And now… after the chaos that had unfolded in Mondstadt, Riven found himself in a quiet tavern.
It was nearly empty.
Jean, Kaeya, and Lisa sat together in quiet conversation, their voices low and serious. Across the room, Diluc stood apart, arms folded and eyes closed, lost in his own thoughts, like a shadow brooding at the edge of the firelight.
Meanwhile, on a tall stool beside Riven, little Klee swung her feet back and forth, humming cheerfully.
"Oh, dad! This is Dodoco, he's my bestest friend!" she said, holding up the plush toy with pride.
She went on, story after story, telling him all about her adventures, her favorite things, and the world through her bright, innocent eyes.
As he listened to every word his sweet daughter spoke, Riven couldn't help but smile. There was a warmth in her voice, an innocent joy that melted the uncertainty in his heart. Still, a question lingered one he'd asked himself the moment he woke up on that beach.
Did I have a family?
Well… apparently, yes. A daughter who loved blowing things up, no less. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all—but Lisa's teasing words still echoed in his head.
He glanced at his reflection in a window and squinted. Okay but… look at me.
Flawless skin. Sharp jawline. Defined abs. Piercing green eyes. Carefully groomed black hair.
I mean, who wouldn't fall for this?
And if Klee had said he was strong… then maybe women really had been throwing themselves at him in the past.
He blinked.
"…Yup. Past me was probably a menace."
Still, the thought of being that kind of man, someone careless with others' hearts didn't sit right with him. Whatever his past was, he was determined to be better now. Especially for Klee.
The bartender approached with a friendly smile, wiping his hands on a towel. "Oh hey, Klee and who might this be?" he asked, dressed in the familiar uniform of Mondstadt's tavern staff.
"This is my dad!" Klee beamed proudly.
"Wait, really?" The man raised a brow, giving Riven a once-over. "Well… yeah, I can see it. You're way too good-looking, not surprised you ended up with a kid like Klee."
Riven folded his arms. "I just found out she's mine, to be honest."
Before anything more could be said, Klee suddenly perked up and waved. "Charles!"
Charles chuckled. "Apple juice as usual?"
"Yes, please!"
As the order was being prepared, a sudden realization hit Riven like a ton of Geo Slimes.
Wait a second… I have a daughter… and I'm completely broke.
He let out a quiet groan, rubbing his face. Most of my mora probably went to drinks…
"Don't worry, Papa!" Klee beamed, tugging at his sleeve. "Klee will pay for your food!"
Riven blinked. "Wait… you have an allowance?"
"Mhm!" she nodded proudly. "Mommy taught Klee how to use mora properly! Although…" she trailed off, tapping her cheek with a finger, "Jean caught me once using it to buy materials for my bombs… so now I'm only allowed to use it under supervision!"
Riven buried his face in his hands, utterly ashamed. I can't believe this… my own kid has better money management than I do.
"No, Klee," he said firmly but gently, looking up. "You don't have to pay for me. I'm not taking mora from my own daughter—that'd make me a deadbeat dad. Wait… I'm already one…" He groaned and lightly bonked his forehead on the table. "Ugh, I'm going to work myself to the bone to fix this…"
Klee giggled and patted Riven's arm. "It's okay, Papa! We can blow up some slimes later and feel better!"
Riven's eyes widened. For a moment, emotion welled up in his chest—he nearly teared up.
"She really is my daughter…" he muttered, then broke into a grin. "Klee, those slimes… they're monsters. Monsters, I tell you. We need to make the biggest, best bomb together and show them who's boss!"
Klee bounced excitedly. "Yay! Let's make it super explody!"
Before they could continue their devious scheming, a familiar voice chimed in behind them.
"And just what are you two plotting over here?" Jean asked, crossing her arms as she approached with a raised brow. "Klee… don't tell me you and your… father are planning something dangerous."
Riven nearly choked on air. "Wha—us? No! Never! I mean, look at these innocent faces!"
Jean gave him a pointed stare. "I was there when you read the note, remember? The one where Alice said Klee explosive spirit is the same as yours. So… I can only imagine the kind of trouble you two are about to cause."
As Riven and Klee spent their time bonding in Mondstadt, elsewhere, the traveler Aether had just crossed paths with Amber right as Stormterror launched its assault on the city.
———
Deep within the Abyss, time flows differently. Months have passed in silence, untouched by the rhythm of the world above.
Atop a weathered wood crate, sat a figure cloaked in shadow and frost. Skirk, the cold-hearted queen cradled a weathered guitar in her lap.
Her fingers strummed a haunting tune, each note drifting through the cold air like a whisper from the past. Her voice, soft and low, carried the lullaby once taught to her by long-lost parents.
She could still remember their words:
"Whenever you miss us, just play this song.
Remember, life is a gift. Don't let the darkness claim it."
🎶
La la la la… la la…
La la la… la la…
La la la… la la la…
La… la… la…
La… 🎶
The final note of her lullaby faded into the darkness, dissolving like mist into the air.
Skirk's eyes opened, slow and emotionless, expecting only the empty, familiar black of the Abyss.
But something glowed in front of her.
A butterfly.
Iridescent. Impossible.
She did not move. Her expression betrayed nothing, though her fingers twitched slightly—an instinctive reaction. A trick of the void? An illusion conjured by madness? She studied it in silence, lips a thin line.
No threat.
It hovered closer.
She extended a hand, the butterfly landed on her finger, its warmth faint, unnatural in this place. Her gaze hardened.
"A butterfly here?" she murmured, almost to herself. "This isn't your world."
As if answering, the butterfly rose again, drifting ahead, deliberate. Waiting.
Skirk didn't speak again. She followed.
Her steps were quiet, unhurried. A blade wouldn't ask why it was drawn; she, too, sought no meaning in the pull guiding her forward.
But deep beneath her composed exterior, a cold ache stirred, something she refused to name.
The path twisted through a part of the Abyss she had never tread. Untouched. Buried.
At last, the butterfly stopped over a campsite. Collapsed tents. Scattered tools. Ash long gone cold. It landed gently on a small, timeworn chest.
She approached it in silence. No wonder. No reverence.
She opened it.
Inside were letters, faded and brittle, and a single diary. She flipped it open, eyes skimming the page.
"Dear diary… I'm scared. My dad… my mom… they're gone. I'm all alone."
Her fingers paused.
For the briefest moment, something flickered in her eyes. Not pain. Not sympathy. But recognition.
The name Fenn appeared again and again.
She closed the book with a quiet snap, standing straight again. The butterfly had vanished, as if it had never existed.
Of course it had.
She exhaled slowly and glanced around the camp. No emotion on her face, only that cold detachment she had long perfected. But her hand lingered on the diary a moment longer than necessary.
"This place wanted me to see this," she said flatly. "Why?"
No one answered.
She turned on her heel and walked away, already fading into shadow once more.
But she did not leave the book behind.