Fischl had the day off from her Adventurer's Guild duties, her usual patrols swapped for a rare chance to roam Mondstadt's lively streets at her leisure.
As she drifted past the plaza's edge, a bard's lilting voice caught her ear, weaving a tale that tugged her closer with every dramatic flourish.
She edged into the crowd, her gothic flair cutting a striking figure, and found herself hooked by the story of eight children battling Digimon in a strange digital realm.
Their partnered creatures evolved and fought beside them, clashing with monstrous evils—an echo of her bond with Oz, her raven familiar perched on her shoulder.
If Oz could grow stronger through such a tale, wouldn't that elevate her standing as the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, the sovereign of shadowed realms?
Then the bard—Wendy, she realized—dropped a bombshell: a shop called Galehaven Comics offered rewards for reading, like the Meowthmon prancing at his feet.
Fischl's pulse quickened, her mind alight with possibility. "A mere minstrel dares not fathom the grandeur of meine Nachtpureland—his petty magics pale before my sovereign gaze."
"Yet, I, the Prinzessin, shall deign to inspect this so-called bookstore, easing the burdens of my cosmic duty—its keepers should tremble with honor!" she declared, her chuunibyou flair in full bloom as she set off for the alley Wendy named.
Back at the plaza, Wendy's performance wound down, his lyre's final notes fading as the crowd thinned, leaving murmurs of awe in their wake.
"That was a solid tale—Wendy's got skills; now I'm itching to grab Digimon: First Frontier myself," Paimon said, zipping forward to greet him with a grin.
"You're here too—perfect, let's hit up Galehaven Comics together!" Wendy chirped, his smile bright as he spotted Lumine and her floating sidekick.
Lumine blinked, her expression flattening. "Wait, what?"
Paimon mirrored her, eyes wide. "Hold up—seriously?"
Hadn't they just snagged the Sky Lyre to save Stormterror—shouldn't that be the priority, not a comic run?
Were they fugitives for nothing while this bard daydreamed about stories?
Wendy chuckled, waving off their stares. "Relax, I'm kidding—mostly."
Lumine and Paimon traded skeptical glances—left to his own devices, he'd probably have bolted to Harlan's shop without a second thought.
"Let's head to Master Diluc's instead," Wendy suggested, his tone shifting to something marginally more serious.
"Diluc?" Lumine echoed, tilting her head as Paimon hovered closer, intrigued.
"Yeah, I crashed at his tavern last night—he's agreed to broker a chat with Jean about Stormterror, so come along," Wendy explained, beckoning them with a casual strum.
The Traveler's aid was still key, and he wasn't above leaning on her knack for smoothing over chaos—like their current wanted status.
"Alright," Lumine agreed, a flicker of relief softening her features—clearing their names with Jean sounded far better than dodging patrols indefinitely.
Meanwhile, Fischl's swift strides carried her to Galehaven Comics' door, her raven Oz flapping beside her as she took in the unassuming storefront.
"This is the place—destiny's nexus awaits!" she proclaimed, her voice ringing with theatrical gusto as she stepped inside with purpose.
"Welcome, Miss Fischl," Harlan Flint greeted from behind the counter, his tone warm and steady, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Fischl's head snapped up, her single visible eye narrowing as she studied the dark-haired young man—handsome, calm, and somehow unsurprised by her arrival.
"You… dare to know the Prinzessin?" she asked, surprise lacing her grandiose air, though Wendy's hype about the shop's magic eased her shock.
She straightened, launching into her ritual introduction. "Hear me—I am Fischl, sovereign of the Nachtpureland, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, she who sundered Eden and forged a realm apart!"
"I weigh all sins of this world, my gaze piercing the veils of truth—tremble before my cosmic verdict!" she continued, her voice a melodious thunder that filled the shop.
Amber and Eula, engrossed in their comics across the room, froze mid-page, their heads swiveling toward the eyepatched girl radiating chuunibyou energy.
"Who's this walking theater troupe—and why's she so… extra?" Eula muttered, her cool demeanor faltering as she struggled for words.
Normal people didn't strut in spouting lines like that—yet here stood this enigma, blindfold and all, defying mundane logic.
"Lisa mentioned she's a sweet kid who loves books, but this… this is a lot," Amber whispered, her scout's curiosity warring with bemusement.
The Fischl of rumors—a diligent investigator—clashed wildly with this over-the-top persona now commanding the room.
Oz, perched calmly, cut in with a smooth translation. "My mistress means she's an Adventurer's Guild investigator—pleased to meet you, boss."
He'd weathered her dramatics countless times, his tone unflappable as he bridged her flair to reality for the baffled onlookers.
"Here for comics? It's 100,000 Mora a read, one book per day," Harlan said, his smile unfazed by her theatrics as he gestured to the shelves.
"Rejoice, for the Prinzessin shall grace thy tomes—thy legacy shall bask in my favor for eons!" Fischl intoned, her grandeur unwavering.
Harlan's brow quirked slightly, prompting a cough from Oz. "Ahem, she's happy to take a look—here's the payment."
Fischl fished out a pouch of 100,000 Mora with a flourish, her Guild earnings making the sum a trifle for such a cosmic quest.
"Over there," Harlan directed, nodding toward the bookshelf as he pocketed the coins and resumed his tea-sipping vigil.
Fischl strode forward, Oz gliding at her side, her eyes scanning the titles: One Piece: East Sea Saga, Digimon: First Frontier, Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai!, and more.
She'd aimed for Digimon, dreaming of an evolved Oz to match her regal mystique—perhaps a raven-turned-Leomon to strike awe into foes.
But Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai! snagged her gaze, its title whispering to her soul, a dark thread of fate tugging at her instincts.
"Art thou the tome bound to meine destiny? Verily, I claim thee as my contract!" she proclaimed, seizing the comic with a triumphant air.
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