Somewhere in Natlan...
Morax and the other Gods had been observing the transformations within Natlan almost from the beginning. The radiant light affected them as well, healing most of their wounds.
"To reverse life and death using the collective will of an entire nation..." The Tsaritsa murmured, her voice tinged with a faint yet complex evaluation of this "form of power" that she herself could never wield.
"No, it's not just the collective will..." Rukkhadevata began analyzing the energy, ultimately concluding that it bore a striking resemblance to the energy emanating from the Traveler's sword.
This is... the power of a Pure Soul!
Rukkhadevata's heart jolted at this realization.
She knew the nature of Pure Souls well. Given their inherent nature, she wasn't surprised by this act.
Pure Souls defied conventional understanding. They possessed extraordinary, immense power—a power of which the gods understood precious little.
As Rukkhadevata shared her findings with the other Gods, a new wave of emotion washed over them—a blend of dawning comprehension and profound awe.
Their gazes instinctively turned back to the land bathed in the radiant light, their minds now beginning to grasp the truth.
Morax's steady voice resonated slowly, carrying the wisdom accumulated over millennia and a barely perceptible weight:
"The will of mortals can shake heaven and earth, yet the fundamental principle of the cosmos remains 'balance.' Natlan's audacious 'Resurrection' feat—reversing life and death, purifying corruption—has yielded gains unprecedented in history."
He paused slightly, his tone deepening further:
"Yet... every gain demands compensation, and the price is often commensurate with the reward."
"I've heard that the Ode of Resurrection requires immense faith and sacrifice as its catalyst. Yet I struggle to fathom what catastrophic 'price' could sustain such world-reshaping power... What burden must 'she', who cast this spell, now endure?"
Ei's response was direct and resolute, purple lightning flickering in her eyes:
"Regardless of the cost, the present reality is fixed."
"The Abyss has suffered a grievous blow and will undoubtedly retaliate with even greater ferocity. The Traveler's final plan is already set in motion, demanding our full support. We cannot afford failure. On the eve of this decisive battle, we must convene swiftly to clarify the steps."
Neuvillette nodded in agreement.
"You may proceed ahead. I must temporarily return to Fontaine to make some arrangements."
In the Traveler's plan, Fidelle played a crucial role, requiring him to personally return to Fontaine and bring her to Natlan.
Furthermore, Fontaine's internal affairs needed to be stabilized without fail.
Against the Abyss, even the slightest oversight could have fatal consequences.
Barbatos, rarely abandoning his usual lighthearted demeanor, gently strummed his lyre, conjuring a faint breeze. "Looks like even this free-spirited bard must make an appearance. Missing such a grand 'Finale' would be quite regrettable."
Though his words were lighthearted, his eyes burned with unusual seriousness.
Nahida nodded slightly. "The people of Sumeru need reassurance, and Irminsul's information must be sorted. I'll handle these matters swiftly and join you all as soon as possible."
Morax: "While Liyue Harbor has established procedures, this battle for Teyvat's survival requires my personal deployment. I must ensure the lights of every home remain lit."
Ei: "With Yae Miko overseeing Inazuma, both governance and military affairs are secure."
Finally, the Tsaritsa's icy voice rang out, carrying an undeniable air of authority: "Everything in Snezhnaya has been arranged before my departure."
The gods quickly reached a consensus. After their brief reunion, each would return to their respective realms to make final preparations for the decisive battle.
-
Stadium of the Sacred Flame
"My Pyro Archon, they're back! They've all returned—every single warrior who fell in battle, all of them! And the corruption plaguing Natlan's lands... it's been completely cleansed!" The intelligence officer, freshly returned from the field, reported with fervent excitement.
"Good!" Mavuika's voice trembled visibly—a blend of euphoric release after crushing pressure and utter disbelief.
She surveyed the jubilant crowd below, her gaze sweeping over familiar faces resurrected from death and the revitalized lands stretching into the distance. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
This miraculous sight, this divine power bordering on the miraculous, washed away the lingering shadows and burdens weighing on her heart.
She inhaled deeply, as if drawing the newly reborn, hope-filled air into her lungs, then turned to face the figure standing beside her, whose radiant glow had now faded:
"Ishkab... what exactly... did you do? And what did you sacrifice?"
Amidst the overwhelming joy, a deep-seated worry surfaced.
Ishkab smiled gently at Mavuika. What did she sacrifice?
Everything that had transpired in Natlan was no divine miracle. It was a final miracle, bought for her nation by a soul offered as a sacrifice...
Ishkab didn't bother to explain. Having sacrificed all her power, her time was running out.
These matters, let Yohualtecuhtin explain to Mavuika and the others...
Ishkab gracefully leaped from the high platform, her movements as light as a feather.
A faint golden-red aura still enveloped her. Her long hair, now transformed into flowing flames, streamed behind her. The sparks that danced at its tips held no heat, instead scattering gentle warmth like fireflies, leaving trails of light with each movement.
Her gentle gaze swept over the assembled crowd, finally settling on her younger brother, Kinich.
Her eyes overflowed with boundless affection and regret.
Instead of speaking immediately, she first extended her pale fingers to gently brush away the lingering tear streaks and dust from Kinich's face, her touch as delicate as tending to a fragile treasure.
The warmth radiating from her fingertips brought him a sense of reassurance.
"S-Sister... Sister..."
"Kinich, Ajaw..."
Her voice, finally breaking the silence, was even more ethereal and melodious than he remembered, yet still carried that unique, soothing gentleness that could quell all anxiety.
She then turned to Mualani, Lumine, and Paimon, offering them a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Ishkab lightly raised her right hand, and an ancient name materialized in her palm.
This was Ishkab's Ancient Name—Marib, meaning "Turnfire."
The Ancient Name slowly rose from Ishkab's hand, drifting toward Kinich. Under Kinich's bewildered, confused, and then suddenly terrified gaze as realization dawned, the name finally came to rest before him.
"Sister, what does this mean?! Don't do this! Don't scare me!"
The inheritance of an Ancient Name—a vessel of power and destiny—followed a strict pattern:
Only when the previous holder had completely passed away, their soul's imprint utterly dissolved, could the Ancient Name possibly pass to the next successor.
Without this cycle of death and rebirth, an Ancient Name would never change masters.
Kinich retreated in fear, desperate to distance himself from the Ancient Name, yet it seemed to have locked onto him, relentlessly following him.