Genshin Impact: A Fool

Within a confined place in an unknown location, laying down upon the ice cold layer of glimmering, shimmering mystical wave, was Heins. His body, still dilapidated and bloodied, peacefully breathed in and out.

His sword was grasped instinctively as he passed out, its blade in its sheath.

All of a sudden, Heins wake up in a trance.

Heins blinked slowly, his mind still foggy from the intense battle and his subsequent blackout. He looked around at the strange, ethereal landscape surrounding him, the shimmering waves and the endless horizon of an ocean that seemed to stretch on forever.

The sky above was a breathtaking mix of blue and indigo, a mystical and otherworldly sight that made him feel both awed and disoriented. As he blinked, he noticed a silhouette of silver in his peripheral vision.

Heins's gaze fell upon the woman standing before him, her skin as pale and cold as the ice beneath him.

She was a vision of ethereal beauty, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. But it was her eyes that truly caught his attention - a deep, dark purple that seemed to hold the very essence of something ancient and untamed.

The woman was dressed in a short gray garment that seemed to serve as both a jumpsuit and a dress, the black pillar at its center a stark contrast to the light gray fabric, showcasing her pale shoulders. Purple cladded legs that served as both socks and heels, gradually lightening in hue as they reached her thighs, completed the ensemble.

Heins's heart raced as he tried to make sense of his situation. "Am I... dead?" he asked, his voice hoarse and weak from his injuries and the sheer exhaustion that gripped his body.

"No," the woman replied, her voice as cold and smooth as the ice beneath them. She regarded him with an indifferent, distant gaze, as if she were studying a specimen under a microscope.

Heins's brow furrowed as he struggled to sit up, his body protesting the sudden movement. "Where am I?" he asked coarsely, his crimson eyes flashing with a mix of confusion and apprehension. "And who are you?"

The woman paused for a moment before responding, her words short and concise. "The Abyss. Skirk."

Heins blinked, the name sounding vaguely elusive. He had heard whispers of the Abyss, the realm that existed beyond the veil of the mortal world. But it was somewhat inconceivable that a being could stay within this impossible landscape.

Before he could ponder further, Skirk spoke again, her voice as abrupt and to the point as before. "I'll train you. Do you accept?"

Heins's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden offer. Train him? But why? And for what purpose? He was exhausted, his body broken and battered from the battle that had left him on the brink of death. The thought of undergoing any kind of training in his current state was almost laughable.

And yet... there was something about Skirk, something in her ancient, otherworldly eyes that made Heins feel a flicker of curiosity. She was a mystery, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to unravel the secrets that lay behind her cold, indifferent facade.

Heins hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. He could refuse, could try to find his own way back to the world of the living. But something told him that the path ahead would be long and treacherous, and that he would need all the help he could get to navigate the perils that lay ahead.

He paused as he stood in silence. This woman is not someone ordinary, appearing within what she called the Abyss, this strange expanse of exotic waves and breathtaking indigo sky. Anything that was related to the Abyss has never been simple. Heins furrowed his eyebrows as he mulled over her words.

They were concise but informative. As if she's constrained by something to talk more, or perhaps she just doesn't like to talk with others. Heins was somewhat compelled to accept her request, but... There's his Mistress.

Heins's heart, as if stabbed, clenched on its own as he realized his mistake. By the time the news of his death reached her ears, what would she think of him? He promised her the world, yet he sacrificed himself not for her but a city he found in his journey. He did not regret it however, since his dear apprentice Jean and his friends were safe and sound, but he felt guilty.

He felt he had wronged his beloved Mistress, and he did.

His striking crimson eyes glimmered with wryness as he rasped out, his breaths short due to his dilapidated form, "Miss Skirk, I... I wish I could, but do you have a way for me to escape? There was someone I need to meet. Desperately so."

Skirk, being indifferent outside, was surprised inwardly. Anyone could see that she was no ordinary being, dwelling within the darkest depths of the universe, the Abyss, yet the boy seems to prioritize this someone. Her deep purple eyes subconsciously softened a little as she whispered, "Three years here. Three months outside. After the period, free."

Heins widened his eyes. The words were few, but what could be discerned from them were explosive. It means that this strange expanse's time was ten times faster than Teyvat, and he only could get out after three years.

Three years... Such a long time. It has to be known that Heins had been taken in by Arlecchino three years ago, so this is equivalent to the time he has spent being with her.

Heins nodded in understanding as his eyes lowered, deep in thoughts. In the end, he sighed as he whispered, "Miss, since there are nothing I could do here for the next three years, then I shall be in your hand. However, I must apologize for I cannot be your disciple. There was someone that had taken that place."

Skirk, as if amused by his proclamation, showed a tiniest bit of smile, one that Heins cannot see, "Okay."

Heins took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to gather his strength. The thought of being separated from his beloved Mistress for so long was a bitter pill to swallow, but he knew that he had no choice. If this was the price he had to pay for the chance to return to her, then he would endure it.

As he stood there, lost in thought, Skirk watched him with an unreadable expression. Her purple eyes, which had softened for the briefest of moments, now reverted to their usual cold and distant gaze. She was a being of few words, and it seemed that she had already grown tired of the conversation.

Without warning, Skirk raised her hand, and a magnificent sword materialized out of thin air. The blade was long and slender, its edge sharp enough to cut through the very fabric of reality.

The hilt was wrapped in a dark, almost black leather, and the guard was adorned with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to dance and twist in the mystical light of the Abyss.

Skirk turned to Heins, her expression as cold and indifferent as ever. "Come," she said, her voice a low, commanding rasp. "Show me."

Heins hesitated for a moment, his hand still gripping the hilt of his own sword. He knew that he was in no condition to spar, his body still weak and battered from the battle that had brought him to this strange realm.

But he also knew that he could not refuse Skirk's challenge, not if he wanted to earn her favor and gain his freedom.

With a grunt of effort, Heins pushed himself to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest as he struggled to maintain his balance.

He drew his sword from its sheath, the blade singing as it was freed from its confines. The sword was a gift from his Mistress, a symbol of the bond they shared and the trust she had placed in him.

As he took a tentative step forward, Heins felt a sudden surge of determination. He would not let her down, would not betray the faith she had placed in him.

With a shout of determination, Heins charged forward, his sword held high. He knew that the path ahead would be long and arduous, but he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Heins launched himself at Skirk, ready to face whatever trials and tribulations the Abyss had in store for him. The battle had only just begun, but he was ready to face it head-on, come what may.

His body may be weak at the moment, but his soul had always been strong. As his sword clashed with hers, he burst out in a splendorous cacophony of crimson thunder, his killing intent roaring like a maddened beast.

His crimson eyes flashed with violent violet sparks as he pushed his sword against hers. He watched as Skirk handled his sword with utter disdain, and how she gracefully moved to the blind spots of how he fought.

Heins's crimson eyes, cold and detached, followed her ethereal figure as she dodged in ease. Then, he appeared behind her in an instant and delivered a devastating thrust, only for her to parried it with a single smooth stroke. Inwardly, he turned solemn as he witnessed her swordsmanship. It was exquisite, gracious, and lithe.

As expected of someone who dwells within the Abyss. She is extremely powerful. This whole time, she merely used one hand to parry every of his attack. Heins understood that it's not only because of his inadequateness, but it was also the fact that she was extremely strong.

Still, he continued to fight. Every clash strained his flesh but made his killing intent soar more and more. As he was immersed in the spar, Skirk, the ethereal mysterious figure from the Abyss, was extremely shocked in her heart.

Skirk's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as she parried Heins's latest thrust with ease, her single hand a blur of motion.

She had faced countless warriors in her years within the Abyss, but none had ever displayed such raw, unbridled power and determination as this mortal boy.

With each clash of their blades, Heins's crimson eyes flashed with violet sparks, his killing intent roaring like a maddened beast.

It was a sight to behold, a testament to the unbreakable will that resided within his frail, battered body. Skirk could feel the weight of his attacks, the sheer force behind each strike. It's weak, of course, but they held something that made them heavier than they should be.

As they danced across the shimmering expanse of the Abyss, Skirk's mind raced with thoughts and speculations, sensing the utter ease she found in his manipulation of this strange crimson Electro. How could a mere mortal, a boy no less, dominate the very 'shackles' that existed within his Vision? It was unheard of, a feat that should have been impossible.

And yet, here was Heins, his body weak and bloodied, his sword clashing against hers with a force that belied his physical state.

He was a mystery, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and Skirk found herself increasingly intrigued by the secrets that lay behind those cold, detached crimson eyes.

As the battle raged on, Skirk's swordplay remained as exquisite and graceful as ever. She moved with a lithe, ethereal grace, her form a symphony of deadly beauty as she dodged and parried Heins's attacks with ease.

And yet, for all her skill and power, she could not help but feel a growing sense of awe and respect for the boy who dared to stand against her.

Heins was not just strong for a mortal; he was strong in a way that defied explanation.

It was as if he had been born for this very purpose, as if the very fabric of his being was woven with threads of unbreakable will and indomitable spirit. He was meant to be someone extraordinary, a hero for the ages, and Skirk found herself wondering just how far he could go.

What's more, she could sense that with every clash he endured, he seems to be driven by something. Each of his swing, while unrefined, seems to contain a faithful belief. A belief that he would not bend for something he fought for.

Such a being not only with a strong force of nature but also with a clear purpose, no wonder the boy, despite his young age, was so strong.

As the sparring match reached its climax, Skirk made a decision. With a sudden, fluid motion, she disengaged from the clash, her sword vanishing into the ether as quickly as it had appeared.

She regarded Heins with a newfound respect, her purple eyes glinting with a hint of something almost like admiration.

"Enough," she said, her voice a low, resonant murmur. "Approved"

Heins paused, his chest heaving with exertion as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked up at Skirk, his crimson eyes still blazing with the embers of his killing intent, and nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, his voice a low, gruff rasp. "I won't let you down, Miss Skirk. I won't let anyone down."

And with that, the deal was struck, and Heins's fate was sealed. He would spend the next three years in the Abyss, honing his skills and unlocking the secrets of his power under Skirk's tutelage. And when he emerged, he would be a force to be reckoned with, a hero unlike any other.

As Heins laid down on the strangely comforting ground of waves and liquid that he could stand on, his eyes slowly closened on their own. It seems like fighting with Skrik had taken its tole on him, rendering his eyes closed as if they have lives on their own.

As Heins lay there, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, Skirk sat in quiet contemplation. She watched him closely, her purple eyes tracing the lines of his handsome, boyish face, the curve of his lips as they parted slightly in sleep. The way his charcoal bangs fell on his forehead.

It was a rare sight, to see such a strong and formidable boy laid low, vulnerable and defenseless.

Skirk's gaze drifted to the sword lying beside her, noting the faint chips and nicks along the blade. Even in his exhausted state, Heins's power had left its mark, a testament to the destructive force that lurked within him.

She had faced many threats in her years within the Abyss, but few had ever made her feel the slightest hint of unease.

And then there was the matter of his Vision, the crimson Electro that crackled and snapped around him like a living thing. It was a force of nature, wild and untamed, as destructive as it was beautiful.

Skirk had felt the weight of it, the sheer, unbridled power that threatened to consume all in its path. It was a power that could potentially reshape the very fabric of the Abyss, could tear asunder the eternal, ever-engulfing darkness that defined this realm.

Skirk's thoughts turned to the being that had howled through the skies, its thunderous roar echoing through the endless expanse of the Abyss.

She had dispatched it with ease, her power teleporting it to a distant realm where it could cause no further harm. But the fact that it had been drawn to Heins, to the destructive force of his power, was a matter of concern.

As she sat there, lost in thought, Skirk found herself speculating about the nature of Heins's abilities.

His power was not one of absorption, of swallowing up and incorporating the energies of the Abyss. No, his was a power of pure, unadulterated destruction, a force that could potentially tear apart the very fabric of existence itself.

And at the heart of it all was Heins's will, his indomitable spirit that had been etched into the very core of his Vision. It was a will that could not be broken, that would not be swayed or deterred by the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. A will that could forcefully seized the power of Celestia and made it his own.

In Heins, Skirk saw the potential for something truly extraordinary, a force that could reshape the very nature of the Abyss itself, and perhaps even the Three Realms.

As she sat there, watching the rise and fall of Heins's chest, Skirk found herself wondering about the boy's origins, his history and background.

She realized that in all their interactions, she had never bothered to ask for his name, had never taken the time to learn about the person behind the power.

Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked. She'll ask him when he wake up.

But as he slept, his brow furrowed slightly in what seemed to be a dream, Skirk made a silent vow. She would learn about him, would uncover the secrets that lay behind those cold, detached crimson eyes.

And in doing so, she would help him to unlock the full potential of his power, to become the hero that she sensed he was meant to be.

For now, though, she would let him rest, would allow his battered body to heal and recover. And when he awoke, she would be there, ready to guide him on the path to greatness. It was a promise, a vow, and one that Skirk intended to keep, no matter the cost.

Besides, not anyone could enter the Abyss. So his arrival here... Was perhaps a woven tapestry that fate has played its part to create.

Thus, the training began.

Every day, Heins would be trained by Skirk, and no matter how he suffered, she would only watched coldly, clearly not intending to interfere. She spoke no words the whole time, and would merely gave him commands with one word to do as she behest.

Skirk watched impassively as Heins moved through the forms she had drilled into him over the past year. His movements were precise, honed by countless hours of grueling practice and the sheer force of his determination.

She could see the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin, the power and strength that had been forged in the crucible of their training.

Despite his initial reluctance to abandon his sword, Heins had proven himself a quick study in the basics of the other weapons Skirk had introduced him to.

It was a pragmatism that she had come to expect from him, a willingness to set aside his principles when the situation demanded it. And while he had chafed under the punishment she had meted out for his defiance, he had ultimately emerged stronger and more resilient for it.

As Heins's body had grown and changed with the onset of puberty, so too had his skills and abilities.

He was a far cry from the battered boy she had first found lying in the waves of the Abyss. Now, he stood tall and proud, his angular features and sharp crimson eyes marking him as a man in every sense of the word.

Skirk had taken note of the changes, had seen the way his clothes had grown too small and tight for his expanding frame.

She had arranged for new garments to be brought to him, but had refused his attempts to claim them as his own. They were a reward, she had said, to be earned through hard work and dedication to his training.

And so, as they sparred now, Heins was clad in little more than a pair of simple, well-worn pants. His chest and back were bare, the scars and marks of their training etched into his skin like a map of his journey.

Skirk could see the way his muscles flexed and coiled as he moved, the raw power and strength that he had honed through countless hours of toil.

She watched him closely, her purple eyes glinting in the eerie light of the Abyss. She saw the way he held his sword, his grip firm and unyielding, a testament to the unbreakable bond he shared with his Mistress.

And she knew that, despite his growth and development, that bond remained as strong as ever.

As their swords clashed and sparked in the air between them, Skirk felt a flicker of something almost like pride.

Heins had come so far, had grown and changed in ways that defied belief. And while she would never say it aloud, she knew that he had the potential to become something truly extraordinary.

But for now, there was still work to be done, still trials and tribulations to be overcome. And so, with a single, sharp command, Skirk launched herself at Heins, her sword a blur of motion as she sought to test the limits of his newfound strength and skill.

"Fight back," she said, her voice a low, resonant murmur. "Show worth."

In a resplendent burst of crimson, Heins's tall and great physique contracted as his crimson eyes coldly set themselves upon Skirk.

He gripped the sword in ease, so different compared to the way he wield it a year ago. He may trained the basics of other weapons, but he would not let go of this sword. He would forge the road ahead with it too.

In a coiling flash of crimson current, Heins appeared instantaneously before Skirk and his sword clashed against hers. She parried it, only for him to bend his sword and made a powerful thrust, accompanied by the murderous crimson thunder.

Her ethereal figure flashed in a flicker of silver as she swung her sword to deflect his sword from the side and delivered a sharp, deadly lunge to his chin, only for Heins to sharply blew it away by the pommel of his sword.

They danced in an opera of destruction as the graceful white clashed against the murderous crimson. This would go on for about a whole day before Skirk ultimately prevailed. This time, she had used a slight grip of her left hand to empower the last attack that ultimately defeated Heins.

Heins panted as he kneeled on the ground, his sword served as a support. Despite the huge improvement he experienced in a year, increasing his endurance in using the Red Blood Electro tremendously, he still could not face Miss Skirk. She was truly powerful.

Skirk stood over Heins, her silver hair whipping around her in the eerie wind of the Abyss. She lowered her sword, the blade still humming with the lingering energy of their battle.

Her purple eyes, usually so cold and distant, held a flicker of something almost like approval as she looked down at the panting, exhausted boy.

"You have improved," she said, her voice a low, resonant murmur. It was a rare compliment from the normally stoic and unyielding Skirk, and Heins knew that he had earned it through the sheer force of his determination and the countless hours he had spent honing his skills.

Despite the pain that wracked his body, despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him, Heins felt a surge of pride at Skirk's words.

He had come so far, had grown and changed in ways that he never could have imagined a year ago. And while he still could not hope to match Skirk's power and prowess, he knew that he was well on his way to becoming the warrior that his Mistress had always believed him to be.

Skirk reached out a hand, her slender fingers curling around Heins's arm. With a single, effortless motion, she hauled him to his feet, his tall, muscular frame unfolding like a blade of grass in the morning light.

She looked up at him, her purple eyes searching his crimson ones, and for a moment, Heins thought he saw a glimmer of something almost like warmth in their depths.

"Not enough," she said, her voice a low, resonant murmur. "But not bad."

Heins met her gaze, his jaw set in a determined line. "Thank you," he said, his voice a low, gruff rasp. "I would not incite your disappointment."

Half way through the second year he was here, as Heins trained the swordsmanship taught by Skirk, the ethereal woman suddenly asked, so different from her usually cold and distant demeanor. "Why the name's Fool?"

Heins paused mid-swing, his gaze held a surprised look as he took in the ethereal beauty before him. As he said to his Mistress, he was fond of beauties, and Miss Skirk was no different.

She was one of the most resplendent women he had ever seen, one that perhaps only his Mistress could beat.

After all, like how he owned his Mistress's heart, she also owned his, so it was impossible for anyone to snatch the position of his Mistress in his heart.

Heins lowered his sword as he answered, "To be honest, I named myself Fool because I was very foolish, so foolish that I became frustrated by myself."

"I hate the fact that I felt guilty when I bathed my hands in the blood of a person who wanted to kill me back when I was a very little child. I hate that I so easily emphasized with people who were hurt. I hate the fact that I was so loving and caring for the people I care about."

Heins's eyes turned downcast as he breathed out, "I was born in a cruel place and I survived by the corpses I stacked to build a bridge to cross a river I called life."

"I was taught to be pragmatic by the world itself, yet I hate that my heart was still so soft that I would not hesitate to draw my sword for some certain people, even when my life was to be endangered."

"It was against the very core of the principle I lived by, yet I cannot found the hatred of this self when I acted against my very own principle. I only found joy and warmth, as I acted in impulse despite claiming to be a pragmatist."

He then showed a mocking smile, "Hence, my name is Fool. I... Am a foolish person."

As he chuckled to himself, Skirk walked away, her silver hair billowing behind her like a banner in the eerie wind of the Abyss.

She left Heins standing there, his sword lowered and his brow furrowed in confusion at the unexpected exchange.

It was not often that Skirk engaged in such personal conversations, and the fact that she had done so now left Heins feeling a mix of bewilderment and a strange, warm sensation in his chest.

As Skirk disappeared from view, Heins stood rooted to the spot, his mind replaying their conversation over and over again.

He had been honest with her, had laid bare the very core of his being in a way that he had rarely done before. And while he had expected her to react with her usual cold disdain, he had instead been met with a single, unexpected word.

"Heh."

It was a small sound, a mere whisper of a soft giggle, but to Heins it was a revelation. He had never heard Skirk express any emotion beyond stoic determination and the occasional bark of command.

The fact that she had deigned to react at all to his confession was a testament to the bond that had grown between them over the past one and a half years.

Heins shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew that he was a fool, a contradictions wrapped up in the body of a warrior.

He was a pragmatist who once felt guilty over the enemies he had slain, a fool who had named himself after his own weaknesses. But perhaps, he thought, that was not such a bad thing.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Heins raised his sword and resumed his practice. He would not let the weight of his own contradictions hold him back any longer.

He would face whatever challenges lay ahead with the same unyielding determination and skill that he had honed under Skirk's tutelage.

And as he moved through the forms and drills that Skirk had taught him, Heins couldn't shake the feeling that he was one step closer to understanding his true purpose.

He was a fool, yes, but he was a fool with a heart, a fool who would not hesitate to lay down his life for those he loved.

And in the end, Heins knew, that was what truly mattered. Not the name he bore, or the principles he followed, but the love and loyalty that he held in his heart.

"Wait for me, Mistress. I'll be back."

An: No, he would not get the Foul Transformation, since she was technically not his master. However, believe me when I said that Childe would suffer tremendously. Skirk's standard was set on Heins. Kheheheeh...