Mondstadt's readers fretted over the Gunnhildrs' fate, hearts knotted tight.
They knew the clan endured—Jean stood as proof of their legacy.
Yet Ye Ruo's grim prose sank them deep into ancient dread.
Kind souls ached for those frostbitten exiles, yearning for their triumph.
Mondstadters could be lazy, even childish, but goodness ran in their veins.
The Northwind Sovereign, Andreus, slipped into the tale alongside their flight.
His clash with Karlafian faltered, a king humbled by a stronger gale.
Helplessness shadowed him, a demon god outmatched and adrift.
Earlier pages sang of the Lonely King—Andreus played second fiddle.
In the snowfields, he roamed with wolves, his blessed pack at his heels.
Ye Ruo noted a twist: Andreus didn't love humans like other gods.
Still, amid the blizzard, he sheltered stragglers from death's icy grip.
"A soft spot after all," a baker mused, warming to the Wolf King.
Few linked him to Boreas, the Northwind Wolf of today's lore.
The Four Winds' faith had faded, temples lost to time's neglect.
Only sharp minds—Lisa, Jean, Kaeya—knew Andreus lingered on.
Boreas, his remnant soul, wielded power beyond mortal ken.
He'd joined Barbatos' guard, a silent sentinel of the north.
Readers savored this glimpse, a fresh shard of their past.
Lupika emerged too, a demon god fond of human waifs.
She wove bonds between wolves and outcasts, a tender anomaly.
"Never heard that one—true or not, it's neat," a merchant grinned.
Some whispered of odd figures in Wolvendom, echoes of Lupika's kin.
Karlafian's "love" soured in memory—his winds crushed, not cradled.
Voices drowned, bodies pinned—his rule was a tyrant's farce.
Barbatos, though, loved right, his care a balm Mondstadt knew well.
Curiosity burned—what fate awaited the Gunnhildrs next?
They flipped the page, only to slam into a wall of text.
The final lines taunted them, a cliffhanger sharp as a blade.
A miracle had sparked, hope igniting as the tribe faced ruin.
Gears of legend turned, birthing Mondstadt's defiant spirit.
"End of this volume," it declared, and jaws hit the floor.
"What in Barbatos' name?!" a seamstress yelped, nearly choking.
Eyes bulged, heads spun—question marks loomed over the crowd.
They rifled through the book, desperate for more, finding none.
Silence fell, then groans—Ye Ruo had snipped the thread mid-weave.
"It stopped there? Right at the peak?" a guard bellowed, aghast.
"What saved them? What's the twist?!" a poet wailed, clutching his hair.
"Wind Knight, you're killing us—be human for once!" a smith pleaded.
Hearts sank, fragile and bruised by the sudden cutoff.
New readers reeled, betrayed by the tantalizing halt.
Veterans smirked, shrugging off the familiar sting.
"Same old trick—Idol Debut and Windhaven pulled this too," one chuckled.
"Always at the juiciest bit—then poof, wait for the next," another sighed.
"It's torture, like ten thousand Hilichurls clawing your back," a third growled.
Fresh faces gaped, tasting the agony for the first time.
Old hands cackled, reveling in the shared misery.
"Welcome to the grind—next volume's a week away," they taunted.
Quick wits pivoted, guessing at the shadowed savior.
"Barbatos steps in next, right? He's the only one who fits," a brewer reasoned.
"Two demon gods down—he's the miracle they need," a trader nodded.
"How'll he show? Clouds of light or a windborne drop?" a maid mused.
"Gotta be epic—Barbatos doesn't do subtle," her friend insisted.
A skeptic frowned, "What if he was weak then, late to the party?"
"Blasphemy!" the brewer snapped, eyes blazing with zeal.
"Barbatos, weak? I'll stake my Mora—he's a titan from the start," he vowed.
"Bet you I'm right, or I'll sprint to the gate—you lose, you're off to Goben!" he challenged.
"Deal—I'm not scared!" the skeptic shot back, grinning.
Others scratched their heads, puzzled by a missing piece.
"The nameless boy from the teaser—where's he at?" a guard wondered.
"No sign of him—maybe he's not the star after all," a poet shrugged.
"Just a side note, not the heart of it?" another guessed, uncertain.
Ye Ruo, meanwhile, basked in his room, mood soaring high.
The system sang, fame spiking with each anguished cry.
He'd hooked them deep, and they'd clamor for more.
Mondstadt buzzed, his quill a storm they couldn't escape.
***
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