Varka

Six months ago, Grand Master Varka— and eighty percent of the Knights’ manpower— departed the city of Mondstadt to embark on a lengthy expedition. Six months ago, Varka left his city in the capable hands of his second-in-command, and hasn’t looked back. In fact, the group had pushed even further than anticipated, past Natlan and into the land of Nod-Krai.

But everything feels far less grand at camp. It almost feels… normal. Domestic. Everyone setting up their own tents, splitting into groups with friends or partners and settling in for the night while others keep watch. Varka, of course, is one of these watchmen. He always takes up a spot at first watch. At the very rear of the camp, where the group is most vulnerable and needs the most strength. Where he can protect every one of his subordinates.

The rustling of Sophie’s footsteps, however, does catch his attention. Though he doesn’t turn— he doesn’t need to, not to know who it is that’s joined him— his expression does soften. Into something less severe, less focused. “I figured I’d be seeing you again,” he says, setting an elbow against his knee to cradle his cheek in his palm. His tone is light, content in the moment. He turns his blue eyes on Sophie, then, raising his eyebrows with a quiet smile. “Can’t sleep?”