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Chapter Text

Gaze, if you will, upon the mortal world’s mundane halls, the dreary corridors of Teyvat High—a place so bereft of grandeur, so shackled by the chains of conformity that the flame of imagination dares only flicker. And yet, amidst the endless tide of ordinary souls, one stands apart, unburdened by the yoke of mediocrity.

That one… is I.

Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung.

Or, as the masses of this realm mistakenly dub me—Amy. (A name so plain, so utterly devoid of mysticism, that it wounds my noble heart whenever uttered.) But worry not, for the chosen must endure much before their destiny unfolds. And today, fate has whispered a most enthralling decree.

Today, the Role-playing Club shall rise.

With a flick of my cloak (a dramatically altered Teyvat High jacket, now embroidered with the sigil of the Immernachtreich), I push open the door to the abandoned classroom I have claimed as my sanctum. The room is quiet, save for the occasional hum of the old ceiling fan and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock—an ancient relic marking the passage of time in this forsaken land.

I set Oz, my ever-loyal companion, onto the desk before me. His plush form, though soft and unassuming to the untrained eye, houses the wisdom of ages.

"Ozvaldo, my steadfast familiar," I murmur, straightening his tiny wings. "The hour of reckoning is nigh. Do you sense the approach of our kindred spirits?"

Oz, wise and unerring, does not reply. A grave sign indeed.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. The clock’s ticking grows deafening, each second hammering against my resolve like the cruel mockery of the Fates. I have penned the decrees! The flyers, painstakingly crafted and scattered across the school, should have reached the hearts of the worthy!

And yet… no one comes.

I tighten my grip on the club registration sheet. The empty sign-up columns glare back at me. Was my proclamation too grand for the feeble minds of Teyvat High? Was my vision too bold, my declaration too—

BANG!

The door slams open, shattering the solemn stillness of my despair. I jolt upright, my heart leaping into my throat as a lone figure stumbles through the threshold.

A boy—wild-haired, clad in the standard Teyvat High uniform but with his sleeves rolled up haphazardly—stands before me, panting. His breathless, crooked smile radiates an almost unnatural warmth, as if he has spent his entire life greeting people with unshaken optimism.

"Hey! Is this the Role-playing Club?"

I blink. My mind races. Surely, this one must be a mirage, a mere figment conjured by my desperation. But no—he is real, standing there in all his earnest, slightly disheveled glory.

A mortal? Nay, a seeker!

With a flourish, I rise to my full height. "Indeed, you stand before the sacred halls of the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club! I, Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung, am its sovereign founder!"

He blinks, and for a terrifying second, I think he might run. I brace for the crushing blow of rejection.

But then—he grins.

"Cool! I’m Bennett. I love this kind of stuff!"

My breath catches.

Could it be…?

A kindred spirit?

I lower myself onto my throne (a second-hand teacher’s chair that is not nearly as grand as it should be) and regard him carefully. "And tell me, Sir Bennett, what fate has brought thee here?"

He rubs the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly. "Well… I kinda tripped on one of your flyers, and then I saw what it was about, and I figured—why not? I always wanted to try something like this!"

Fate, it seems, works in mysterious ways.

I allow myself a small, satisfied smile. "Then, by decree of the Immernachtreich, you are henceforth welcomed as an honored knight of this dominion!"

He beams, stepping further into the room—only to immediately trip over a chair leg and crash to the floor. The impact sends one of the desks skidding a few inches.

I stare.

He groans, rubbing his head. "Whoops. That happens a lot. You okay?"

The one who just fell was him, and yet his first thought is my well-being?

I find myself strangely… endeared.

A most fortuitous turn of events indeed.

Chapter Text

The momentous tides of fate have shifted. At long last, the foundation of the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club has been laid. Though our numbers are meager—comprising merely myself, Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung, and Sir Bennett, a noble soul blessed (or perhaps cursed?) by an unusual predilection for calamity—this day shall be forever inscribed in the annals of destiny.

As I peer across the table at my newly appointed knight, a weighty responsibility settles upon my shoulders. The ritual of induction must be observed. The fledgling must be shown the path of the ancients.

With measured grace, I reach forward and lift my ever-loyal companion, Oz, placing him at the center of the table. His plush form rests regally upon my open palms, the very embodiment of wisdom and dignity.

"Bennett," I intone, voice steady with the gravity of the moment, "allow me to introduce you to Ozvaldo von Hrafnavins, my most trusted confidant and the harbinger of truths unseen."

Bennett blinks. His gaze flickers between Oz and me, his expression unreadable.

And then, to my great astonishment—he nods solemnly.

"Nice to meet ya, Oz," he says, giving the stuffed bird a tiny wave. "Hope we get along!"

I narrow my eyes. There is no trace of mockery in his voice. No derision. No dismissive smirk or whispered jests about my ‘childishness.’

Astonishing.

My heart stirs. "Oz, what say you of this new initiate?"

I wait, tilting my head slightly to give Oz time to ‘respond.’ Then, with an air of mystery, I nod.

"Hmm… yes, I see. Ozvaldo has deemed thee worthy, Sir Bennett."

Bennett grins. "Sweet! So, uh… how do we start?"

A most crucial question. The first foray into the grand realm of role-playing must be nothing short of extraordinary.

I reach beneath my desk, pulling forth a well-worn notebook—the sacred text in which I have chronicled my past campaigns. Within its pages lie landscapes beyond imagination, creatures of the abyss, and quests that shake the very foundations of the world.

I flip it open.

"The stage is set," I declare. "Our tale begins in the Whispering Woods, where the shadows writhe and the air is thick with the scent of unease. You, a wandering adventurer of untested skill, have heard rumors of an ancient evil stirring in the depths of the forest. The people of Springvale tremble, their voices hushed with fear."

Bennett leans forward, eyes bright. "Whoa, okay! Uh—what do I do?"

A most excellent question.

"As the hero of this saga, you may tread whichever path fate dictates. You may investigate, seek aid, or march boldly into the unknown."

He nods, deep in thought. Then, with determination:

"I’ll go straight into the forest! If something’s scaring the people, I gotta help!"

Ah, how admirable! But boldness alone will not safeguard him from the lurking perils of this realm.

"A noble choice," I acknowledge, "but heed my warning: the Hilichurls are restless, their crude encampments multiplying in the shadows. Do you wield a blade? A bow? Or perhaps the arcane arts?"

Bennett scratches his head. "Hmm… I feel like I’d be best with a sword. Something light, so I can move fast!"

I nod approvingly. "Very well. Armed with a steel longsword forged in the workshops of Mondstadt, you step into the Whispering Woods, the wind carrying with it the whispers of unseen foes. Your footsteps crunch against fallen leaves, and then—" I pause for effect. "—a rustling from the underbrush!"

Bennett grips the edge of the table. "Oh man, what is it?!"

"A Cryo Slime emerges!" I proclaim. "Its gelatinous form quivers, its icy essence emanating a chilling aura. It locks onto you with its featureless eyes, its hunger undeniable!"

Bennett grins, already immersed in the adventure. "Alright! I wanna attack it! I—uh, I charge forward and swing my sword!"

I roll an invisible die in my mind. The verdict has been cast.

"A swift strike! The blade cleaves through the frozen beast, sending shards of ice scattering. But beware! The Cryo Slime retaliates, launching a burst of frigid mist in your direction. Roll to evade!"

He freezes (metaphorically, of course). "Uh… how do I roll?"

Ah. A crucial oversight.

I hastily retrieve a twenty-sided die from my pocket and slide it across the table. "By the will of fate, thou must cast thy number and pray the gods favor thee."

Bennett eagerly takes the die and rolls. It clatters across the wooden surface before landing on a…

"Natural one."

A beat of silence.

Bennett groans. "Oh no. That’s bad, right?"

A most unfortunate twist of fate indeed.

"The Cryo Slime’s frigid mist engulfs you," I intone. "The cold seeps into your very bones, and frost clings to your limbs. You stumble, slipping on a patch of ice and—" I pause, glancing at Bennett’s eager, slightly nervous expression. "—and land face-first in the dirt."

Bennett laughs, rubbing his nose as if he actually felt the fall. "Sounds about right for me!"

I blink.

Where most would grumble at such a dire fate, he merely laughs? Even as the cruel hand of fortune deals him yet another unlucky blow, he remains undeterred?

My admiration for Sir Bennett grows.

"You rise to your feet," I continue, "brushing off the frost. The Cryo Slime bounces in anticipation. What is your next move?"

His eyes gleam with determination. "I’m not giving up! I swing again!"

And so the battle rages on.

The game stretches late into the evening, each roll of the die dictating the twists and turns of our saga. Bennett, despite suffering repeated misfortunes (including but not limited to: falling into a Hydro Abyss Mage’s trap, setting off an accidental explosion in Dadaupa Gorge, and getting knocked out by an Electro Hilichurl Grenadier), never once wavers in his enthusiasm.

As the hour grows late, I finally set down my notebook.

"Thus concludes our tale—for now," I announce, stretching my arms.

Bennett exhales, grinning. "That was awesome! Even though I, uh, kinda messed up a lot."

"Nonsense," I say with a dramatic flourish. "Even the greatest of heroes must endure hardship before their legend is written in the stars."

He laughs, gathering his things. "Well, I’m definitely coming back tomorrow! Thanks for the game, Fischl!"

I freeze at his words.

Few… very few have ever addressed me by my true name so casually.

I watch as he slings his bag over his shoulder, waving as he heads for the door.

I feel something warm flicker in my chest.

A most promising omen indeed.

Chapter Text

The hour of reckoning arrives once more.

Seated upon my rightful throne (a slightly wobbly chair that creaks if I lean too far back), I await the return of my most loyal knight. Yesterday’s venture into the abyss of peril had proven our resolve, yet today’s trials will push us even further toward legend.

I adjust my cloak—the standard-issue Teyvat High blazer, though transformed into a regal mantle with the careful addition of embroidery and dramatic flourishes. Before me lies the Chronicle of the Immernachtreich, my sacred notebook, where our exploits are recorded for future generations to marvel upon.

And then—the door bursts open with great fervor!

"I’m back!"

Sir Bennett of Mondstadt has arrived.

He practically radiates enthusiasm, his expression alight with boundless energy. One might expect an adventurer of his caliber to bear the weight of his countless misfortunes, yet he enters the sacred hall of the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club with the same unwavering optimism as before.

"You honor us with your presence, Sir Bennett," I declare, inclining my head.

Bennett chuckles, dropping his bag onto a nearby desk. "Man, yesterday was so fun! I was thinking about it all night—what happens next? Is my guy still in the Whispering Woods?"

A most crucial inquiry.

"Indeed," I confirm, flipping open my notebook. "Our saga resumes where it last left off. The shadowed trees of the Whispering Woods still whisper your name, and the villagers of Springvale remain gripped by fear. But today…" I pause, lifting my gaze toward him. "You shall not face the darkness alone."

He blinks. "Huh? What do you mean?"

A smirk plays upon my lips as I rise, flipping my notebook to a fresh page. "Fate has decreed that the Prinzessin der Verurteilung shall descend upon the mortal plane and lend thee her might!"

Bennett stares for a moment, his expression unreadable.

And then—"Whoa, seriously?! That’s awesome!"

Ah. His enthusiasm is most gratifying.

"Indeed," I continue, straightening my posture. "This day, I shall embark upon this grand odyssey alongside thee. The Immernachtreich bestows upon me powers untold, and together, we shall illuminate the darkness!"

Bennett nods rapidly. "Yes! Okay, so—who’s your character? What do you do?"

I inhale deeply, placing my hands upon the notebook.

"I am Fischl, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung—a being of immeasurable might, my dominion spanning the unseen realms. My sacred pact with Ozvaldo von Hrafnavines grants me dominion over the abyssal forces of the night." I pause dramatically, then add, "I am a visionary archer, my arrows infused with the eldritch power of lightning itself!"

Bennett’s eyes widen. "Whoa. So you’re, like, an Electro-user?"

"Indeed," I affirm, flicking an imaginary strand of darkness from my sleeve. "The heavens themselves tremble before my might!"

He grins. "Okay, okay—I think I got it. Let’s go!"

And thus, our journey begins anew.

"The dense fog lingers over the Whispering Woods," I narrate, setting the stage. "The remnants of your last battle still litter the forest floor—shattered ice from the fallen Cryo Slime. The path ahead stretches into the unknown, yet danger lurks at every turn. But now, a new presence stands beside you."

Bennett’s character—our brave, though perpetually unlucky adventurer—turns to find the figure of Fischl, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, standing amid the mist, shrouded in mystery.

"'Who goes there?!'" Bennett exclaims in character, gripping his imaginary sword.

"'Calm thy mortal heart, O wandering soul,'" I declare, lowering my voice to a dramatic timbre. "'For it is I, Fischl, sovereign of the Immernachtreich. The stars have foreseen thy peril, and thus, I have descended to lend thee my strength!'"

Bennett rubs his chin. "Huh… so, like… how do I respond?"

"You may react as you see fit," I explain. "For this world bends not to the rigid confines of destiny, but to the free will of its champions."

He nods, then brightens with an idea.

"'Wow, that’s amazing! I’ve never met a sovereign before! Uh, I mean—your majesty?'"

Ah. A most worthy display of respect.

I nod approvingly. "'Indeed, it is only natural that one would stand in awe of my presence. But let us not tarry, for darkness encroaches upon this realm.'"

Bennett pumps his fist. "Alright! Let’s move out!"

Thus, we venture forth.

As we traverse the imagined landscape, the tale unfolds—a grand saga of adventure and peril. Together, we stumble upon an Abyss Mage’s ritual deep within the woods, its incantations sending eerie whispers through the trees. The flames of the Pyro Abyss Mage flicker ominously as it summons Mitachurls to stand in our way.

Bennett charges into battle, sword swinging, while Fischl stands at a distance, loosing arrows wreathed in lightning. Our combined might shakes the battlefield, though Bennett’s ill fate ensures a few—unfortunate—mishaps.

(One such incident includes him rolling a natural one and immediately setting off a chain reaction of explosive barrels, sending his character flying into a tree.)

Yet, despite every misstep, every unlucky twist of fate, he never loses his smile.

By the time our battle concludes, we have emerged victorious, the Pyro Abyss Mage’s ritual successfully thwarted. We stand side by side, the world of Teyvat forever changed by our heroism.

Bennett exhales, running a hand through his hair. "That. Was. AWESOME!"

I incline my head. "Indeed. Our legend is only just beginning."

The bell rings outside—a herald of mundane obligations calling us back to the mortal realm.

Bennett sighs. "Guess we gotta go, huh?"

I nod solemnly. "The bonds of duty bind us all, but worry not—our tale shall continue on the morrow."

He grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You bet! See ya tomorrow, Fischl!"

And with that, he leaves.

I remain seated for a moment longer, gazing upon the empty classroom. My hands trace the edge of my notebook, the warmth of today’s adventure still lingering.

A strange sensation stirs within me.

Companionship.

A most rare and precious thing.

And so, the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club endures—no longer a solitary kingdom, but a realm shared by two.

Chapter Text

The sacred halls of the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club once more welcome the break of day. Within this hallowed chamber, the forces of fate converge, drawing forth the heroes of legend.

Or, rather… one hero of legend.

I sit alone, Oz perched before me upon the clubroom desk. His silent, plush form remains ever vigilant, as I—Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung—contemplate the expansion of our grand dominion.

It is a thought I scarcely dared entertain before. For too long, I had walked the path of solitude, my noble mind an island among the sea of mundanity. Yet now, a most curious turn of fate has brought forth a companion—Sir Bennett, the ever-optimistic knight whose resilience defies even the cruelest hand of fortune.

And today, he shall return once more.

As if summoned by my very thoughts, the door swings open with its usual dramatic fervor.

"Morning, Fischl!"

Sir Bennett strides in, his expression bright with excitement. I incline my head in greeting, my noble heart warmed by his enthusiasm.

"You return once more, Sir Bennett," I declare. "Has fate whispered yet another grand quest into thine ear?"

Bennett scratches the back of his neck. "Well, kinda? Actually, I was thinking… what if we got more people in the club?"

I pause, blinking.

More… people?

Bennett nods, seemingly encouraged by my lack of immediate refusal. "I mean, it’s been super fun playing with you, and I bet there’s other people who’d love to join! And, uh… I actually know someone who might be interested!"

Intriguing.

I lean forward, eyes narrowing with interest. "Speak, Sir Bennett. Who is this potential seeker of destiny?"

Bennett grins. "My best bud—Razor!"

…Razor?

The name stirs within my mind like a forgotten prophecy. I have heard whispers of this one, a soul as untamed as the northern winds, a boy who roams not with the scholars and students of Teyvat High, but with the creatures of the wild.

"Razor?" I muse, tapping my fingers against the desk. "He who dwells beyond the constraints of civilization, bound instead by the laws of nature?"

Bennett laughs. "Uh… yeah, I guess you could say that. He’s kinda quirky, but he’s a really good guy! I think he’d love role-playing. He’s got a great imagination!"

A new member. A fresh soul drawn into the grand tale of the Immernachtreich.

The prospect thrills me.

I rise from my seat with a flourish. "Then it shall be so! The Prinzessin der Verurteilung decrees that Sir Razor shall be welcomed into our sacred fold!"

Bennett grins. "Awesome! I’ll tell him to meet us after school tomorrow!"

As he sits down, pulling out his notebook in anticipation of continuing our adventure, I find myself glancing toward Oz, my ever-loyal companion.

More members. More voices added to our grand symphony.

Once, the thought of allowing others into my world filled me with trepidation.

I think I might be looking forward to it.

The fates have woven their threads, and the sacred decree has been made. Today, the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club prepares to welcome its newest knight—a soul unbound by the rigid structures of this mortal realm, one whose very essence is said to be as wild as the storm-tossed cliffs of Wolvendom.

His name is Razor.

As the final bell tolls, heralding the end of mundane scholarly pursuits, I take my rightful place within the clubroom, seated upon my throne (a second-hand office chair that still wobbles ominously when I shift my weight). Sir Bennett, ever eager, practically vibrates with anticipation at my side.

"He should be here soon," he says. "Told him to meet us right after class."

I nod solemnly. "Then we shall await his arrival with patience befitting our noble station."

At that moment, the door creaks open.

A figure enters—his posture relaxed, his movements unhurried. His silver hair is wild, tousled as if shaped by the winds of the wilderness itself. His uniform, though identical in make to the rest of Teyvat High’s students, bears the unmistakable marks of nature—traces of leaves caught in the fabric, a looseness to the fit as though it does not quite belong to him.

His eyes scan the room, sharp and alert, taking in his surroundings with quiet intensity. Then, his gaze settles upon us.

Bennett jumps up, waving enthusiastically. "Hey, Razor! Over here!"

Razor steps forward, his movements purposeful but cautious. As he nears, his nose twitches slightly—an instinctive reaction, as though he is scenting the air for danger.

"...This place," he murmurs. "Smells… different."

Ah. A most perceptive observation indeed.

I incline my head. "Indeed, Sir Razor. You stand within the domain of the Immernachtreich Role-playing Club, a sanctum of imagination and valor!"

Razor tilts his head. "...Club?"

Bennett claps a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah! It’s this awesome thing where we go on adventures—well, not real adventures, but, y'know, pretend ones! Fischl’s the one who makes the stories, and we get to be heroes!"

Razor frowns, processing this information. He turns his sharp gaze toward me.

"You make… stories?"

"Indeed," I affirm, lifting my Chronicle of the Immernachtreich (my notebook) as a holy relic. "I weave the fates of heroes, crafting sagas of peril and glory, wherein brave souls such as thee may carve their legend upon the annals of destiny!"

A pause. Razor blinks. "...Don’t understand."

Bennett rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, it’s kinda weird at first. But trust me, it’s fun!"

Razor studies us both for a moment longer. Then, at last, he gives a small nod. "...Okay. I try."

A most auspicious sign!

I gesture for him to take a seat. "Then let us begin!"

The sacred tome opens once more, and the world of Teyvat unfolds before us.

"Our tale resumes beneath the moonlit canopy of the Whispering Woods," I begin, my voice dipping into an ominous cadence. "The remnants of a vanquished Abyss Mage lay smoldering in the dirt, but the danger has not yet passed. The air is thick with tension, and the ground trembles beneath an unseen presence."

I turn to Razor. "You, a wandering warrior of the wilds, have crossed paths with our brave hero, Sir Bennett, deep in the heart of the forest. The cries of distant beasts call to you—yet something… feels wrong."

Razor frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly. "...Feels wrong?"

"Indeed," I confirm. "A disturbance in the natural order. The wolves of your lupical are restless, their howls laced with unease. The scent of unnatural magic lingers in the air."

Bennett leans forward. "Dude, that’s you! You gotta react!"

Razor’s brow furrows. He glances down, as though lost in thought, before finally muttering:

"...I sniff the air."

Ah. A most fitting response.

"The scent is foreign, unlike anything you have known," I narrate. "It is acrid, metallic—tinged with an unnatural chill. A threat to your kin."

Razor’s fingers twitch slightly. "...Not good."

Bennett grins. "I turn to Razor and say, ‘Hey, you look like you know this place! Can you tell what’s going on?’"

Razor’s red eyes flick to Bennett. He hesitates, then slowly replies:

"...Don’t know. But feel… danger."

An admirable level of immersion for one unacquainted with this art!

I lean forward, my tone shifting into something darker. "Before you can speak further, the trees shudder. A Ruin Guard lumbers into view, its eyes flickering to life with a mechanical hum!"

Bennett gasps. "A Ruin Guard?! Oh man, those things are huge!"

Razor’s expression sharpens. His shoulders tense. "...Fought one before. Hard to beat."

Ah, most intriguing!

I nod approvingly. "Then you are familiar with the beast’s deadly power! It turns its gaze toward you, the whir of its machinery growing louder. What do you do?"

Razor’s fingers flex slightly, as if he is reaching for a weapon that is not there.

"...Attack first," he says at last. "Before it sees me."

A bold strategy!

"You lunge forward, moving with the speed of the wind! Roll to strike!" I hand him a twenty-sided die.

Razor looks down at it, turning it in his fingers as though puzzled by its presence.

Bennett nudges him. "Just roll it, dude! Higher numbers mean you do good, low numbers mean… uh… you probably fall on your face."

Razor blinks, then nods. Carefully, he rolls. The die tumbles across the desk… before landing on a 19.

I smile. "A most excellent result!"

Razor watches as I narrate:

"With the instincts of a born hunter, you leap forward, striking at the Ruin Guard’s leg joints before it can fully activate. Sparks fly as your blade—imbued with the raw might of the storm—cleaves into metal!"

Bennett cheers. "Yeah! Now we got a chance!"

Razor tilts his head. His fingers drum lightly against the table as he murmurs:

"...This fun."

I nearly drop my pen.

Ah. A most wondrous omen indeed.

The session continues well into the evening. Though Razor is slow to grasp the mechanics, his instincts as a hunter lend themselves well to the art of strategy. He reacts with sharp precision, his actions dictated not by elaborate planning, but by gut feeling—a trait befitting a warrior of the wilds.

As the game draws to a close, Razor looks between Bennett and me, his expression unreadable.

"...Tomorrow," he finally says. "We play again?"

Bennett’s face lights up. "Of course, dude!"

I lift my chin, a satisfied smile gracing my lips. "The Immernachtreich Role-playing Club welcomes thee with open arms, Sir Razor."

Razor gives a small nod.

Then, with a quiet, thoughtful, "Good," he turns and leaves.

I watch him go, fingers idly tracing the edges of my notebook. The Immernachtreich has grown once more.

I feel something warm flicker within me.

Perhaps I am not so alone after all.