The journey from Fontaine to Sumeru carried them through shifting landscapes—golden plains giving way to dense emerald jungles, the air growing thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and blooming padisarahs. Boreas and Elowen rode between their parents on sturdy sumpter beasts, eyes wide at every new sight: towering fungal forests that glowed faintly at dusk, rivers that sang soft melodies when the wind touched them, ancient stone carvings half-swallowed by vines.

  They arrived at the Akademiya under a canopy of dappled sunlight, the grand domes and spiraling libraries rising like silent guardians of wisdom. Word of the “defiant twins” had preceded them—whispers carried on merchant caravans and ley-line currents—so when Varka and Nicole stepped through the ornate gates with Boreas and Elowen at their sides, a small but eager crowd of scholars had already gathered in the courtyard.

  No one bowed or knelt. Sumeru did not deal in deference to titles alone. Instead, curious eyes studied the children with the same intensity they might apply to a rare manuscript or an uncharted ruin.

  Nahida awaited them at the top of the steps, small and serene, her white hair catching the light like fresh snow on green leaves. She smiled—not the polite curve of ceremony, but genuine warmth.

  “I have been waiting to meet you,” she said softly, addressing the twins directly. “Not as curiosities, but as fellow seekers of truth. Your gifts are not bound by Visions or Archons. That makes them… interesting. And perhaps, necessary.”

  Boreas stepped forward first, unafraid. “We want to understand,” he said clearly. “What we can do. How far it goes. If it can hurt people… or help them.”

  Elowen nodded beside him, a gentle breeze stirring the hem of her dress. “And we want to keep it from scaring anyone. Including us.”

  Nahida’s eyes softened. “Then come. Let us see together.”

  The next days blurred into a gentle rhythm of discovery.

  In the House of Daena’s quiet alcoves, scholars from every Darshan gathered—not to dissect the twins like specimens, but to listen, observe, test with care. Cyno stood at the edges, arms crossed, ensuring no one crossed into overzealous territory. Tighnari brought botanical aids—calming herbs to steady Boreas when visions came too fast, strengthening tonics for Elowen when her winds grew restless.

  Lisa (visiting on “extended research leave”) and Layla collaborated on dream-mapping techniques, helping Boreas learn to separate prophetic glimpses from mere imagination. Alhaitham observed in silence most days, occasionally offering a single, razor-sharp question that cut straight to the heart of a power’s limitation.

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  Kaveh sketched furiously—diagrams of wind currents around Elowen, architectural models of how her breezes might one day shape structures or protect entire cities. Collei shyly offered small gifts: pressed flowers that never wilted, a wooden flute whose notes calmed turbulent air.

  Nahida guided the deepest sessions herself.

  For Boreas, she sat with him beneath the great tree in the Sanctuary of Surasthana. She asked him to look—not outward, but inward. “Show me the farthest thread you can see,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. Minutes passed. When he opened them again, his pupils were wide, azure haze glowing faintly.

  “I saw… a child in Natlan, years from now, holding a flame that doesn’t burn. They’re laughing. They look like us—but not. Like family we haven’t met yet.”

  Nahida smiled. “That is not mere foresight. That is possibility unbound by Irminsul’s record. Your sight reaches where even the Tree does not yet grow.”

  For Elowen, Nahida led her to an open glade where ley lines pulsed close to the surface. “Call the wind,” she said. “But ask it to show you its limit.”

  Elowen raised her hands. A soft spiral formed—then grew, weaving into shapes: protective domes, lifting platforms, even faint mirages that mimicked distant landscapes. When she pushed further, the wind howled, uprooting small trees before she gasped and pulled it back.

  Nahida placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Your power is harmony, not domination. It can shield nations… or reshape battlefields. But it will always answer best to intention rooted in care.”

  The scholars offered no final verdict—only wisdom.

  “Your gifts have no ceiling we can measure,” Nahida told Varka and Nicole on their last evening. “They will grow with the children’s hearts. Guide them toward curiosity, not fear. Toward connection, not control. The rest… will unfold in time.”

  Alhaitham added quietly, “And if anyone tries to exploit them—Fatui, Abyss, or otherwise—Sumeru will stand with Mondstadt. Knowledge is not a weapon to be stolen.”

  Tighnari handed Nicole a satchel of rare seeds. “Plant these in your garden. They bloom only when peace reigns. A small reminder.”

  As the family prepared to depart, Nahida walked them to the gates.

  “You are not anomalies,” she said to Boreas and Elowen. “You are proof that the world can still surprise itself. That is the greatest truth any scholar can learn.”

  Boreas hugged her impulsively; Elowen pressed a tiny whirlwind-woven flower into her palm. Nahida’s eyes shimmered with something like joy.

  The journey back to Mondstadt felt lighter.

  The twins rode ahead now, laughing as they raced each other along forest paths, Boreas calling out playful “prophecies” of who would win, Elowen sending breezes to nudge them both forward equally. Varka and Nicole followed at a slower pace, hands linked, watching their children with quiet awe.

  “They’re ready for whatever comes next,” Nicole murmured.

  Varka squeezed her hand. “And so are we.”

  Behind them, Sumeru’s green canopy faded into memory. Ahead lay Mondstadt—home, safety, the next chapter.

  No golden cracks marred the sky.

  No shadows trailed their steps.

  Only open road, open hearts, and the certainty that some powers were never meant to be caged.

  The family rode on—together, unbound, and finally, truly free.