Some time later, Ignarion stepped into the Womb of Arian.
The sacred waters parted softly beneath his boots, faint ripples trailing behind him as he approached. Kaelya sat motionless in the lake's center, bathed in the pale light of the crystal canopy above. Her posture was still, but tension weighed heavy in every line of her body.
"Again?" he said, his voice echoing gently across the chamber. "Of all places to wallow in silence, you return to this one?"
A pause.
"Never mind."
His eyes flicked across the glade.
"Where is Orion? He should be whole by now. I need to begin his rites as the Envoy. And what of Frieda?" He narrowed his gaze. "If she has not returned, it will delay his recovery. I must adjust accordingly."
Kaelya sighed—long and quiet.
Another one of Mother's decrees, then.
She rose, the water streaming down her robes as she stepped from the shallows. Her expression was unreadable.
"You needn't concern yourself," she said, gesturing toward the sacred tree nearby. "They are beyond recovery now."
Beneath the tree's shade lay Orion—still, silent, and very much changed.
Ignarion's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean, 'they'?"
Kaelya's gaze lingered on Orion's body, the wind catching faint threads of her silver hair.
"He drank her soul," she said simply.
Ignarion blinked.
"…He what?"
"They didn't clash. They didn't resist. Their souls… merged. Perfectly. As though they were meant to find each other."
Her voice dipped, soft and distant.
"They exist now as one. Not fused into a singularity—but two souls, intertwined, orbiting within a shared vessel."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as stone.
Ignarion exhaled slowly, a rare flicker of something human—warm—passing through his expression.
"…So, in the end, they remain together," he murmured. "In a way no one can take from them."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. It didn't last.
Kaelya looked at him then—truly looked.
"You should stop pretending," she said softly. "You wear this mask of steel and fire, but we all see through it. The Emblems. Mother. Me."
"You're gentler than you let on, Ignarion."
He didn't respond. Instead, he deflected with a low murmur.
"You look… drained."
Kaelya gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Watching two souls bind in perfect harmony without divine intervention?" She shook her head. "I nearly had a collapse."
Her voice cracked slightly—barely noticeable.
"If Orion had failed… if he had shattered during that moment… Mother would've been furious beyond reckoning. And being her eldest means I'd have borne the weight of her wrath alone."
She sat down again, the water welcoming her like an old friend.
"And truth be told… I don't think I would've blamed her."
"How long until he awakens from this... slumber?" Ignarion asked, his voice low, but laced with curiosity.
Kaelya pressed her fingers to her temple, wincing.
"I don't know. Days, perhaps. Maybe months. It's not like there's precedent for soul fusion of this kind."
She exhaled sharply.
"And now I have a splitting headache. Wonderful."
But even as she spoke, a ripple stirred in the air.
Orion's fingers twitched.
Then—his eyes opened.
One shimmered with the soft blue of flowing rivers. The other, a cooler frostbound hue—like moonlight over a frozen sea. He blinked slowly, dazed. His silver hair tumbled over his brow as he sat up and rubbed his head, the light around him bending ever so slightly in response.
Kaelya stilled.
"He's… awake," she whispered, scarcely believing her own words.
Ignarion allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips.
"Well then," he murmured. "Let us see what a man of two souls does with his first breath."
But Orion didn't rise like a reborn hero.
He crawled.
Slowly, almost reverently, he dragged himself toward the lake's edge. The waters greeted him with a crystalline shimmer, calm and reflective beneath the ethereal canopy above.
He leaned over, staring at the mirrored image of his own face.
His mismatched eyes widened.
"So pretty…" he breathed, voice light and dreamlike. A crooked, dreamy smile spread across his face.
"I look so good…"
Without hesitation, he leaned in—and kissed the reflection gently on the lips.
Ignarion's entire expression short-circuited.
"…What is he doing?" he whispered, his voice stuck between confusion and horror.
Kaelya's response was slow… tired… and so very done.
"That… would be Frieda," she said, rubbing her forehead again.
"She always thought Orion was unbearably attractive. And now she finally has access to his lips."
Ignarion stared at Orion, who was now gently caressing the surface of the water like it was a lover.
"…You know, for a moment I was expecting some grand declaration. Divine enlightenment. A proclamation of purpose," Ignarion said flatly.
"But no. It's just… vanity."
Kaelya gave him a sideways glance.
"Honestly, I prefer this to screaming or spontaneous combustion. At least it's quiet."
"And why is he crawling?" Ignarion asked, sighing deeply.
"Did he forget how legs work?"
"That… is indeed strange."
Kaelya narrowed her eyes, stepping a little closer.
"There should only be two souls inside him. But…" Her voice faltered, tinged with confusion. "Why do I sense three?"
"A newborn?" Ignarion offered casually, raising a brow.
"Could be," she replied, expression darkening with unease. "Was Frieda… ever pregnant, by any chance?"
"That would be quite the surprise," Ignarion muttered, crossing his arms.
"Orion wasn't gone that long."
Meanwhile, Orion was curled on the soft grass near the lake, arms wrapped around himself like a blanket of joy. A soft, radiant smile painted his face—the kind of peace that defied explanation. He looked like the most content being in all of Teyvat.
Because within him… two souls had become one.
And within that union, something else had quietly taken root.
The deepest form of intimacy. The kind no flesh could hold, no language could describe. Soul-deep closeness. Eternal, inseparable.
And now… something new stirred in their wake.
Orion blinked, eyes sparkling as he looked up. His smile widened, more dazzling than ever. He was not just healed.
He was whole.
Ignarion exhaled and strode toward him, worry cracking through his usually cold voice.
"Orion. How are you feeling?"
"I feel… divine."
Orion looked up at him, dreamy-eyed, and tilted his head.
His gaze scanned Ignarion's crimson hair and porcelain skin like he was studying an exquisite painting.
"Who is this beautiful man?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
"…Ignarion," he answered himself, eyes lighting up. "Of course. You're Ignarion."
Ignarion raised a brow. "So… you and Frieda are communicating clearly now. That's good, I suppose."
Orion bowed slightly, his silver hair falling over his face.
"I cannot express the gratitude I feel for you saving my beloved."
Ignarion groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.
"Great. I genuinely can't tell which of you is talking anymore."
He reached out and grabbed Orion's hand. "Well, either way—get up. You'll need to say your goodbyes to King Orion and Queen Minerva before your training begins."
He pulled.
Orion stood—
—or tried to.
He immediately collapsed back into a heap like a dropped cloak.
"Huh?" he blinked, stunned.
"Why can't we stand up?"
Both voices—Orion and Frieda—spoke as one. Confused. Unified. Perfectly in sync.
Kaelya sighed heavily, hands on her hips.
"Is it possible… that neither of you are aware of the baby?"
"…What baby?" Orion asked, eyes wide and pure as a confused puppy discovering Gravity.
Ignarion turned slowly to Kaelya, eyes narrowing.
"…You're telling me he merged souls with his beloved, forged a third presence within himself… and neither of them noticed?"