The Whispering Forest, a verdant sanctuary just beyond Mondstadt's walls, lay bathed in the golden glow of noon, its ancient oaks swaying gently as a breeze rustled their leaves, carrying the faint perfume of Cecilia flowers and the earthy tang of moss. Barbara stood at the heart of a clearing, her blue skirt dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy, her Hydro Vision gleaming at her waist like a captured droplet of the sea. Around her, the ground shimmered with frost, a stark white patch amid the green where eight hilichurls stood frozen in mid-stride, their clubs and torches encased in ice, their masked faces locked in eternal snarls. Nyaromon, her newly evolved Digimon, paced at her feet, its yellow fur bristling as it mewed triumphantly, its tail flicking with pride.
Barbara's chest heaved, her breaths misting in the chill she'd wrought, but her face glowed with a quiet exhilaration as she surveyed her handiwork. "That's it—done," she murmured, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, her hands tingling with the lingering cold of her Freeze Fruit power. She'd ventured too deep into the forest, lured by the promise of wildflowers for Nyaromon's evolution, only to stumble into a hilichurl ambush. Eight foes had encircled her, their guttural growls a rising tide, but she'd turned the tide—her ice a weapon as fierce as any knight's blade.
The first two had charged, clubs swinging, and she'd met them with a surge of frost, a blast of frigid air erupting from her palms to lock them in crystalline prisons before they could strike. Their forms glistened like sculptures, fists raised in futile defiance, and she'd marveled at the power—her first true test since Harlan Flint's comic shop gifted her the ability. "It's stronger than I imagined," she thought, a spark of pride flaring as she recalled the chaotic burst in Galehaven Comics, an accident tamed by Harlan's wave. Now, she wielded it with intent, a healer turned guardian in a frozen moment.
But the fight hadn't ended there. The remaining hilichurls, crude but cunning, had shifted tactics—grabbing stones from the forest floor, they'd hurled a barrage her way, a hail of rock and dust aimed to overwhelm her. Barbara's heart had leapt, but instinct took hold; she summoned her power inward, a sheen of ice armor cloaking her body in a shimmering second skin. The stones struck, each impact a dull thud against her frost, only to freeze mid-air and clatter to the ground, useless against her shield. "Not enough to stop me," she'd whispered, her voice gaining an edge as she flexed her fingers, the cold a living thing at her command.
Now, with the melee renewed, three hilichurls lumbered forward, their torches flaring, and Barbara seized her chance. "My turn!" she declared, her tone alight with a thrill she'd never known—tales of Jean's battles, Klee's explosions, had always been distant echoes, but today, she claimed her own. She dropped to one knee, palms pressing into the earth, and unleashed her power—a roaring torrent of ice surged from her hands, a serpentine trail of frost that snaked across the ground like a dragon unbound. It struck, a symphony of cracks and booms, and the hilichurls froze mid-charge, their torches extinguished, their forms sculpted into a gallery of defeat amid a sea of white.
The forest transformed—where green had reigned, ice now ruled, a pale expanse mirroring Dragonspine's peaks. Trees stood sheathed in frost, their leaves brittle and gleaming; bushes became crystalline mounds; even the soil sparkled with a thin, icy crust. Barbara rose, brushing frost from her skirt, and scooped up Nyaromon, its purr a warm contrast to the chill. "We did it—you're my little hero," she said, her smile soft as she nuzzled it, her heart swelling with a pride she'd rarely felt beyond healing hymns.
Across the clearing, Jean burst through the underbrush, her Anemo Vision flaring as wind propelled her forward, her sword half-drawn in a glint of steel. Lumine, Diluc, Wendy, and Paimon trailed close, their footsteps a drumbeat against the earth, drawn by Paimon's sharp cry of "Barbara's in trouble!" But they skidded to a halt, their breaths catching as the scene unfolded—a battlefield of ice, Barbara radiant at its center, her foes vanquished in frozen tableau. Jean's eyes widened, her grip slackening as relief flooded her, tinged with disbelief. "She's… safe," she breathed, her voice a whisper lost to the wind.
Paimon floated higher, her starry cape fluttering as she clapped her hands. "Barbara, you're amazing! That ice—it's like a whole winter hit at once!" Lumine nodded, her golden eyes gleaming with approval. "That's some serious power—reminds me of my wind tricks, but colder," she said, a grin tugging at her lips as she sheathed her sword, the Stormterror fight still fresh in her bones. Wendy strummed his lyre, a playful note cutting the silence. "Well, well—another star rises from Harlan's shop. Told you it's magic!"
Jean sheathed her blade, her blonde ponytail swaying as she stepped closer, her gaze darting between the ice and her sister. As Acting Grand Master, she knew Barbara's limits—her Hydro Vision suited mending, not mayhem, a fact that had kept her in Mondstadt's rear lines. "Since when can she wield ice?" Jean wondered, her mind racing as she recalled Kaeya's Cryo flair—had he intervened, unseen? But no, the chill was Barbara's alone, a mystery that gnawed at her. "She's stronger than I ever knew," she thought, a pang of guilt mingling with awe—she'd sheltered her sister too long, missing this hidden fire.
Diluc crossed his arms, his crimson coat billowing as he surveyed the frostbitten glade, his dark eyes narrowing. "This ice—it's beyond Kaeya's reach," he muttered, his voice a low rumble as the cold bit at his face, a stark contrast to the noon sun overhead. He'd doubted the comic shop tales—rewards from reading, power from pages—dismissing them as bardic exaggeration despite his wealth's vast reach. But Jean's Haki, Lumine's wind, and now this? "Maybe I've misjudged," he conceded, his curiosity flaring as he imagined what Galehaven might hold for him—a flame to match his Pyro, perhaps.
Wendy's grin widened, his green cape fluttering as he leaned on a tree, his lyre silent but his mind alight. "Jean's Haki, Lumine's wind, now Barbara's ice—all from Harlan's comics," he mused, piecing it together with a bard's knack for patterns. He'd seen Barbara at the shop yesterday, leaving with Snowballmon—now Nyaromon, he noted—and today, she wielded a power to rival Archons. "That shop's a forge for legends," he thought, his excitement bubbling as he pictured their next visit, a celebration turned quest for more.
Barbara turned, spotting the group, and waved, her smile sheepish but bright. "Oh—Jean, everyone! You're back!" she called, cradling Nyaromon as she stepped over a frozen hilichurl, its club a useless relic. Jean approached, her boots crunching on ice, her voice soft but urgent. "Barbara, are you hurt? What happened here?" Barbara shook her head, her curls bouncing. "I'm fine—just a little scrap. Nyaromon evolved, and these hilichurls didn't like me foraging. But I handled it—Harlan's Freeze Fruit worked wonders!"
Jean's brow furrowed, a mix of pride and confusion swirling within. "Freeze Fruit? From the comic shop?" she asked, her tone probing as she glanced at the icy carnage, its beauty haunting. Barbara nodded eagerly. "Yes! It's from One Piece—ice at my fingertips, strong enough to protect us. I couldn't fight before, but now…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes gleaming with a newfound resolve, a healer stepping into a warrior's boots.
Lumine stepped up, clapping Barbara's shoulder. "You're a natural—those hilichurls didn't stand a chance. Harlan's got a knack for picking winners," she said, her grin widening as Paimon bobbed beside her, camera in hand. "Got it all on film—Barbara, the Ice Queen! Wait'll Harlan sees this!" Paimon chirped, her glee uncontained as she imagined the shopkeeper's reaction—another tale to fuel his legend.
Diluc lingered back, his gaze sweeping the scene—the ice's precision, its lingering chill, Barbara's quiet strength. "If this is what comics offer, I need to see it myself," he murmured, his skepticism thawing into a burning curiosity. He'd faced Stormterror's flames with raw Pyro, but this power—elegant, overwhelming—hinted at untapped potential. "What's your price, shopkeeper?" he wondered, already calculating the 100,000 Mora, a pittance for a glimpse at such might.
Jean knelt beside Barbara, her hand resting on her sister's arm, her voice softening. "I didn't know you had this in you—I've kept you too safe, haven't I?" Barbara met her gaze, her smile gentle but firm. "Maybe a little, but it's okay. Harlan's shop gave me this chance—to stand with you, not just behind." Jean's throat tightened, a swell of emotion breaking through her composure—pride, regret, a vow to see her sister anew.
Wendy strummed a triumphant chord, breaking the moment. "To Galehaven then—Stormterror's down, Barbara's up, and Diluc's hooked! Who's next for Harlan's magic?" The group laughed, the tension easing as they turned toward Mondstadt, the forest's icy heart a testament to a healer's rise—and a shopkeeper's quiet chaos weaving Teyvat's fate.
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