Amid the chill of a cloudy day, the rhythmic clanking of a hammer echoed through the streets.
A young man—his coat dusted with sawdust, sleeves rolled up to his elbows—worked tirelessly, nailing together broken furniture and reinforcing battered rooftops. Every step he took around the city was purposeful, his sharp eyes scanning for anyone who needed help.
From behind a cracked window, a middle-aged woman watched with a fond smile.
"That young man is such a kind soul," she said warmly to her husband, who sat beside her, mending a torn scarf. "He helped fix our roof after the attack. We thought it'd cave in completely."
"I heard the same," her husband replied, nodding. "One of the knights told me he even helped carry the wounded to safety and repair the emergency nursing station. He's been working nonstop since he got here."
Further down the path, Orion trudged through the debris-littered street, sweat glistening on his brow despite the cold. He was heading toward the Knights of Favonius headquarters when he crossed paths with Frieda Gunnhildr again.
"Hey, Orion," Frieda called out, crossing her arms with a wry smile. "Looks like you've already adjusted to life in Mondstadt. You do realize you can rest a little, right? It's only been five hours since you arrived."
Orion gave her a tired smile, barely slowing his pace. "I don't think I can. These people… they've suffered too much. Just standing by feels wrong. Especially when I still don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing with myself."
As he spoke, he reached out to take a bundle of logs from a fellow knight's arms. "Here—let me carry that for you. Where are you headed wi—"
Before he could finish the sentence, his knees buckled. The weight of exhaustion finally caught up. He collapsed, the logs tumbling from his grip and landing with a heavy thud across his back.
"AGH—!" he gasped sharply as pain rippled through him. The knight beside him stood frozen, stunned.
"Orion!" Frieda rushed to his side, immediately helping lift the logs off his body. She turned him over gently, brushing damp strands of hair from his face. His skin was cold, and his breath shallow.
"You should really know when to stop," she muttered, frustrated and worried. "You've been at this nonstop since you arrived. Did you even eat anything?"
"I think he's passed out," the knight finally said, crouching beside them.
Frieda sighed deeply, her expression softening as she cradled Orion's head carefully. "Come on—help me get him to the medical wing. He's not going to save the world if he breaks himself first."
In the softly lit chambers of the Mondstadt medical wing, the scent of herbs and antiseptic lingered in the air.
Orion lay unconscious on a cot, his breathing now steady, chest rising and falling beneath warm blankets. Beside him, Frieda stood stiffly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the head of the nursing team as he completed his examination.
"He should be stable now," the man said, rising from his crouch with fluid grace. "He has severe muscle inflammation and collapsed from extreme exhaustion. How long had he been working?"
The man was striking in appearance—long jet-black hair tied back with a pale green ribbon, sharp jade eyes gleaming with both intelligence and criticism. His pale skin bore faint, scale-like tattoos down his forearms, barely visible under the sleeves of his pristine white Favonius robes, accented with elegant Liyuean gold trim. A sleek medical satchel hung from his hip, every tool within it placed with surgical precision.
Frieda sighed, running a hand through her short hair. "Five hours. Nonstop. I kept telling him to rest, but he wouldn't listen."
"Just five hours?" Qinyue's brow furrowed. "That level of collapse doesn't align with typical exertion. Was there anything else?"
Frieda hesitated, then nodded. "He was rescued from Dragonspine. We found him in the ruins after Durin's attack. He hasn't fully recovered—and I'm pretty sure he hasn't eaten anything since we brought him back. He just… started helping people the moment we returned."
Qinyue's eye twitched. His voice, once calm, now sharpened like a scalpel. "You let a displaced survivor—half-frozen, starved, and likely suffering from shock—work himself into collapse? And you call yourself a Knight of Favonius?"
Frieda flinched, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I know... I should've stopped him. But there was something in his eyes. Determination. Like helping others was the only thing keeping him grounded. I didn't want to take that away from him."
Qinyue exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Intentions don't outweigh consequences, Captain. This was a grave lapse in judgment."
He pulled a soft linen sheet higher over Orion's chest, his hands far gentler than his words. "I've replenished his energy with a restorative infusion and applied muscle balm. He needs proper rest now. And when he wakes up—make sure he eats a real meal. Not just those Favonius rations you lot think count as food."
With that, he turned and walked away, his robes billowing faintly behind him. Just before exiting the room, he muttered under his breath:
"Knights... always so inefficient."
Later that evening, as the halls of the Knights of Favonius quieted down, Frieda let out a weary sigh.
She approached a pair of nearby knights. "Could you move Orion to my quarters?" she asked, voice firm but laced with guilt. "He should rest somewhere comfortable. It's the least I can do to make up for my mistake."
The knights exchanged glances, then nodded. "Yes, Captain. We'll take care of it right away."
One of them hesitated before adding, "But, with respect, it wasn't just your fault. We should've noticed sooner how much of a toll it was taking on him. We all missed it."
Frieda didn't respond. She simply nodded once, turned on her heel, and resumed her duties—her mind weighed down by more than just her responsibilities.
---
Night fell, and the city of Mondstadt lay under a blanket of stars.
When Frieda finally returned to her quarters, the door closed with a soft click behind her. She locked it, turning to the sight of Orion—still asleep, resting soundly in her bed, his silver-touched hair sprawled over her pillow.
He looked peaceful. Too peaceful, considering all he'd been through.
Frieda walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, her armor already half shed. Her gaze lingered on him, her fingers hesitating above his forehead before gently brushing a strand of hair aside.
"He still hasn't woken up," she murmured, voice barely audible. "Now that I think about it… he said his kingdom was attacked too. He's not just physically worn out—he's grieving. Mentally, emotionally... he's just as broken as the people he's been trying to help."
Her hand lingered at his temple a moment longer.
"He's… beautiful," she admitted, cheeks reddening as she stared. "Just looking at him makes my exhaustion disappear."
Her heart began to flutter—an unfamiliar sensation she hadn't felt in years. It thudded harder with every second she spent sitting beside him. Her eyes darted away, then back again.
"I wonder if… he'd mind if I cuddled him. Just for a bit," she whispered to herself.
Her face turned crimson instantly.
"No, no—what am I thinking?" she muttered, scooting back and lightly smacking her cheeks with both hands. "I'm not some lovestruck teenager."
She peeked at Orion again.
Silence.
Carefully, nervously, she slipped onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped with her weight. Her breath hitched as she slowly wrapped an arm around him, drawing him close with the gentleness of someone touching something sacred.
Her heart pounded like a drum. "Please don't wake up," she whispered, half-pleading.
It was anything but relaxing. Her nerves were shot. But at the same time… it felt good. Warm. Safe.
And before long, nestled beside the sleeping prince, Frieda's own eyes drifted shut. A soft blush still painted her cheeks as she surrendered to sleep, tangled in emotions she hadn't even begun to understand.