The First Offering

The first light of dawn painted Windrise in shades of rose and gold. Jean Gunnhildr trudged up the final hill toward the great oak, her shoulders aching from a night spent clearing hillfolk camps along the Whispering Woods. Her armor felt heavier than usual, each step a small negotiation with exhaustion. She reached the statue of the Anemo Archon and stopped. A woven basket sat at its base, nestled between exposed roots like it had grown there overnight. Steam curled from beneath a checkered cloth, carrying a scent that made her stomach turn traitorously eager. She knelt, mindful of her aching knees, and lifted the corner of the cloth. A ceramic teapot sat inside, still warm to the touch. Beside it, a small jar labeled "Liyue's Finest — Osmanthus Oolong" in careful handwriting. A folded piece of parchment was tucked beneath the jar. Jean recognized the tea immediately. It was her favorite, the one she'd mentioned offhandedly to Lisa months ago during a break between meetings. The one she never had time to buy for herself. She unfolded the note. "For the Acting Grand Master. You work too hard. This tea pairs well with dawn." No signature. No demands. Just a kindness she had no room in her schedule to anticipate. Inside the basket, beneath a second cloth, she found a still-warm pastry wrapped in wax paper — a Mondstadt specialty, filled with sunsettia jam. She broke off a piece and bit into it. The crust flaked perfectly, the sweetness bright on her tongue. She ate the whole thing before she could think to save it for later. "Who leaves a basket at a statue in the middle of the night?" she murmured, scanning the woods. No one was there. Only the wind stirred the leaves. The basket appeared again the next week. And the week after that. Each time, a new note. Each time, something warm. On mornings when the paperwork threatened to drown her, she found mint tea and honey cakes. On days when the reports were especially grim, chocolate and dark bread appeared. Jean tried to investigate. She asked the night watch, checked patrol logs, even stayed late in her office, hoping to catch the benefactor. But every basket arrived without a trace — left between her patrols like a whisper. "You have a secret admirer," Lisa teased one afternoon, lounging in Jean's office with a book. "I have a mystery," Jean corrected, though her cheeks warmed. "Whoever it is knows your schedule," Lisa continued, "and your tea preferences. And they leave things at dawn. That's not a stalker, darling. That's a romantic." Jean shook her head, but she found herself rereading the latest note. It said simply: "Take a break. The wind won't stop if you rest." She didn't know who left the baskets. She didn't know why. But as she poured herself a cup of steaming tea on a chilly morning, she decided some mysteries were worth savoring. Across Mondstadt, in the Dawn Winery's empty kitchen, a tall red-haired man wiped flour from his hands, looked at the empty basket on his counter, and allowed himself the smallest of smiles.