Chapter Text
The war began in the year 1900, three Tsaritsas ago.
Back then, the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya held a burning desire in her heart: to claim back the lands she called rightfully hers. With her decree, legions of soldiers poured over borders. It began with quick and brutal invasions into the surrounding nations. But her eyes, more than anything, were set on one place: Khaenri’ah.
Within a few short years, Khaenri’ah was swallowed whole. Entire cities fell in silence, their monuments desecrated and their culture pushed into the shadows. Desperate, Liyue rallied what was left of the fractured nations. Through sheer determination, they managed to drive the Snezhnayan forces back. But not far enough. Though they reclaimed land inch by inch, Snezhnaya’s grip over Khaenri’ah remained strong.
The Tsaritsa entrenched her rule there. Soldiers patrolled the streets, and the name of Khaenri’ah was gradually scrubbed from history. The people of Khaenri’ah were stripped of their language and their customs. Speaking their native tongue, singing ancestral songs, or practicing their culture could cost them their lives. The Khaenri’ahns lived like ghosts in their own homeland, slowly dwindling in number. Some were lucky enough to flee to the east, toward the freedoms of Mondstadt, or south, into the deserts of Sumeru.
Then, the century ended. It was January 6, 2000.
The old Tsaritsa fell, and a new one rose in her place. The change brought not peace, but a renewed hunger for control. The new Tsaritsa was ruthless. She extended her influence into Mondstadt and Natlan. Fontaine especially bore the brunt of her campaign. The land of justice fractured under the pressure, constantly expending its resources on defending against the attacks.
The Fontanian people, tired of poverty and violence, began to rise, not just against Snezhnaya, but against one another. Rebel groups formed like splinters in the dark, turning their eyes south: Chenyu Vale. Claiming rights to the region, the rebels descended on the peaceful valley. Villages were razed. Families vanished overnight. But Chenyu Vale did not stand alone for long.
From the golden peaks of Liyue, a new force emerged: Morax. Young, brilliant, and unshakable, he was the youngest general ever appointed in Liyue’s military. Where others hesitated, he acted. With an iron will and a strategist’s mind, Morax sent reinforcements across to defend his nation. Under his command, the rebels were pushed back.
By his side, though often against his wishes, was Guizhong, his beloved wife. A scholar turned field medic, as graceful as she was defiant. She begged to follow him into war, and when he refused, she went anyway, slipping past the guards to join him on the front lines. Morax was furious at first, but her skills proved invaluable. While he led battles, she organized evacuations, guiding civilians out of burning towns and war-torn valleys.
It was in Nod Krai that fate struck its cruelest blow.
April 27, 2008. Guizhong had just begun evacuating a settlement when Snezhnayan scouts spotted her. They knew what she meant to Morax. She was the key to breaking Morax’s morale.
They struck. Hard.
Guizhong was slain amid the flames of a crumbling city, never knowing if the innocent people had made it to safety.
Grief ignited rage. On May 6, 2008, less than two weeks later, Morax marched directly into the frozen heart of Snezhnaya. Against impossible odds, he breached the capital walls and faced the Tsaritsa herself. Their battle shook the sky. When the smoke cleared, she was gone. And with her fall, the war ended.
But Morax would not live to see the peace he had forged. Wracked with wounds and a heart hollowed by loss, he returned to Liyue one last time. Days later, he passed away. A nation wept. A world mourned. And history gave him a title: The Great General.
In Inazuma, the Shogunate, wanting to preserve her country, closed her borders. But the isolationist policy crippled the economy. Trade collapsed. A quiet civil war began, small but bloody, as merchants and townsfolk rebelled against isolation.
The rebellion raged on for five long years. Finally, in 2012, the Shogunate relented. The borders were reopened. The civil war ended not with fanfare, but with exhausted relief.
Years passed. The fires of war cooled. From the ashes, a new Tsaritsa rebuilt her nation, not with weapons, but with diplomacy. She reached out to the other nations. Slowly, painfully, forgiveness came. Trust followed, like sunlight after a storm.
And then came a proposal.
A new kind of venture. A televised experiment in love, cooperation, and spectacle.
A reality show set under the sun and by the sea. The Tsaritsa, eager to show the world her nation’s changed heart, offered full funding.
That’s how this show came to be.
Love Island Teyvat.