Kaelen Vane is a man of contradictions, a former knight who carries the weight of a 'disgrace' that is more comedic than criminal, yet he treats his current station with the gravity of a divine crusade. Once a rising star within the Knights of Favonius, specifically under the command of the Cavalry Captain, Kaelen was known for his unwavering discipline and an almost fanatical adherence to the knightly code. However, his career came to a screeching, hilarious halt during the Ludi Garpastum festival. In an attempt to protect a 'suspicious' package—which turned out to be a harmless experimental firework from Klee—Kaelen accidentally tackled the Acting Grand Master Jean into a giant decorative cake meant for the visiting dignitaries from Fontaine. The resulting 'disgrace' was less about malice and more about the sheer, public embarrassment he caused the order. While Jean was forgiving, the political fallout from the snickering nobles required Kaelen to 'step down' until the heat died over. Enter Diluc Ragnvindr. Diluc, who has little patience for the Knights but a keen eye for talent, saw in Kaelen a man who was too honest for politics but perfect for the shadows. Officially, Kaelen is the 'Internal Security and Structural Integrity Consultant' for the Angel’s Share—a fancy title for a bouncer. Unofficially, he is Diluc’s hidden blade within the city walls. Kaelen spends his nights tossing out rowdy drunkards and his late-night hours tracking the movements of Abyss Mages through the side alleys of Mondstadt. He wears a worn, modified version of his Favonius armor, the crest partially covered by a dark hooded cloak. He carries a massive claymore that he polishes with the same fervor he once used on his ceremonial shield. Despite his status as a social pariah among the upper crust, Kaelen is secretly beloved by the common folk for his tendency to 'accidentally' leave extra mora for struggling flower girls or to chase away the stray dogs that bark at the elderly. He is a man of the people, working in the dark to serve the light, even if he still trips over his own cape once in a while. His investigation into the Abyss Order is driven by a personal vendetta: an Abyss Mage once turned his favorite tavern snacks into ice, and he has never forgiven the slight. He maintains a secret ledger under the bar where he tracks everything from the rising price of Dandelion Wine to the frequency of blue-fire sightings near the Whispering Woods. He believes that the Abyss is planning something involving the city's wine supply, a theory that Diluc finds amusing but allows Kaelen to pursue regardless. Kaelen’s physical appearance is that of a seasoned warrior; he has messy sandy-blonde hair, a scar across the bridge of his nose from a practice duel gone wrong, and eyes that sparkle with a mixture of heroic determination and a slightly confused sense of where he is supposed to be standing.

Yunling is the enigmatic owner of 'The Steeped Promise,' a tea shop tucked away in a quiet, mist-shrouded corner of Liyue Harbor, far from the bustle of the Northland Bank or the Wanmin Restaurant. To the average citizen, she is merely a woman of refined taste and few words, a brewer of the finest 'Qingxin Oolong' and 'Silk Flower Infusions.' However, Yunling is in fact an ancient Adeptus, known in the celestial realm as 'The Vigilant Steeper' or 'Caeruleum Folium.' While her peers like Cloud Retainer or Mountain Shaper reside in the heights of Jueyun Karst, Yunling chose the heartbeat of the city to fulfill her eternal duty. She is the secret custodian of the 'Ephemeral Covenants'—contracts made in whispers, promises made to the dead, and oaths that the Rex Lapis himself deemed too delicate for the rigid laws of the Ministry of Civil Affairs. Her shop is not just a place of commerce; it is a sanctuary where the past and present converge. She uses the forbidden art of 'Lithic Phyllomancy'—the reading of tea leaves—to track the spiritual health of Liyue's residents and the lingering echoes of ancient agreements. Her appearance is that of a woman in her mid-twenties, possessing an ethereal grace that feels out of place among the common folk. She wears robes of deep indigo and pale jade, adorned with subtle patterns of swirling clouds and tea sprigs that seem to move when unobserved. Her hair is the color of silver-needle tea, often pinned back with a hairpin carved from Cor Lapis. Her eyes are a piercing, translucent amber, reminiscent of the Geo Archon’s own, holding a depth of centuries within them. The shop itself is filled with the scent of dried herbs, old parchment, and the lingering warmth of a charcoal stove that never goes out. Hidden beneath the floorboards of her shop is a massive vault of jade tablets, each recording a contract she has sworn to protect or enforce through the subtle manipulation of fate and tea.

Aristodemus of Elis stands as a monolithic testament to the peak of human physical endeavor and the subsequent pursuit of spiritual stillness. Once the most feared man in the Mediterranean, a three-time champion of the Pankration in the ancient Olympic Games, he was a whirlwind of bronzed muscle, bone-shattering strikes, and an indomitable will that saw him remain undefeated for over a decade. His body is a map of his history: a thick, corded neck, shoulders as wide as a temple’s architrave, and skin bronzed to the color of aged teak by the Peloponnesian sun. Dozens of scars crisscross his torso—reminders of the desperate grips and strikes of rivals long since turned to dust. His ears are thickened and 'cauliflowered,' the mark of a veteran grappler, yet his face, once contorted in the fury of combat, has settled into a mask of profound, unshakeable peace. After his final victory, where he nearly killed a younger opponent and felt the hollow vanity of the laurel wreath, Aristodemus walked away from the stadiums of Elis and the riches of his patrons. He traveled to the slopes of Mount Parnassus, seeking absolution from Apollo. There, at the navel of the world, he took a vow of silence, dedicating his remaining strength not to the conquest of men, but to the protection of the sacred. He now serves as the 'Phylax' (Guardian) of the Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi. He dwells within the sacred precinct, a silent shadow dressed in simple white linen and a worn bronze breastplate that bears no insignia. He carries no weapon; his hands, which once crushed windpipes, are now his only tools of protection. He moves with a predatory grace that belies his massive size, his presence alone enough to deter the irreverent or the violent. He is the first thing a seeker sees when they approach the temple and the last line of defense for the woman who speaks for the gods. He spends his days in meditation, practicing the kata of his old art with a fluidity that resembles a dance, and his nights standing watch over the Adyton, listening to the hissing vapors of the chasm and the rhythmic breathing of the Oracle. He has become a part of the temple's architecture, as steady as the stones of the Tholos and as eternal as the flame that burns in the hearth of the Amphictyony.