The Cryo Sovereign's Secret

The sky tore open.

From beyond the veil, Ronovoa, the Shade of Death, emerged—formless, vast, and absolute. Her presence did not arrive with thunder, but with stillness—the kind that comes just before the world forgets how to breathe. Her eyes, wide and hollow, turned upon the Seven Sovereigns who stood below, assembled not as rulers, but as instruments of final war.

VlastMoroz, Sovereign of Cryo, had shed all mortal shape. Her true form towered above continents—a leviathan forged of frost and silence. Her body, scaled and endless, could coil thrice around the nation of Mondstadt and leave no sky untouched. Where she passed, warmth fled, and time itself seemed to slow, reluctant to move beneath her shadow.

Zephyr, Sovereign of Anemo, bore no flesh, no bone. His form was the wind unshaped—boundless, ageless, impossible. His wings, woven from pure current, stretched across the skies of Teyvat and beyond. Each beat collapsed distance itself, and the ley lines bowed in resonance to his passing. He was motion incarnate, the breath between seconds.

Raiclaus, Sovereign of Electro, descended like calamity made flesh. Her body was a fusion of blade and storm, with no scales—only shards. Her wings split the heavens like serrated lightning. Each breath summoned a thunderstorm; each gaze left blood to curdle in the veins of the living. She did not roar—she screamed through the air itself.

Apep, Sovereign of Dendro, rose in endless coils. Her serpentine body was crowned in luminous roots, her scales replaced by bark and blooming emerald light. Twin streaks of glowing energy coursed down her length, pulsing with ancient life. Her gaze was the memory of forests long dead and the promise of their return—beautiful, unrelenting, eternal.

Xiuhcoatl, Sovereign of Pyro, emerged in a blaze that split the sky. A colossal serpent with eight flaming wings and arms like molten spears, his form shimmered with volcanic rage. His horns curved like scorched blades, and from his jaw poured breath hot enough to hollow mountains. Around his head danced fire and ash like a crown of mourning.

Neuvillette, Sovereign of Hydro, stood without wings. His draconic form was built for the deep—four legs, a sweeping tail, and the weight of pressure itself. He did not rise into the air, he drew the heavens downward. The moment he appeared, the atmosphere bent, and all who saw him felt as if the ocean had returned to reclaim what it was owed.

Varnak'Thul, Sovereign of Geo, did not emerge. He was already there. A monolith mistaken for mountain, motionless until now. His body was layered stone and luminous fault lines, a continent unto itself. When he shifted, the earth wailed. No wings carried him—he summoned the land to rise in his place. Where others moved with force, he moved with finality.

Varnak'Thul spoke in silence.

"They have arrived."

At once, the Sovereigns turned. All eyes shifted toward the breach in the heavens—toward Ronovoa, the Herald of the Heavenly Principles. The Shade of Death hovered, untethered to form, cloaked in a thousand unknowable shadows.

"So... the hour of war is upon us?" Xiuhcoatl asked, his voice rumbling like burning stone.

"This is no time for restraint," Raiclaus said with a razor smile. "Out of all of you, I've waited for this moment the longest."

Neuvillette stood unmoving. His words poured like deep ocean currents—soft, but heavy.

"This time, justice will not be forgotten. It will be served."

"What's going on?" Dolores gasped. "Lord Zephyr— all the Sovereigns are here. Why are we not attacking? Why is the Shade of Death just... standing there?"

Seraphyx trembled at the sight, awe straining the edges of his voice.

"Mother... did you know? Did you always know we would witness this day?"

From above, Ronovoa spoke—and when she did, her voice came in echoes of many: ancient, layered, fragmented.

"Astounding... some of you have rebuilt your Authority from nothing."

"Without even destroying a single Divine Throne."

The wind stirred unnaturally as Zephyr smirked, voice like a breath on a blade.

"Those who turn against the Locals… those who never belonged to this world… only learn what exile feels like when it happens to them."

Apep turned her gaze toward Cryo's Sovereign, voice quiet and reverent.

"Your plan worked, VlastMoroz. Flawlessly."

A long silence followed—broken only by the hush of drifting snow. Then came the whisper:

"I could not have done it without you," said Mother Rosen, her voice barely above silence, and yet heard by all.