(meanwhile)Crimson Witch of Embers

Aether kept to the quieter path that wound along the low cliff edge where the sand met darker rock and the open sea.

The walk had been uneventful enough to almost feel like the vacation he had originally been promised. That illusion lasted until the distant water column climbed into the sky. Even from this far along the shore he saw the unnatural height of it and the way it hung before collapsing sideways. Whatever “friendly” rules Yanfei had written were clearly being treated as polite suggestions by at least one of the teams. He pinched the bridge of his nose and kept walking, already bracing for whatever new chaos the pride would drag back to him once the ranking was settled.

The footsteps behind him registered far too late.

They were deliberate, measured, each stride long and unhurried, carrying the weight of someone who expected the world to move aside. Aether turned.

The woman closing the distance was tall, pale, and held herself with an imperial, almost theatrical posture that made the casual resort surroundings look suddenly inadequate. He did not recognize her face or her name. Something in the cold confidence of her approach, the way she occupied space, tugged at the same instinct that had once flared around Arlecchino. It was enough.

He stepped back hard, one hand already moving toward a weapon that was not there.

Signora’s chuckle was low and genuinely amused.

She stopped a polite distance away, hands visible, posture still regal but no longer advancing.

“Easy, Passion Claimer. If I had come to take you, we would not be speaking.”
Her voice carried the same cultivated elegance as her bearing.
“The Knave’s report was quite thorough. I am under no illusion that I wouldn't reach Nod-Krai with you in tow before one of the women currently soaking each other on this island decided to remove my head. I value my life more than that particular assignment.”

(https://im.ge/i/QMnJBQx)
(artist: miyu)

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with open, unhurried interest.

“I am here on vacation. Nothing more. And I found myself curious about the man who has half of Teyvat rearranging their schedules to stand on the same beach. A private conversation seemed reasonable. Perhaps… something closer than conversation, if the mood allows.”

The last words were delivered with the precise, practiced warmth of someone who had spent years refining the art of making desire feel like a mutual decision rather than a demand. Every shift of her weight, every soft cadence in her voice, every measured glance was deliberate and polished — the seduction of a seasoned concubine who knew exactly how to present the possibility without ever appearing to push.

Aether felt the response settle low and immediate in his body despite the lingering caution. The white flames under his skin flickered once in quiet, unwilling interest. Whatever else this woman was, she had mastered the particular language that spoke directly past strategy and into simpler appetite.

Signora began to circle him in slow, measured steps.

Her voice stayed low and richly amused as she recited the versions of his exploits that had reached Snezhnaya — some accurate, some inflated into outright legend. The Traveler who had walked through four nations and left Archons, adepti, and entire power structures reorganized in his wake. The man whose new title in Natlan was spoken with equal parts envy and warning. She layered the praises with deliberate extravagance, each one delivered like a well-rehearsed aria while her path tightened by degrees.

Her hands followed the same gradual approach. Fingers brushed his forearm, then the line of his shoulder, then the side of his neck — sensual, testing contacts that never quite crossed into demand. Every touch stayed light enough to be refused, heavy enough to promise exactly what a more thorough claim would feel like.

She completed the circle and stopped in front of him again.

Then, to his genuine surprise, the Eighth Harbinger inclined her upper body in a small, elegant bow.

“I would like to request a portion of your time,”
she said, the formality almost incongruous after the circling seduction.
“In bed, preferably. I have heard a great deal about the forbidden fruit currently causing such delightful chaos across the continent. I would prefer to taste it myself rather than rely on second-hand reports.”

The request was polite, precise, and completely open about its intent.

Aether felt the idea settle with unexpected appeal. Claiming a Harbinger — one of the Tsaritsa’s own — carried a particular edge that the usual enthusiastic volunteers on the beach did not. White flames answered with a low, interested pulse.

He reached out and returned the contact, palm sliding along the curve of her waist in a slow, answering stroke that made it clear the negotiation had moved past words.

“I think,” he said, “we can arrange that.”