Story

If one were to listen to the chattier members of the Adventurers’ Guild, they’d hear whispers of somebody known as the Favoured Moon of Mondstadt. A bit of a local legend, based off of an old Inazuman fairytale.

The Favoured Moon is none other than the Knights’ own Medical Captain, Ohm Ambros. A title subscribed to him by a family legacy he somehow manages to upkeep along with his regular duties. 

There is debate, of course, whether or not it’s just a title or if the things of the fairytale are real. But if one were to watch close enough, the way Ohm makes friends wherever he goes, securing favours in the forms of connections and artifacts, in the forms of promises and wishes to be kept. Even in the way he gets anybody and everybody to trust him with that charming smile.

Perhaps.. There is something more to the supposed fairytale his extra title comes from. 

If one were to stand close enough to Ohm, they’d find he always smells of mint. And if they ask him about it, he’ll produce a fresh mint plant with a smile. How or where he acquired it will somehow always be a mystery.

It’s rare for Ohm to speak about himself, he’ll say it’s because he thinks he’s boring. But it’s the times he claims such he’ll rake his fingers through his hair with a smile, an unfortunate tell of nervousness. 

Those who are close enough to the doctor are the brothers he grew up with when he was young. Though the three of them rarely talk of one another, there’s a silent agreement between them to bury the past. And so they have. 

Ohm is an enigma to many, but a very constant and open person to others. He manages this flawlessly and without very much effort. All he cares about is the appearance he has personally handcrafted.

When Ohm was five he had already shown great potential in the art of alchemy. His brother was not far behind. And when he was ten they were sent away to Snezhnaya in an undisclosed location to study it.

And yet, he no longer practices the art of alchemy. Many have asked why, given his incredible proficiency in the art. He has never given a straight answer. But sometimes when he produces mint flawlessly, or he always has a flower on hand for the children of Mondstadt, one can get a glimpse of his skill.

The first year of studying he came back for the holidays, and then he was shipped away again. This was the last time he had seen his parents. And it wouldn’t be until he returned three years later alone would he get news of their untimely passing, following the passing of his brother. 

This devastated the teenager further and he vowed to never touch alchemy again despite his ability to bring life from nothing. Ohm doesn’t talk about the academy or just what exactly he studied. Nor does he speak of his brother. No he much preferred his mother’s chipped old blade to the gentle alchemical process. 

“If I can’t bring them back what’s the point of alchemy?” He had once asked Master Crepus, the father of his friends. He was never questioned again on his lack of use. It became a quiet promise from the town of Mondstadt, due to their inability to find him and inform him, that they wouldn’t ask again. 

When Ohm was only fifteen he disappeared from Mondstadt for several months. Though he did not speak of what he did while away for such a long time, he came back with markings that raised a lot of questions from those close enough to ask him.

And though he did not answer these questions with anything more than a shrug, he also displayed a new set of abilities that he couldn’t particularly hide. The ability to blink from one location to the other was new, but so was his sudden want to join the Knights of Favonius.

Ohm had been imbued with adeptal energy, something most mortals struggle to contain. Though the extent of these abilities has yet to be tested by the captain, it can be assumed the power he now wields is rather great. 

However this has also left him with a lasting curse, too. A karmic debt that often only afflicted the Adepti, seems to have begun to dig its claws into him, too. For a mortal he manages it well. But he also has to wonder when the day he may fall to the darkness might come. 

When he was twenty he was left with a package at the Knights’ Headquarters, a mask that resembled one of the Inazuman kitsune masks he had seen when he was a child. The white mask and the familiar blue markings it holds is his most physical tie to the debt he signed a contract for.

To those of Mondstadt, the Ambros family name means little more than a sad tale in the nation’s long book. However, in a now closed off nation, the Ambros clan were once feared and respected for their gifts. Favoured by Celestia, they brought great pride to their village. Now.. The family line has dwindled down to two, a stark disappointment to the once great clan.

The Ambros clan were said to have been favoured long before the purview of the Seven, long before Teyvat was formed. Some say they were mortals, others say they descend from the Divine. Their legacy washed away with the passing of time has left only a storybook in its wake, a storybook with more questions than answers.

And a book that his father read a hundred times. “Remember what I always say, boys?” “We can change our own destiny.” Older now, he knows better. Destiny is impossible to change, fate is already woven in the threads of time and space. Celestia will take what they will, and the clan has always been at the forefront of that.

Ohm Ambros carries the family legacy on his own these days, unsure of what to do with it given he wasn’t told so much as how it works. And yet he has still managed to be the most accomplished Ambros, favours from nations far and wide, small and large.

He’s accomplished favours from three of the current Seven, very few can say the same, and certainly nobody in his family line.

There are many lives, Ohm Ambros has failed to save. They hang on him like thorns in his skin. He remembers their faces and if they had names, he remembered those too. A curse to never forget anybody who he couldn’t protect. His brother, his parents, friends, and strangers. He remembered them all.

He’s often told not to worry about it, that some people can’t be saved, some wounds are too grievous, mentally and physically. But for every single one, he places a wild flower on the graves of his parents.

Especially those forgotten by the world around them. It was no secret that he treated anybody who came to his door, no matter who they may be. Sometimes he found out information, but he always helped them. He had carefully crafted it to be in his nature to help others, because not everybody can choose the path they may be on.

There are many he knows would not be taken kindly by the Church, and that’s why they come to him. And for the ones he cannot save, for the people forgotten and thrown away there is another wildflower. For the adventurers who come to him in the storms, his home closer than the city, for those who die exploring or protecting his home, there is another wildflower. For the civilians attacked or too sick to go on, there is another wildflower. 

But it isn’t just those he’s failed to save, those whose lives snuffed out by his hands he made sure to honour, too. He was taught to honour those who have passed as a child, and he kept the traditions of his family. 

And with his arms full of flowers and his heart feeling heavier with every step he takes, he places them on cracked tombstones in an undisclosed cemetery. He never stays for long, he has already said his goodbyes.