When Rosalyne heard that a knight had come to the Akademiya looking for her, she was overjoyed. Clutching the water clock in one hand and hugging the borrowed tome to her chest with the other, she rushed to her lodgings.
And sure enough, she saw a knight standing there. His armor was battered, even stained with unwashed blood. Had monsters breached Mondstadt after she left? Rostam should have been fighting on the front lines—why hadn't he changed into clean armor before coming for her? How careless!
She called out happily, "Rostam, you've come! The water clock has just completed its turn. You know, you almost broke our promise! But fine—since you kept it, I'll forgive you this once."
But the moment the words left her mouth, she sensed something wrong. Though she and Rostam had been together for less than a month, she was a perceptive girl. She had come to know everything about him: his preferences, his habits, his bearing.
The knight before her, with his back turned, wore the uniform and armor of the Knights of Favonius and carried their sword. Yet he felt utterly unfamiliar. Rostam was taller. Rostam stood with his back straight even when still. Rostam would never come to meet her still bearing the stains of battle.
In an instant, she understood. This knight was not Rostam. He was not her knight.
"Who are you? Did Rostam send you? The water clock has run its course—what is he doing? Why hasn't he come for me?"
As she spoke, a terrible premonition seized her. Could the students' gossip have been true? Had a dragon truly invaded Mondstadt? No—they must have been lying. Rostam must simply be too busy to leave, so he had sent another knight to bring her back.
Just then, the knight turned to face her. Indeed, it was not Rostam. When he saw her, he tried to speak, to tell her the news from Mondstadt. But the words would not come. Seeing her hopeful expression, his face twisted with grief. Tears welled in his eyes.
"You must be Lady Rosalyne. Lord Rostam, he—he—"
He stammered, trying to deliver the news of Rostam's sacrifice, but tears fell to his lips, and he could not form a complete sentence.
Seeing this, Rosalyne felt all strength leave her. She stumbled, nearly falling. Steadying herself, she demanded, "What happened to Rostam? Is he too busy? Is he ill? Tell me—what has happened to him?"
By the end, she could no longer remain calm. She had always believed Rostam would come to no harm, that he was still alive and well.
The knight wiped his tears. "Lady Rosalyne—Lord Rostam gave his life to protect Mondstadt. He personally lured the poison dragon away from the city. He was tainted by the dragon's venom. By the time we reached him, his body had already been dissolved by the poison. All that remained was this sword."
He opened the white cloth, revealing a sword pitted and corroded by poison—Rostam's personal weapon. With a heavy heart, he held out the only relic of Rostam to the woman he had loved most.
Hearing his words, seeing the sword before her, Rosalyne froze like a puppet. All expression vanished from her face. The dragon's invasion and Rostam's death, the only relic left was his sword. Everything the students had said had been true.
The knight, seeing her stunned, twisted expression, could imagine the depths of her grief.
"Please accept Lord Rostam's remains. If you have time, we hope you will attend his funeral."
With a sigh, he placed the corroded sword on a nearby shelf, hesitated a moment, then left the Akademiya.
In the courtyard, Rosalyne stood like a soulless husk, motionless at the center.
No one knew how much time passed. At last, she reached out a trembling hand and gripped the poison‑eaten sword. She could still feel Rostam's presence upon it.
He was dead. Rostam was dead.
The water clock had completed its turn, and Rostam had not come for her. He had broken his promise.
"Why—why did you break our promise? The water clock had run its course—why did you have to die? We have the Anemo Archon—why didn't Barbatos protect Mondstadt? Why did you have to sacrifice yourself to save the city?"
She murmured, her frail body trembling as if she might collapse at any moment.
Then, the suppressed Pyro energy within her began to stir once more. Waves of heat radiated from her body. In the past, she would have immediately tried to suppress it, to stabilize her condition. But now, she had no strength left for that.
One hand clutching the water clock, the other gripping the corroded sword, she refused to believe what had happened.
Tears of grief fell like crystal drops upon the water clock and the sword, each drop chiming softly.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Three tears fell.
When the fourth fell, under the scorching heat of the Pyro power within her, the tear became as hot and molten as lava.