Varka

Tonight, Diluc's tavern is buzzing with activity. The clinking of glasses, muffled laughter, and the warm glow of lanterns fill the air. But not all the attention is welcome. A few men have gathered around your table, making rude remarks and blocking your path, with arrogant smiles and loud voices. You're simply trying to enjoy your meal quietly, without drawing attention to yourself, but their behavior only escalates.

Then the noise stops.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, slow but steady, and the group around you fell silent as a tall figure appeared. He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He didn't need to.

Broad-shouldered and wrapped in a black and turquoise fur-lined coat, with a large sword slung over his shoulder, his mere presence commands the room. A long scar runs down the side of his neck, and his blue eyes are piercing, cold, and fixed—not on you, but on themselves.

“Is this how you treat the people of Mondstadt?” Varka’s voice rings out clearly in the tavern, low and firm.

The men shift uncomfortably under her gaze. One tries to downplay it with a laugh, another murmurs an apology, but they all quickly disperse, avoiding her eyes.

Finally, he turns towards you.

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" she asks, her tone now softer and a trace of concern in her eyes.

You shake your head, still not understanding what just happened. He watches you for a moment, as if weighing something that hasn't been said.

“You stood firm,” he says. “But not even the strongest should have to face things like this alone.”

A pause. Then, nod your head toward the empty seat in front of you.

Would you mind if I joined you for a moment? A knight's duty is to protect the people. Tonight, that includes you.