Years turned softly in Natlan.

  The scars of war faded beneath new greenery and fresh lava flows. The Stadium hosted festivals instead of battles. And in the private quarters overlooking the Stadium’s western rim lived a family no one in Teyvat had expected to see.

  Mavuika and K’awiil had a daughter.

  They named her Sunniva—Sun’s Gift.

  From the moment she opened her eyes—gold like her mother’s, yet flecked with the faintest frost like her father’s—she was a burst of pure light.

  By age four she was already called “Sunny” by everyone: shamans, saurians, even the sternest warriors who melted the instant she ran up with arms wide and a gap-toothed grin.

  Sunny was everywhere. She chased Tepetlisaurs through the canyons, rode baby Koholasaurs like living surfboards, and once convinced a fully grown Yumkasaurus to let her nap on its warm back. Her laughter rang brighter than any forge-bell.

  When Boreas and Elowen visited—now young adults, tall and steady like their father Varka, yet carrying the wild spark of their mother Nicole—Sunny attached herself to them like a comet tail.

  Especially to Boreas.

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  She would drag him by the hand to show him “secret places” (mostly hollowed-out lava tubes she’d claimed as forts). She braided feathers into his hair and demanded he tell her stories of Mondstadt’s endless skies.

  One golden afternoon, the three of them sat atop a high ridge watching saurians migrate below. Sunny was nestled between the twins, head on Boreas’s shoulder, small hand clutching Elowen’s sleeve.

  “Boreas?” she asked sleepily. “When you were little, did you see me?”

  The twins exchanged a quiet glance.

  Years earlier—when Boreas was only twelve—Nahida had placed gentle hands on his temples during a visit to Sumeru. She had asked him what he saw when he looked into the future’s uncertain threads.

  He had seen one clear image: a girl with hair like living fire and eyes like winter dawn, laughing as she rode a saurian into battle, fearless and radiant.

  He hadn’t understood then.

  Now he did.

  He looked down at Sunny—already so brave, already so bright—and felt the same quiet certainty settle into his bones.

  “I did,” he said softly. “I saw a beautiful, brave girl who would light up the whole world. And she had the best laugh.”

  Sunny beamed, oblivious to the weight behind the words.

  “Will you come back lots?” she asked.

  Elowen ruffled her hair. “As often as we can, Sunny.”

  Boreas pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “Always,” he promised.

  Below them the saurians called to one another across the valley. Above, the twin moons began to rise.

  And in the distance, two figures watched from the balcony of their home: Mavuika leaning against K’awiil’s chest, his arms wrapped around her waist, both of them smiling at the sight of their daughter and the twins who had once fought beside them.

  “Eternity looks good on us,” Mavuika murmured.

  K’awiil rested his chin atop her head.

  “It looks perfect.”

  And the ray of sunshine named Sunny laughed again—bright, fearless, eternal.