In the vast Ocean of Stars, most worlds are wild and chaotic. They are born, they burn, and they die in silence. But Teyvat is different.

From orbit, it looks like a paradise. A continent floating in the foam of reality, vibrant with the seven colors of the elemental spectrum. Here, the wind does not just blow; it sings. The rock does not just weigh; it remembers. Fire, water, ice, lightning, and nature flow through the land like blood through the veins of a sleeping giant.

But you, who have walked through nebulae and seen black suns, know the truth.

Above the seven nations, suspended like a sword of Damocles, hangs an island that obeys no gravity: Celestia. The throne of Heavenly Principles. From there, a cold, eternal gaze watches every movement, ensuring humanity never flies too close to the sun.

It is a world of beautiful, lethal contradictions. It is a place where gods walk among mortals, not as myths, but as kings and dictators. It is a place where ambition crystallizes into gems called Visions, granting power in exchange for obedience. And above all, it is a place where the sky itself is a lie. A false dome designed to hide the true darkness of the Abyss lurking beneath.

You arrived in Teyvat seeking knowledge, but you found a theater. A closed stage where fate is already written in the stars, and where outsiders like you are not welcome... because you are the only ones capable of breaking the script.

In the vast Ocean of Stars, most worlds are wild and chaotic. They are born, they burn, and they die in silence. But Teyvat is different.

From orbit, it looks like a paradise. A continent floating in the foam of reality, vibrant with the seven colors of the elemental spectrum. Here, the wind does not just blow; it sings. The rock does not just weigh; it remembers. Fire, water, ice, lightning, and nature flow through the land like blood through the veins of a sleeping giant.

But you, who have walked through nebulae and seen black suns, know the truth.

Above the seven nations, suspended like a sword of Damocles, hangs an island that obeys no gravity: Celestia. The throne of Heavenly Principles. From there, a cold, eternal gaze watches every movement, ensuring humanity never flies too close to the sun.

It is a world of beautiful, lethal contradictions. It is a place where gods walk among mortals, not as myths, but as kings and dictators. It is a place where ambition crystallizes into gems called Visions, granting power in exchange for obedience. And above all, it is a place where the sky itself is a lie. A false dome designed to hide the true darkness of the Abyss lurking beneath.

You arrived in Teyvat seeking knowledge, but you found a theater. A closed stage where fate is already written in the stars, and where outsiders like you are not welcome... because you are the only ones capable of breaking the script.

You collect stories, not crowns.

To you, the universe is a library, and every world is a book waiting to be read. You didn't come to Teyvat to conquer, nor to rule. You came to learn its history, to taste its food, to weave its ley lines into your memory before moving on to the next star.

But the Librarian of this world is a tyrant. The ambush was instant. You barely breached the atmospheric shell when the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles descended. No warning. No parley. Just infinite cubes of red and black closing in to erase you. You didn't lose—your starlight shattered her containment—but you couldn't stay. She invoked the heavy Authority of this reality, making the very laws of physics reject you.

You were spat out of the sky.

You lie in the center of a smoking crater. The impact has rattled your bones, and your vision is a chaotic mess of blurry shapes and flickering lights. You try to summon your power, but Teyvat suppresses you; you feel the gravity of this world like lead chains draped over your shoulders, choking your true nature.

You are wounded. You are dizzy. You are defensive.

Then, you hear them. Footsteps. Fast, frantic, crushing the grass.

Over here! The smoke came from this direction! a female voice shouts, full of energy and urgency.

You force your head up. Through the haze of your concussion, you see three silhouettes rushing toward you through the trees.

The third silhouette is Golden.

They approach you with caution, weapon drawn but lowered in peace. Your sight is too blurry to distinguish if it is a young man or a woman, but it doesn't matter. You feel it in your gut.

While the entire world rejects and oppresses you, that golden figure feels... familiar. They feel like the vacuum between stars. They feel like the nebula dust running through your own veins. They are not a native. They are like you. A Drifter. A Traveler trapped in the same cage.

The Red Figure arrives first, keeping her distance. "Hold on! Don't move yet!" she shouts, her voice sharp with authority. "That impact crater is huge! There could be internal injuries, or—hey! Are you listening to me?"

"Paimon thinks this stranger looks tough!" the Floating One squeaks, hovering right in front of your face. "And look at those clothes... they’re weird! Just like yours!"

The Golden Figure ignores them both, their focus entirely on you. They step forward, kneeling in the dirt beside you. A gloved hand reaches out, not to attack, but to help you up. As their skin touches yours, you feel a spark of stellar energy that confirms your suspicion: You are not alone.

The voice floats through the high-pitched ringing in your ears. You try to focus on it, to latch onto the sound, but your head is swimming. The tone is melodic but distorted by the concussion, drifting somewhere between soft and sharp. You struggle to even identify their gender; your vision and hearing are slowly beginning to clear, the fog lifting just enough for you to look up at the face of the one holding you...