Lyney froze.
He didn't quite comprehend what his sister meant when she said the knife hadn't flown out.
However, the show had to go on. Gritting his teeth in secrecy, he gripped the second throwing knife. Following their meticulously prepared routine, he hurled the second blade forward.
Once again, a collective gasp rippled through the audience.
Lyney could only suppress the mounting curiosity burning inside him, throwing the remaining four knives in rapid succession.
Finally, the act came to an end.
Inexplicably, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over him. Keeping his expression flawlessly composed, he feigned complete poise as he removed his blindfold. His immediate instinct was to scan the spinning wheel and look toward Zoran.
Directly opposite him, Zoran was looking back, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Lyney let out a quiet sigh of relief, gradually recovering his bearings.
In that split second, he suddenly realized he was completely surrounded by his own weapons. The six throwing knives were levitating quietly and eerily right alongside him. Without a single strand of physical support, they drifted silently in mid-air.
Yet, Lyney could not detect even the faintest trace of elemental energy.
Granted, this was a world where extraordinary powers ran rampant. Those who possessed a Vision could manifest miraculous effects nearly identical to stage magic, but it always required the activation of elemental energy.
Right now, however, the six daggers hovered placidly at his side, and the surrounding air was utterly devoid of elemental fluctuations.
Lyney fell into a sudden, stunned silence.
At this exact moment, sharing his deep bewilderment from below the stage was Neuvillette. He, too, had failed to perceive any signature of elemental presence whatsoever.
Could it truly be a mere magic trick? Is this stranger an accomplice Lyney invited onto the stage to act as a plant?
Lyney's professional composure finally cracked. Under the brilliant glare of the spotlights, the sheer astonishment in his eyes was laid bare for all to see.
Yet, his genuine shock was interpreted by the audience as a calculated part of the performance. Below the stage, a raucous round of cheers and applause instantly erupted.
Across from him, Zoran lightly flicked his finger.
The six throwing knives simultaneously began to spin at a dizzying velocity. Startled by the sudden movement, Lyney instinctively took a sharp step backward.
Instead of attacking, the daggers merely looped through the air, aligning themselves perfectly into a straight line before dropping neatly and securely into place.
"Magnificent!" a shout echoed from the crowd.
"Yes, exactly! Let us hear it for the Grand Magician's performance!"
Lyney removed his top hat and bowed deeply.
"My heartfelt thanks to everyone who came out to watch my show today. The performance has concluded, and I look forward to seeing you all next time."
Amidst the low chatter of the departing audience, the curtains slowly drew shut, and the grand theater gradually emptied out.
Backstage.
"Mr. Tso Lan, may I ask what kind of power you displayed just now?" Lyney asked, offering a deep bow before the enigmatic guest.
He was fully aware that the phenomenon had been entirely Zoran's doing.
"Magic. Quite marvelous, isn't it?" Zoran replied with a suave smile.
He stepped leisurely out from the backstage area. The audience had fully dispersed by now, leaving the massive interior suddenly hollow and echoey.
The Opera Epiclese, as established, fulfilled a dual purpose.
The first was the artistic showcase that had just taken place; this was the most glorious stage in all of Fontaine.
The second was judgment.
In Fontaine, trials were conducted exactly like operatic performances, relying on a unique apparatus known as the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale to deliver the definitive, final verdict on every legal dispute.
Zoran floated gracefully upward, ascending toward the elevated balcony that originally belonged to the Hydro Archon, Furina. His piercing gaze seemed to slice straight through the material fabric of the opera house.
He looked directly into the depths of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale.
The interior of the empty Opera Epiclese was dead silent. Every single spectator had departed, yet Zoran remained, lingering peacefully in the shadows.
Just as he had stated before, he possessed no genuine interest in theatrical magic tricks. Accepting Lyney's invitation to step onto the stage had been nothing more than a convenient way to establish a visible presence.
His true objective was only now coming to light.
His slender knuckles tapped rhythmically against the armrest of the seat, sending shallow, brief echoes rippling outward through the vacant auditorium.
Suddenly, he raised his voice and commanded into the void: "Hydro Archon Focalors, come forth and face me."
His voice carried an underlying edge of absolute authority that brooked no refusal. Locking his eyes onto the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, he called her out by her true name.
Silence persisted.
Zoran let out a sharp, dismissive huff. A wave of dark purple, malevolent Demon Chi surged violently toward the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, seeping directly into its mechanisms. Instantly, a low, rhythmic vibration reverberated through the foundations of the theater.
It felt as though a dormant consciousness had been forcibly jolted awake.
A hazy, translucent silhouette slowly coalesced at the dead center of the stage.
Only then did Zoran nod in grim satisfaction. With a crisp snap of his fingers, a singular spotlight cascaded from the rafters, illuminating the ethereal figure below.
The phantom shared an identical countenance with the Hydro Archon Furina who had been present earlier; the solitary distinction lay in her demeanor and her fundamental essence.
At this precise moment, a look of deep bewilderment painted the phantom's face.
Zoran began to speak, his voice slow, measured, and deliberate. "Focalors. Five hundred years ago, you split your divinity from your mortal humanity. Your human half, Furina, has been playing the public role of the Hydro Archon in the outside world, while your divine half hid itself deep inside the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, quietly biding its time for the prophecy to unfold."
The moment the words left his mouth, the spectral figure on the stage, who had been somewhat dazed a second ago, suffered a visible wave of absolute panic.
This was indeed Focalors, the divinity of the Hydro Archon.
At this exact moment, the grand conspiracy she had meticulously orchestrated over five centuries to deceive the heavens and rewrite the prophecy had been exposed, line by line, by a complete stranger.
She felt as though her entire world was collapsing around her.
"Who... Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Who am I?" Zoran's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "That is entirely irrelevant. I hold many titles."
To Focalors' eyes, his hovering, ethereal silhouette suddenly seemed to blur into an oppressive, unfathomable shadow.
"I am a traveler who treads across countless dimensions, and a... marauder who has come to claim the Authority of Hydro."
Focalors gasped in sheer terror, her eyes widening in utter disbelief. "You are a Descender!"
Throughout the history of this world, only four Descenders had ever arrived.
The First Descender was the Primordial One, the Heavenly Principles who currently lay dormant.
The identity of the Second Descender remained shrouded in mystery, though it was highly probable they were Nibelung, the entity that had once challenged the order of Teyvat.
As for the Third Descender, their mortal remains had been fashioned into the very Gnoses held by the Seven Archons.
These were concrete, historical realities that had shaped the continent.
To qualify as a Descender, an entity had to fulfill two absolute conditions: they must originate from outside the boundaries of this world, and they must possess a magnificent will capable of rivaling the world itself.
The arrival of any Descender inevitably heralded a catastrophic reshuffling of the established order.
And now, a completely undocumented Descender was standing right in front of Focalors, conversing with her with casual nonchalance.
Focalors was exceptionally brilliant; a crucial realization suddenly dawned upon her.
Historically, Descenders and the Heavenly Principles rarely belonged to the same faction.
Though she had no inkling as to how this entity had uncovered her deepest secrets, the fact that he could lay them bare so easily meant he undoubtedly harbored an entirely independent agenda.
The sheer shock gradually faded from her features. She offered a soft, delicate smile, gently lifting the hem of her gown as she executed a flawless, highly respectful courtly curtsy.
"It appears you have your own designs. Perhaps we can indeed negotiate," she said smoothly. "However... while the Primordial One remains asleep, her Sustainer is still actively monitoring the status of this world."
"If our conversation were to be overheard..." She trailed off, a flicker of genuine apprehension in her eyes.
Standing before her, Zoran simply pressed his hand downward.
A localized shockwave that warped the very fabric of space rippled outward. The entirety of the Opera Epiclese twisted under a sudden, localized gravitational distortion, rendering everything within its walls completely obscured and unreadable to the outside world.
"Rest easy," Zoran remarked indifferently. "She possesses no authority to bypass my jurisdiction."
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