The Desert of Sumeru
The desert of Sumeru blazed like a golden furnace beneath the afternoon heat. Scorching sunlight beat mercilessly upon the rolling dunes, and the air hung heavy with dry, fine sand. The distant horizon warped and trembled in the heat haze; amid total stillness, only the faint hiss of wind skimming across grains of sand could be heard.
That silence was suddenly shattered.
A flurry of messy, hurried footsteps crushed the desert's calm. The Traveler, Aether, gasped violently, his golden hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and dust. His once-clean traveler's garments were torn and stained in many places. In one hand he gripped his Dull Sword tightly; with the other, he supported Dehya, who leaned nearly her entire weight against him.
Dehya's condition was critical. Her sun-kissed skin had lost its usual glow, turning pale. A savage gash sliced from her left shoulder down to her waist, deep enough to see bone. Blood oozed endlessly, soaking her already thin clothing, and every breath came with a painful spasm. She gritted her teeth, trying not to moan, yet her ragged gasps spoke more clearly of the unbearable agony she endured.
"Hold on, Dehya… we're almost there…" Aether's voice was hoarse from exhaustion and anxiety. He was practically dragging her forward.
Behind them, their companions were equally battered. Yun Jin's elaborate attire had long lost its luster, her water sleeves torn. Her spear, Cloud-Smoother, had become a crutch to hold herself up, each step leaving a deep, unsteady mark in the sand. Her singing voice was now nothing but broken breaths.
Nilou fared slightly better, but the dancer's light steps had grown unbearably heavy. Her lively eyes were filled with terror and weariness. Her twin swords hung low, and she glanced warily back the way they had come, as if the empty desert might spew forth countless enemies at any moment.
Even more striking were five men, each different in build and bearing, yet all radiating the dignity of generals forged in a hundred battles. They wore tattered armor, covered in slashes from blades and spears and crusted with dried blood. Guan Yu's face was crimson, his long beard flowing over his chest, but his phoenix eyes were half-closed in fatigue. His Green Dragon Crescent Blade dragged in the sand, carving a long gully. Zhang Fei's round eyes blazed, his bushy beard bristling, his chest heaving like an enraged lion—yet he could barely keep up. Zhao Yun's white robe was stained dark red; he still gripped his silver spear firmly, guarding the rear, but his steps showed an uncharacteristic unsteadiness. Ma Chao and Huang Zhong also breathed unevenly: one the pride of Xiliang, the other a veteran of Jingxiang, both now struggling to survive in the unforgiving desert.
Among these retreating heroes stood an unusually elegant figure in feathered turban and silk fan—Zhuge Liang. His face was as pale as paper, not from injury, but from severe mental exhaustion after overexerting the arts of Qi Men Dun Jia. He staggered, supported only by Guan Ping beside him, yet his deep eyes still shone with wisdom and calm, constantly scanning his surroundings for any glimmer of escape.
They had just lived through a nightmare.
On their way to Sumeru City, they had unwittingly stepped into a trap carefully laid by Lü Bu's army. The Xianzheng Camp, hailed as the finest infantry under heaven, surged from all directions like a steel torrent under the cold command of their leader Gao Shun, surrounding them completely. The soldiers of the Xianzheng Camp moved in perfect unison: shields like mountains, spears like forests, their attacks unrelenting as tides, every charge carrying the will to shatter everything in their path.
Battle erupted instantly, and it was brutal. The Five Tiger Generals unleashed terrifying power. Guan Yu's blade flashed like silk, cutting down several soldiers in an instant. Zhang Fei roared like thunder, his Eighteen-Foot Serpent Spear sweeping through ranks. Zhao Yun's spear struck like a dragon, its cold glints targeting enemy throats. Ma Chao's spear moved like the wind, displaying the ferocity of Xiliang cavalry. Huang Zhong, still in his prime, never missed a shot—every twang of his bow brought an enemy down. Aether, Dehya, Yun Jin, and Nilou fought with all they had, weaving elemental power and martial skill in a desperate defense.
Yet the Xianzheng Camp was endless, fighting like emotionless war machines, advancing over the bodies of their comrades. Worse still, Lü Bu himself and Gao Shun did not join the fray at once. They watched coldly from high ground, like hunters observing prey struggling in a net. That pressure alone was enough to break a man.
Their defenses were on the verge of collapse. Everyone was wounded and exhausted. Even Zhuge Liang's Stone Sentinel Maze had been worn down to exhaustion by the enemy's relentless sacrifice. At the very moment when all seemed lost—
Three figures burst onto the battlefield, like cold lightning splitting the desert heat!
At the forefront stood a tall, agile figure in exotic black robes that flapped violently in the wind. In her hand was a strange longsword glowing with deep purple light. Her swordsmanship moved faster than sight, leaving only purple arcs slicing through the air. Where her light touched, the weapons, shields, and even bodies of the Xianzheng soldiers were severed as if by an invisible force, falling one after another. Her gaze was cold as ancient ice, as if the bloody slaughter before her were nothing but a dull drill. This was Skirk, a swordsman from beyond the Abyss.
Another wielded a spear bright as gold, its tip blazing with the power of the sun. Cloaked in sand-colored fabric, she stood like an ancient goddess guarding the desert. With each swing, she stirred great waves of sand, forming solid barriers to shield the weary group from arrow storms, while piercing and flinging away any who drew near. This was Candace, guardian of Aaru Village.
The last moved like a phantom, his spear Azure Thunder crackling with Electro energy. Every thrust boomed with thunder, swift and precise, darting through enemy lines. Wherever he passed, foes were pierced by lightning, their charred bodies collapsing to the ground. This was Cyno, the General Mahamatra of Sumeru.
The sudden arrival of these three reinforcements threw the Xianzheng Camp's encirclement into disarray, brutally tearing a bloody gap in their iron wall.
"Move!" Cyno's low growl cut through the air like desert wind, jolting the nearly despairing group awake.
There was no time to hesitate. Aether and those still able to move seized the fleeting chance, breaking desperately through the temporary passage Candace had opened with her sand shield.
"That woman—leave her to me!"
A domineering roar thundered like a crack of thunder. Lü Bu, clad in beast-faced iron armor and wielding his Sky Piercer Halberd, finally moved. He leaped down from above like a descending god, his halberd carrying a terrifying force that could tear the world apart, slashing straight at Skirk in the lead.
Gao Shun also silently raised his battle blade, leading his most elite unit of the Xianzheng Camp toward Candace and Cyno, attempting to close the circle once more.
"Take them to safety. I'll hold them here!" Skirk's voice was cold and unarguable as she ordered Candace and Cyno. At the same time, the purple glow of her strange sword flared brilliantly. She did not dodge or retreat, but thrust directly toward Lü Bu's mountain-splitting halberd!
CLANG!
Sword and halberd clashed, unleashing a deafening metallic roar. A visible shockwave burst outward from the two, scraping away a layer of sand all around. Soldiers nearby were blown away by the force alone.
As Aether fled for his life, he glanced back one last time. He saw Skirk's seemingly slender figure collide head‑on with the war-god Lü Bu, and watched Candace and Cyno hold the line without hesitation, blocking Gao Shun and the tide of soldiers to cover their escape.
That image burned itself into his mind.
…
Desert silence surrounded them again, yet none felt at peace. Casualties and exhaustion had nearly broken every last one of them.
"Just ahead… there's… an abandoned… shelter…" Nilou panted, pointing toward a ruin entrance half-buried in sand.
The group used their final strength, supporting one another as they staggered into the cool, dusty ruin. The moment they entered, Dehya could no longer stand and collapsed softly. Aether quickly caught her, laying her gently on the ground. Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and the others collapsed almost immediately, gasping heavily, bandaging wounds, and checking their damaged armor and weapons. Zhao Yun pushed through his weariness to patrol the small space at once, securing it. Zhuge Liang leaned against the wall with Guan Ping's help, closing his eyes to concentrate. His feather fan hung limply at his side, and fine cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Regaining his senses would be a long and painful process.
Candace and Cyno stood guard at the entrance, watching vigilantly. Cyno bore several new wounds, and the lightning on his Azure Thunder Spear had dimmed. Candace's shield was scored with scratches, yet she stood straight as a poplar in the desert.
Time dragged on in suffocating silence, each second feeling endless.
Finally, as the sunset dyed the desert blood-red, a figure blocked the light at the entrance.
Skirk had returned.
She still wore her black robes, now dust-covered and spattered with dark brown dried blood. Her left sleeve was torn, a long but shallow wound slowly bleeding. Her usually cold face showed unprecedented exhaustion, her breathing heavier than normal. The purple light of her strange sword had faded, and tiny nicks marked its edge—marks from clashing repeatedly with the Sky Piercer Halberd.
But she stood, and had walked back on her own.
"Skirk!" Aether hurried toward her.
She waved him off, signaling she was unharmed, her voice hoarse from exertion. "They've retreated."
Everyone looked at her, waiting. To stand against Lü Bu, Gao Shun, and the entire Xianzheng Camp and escape unscathed was almost unthinkable.
Skirk leaned against the cold stone wall, exhaling slowly, as if expelling the killing intent and pressure built up over a hundred brutal exchanges.
"Lü Bu is strong. Stronger than expected," she stated calmly, as if commenting on something unrelated. "His strength, speed, and fighting spirit are almost inhuman. Gao Shun's command is flawless. The soldiers of the Xianzheng Camp fear nothing—not death. Or rather, their only purpose is to die."
She paused, recalling the fierce battle.
"I held them off. A hundred rounds? Maybe more." Her tone was casual, but the wound on her arm and the dimmed sword told the true danger. "Lü Bu withdrew in the end."
"Withdrew?" Zhuge Liang opened his eyes sharply, catching the word. Though weak, his voice still held the calm of one who sees all.
"Yes," Skirk nodded. "He seemed to receive urgent military reports. Then he told Gao Shun…"
Her brow furrowed slightly as she repeated his domineering, calculating words.
"There's no need to waste more time on these defeated remnants. Mond has just fallen, and our hold is not yet firm. Those hyenas of the Fatui from Snezhnaya will not let this opportunity slip. Order the Xianzheng Camp to strike camp immediately and return to Mond. Move quickly!"
Silence fell within the ruin.
Lü Bu had retreated—not because they escaped, nor because Skirk was powerful, but for greater strategic gain: securing his hold on Mondstadt, and guarding against a sneak attack by the Fatui of Snezhnaya.
They had survived by sheer luck, but the danger was far from over. Lü Bu's threat still loomed over Teyvat, and the movements of the Fatui grew more alarming by the day.
The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the cracks of the ruin, casting shifting light and shadow across their faces. Exhaustion, pain, relief at having survived, and the heavy weight of the future tangled together.
Aether looked at his battered companions, then out at the endless desert, bathed in the blood-red sunset.
Their journey was far from over.
The storm had only just begun.