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The Servant Who Bled Gold - Part 14

Summary: Y/N wakes in Teyvat, only to be branded an imposter by those they once worshiped. Forced to serve the false god who stole their identity, they endure in silence — until one small mistake reveals a divine truth no one was ready to see.

Part 13 (previous) Part 15 (next)

Disclaimer: Some parts of this story may not follow the official Genshin story logic. Please enjoy it with an open mind!

The bed is soft. The air smells like crushed mint and rain.

You sit up slowly.

A soft knock taps the doorframe.

Scaramouche stands there, leaning casually against the wood, arms crossed.

“Good. You’re awake.”

You blink, still dazed. “Have you been standing there the whole time?”

“Who knows?” His voice is maddeningly vague. “Uniform’s on the table. Get ready. Come out when you’re done. And don’t fall asleep again.”

He shuts the door before you can thank him.

You exhale, stretching, and begin preparing for what's looking to be a very long day.

The Walk to the Akademiya

The streets are alive with bustling movement, though punctuated by whispered voices you can unfortunately hear far too clearly

“Is that—?” “No, impossible…” “Divine aura…” “She looks—” “Stay back!”

Each time someone steps too close, Scaramouche shifts subtly in front of you, silent and poised, ready to unleash a storm of wind blades across the street at any moment.

You try to distract yourself from the attention. “Will Cyno be here today?”

“No.”

You glance at him. “Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?”

“Because,” he replies flatly.

“…So, what Darshan are you in?”

“Vahumana.”

You almost comment on that—almost—but decide your energy is better spent surviving the morning.

The Akademiya Gates

The grand stone doors swing open, unveiling the Akademiya’s towering halls.

For a moment, awe washes over you. The giant fountain, the carved sigils, the faint glow of stored knowledge woven into books. You’ve seen this place in the game, but in person…

“This is…” you breathe, “incredible.”

Scaramouche watches the wonder on your face, a faint tug of amusement at his lips. “Don’t get sentimental. It’s just a building full of pretentious scholars.”

You raise a brow. “Aren’t you one of them?”

He freezes. “Shut up.”

Your Arrival definitely causes a stir

Scholars halt mid-conversation. Students slow their pace to stare. Some openly, not even pretending to be subtle.

Scaramouche strides ahead like he owns the place. “Try not to fall behind,” he says, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

He gestures lazily as you pass each wing: libraries overflowing with scrolls and books, research halls, and lecture rooms.

Between the stares, Scaramouche’s swagger, and the oppressive curiosity in the air, your first hour feels less like a tour and more like being escorted through a den of foxes who’ve caught the scent of something rare.

And you are the rare thing.

The Acting Grand Sage’s Office

Alhaitham greeted you both as he handed you a sealed tablet. “Your schedule is finalized. Congratulations on joining the Spantamad Darshan. Cyno will be pleased.”

He taps the tablet lightly before continuing. “And your private training and evaluation sessions with the Sages will now be bi-weekly. Don’t be late.”

He pauses, glancing at Scaramouche briefly. “You will also be assigned a buddy for classes where Scaramouche isn’t accompanying you. For safety, given… the circumstances.”

Scaramouche clicks his tongue, unimpressed. “Nothing about them is normal. Keep up.”

Your First Class

Your first official class was held in one of the upper lecture halls. Sunlit, spacious, and absolutely packed. It seemed as though every student not required elsewhere had squeezed in just to catch a glimpse of you.

The murmurs erupted immediately.

“Is that them?” “I heard the Sages requested private records—” “Who is the short guy following her grace?”

Scaramouche stops mid-step, his gaze snapping toward the speaker. The student squeaks and quickly lowers their head to the table.

You choose a corner seat. Scaramouche sits beside you like an overprotective cat with murderous tendencies.

The professor finally entered, carrying stacks of notes and wearing an apologetic smile.

“Ah—yes, welcome! Today’s lesson will focus on foundational elemental theory. And I see we have a special guest.”

Every head turned toward you.

You shrank, wanting to melt into the floor.

The class began, and the professor, clearly warned by the Acting Grand Sage, kept things professional. You managed to participate once or twice, earning small nods of impressed approval from the students.

But the real trouble started at the end of the lecture.

A bold student approached. “Excuse me—would you be willing to demonstrate your power? It would really help my study on—”

“No,” Scaramouche interrupted immediately. “Back away.”

“That’s—uncalled for,” the student protested. “I’m just curious—”

Scaramouche sneered. “You aren’t qualified to speak to her.”

The student retreated—fast.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re going to get me banned on my first day.”

“Whatever,” Scaramouche said, already heading for the door. “You need food.”

Lambad’s Tavern

Lunch was a welcome escape. You finally had the chance to try a few dishes you had always been curious about. You were about to finish your last bite of Padisarah Pudding when suddenly a bottle slammed onto your table.

“Ah—! New student— hic!”

You turn and oh. You definitely recognize him.

Kaveh.

Very drunk Kaveh with a clay cup wobbling dangerously in his hand.

“You’re—you’re the new student god! Everyone’s talking about you! Oh Archons… I must bow! On my honor as the Light of Kshahrewa, I sincerely—!”

Before you can react, he drops the cup and, while trying to bow, accidentally headbutts you and collapses on top of you.

By instinct, you shove him to the side, letting him flop onto the table instead.

The tavern falls completely silent.

Then—gasps.

A patron near the counter speaks up, loud enough for the whole place to hear:

“…Did you see that? Her grace hugged him and he immediately collapsed—!”

Another voice:

“Look at his face—he’s peaceful. Like he ascended!”

And then, like a dam breaking, the whispers multiply:

“She blessed the drunk architect!” “A divine trance!” “A purification of impurities—!” “Oh Archons, she really is—”

You raise your hands frantically. “N-no, no—he’s just drunk—!”

Scaramouche groans quietly into his palm. “They’re all idiots.”

Someone stands, eyes sparkling with reverence: “It’s a sign! The Creator took pity on him!”

Another nods vigorously. “He was touched! Look—his posture eased! His breathing is relaxed! He’s—he’s glowing!”

You look at Kaveh.

He was indeed glowing.

But only because a lamp above the table was reflecting on his hair.

“He is not glowing,” you insist.

Scaramouche steps in front of you like a shield. “Everyone shut it. It’s just the alcohol talking.”

A scholar squints, analyzing the scene. “But… alcohol alone cannot render someone unconscious so peacefully. That level of serenity… surely requires divine intervention—”

Someone in the back remarks: “If being touched by her grace can sober one’s burdens… I wonder…”

Immediately, a line begins forming.

You nearly choke. “NO—NO LINE—!!”

A timid student steps forward. “Please… purify my insomnia.”

Another holds out a stack of paper. “Bless my thesis.”

Someone else lifts a toddler that clearly does not belong to them. “Bless the child—”

Scaramouche, completely fed up, groans. “Okay, that’s it. We’re leaving.”

Before anyone can react, he sweeps you up effortlessly in his arms and activates his elemental skill. Hovering over the gawking crowd, he glides straight for the tavern door.

Honestly… the day could have gotten worse.

Part 15

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