As he turned to leave, something stopped him.
A sensation — like the brush of static over skin, or the faint tug of being watched.
He looked up.
There she was.
Seated high above the courtroom, radiant and still as a statue carved from moonlight, sat Furina — Fontaine's Hydro Archon.
Her silver hair shimmered like starlight under the chandelier's glow. Her delicate gloved hands rested lightly on the armrests of her throne. Yet her eyes…
Those eyes. One sapphire blue. The other a darker shade. Both locked unerringly onto him.
Kyle stiffened.
No. That… that couldn't be right.
There were dozens of people milling about. Nobles, officers, scribes, journalists. But Furina wasn't looking at any of them.
She was looking directly at him.
He held her gaze for a heartbeat. Then another. He waited for her to glance away. She didn't.
His stomach flipped.
No way.
He was a nobody in this world. Just a journalist. No Vision. No title. No renown. Why would the Archon — a literal god — stare at him like she'd seen a ghost?
He didn't get the chance to ask himself further.
Because in the very next moment, the balcony erupted into motion.
A blur of blue and white leapt from the high platform — a streak of silk and precision. Clorinde. The Champion Duelist of Fontaine. Her movements were a symphony of elegance and urgency, her boots barely tapping the air as she descended.
Cradled in her arms like a bride was none other than Furina herself.
The room froze.
Gasps rippled like waves.
Kyle didn't even have time to move before the full force of a goddess landed atop him.
The air whooshed from his lungs. He hit the floor with a hard thud, the marble beneath him unforgiving. Pain flared across his back, but it vanished instantly beneath the far more pressing sensation of warmth — warmth, and the sudden weight of someone pressing against his chest.
Soft fingers clenched at his lapel. Hair like liquid gold spilled over his shoulders. The scent of dew, roses, and something ancient filled his senses.
He blinked.
Furina.
The Hydro Archon. Lying on top of him.
Trembling.
"…M-Miss Furina?!" Kyle croaked, half in shock, half in pain.
But she didn't answer — not with words, anyway.
Her face pressed against his collarbone. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his coat. And then…
He felt it.
Sobs. Small. Silent. Desperate.
She was crying.
His breath caught.
No… not tears of embarrassment. Not frustration. These were something else. Something old. Grief carried across centuries.
"It… it's really you…" she whispered, her voice so faint he almost missed it. "After all this time… you're here…"
Kyle's mind spun.
Time? What was she talking about?
He opened his mouth — to ask, to deny, to try and make sense of it — but the words never left his throat.
Furina's fingers brushed his cheek. Her lips trembled.
"It's been four hundred and forty-four years…" she said, barely audible. "Eight months. Twelve days. I counted them all."
Kyle's breath froze in his lungs.
Four centuries?
Her voice cracked with a broken kind of hope. "I… I still remember how you smiled at me. How you promised—how you swore you'd come back. I waited. Every day. Every trial. Every festival. And then…"
She buried her face in his chest again. "I thought you were gone forever…"
Kyle stared up at the frescoed ceiling, his thoughts screaming in a thousand directions.
What the hell was happening?
Either this body once belonged to someone she'd known… or the simulation system was doing something far more terrifying — something that blurred lines between fiction and reality.
System… was this your doing?
Before he could gather himself, the sharp rhythm of boots closed in.
Clorinde.
The duelist approached cautiously, though her face was unreadable.
"Miss Furina," she said, voice low but urgent. "Shall I escort you to the parlour? You're still in the public eye."
Furina didn't move for a moment.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
But her hand didn't release Kyle's coat. Instead, she slipped her arm around his.
"Come with me," she murmured, eyes glistening as she finally met his gaze — not as a god, not as a judge, but as a woman who had waited four lifetimes for an answer that never came.
Kyle swallowed hard.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's go."
Together, they rose.
Furina leaned gently into his side, as if still unsure this wasn't a dream. Kyle steadied her instinctively, his mind a whirlwind of questions, possibilities, fears.
Behind them, Clorinde fell into step, her expression tense — not out of suspicion, but a protective caution honed by centuries of service.
The great courtroom, once filled with cold judgment and golden grandeur, now felt small.
Because everything — everything — had just changed.
Kyle wasn't just a stranger in a new world anymore.
He was a variable. A ghost of the past. A turning point in the life of a god.
And as the doors closed behind them and the crowd's murmurs faded into silence, Kyle knew only one thing for certain:
He had to use the simulation system again — soon.
Because this wasn't just his story anymore.
This was hers, too.
Kyle looked down, stunned yet silent, at the head of pale, silvery-white hair resting gently in his lap.
Furina sat curled up like a cat, her small frame tucked against his chest, eyes closed and breathing steady. She held both his hands in hers, delicate fingers weaving between his like they had done this a thousand times before.
And maybe… they had.
At least, that's what she seemed to believe.
For Kyle, it was all too much — too fast, too strange. And yet… it was comforting.
They sat alone in a parlour tucked just beside the Opera Epiclese's main courtroom. The grandeur of Fontaine's architecture still lingered in the room's elegant details — ornate gold moulding, velvet settees, and cascading curtains filtering in light from high arched windows. But in this little sanctuary, with the courtroom's murmurs sealed behind double doors, time seemed to slow.
Furina let out a soft sigh, her breath warm against the fabric of his coat. The tension that had consumed her moments ago seemed to melt away in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
Outside the door, Kyle knew Clorinde was standing watch. Furina had insisted, stubborn as ever, that they be left alone. Clorinde had relented — reluctantly, of course — and now stood guard like a silent sentinel.
Kyle didn't know what to do with any of this.
He had come to Fontaine as a transmigrant — a nobody. A man with no Vision, no history, just the memories of a world where all of this had once been fiction.
And yet here he was. Holding the Archon of Fontaine in his arms. Watching her sleep — or pretend to — with the kind of peace that came only from reunion. From something lost being found again.
He hesitated for a long moment before raising his hand. Slowly, gently, he ran his fingers through her hair.
It was softer than he imagined. Silken and warm, the strands glided between his fingers like liquid moonlight. Furina sighed again, this time more audibly. A faint smile touched the corners of her lips.
That expression… it was so vulnerable. So unguarded.
Kyle swallowed.
He couldn't ignore this anymore.
"Miss Furina," he said softly, "if you're feeling a little better… I need to ask you something."
Her lashes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, she looked at him not as a god, not as a judge or ruler — but as a woman caught between the ache of the past and the miracle of the present.
She reached up, brushing his cheek with her fingers.
"You really don't remember… do you?"
Kyle's brows furrowed. "Remember… what?"
Furina's lips trembled.
"You were someone very important to me once," she whispered, each word as fragile as glass. "Someone I waited for… every day… for centuries. But now… it's like I'm speaking to a stranger."
She leaned back slightly, just enough to look up at him fully. Her eyes shimmered — one sea-blue, the other amethyst-violet — and they were brimming with something between sorrow and wonder.
"You were Kyle Pierre. The first Champion Duelist of Fontaine. My dear friend and my…"
Her voice caught, and she turned her face away.
"My… heart."
The silence that followed hit harder than any declaration could have.
Kyle froze.
Champion Duelist? Kyle Pierre? He wasn't just someone from this world — he had been someone. Revered. Remembered. Loved.
And he had no memory of it.
She looked at him again, her tone steadier now, almost pleading. "You're the same in every way. The way you walk. The way you tilt your head when you're confused. The kindness in your voice. Your stubbornness. Your laugh—" She bit her lip. "Don't tell me I'm wrong. I know I'm not. You're him."
Kyle's thoughts spun out of control.
How could he have been someone like that? Why didn't he remember? Was this the body of a former version of him — one who died and was reborn, memories sealed? Or was this… something else?
No. He needed answers.
But not from Furina — not yet. She'd suffered enough.
"I believe you," Kyle said gently, cupping her hand in both of his. "Or at least… I want to. But something's wrong. I don't remember anything, Furina. Not even a trace."
She nodded faintly. "I feared as much."
"I need time to figure things out," he said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Can we talk more later?"
Furina hesitated. Her eyes lingered on him, as if afraid he might vanish if she looked away.
Eventually, she nodded.
"Alright. But… you're not leaving my side."
Kyle blinked. "Huh?"
Her expression turned serious — possessive. "You'll stay in the Palais Mermonia. In the room next to mine. That's final."
He wanted to protest, but the look in her eyes made it clear: she wouldn't take no for an answer.
And frankly, he couldn't blame her.
After everything she'd said… he didn't want to be far from her either.
The room was quiet. Elegantly furnished, with blue velvet curtains swaying gently in the breeze, a mahogany desk tucked beside a high bookshelf, and a plush bed fit for nobility. The scent of lavender drifted faintly from the pillows.
Kyle sat at the edge of the bed, still processing everything. The simulation system hovered silently in front of him, as if waiting.
Its words pulsed softly:
[Do you want to enable simulation?]
He took a breath.
"You've refused to answer me up to now," he muttered. "But I need the truth. I need to remember."
The words didn't change. No response. Just that prompt.
[Do you want to enable simulation?]
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Fine."
He stood tall.
"Yes," he said. "Enable simulation."
The screen shimmered with a flash of blue light.
[Simulation mode activated.][Please select up to four talents from the following list:]
God's Favourite: Get blessed by a god at birth.
Isolated and Helpless: The fewer allies around you, the stronger your combat power.
Desperate Counterattack: The more serious your injuries, the stronger your counterattacks become.
Charmer: Young and grey, everyone takes a second look.
Fish Whisperer: The fish talk to you.
Sewing: Become the best at sewing in Teyvat.
Kyle scanned the list, quickly assessing what he needed.
Something that might explain why he had once stood beside gods…Something that could help him survive the fights to come…Something that could make others believe in him again…And something… that could offer a touch of peace.
His choices came clearly.
"I choose: God's Favourite. Desperate Counterattack. Charmer. Isolated and Helpless."
The screen flickered.
[Talents selected: God's Favourite, Desperate Counterattack, Charmer, Isolated and Helpless.][Simulation Mode: Fully Activated.][Environment determined: Fontaine, five hundred and eighteen years ago.]
As soon as the words appeared, the world around Kyle began to dissolve.
The velvet room blurred. The air felt thick. Distant sounds faded into silence.
He was being pulled — not physically, but spiritually — into the past. Into memory. Into history.
His heart pounded. This was it.
A life five hundred years gone awaited him — one he once lived, one he had forgotten.
And now… he would relive it all.