts. Mika, Razor, Jean—even the Hexenzirkel. I’ll wield my claymore against the heavens.”
She “sighed” mentally, her forehead resting against his chest. My reckless knight. If anyone could defy fate, it’s you. But promise me— we’ll face it together. No heroic solo charges.
“Together,” he agreed, kissing her again, slower this time, romantic under the cathedral’s glow. The vow sealed their path, love burning brighter amid the shadows of destiny.
