When a person’s desire became powerful enough, the gods might cast their gaze upon them.
That gaze manifested as a Vision.
Every bearer of a Vision possessed the potential to rise above ordinary humanity.
In ancient terminology, such people were known as allogenes—mortals who carried the possibility of ascending to Celestia and becoming gods.
Mondstadt’s legendary hero Vennessa was often cited as the clearest example.
She had overthrown the aristocracy, founded the Knights of Favonius, and eventually ascended to Celestia.
The enormous oak at Windrise was said to have grown from the place where she departed the mortal world.
The tale was so ancient that history and myth had become inseparable.
It was spoken of alongside legends of Barbatos himself, and few people could say with certainty which details were literal truth.
Il Dottore had never been satisfied with legends.
Over the years, The Doctor had examined, studied, and dissected the mysteries surrounding countless Vision bearers.
He had compared elemental affinities, observed the effects of ambition and trauma, and tested the limits of bodies chosen by the gods.
Yet none of his subjects had approached the threshold of a god’s power.
The difference between an allogene and a god might seem small in words, but in reality it was an abyss.
A Vision bearer could become stronger through training, experience, and refined elemental control.
Even so, their growth appeared to possess a ceiling.
No matter how extraordinary they became, almost none displayed a natural path toward genuine divinity.
If every Vision bearer truly possessed the right to ascend, why had Vennessa remained one of the only widely known examples in more than a thousand years?
Dottore had questioned that contradiction for a long time.
Now fate had delivered an apparent ascended allogene directly to his doorstep.
How could he not be delighted?
Once he accepted that possibility, the mysteries surrounding Lucian Vale suddenly seemed far easier to explain.
Lucian had removed Dottore’s cloak without anyone witnessing his movement.
That was likely not speed at all, but an authority connected to Istaroth, the Ruler of Time.
Time had stopped.
The healing power Lucian demonstrated within the prison was equally obvious.
Restoring shattered bodies and replenishing lost vitality could only be associated with the authority of life.
Then there was the way he descended through the prison.
The surviving surveillance records showed no clear damage between the eighth and eleventh underground levels.
Dottore had originally assumed brute force, but the evidence contradicted that conclusion.
Lucian must have relied upon spatial authority, perhaps power related to the Ruler of Space, to open a passage through the prison without destroying its structure.
Finally, there was the inexplicable death of Dottore’s segment.
Two identical heads had touched and vanished, tearing apart the connection between his distributed consciousnesses.
That power had to be related to Ronova, the Ruler of Death.
The conclusion felt perfect.
Lucian Vale was an allogene acknowledged by Celestia—one who had ascended and inherited power associated with all four of the Heavenly Principles’ Shades.
That also explained his question about respecting life.
Lucian had likely inherited the benevolent disposition commonly attributed to gods who protected living beings.
Dottore’s reasoning was elegant.
It was also almost entirely wrong.
The moment the Tsaritsa summoned another meeting, Dottore made his way back to the council chamber.
Before departing, he received confirmation from a surviving segment within the prison: there were no signs that the floors between the eighth and eleventh underground levels had been smashed apart.
Lucian had deliberately destroyed the surveillance cameras.
Dottore interpreted that choice as an attempt to conceal his spatial authority.
Unfortunately for Lucian, The Doctor believed he had already seen through the trick.
By the time Dottore entered the meeting hall, his earlier fear had transformed into the feverish confidence of a researcher who thought he had discovered the key to an impossible problem.
Silence filled the council chamber after Dottore finished explaining his theory.
Every Harbinger present remained still.
The Tsaritsa sat at the head of the table, her expression unreadable.
A mortal who had ascended to Celestia would already be a matter of extraordinary importance.
A mortal wielding powers resembling those of the Four Shades was something else entirely.
What position could such a being hold in the heavenly order?
Why had he appeared in Snezhnaya now?
Had Lucian’s casual rescue mission truly been nothing more than a commission, or was his presence a warning from Celestia?
He claimed that he had come only for Diluc Ragnvindr.
Yet none of them could dismiss the possibility that his actions carried a second message.
The Fatui knew very little about the entities above the False Sky.
Celestia had remained silent for centuries, and that silence made its intentions more frightening rather than less.
Snezhnaya stood on the brink of beginning the Tsaritsa’s great plan.
At precisely that moment, an apparently harmless man connected to the Curatorium of Secrets had entered their capital, humiliated Dottore, attracted the gaze of the Ruler of Death, and walked away.
The timing was too convenient.
Pierro remained silent.
Il Capitano had not yet returned, but among the Harbingers, The Jester feared Celestia more deeply than almost anyone except the Tsaritsa herself.
He had witnessed the destruction of Khaenri’ah.
Even after five hundred years, the memory remained carved into him.
A single punishment associated with the heavens had condemned the pure-blooded people of Khaenri’ah to immortality, while those of mixed blood were transformed into hilichurls.
Pierro had spent centuries living with grief, rage, and helplessness.
He had joined the Tsaritsa because she offered the possibility of rebellion—of breaking Celestia’s rule, removing the curse, and restoring what remained of his homeland.
After so much preparation, was their plan going to die before it truly began?
Arlecchino broke the oppressive silence.
“Everyone, the House of the Hearth has gathered information on Lucian Vale.”
The Fourth Harbinger placed a thick stack of documents on the table.
Her intelligence agents had begun investigating Lucian immediately after the earlier meeting.
She had expected the information to satisfy her own curiosity.
She had not expected it to become relevant so quickly.
The dossier began circulating around the table.
Name: Lucian Vale.
Height: approximately one hundred and eighty-eight centimetres, though some reports placed him closer to one hundred and ninety-five.
Possible physical alteration suspected.
Weight: unknown.
Age: unknown.
Affiliation: the Northern Intelligence Network and the Curatorium of Secrets.
Vision: suspected Dendro Vision.
Background: Joined the Curatorium of Secrets four years earlier and was believed to be one of its founding members.
Speech patterns and personal habits suggested ties to Liyue.
Maintained a close relationship—possibly romantic—with Lauma, Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions.
Corresponded regularly with The Steambird.
Published manga under the pen name Z-End.
The documents passed from one Harbinger to the next before returning to Arlecchino.
Obtaining surface-level information had not been particularly difficult.
Nod-Krai existed within Snezhnaya’s sphere of influence, and Columbina herself was sitting at the same table.
Fatui informants had investigated Lucian’s public life so thoroughly that they could probably have identified the color of his underwear on an ordinary day.
Unfortunately, the details that mattered most remained unknown.
No confirmed age.
No reliable weight.
No origin before his appearance in Nod-Krai.
No explanation for his powers.
“Z-End?” Columbina murmured.
The name sounded familiar.
She remembered hearing it in Sandrone’s room.
Beside her, Sandrone went rigid.
That man was Z-End?
The Marionette had read his adaptation of Plastic Memories and had nearly driven a blade through her worktable when she reached the ending.
She had been deeply interested in the relationship between humans and artificial beings.
The premise fascinated her.
The tragic conclusion did not.
For several days after finishing it, she had been in such a foul mood that she seriously considered mailing the author a knife.
Sandrone and Z-End had exchanged heated remarks through The Steambird’s reader forum.
At one point, she had publicly declared that when she finally found him, she would tear the hood from his head and demand a better ending in person.
Now she had found him.
Regrettably, she might not be strong enough to survive fulfilling that promise.
Even one of Dottore’s enhanced segments had been destroyed without understanding what happened.
Sandrone’s irritation weakened, replaced by caution.
Then another realization struck her.
She turned sharply toward Columbina.
Her stare became so intense that it seemed capable of stripping away clothes, secrets, and skin alike.
Columbina tilted her head.
“Sandrone, is something wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Everyone else had already noticed Sandrone’s reaction.
She needed to redirect the conversation before they began asking why a Harbinger had been arguing with a manga artist in a public reader forum.
“Of everyone here, Columbina spent the most time with him,” Sandrone said.
“She should know more than the report does.”
Every gaze shifted toward The Damselette.
Columbina considered the question.
“I do not believe we need to fear him too much,” she said at last.
“He is a good person.”
“Why?”
Sandrone’s question came out far more sharply than intended.
An unfamiliar pang twisted inside her.
She had discovered that the author she wanted to confront was an overwhelmingly powerful man.
Now Columbina was praising him after being alone with him.
It felt uncomfortably like losing both the battle and the prize.
Arlecchino and Rosalyne looked at Sandrone in surprise.
The Marionette’s reaction was much too personal for an ordinary intelligence discussion.
Sandrone stiffened beneath their attention.
Columbina, however, remained unbothered.
“I cannot explain it,” she said.
“Being near him felt comfortable.”
She paused.
“And the food he gave me was delicious.”
Sandrone said nothing.
That somehow made the situation worse.
The Tsaritsa finally spoke.
“Enough.”
The room quieted immediately.
“We have information, but not certainty.
Until Lucian Vale takes an action that directly threatens Snezhnaya, we will continue according to our existing plans.”
Her gaze passed across the Harbingers.
“Arlecchino, continue gathering intelligence.
Watch his movements, but do not provoke him.”
The Knave inclined her head.
“As you command.”
“The attitude of Celestia remains unclear,” the Tsaritsa continued.
“We will not exhaust ourselves by inventing enemies before they reveal themselves.”
If Snezhnaya allowed fear and suspicion to consume its leaders, rebellion against Celestia would become impossible.
The Fatui would destroy themselves before the heavens needed to act.
Caution was necessary.
Panic was not.
The meeting ended.
After a day of emergencies, mobilizations, celestial gazes, prison riots, and increasingly alarming theories, the Harbingers finally dispersed to handle their own affairs.
Dottore left with his obsession burning brighter than ever.
Sandrone left with a new reason to find Z-End.
Columbina left wondering whether Lucian had more cake.
And high above them all, the Tsaritsa remained seated in silence, contemplating the man whom her Harbingers had mistaken for an ascended god.
🕷️ End of Chapter
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