Ye Ruo knew Noelle could shine if she absorbed his lessons and shed her reckless habits.
With his guidance, she'd tame her extremes and pass Jean's scrutiny with ease.
No one else in the Knights could steer her right—her mentors were a mismatched lot.
Jean drowned in work, too buried to teach balance to a girl like Noelle.
Kaeya slinked through duties, offloading errands that only muddled her path.
Other knights lacked the insight to shift her mindset, leaving her adrift.
Ye Ruo stood apart, his stature and clarity making him Jean's clever pick.
After their meal at the Deer Hunter, Noelle trailed him, curiosity bubbling over.
"Senior, why'd you start writing novels out of the blue?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Everyone in the Knights is buzzing about it, shocked yet grinning—classic Wind Knight unpredictability," she added.
"They can't believe you roped in the Grand Master and the rest," she marveled.
Ye Ruo's shift from knight to novelist had jolted Mondstadt, a twist no one saw coming.
He'd been a titan—combat fierce, tasks crushed with ruthless efficiency.
Sure, he'd vanish now and then, but writing Idol Debut? That was wild.
The book cast Jean and the women of the Knights as idols saving a doomed Mondstadt.
It hit like a bomb, rattling the Favonius ranks with its bold, absurd vision.
Knights winced at the dire setup—Falga's absence didn't mean collapse, did it?
Still, they snatched up copies, hoarding them like relics of their heroes.
Noelle favored Detective Windhaven, its wind-treasure knight a mirror of her Mondstadt pride.
She saw Windhaven as home, its villains wielding dead gods' power chillingly evil.
Such twisted foes didn't haunt the real city—thank Barbatos for that.
Ye Ruo chuckled at her wonder, his tone light, "I just want a steady life, writing novels to sustain it."
Noelle blinked, stunned, "Really? That's your dream, Senior?"
"Yep, and with two books rolling, I'm starting a third," he said casually.
"It'll dive into old Mondstadt—the Lonely King of the Tower and Barbatos' first tale," he revealed.
Noelle's jaw dropped, "A new book already? Three at once—that's insane, Senior!"
"The ancient days of Barbatos and the Tower King? Mondstadt barely remembers that—it'll be a hit!" she gushed.
"Not bad, right?" Ye Ruo grinned, strolling beside her through the sunlit streets.
A figure caught his eye amid the crowd—a green-clad bard with white stockings.
His pulse quickened—could it be him, the wind's own voice in the flesh?
"Follow me, Noelle," he murmured, veering toward the boy with purpose.
Back at the Angel's Gift tavern, Diluc sat alone, engrossed in Detective Windhaven.
The red-haired tycoon, master of Dawn Winery, cradled the book with a somber focus.
Mondstadt's wine trade bowed to him, his wealth and sway a quiet force.
He rarely lingered here, leaving Charles to mind the bar's nightly hum.
Today, though, he perched at the counter's edge, Ye Ruo's words pulling him in.
His face shifted—grim, then wistful—as the story stirred old wounds.
"The museum crafts evil from demon god scraps—sounds like the Fatui and their Delusions," he muttered.
A bitter scoff escaped him, "Cursed things mimicking Visions, huh."
No one knew Delusions' toll better than Diluc, etched in his father's final breath.
Crepus' death had snuffed his warmth, leaving a cold, fiery shell behind.
Ye Ruo's tale hit close, a mirror to battles fought in Mondstadt's shadows.
"You've got guts, spinning this into a story—the Fatui'll hate it," he mused.
"We've clashed with them enough; their rage can't touch you," he added darkly.
The book's hero, a masked knight, echoed Diluc's own night-prowling vengeance.
His master long dead, the protagonist fought on, a parallel too stark to miss.
Then the duo's second half—sharp, informant-like—prickled his nerves.
A certain eyepatched rogue flashed in his mind, and Diluc shuddered.
"No way—not Kaeya," he growled, shaking off the thought with a scowl.
Ye Ruo's novels wove truth into fiction, a trick that both awed and unnerved.
He'd turned their shared struggles into art, a bard's gift with a knight's edge.
Diluc closed the book, staring at the tavern's amber glow, lost in memory.
Ye Ruo, meanwhile, tailed the green bard, Noelle at his heels, her chatter fading.
The boy's lute strummed faintly, a melody older than Mondstadt's walls.
Could this be Barbatos, veiled in youth, wandering his city once more?
Ye Ruo's third tale took root in his mind, the Lonely King's fall calling.
Old Mondstadt's winds howled through his thoughts, a story begging to breathe.
The system pulsed, fame ticking up, fueling his quill and his quiet ambition.
He'd left the Knights for this—to write, to live, to chase a simpler dream.
Noelle glanced at him, sensing a shift, "Senior, you're onto something big, aren't you?"
"Just a hunch," he said, eyes locked on the bard, the wind's whisper guiding him.
***
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