Alpha

LyraGoth never does manga and probably never will again, but the concept I had for them wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are.

I've wanted to draw these babies in a realistic style for a very long time. I struggled quite a bit with Hyoga's face, since he's half Russian and half Japanese. In the end, I leaned more toward his Russian features because he's basically a clone of Natassia, and there was no escaping that. I was dying to give him dark eyes, but canon spoke louder, so blue it is.

First, I think it's important to note that while we players might be thinking of the fae as these very non-human, very eerie supernatural beings, that isn't actually how Flins thinks of the fae. Flins thinks of the fae as significantly closer to humans than humans seem to believe. For example, although it was a mistaken impression, Flins' voiceline "About Us: Humans and Fae" indicates that he once believed humans and fae actually had common ancestors:

This is a pretty silly take for a sentient ball of fire that lives in a lantern to have, but it does appear to be that case that--at least early on in his life--Flins thought of fae and humans as two branches of the same lineage, not completely alien to each other. In his impression, there isn't that big of a divide between fae and humans, and in fact, he even believes that fae and humans share a "common spirit." (There's also the fact that fae seem to live side-by-side with humans in several cities in Snezhnaya, seemingly without any major issues--at least that we've been told about so far.)

In fact, the act of connecting himself to humanity happens several more times across Flins's in-game lines and stories. In another example, he recalls that the first thing he saw upon waking from his supposed-to-be-eternal sleep was "the light in the Ratniki's eyes," and Flins remarks that those humans reminded him of his own past self.

The game tells us directly: Humans remind Flins of himself. He doesn't see himself as some sort of eerie, alien being entirely disconnected from the human experience (even if he knows humans sometimes see him that way).

Later on, Flins draws comparisons and points out similarities between fae and humans several more times, such as by comparing his fae companions' longing for immortality to humanity's own longing for immortality, and by noting that his time with the other fae in the Snezhnayan court was exactly as transactional as the relationships Illuga is familiar with between human businessmen.

Though he does recognize that humans and fae are completely separate creatures, Flins' ultimate belief seems to be that he is not that different from humans. Or, at the very least:

Flins believes that he is capable of seeing the world "through human eyes."

And the part I think that many people are missing in their characterization of Flins is that he's right.

Flins understands humanity incredibly well.

He has deep and excellent insight into people's emotions, he can grasp what the humans around him are feeling even when those feelings aren't spoken out loud, and he can immediately pinpoint what motivates the humans around him. Whether or not you believe he's only doing it so he can take advantage of people, he presents himself as incredibly empathetic and is capable of easily putting himself into human beings' "shoes," articulating their pains and struggles out loud so that others, like the Traveler, can understand as well.

We see this numerous times, from the sympathy and obvious guilt he feels over the spirits of the Ratniki he could not save, who became ghosts that he treats with gentleness, camaraderie, and deep respect for their courage and honor:

We see it in the way he immediately recognized Columbina's hesitance to talk to strangers, enough so that Paimon even calls out the fact that Flins is an incredible judge of character:

He's able to quickly recognize the Traveler's trustworthiness and forges a strong connection with them, even being willing to reveal some of his true past--which he's extremely reluctant to do in general.

In his character story, Flins is capable of quickly identifying that his fellow Ratnik Olav is in need of a confidence boost and moral support, which Flins is happy to give him--just to help him grow as a person.

Later, Nikita commends Flins for achieving something that Nikita himself couldn't, demonstrating for us readers that Flins has a strong grasp on the ins-and-outs of human interpersonal relationships (as much as he attempts to avoid socializing on the whole).

Even though Flins claims he struggles with "pretending to be a normal person," it's clear that he is actually perfectly capable of understanding the personal cues and emotional signals necessary to operate smoothly within human social systems--that is, he's capable of "being normal" when he chooses to.

But nowhere is it clearer how deeply Flins understands human emotion than in his eulogies for Sousi. It is obvious from the way Flins speaks about Sousi that Flins not only keenly understood Sousi's struggles but also directly empathized with his hardships. Flins' doesn't just say "Sousi had a difficult job; seems like it must have been hard for him"--Flins articulates the exact pains that Sousi suffered, to the point that he can even describe the very thoughts that must have been going through Sousi's head:

It's clear, furthermore, that Flins not only understands Sousi's pain but also feels that pain--Flins was not only moved by Sousi's daily sacrifices for the Lightkeepers but also by the human's tenacity and selflessness. We can see that Flins is deeply saddened by Sousi's loss.

And more than just appearing sad, the game actually goes out of its way to make Traveler point out that Flins and Sousi's stories--and their emotional struggles--parallel each other.

Sousi is described as far from home and unable to see his family:

He's described as having done everything he could for others (having "labored much"!), not realizing that his hard work would only cause him more isolation and pain, and Sousi is repeatedly linked to the image of a lone lantern "that no one else could see":

What other lantern waited and waited where no one else could see?

Flins recognizes that Sousi was even a perfectionist who was hard on himself because he fixated more on outcomes than his own condition, which, ironically, causes Traveler to point out that Flins is exactly like Sousi, and needs to be more gentle with himself:

It's obvious (to the Traveler, at least) that Flins is just as capable of experiencing emotions as any of the human characters in Nod-Krai.

I'd even argue that, out of the entire Nod-Krai cast, Flins is most sentimental person we've met so far--he's the most emotionally affected by the lives lost to the Wild Hunt, one of the most prone to introspection and self-blame (although Lauma does give him a good run for his money), and the most concerned with the safety of the human world in general. Lauma might care about her people specifically, Nefer might care about Jahoda and might want to protect Nod-Krai from a business standpoint, Ineffa might want to protect Aino, Aino might want to protect her bots--but Flins wants to protect humanity as a whole simply because he loves them.

Say it with me y'all: Flins has no stake in Nod-Krai's safety. He has no responsibility to the humans there. He's not a native and he could leave at any time. But instead, he stays and risks his life every night fighting the Wild Hunt to protect Nod-Krai's humans. He stepped up to face Rerir's threat without even the slightest hint of hesitation, though Paimon and the Traveler explicitly note that he could have just thrown Rerir's heart shard away at any time and completely washed his hands of the issue.

This is not the behavior of someone who doesn't understand humanity. These aren't the words or actions of someone who struggles to grasp emotions like love, hate, courage, and fear--Flins does understand humanity, is a deeply emotional being himself, and is extremely aware of what the humans around him are feeling and why, at all times.

The problem is that understanding doesn't automatically lead to "being part of the group." Knowing how people feel, even feeling the same ways they do, doesn't ensure you will "fit in" where you find yourself.

It doesn't matter how well Flins can understand the human world around him--it will still never be his world, because his world is gone and can never be brought back.

Although much of Flins' past is still murky, from the hints we're given, we know that Flins must have had a very close relationship to either a human or a group of humans in the past. Flins tells us that he used to "labor much" and that he had "turned his heart to humanity" in that past life:

At some point, something bad happened and Flins lost whatever was connecting him to the human world. (What this connection was is still unknown--Flins never particularly seemed interested in the life at court, was never described as social even back then, and I don't think the Belyi Tsar himself was ever supposed to be human, so who--or what--was it that Flins was so connected to? I guess we'll see one day!) In any case, Flins' story describes this loss as "losing his anchor," after which he was effectively set adrift in life, no longer having any sense of purpose. He left the court, left his name and status behind, and became a goalless wanderer, existing rather than living:

Though we haven't been told yet what Flins' loss entailed, there are some strong hints in the game already that Flins might blame himself for the loss or that others blamed him. While being attacked by Rerir, Flins hears the voices of several other fae yelling at him, mocking him as "lonely," "superfluous," and a liar, as well as noting that complacency was the cause of some impending disaster that it was "too late" to make up for:

(One thought I have, viewing this, is that it's possible Rerir is able to imitate other people so well because he is utilizing memories stored in the leylines--in which case, we may be able to learn more about Flins' past in future patches through Rerir.)

Anyway!

When Flins lost his "anchor" and connection to the human world, he found himself increasingly outside of that world. He describes the passage of time as he departed from Snezhnaya and wandered to Nod-Krai as something going on without him, and by the time he reached Nod-Krai, it was already clear that he no longer felt like he belonged in the world that was moving on at mortals' frantic pace.

By the time he reached Nod-Krai centuries ago, the courtly world Flins knew was already long gone, as ephemeral as melting snowflakes. The home he once had, the noble lifestyle he carried on, the treasures, the transactions, all the humans (and fellow fae) he knew... every single thing that he would have been familiar and comfortable with had already vanished.

Whoever or whatever it was that gave Kyryll his sense of purpose had long disappeared, but his life just kept going on, regardless.

Just like the other fae that lamented there was no eternal fountain of youth for their Snezhnayan paradise, it is clear that Flins's thoughts also revolve around the past--or that his time has effectively stopped, and while the rest of the world continues evolving around him, he is no longer able--or willing--to keep up and connect with that evolving world.

Times change. They don't change back.

We see small hints of this throughout his story, but one example that stands out is the anecdote about the lamp, where Flins effectively tricks Ineffa into fixing the lamps for him because he doesn't want to learn how to repair the "new" technology installed in them. Although this anecdote is of course humorous, there's a small aside where Flins talks about how the lamps used to be lit and maintained with oil, and how "back then" any Lightkeeper was capable of bringing light to the world.

Just in his own lifetime, Flins has watched even the most basic technology of streetlights evolve around him, becoming more and more foreign (more and more human) by the day. Flins effectively is that old flame in the oil lamp--a guiding light no longer needed, replaced by the inexorable march of time.

I don't think it's any accident that Flins is fixated on collecting old gems and ancient coins, and that he makes sure to keep them in their "original casings," even when he notes that some of those casings are crumbling away and too fragile to even be touched. It's because the housing--the history of the objects from start to finish--means something to him. Their forms, both exactly as he remembers them from centuries ago and what they have now become is what actually matters.

Like those dead currencies still in their faltering, ancient casings, Flins is also a relic of a past to which he can never return. He is, in essence, no different from the ancient gems he collects: Having survived and circulated long past their origin and the context in which they had true worth, both he and the gems he collects have become secondhand detritus, "worthless" baubles whose long histories no longer matter to the new world they have found themselves in.

(It's not a mistake that he's functionally an object himself--the lantern that Flins truly "lives in" is as much an ancient treasure as any of the ones he's collecting and keeping in a safe little box.)

When Flins talks about ending his own tale, when the game draws the division between "Kyryll" and "Flins," the division isn't there because Flins' happily chose one day to move on. The division between "the noble's" story and Flins's story actually happened long before Flins's decision to "go to sleep" forever--"Kyryll" was already disappearing by the time the old world he once knew collapsed, with the image of his "flame going out" being linked directly with that of the old regime.

Flins is alive but he might as well be a ghost.

He's effectively a lingering spirit, unable to pass on--an artifact out of its proper time and context. He's a tarnished relic of a bygone age that found itself accidentally surviving into a future it has no connection with.

He's an outsider looking in.

He exists in the human world, but he isn't living in it. (This is how he describes the fae race as a whole by the way--according to Flins they are "unimportant" but they still just "exist.")

By the way, this is a common issue among Genshin's long-life species. Just as Rex Lapis had to die so that "Zhongli" could join the mortal world, and Cloud Retainer had to be coaxed down from Mount Aocang to experience human life in Liyue Harbor--just as Neuvillette was too trapped in the past to recognize how much Fontaine's feelings about the Melusines had changed, the common refrain is that Teyvat has become a world of mortals, moving at the mortals' pace, often leaving its immortal beings, who are much slower to change, behind.

The long and short of it is that Flins understands humanity and human emotions perfectly well, but he still isn't part of their world.

And I would argue that's because he doesn't want to be.

Over and over again, Flins's stories describe his actions as "self-imposed exile":

Flins is intelligent, empathetic, emotionally aware, and perfectly capable of becoming attached to humans. Yet he goes through life in Nod-Krai as if he's barely even there, holding himself entirely aloof, trying to avoid visitors, staying on the most remote island, not working with any Lightkeeper partners unless he has to...

This exile is a voluntary one. It is, quite literally, "self-imposed."

In fact, it's this exact thing Nefer scolds him for at the end of Luna I, pointing out that Flins's troubles throughout the patch are essentially his own fault because he chooses to remain isolated from others:

Flins's exile from Nod-Krai's mortal world isn't because humans can't tolerate him or because he's incapable of living among humans. In fact, most of the humans who meet him clearly come to like and appreciate him, with many, including the Traveler, finding him to be gracious and amusing company.

But Flins claims that he prefers isolation. Flins claims that he would rather have ghosts for company than living beings. Flins refuses to learn how to do new things, like work the modern kuuvahki powered lights. Flins rejects the idea of spending more time in Nasha Town. Flins avoids telling others the truth about himself and his past.

He claims he's happier this way.

The Voices™ haunting him don't really seem to agree though:

The distance between Flins and the human world isn't just because he's fae--in fact, it may have little to do with being fae at all. It seems likely (though time will tell), that Flins's separation from humanity has much more to do with the fact that he is holding himself remote from the human world on purpose--in part because he feels he doesn't belong in this world anymore, that he's a superfluous, "long lost" leftover from a forgotten golden age--and in part because the idea of connecting with the human world again is clearly painful.

Loving humanity, laboring for humanity, and then watching it all fall apart obviously taught him loss, a loss so consuming that it left him entirely without an "anchor," adrift in an existence with no sense of purpose--Flins himself describes his life after what happened in Snezhnaya as both "meaningless" and "monotonous."

The loss of that "anchor" and purpose in his life was so intense that Flins ultimately attempted to escape from it entirely by "going to sleep" forever--an attempt at finding "eternal serenity" (in oblivion) that obviously failed.

Now, risen from that failed attempt at finding peace, Flins is stuck between two painful choices: If he ties his heart to the human world again, he'll only be burned once more--the loss of one Lightkeeper comrade after another just grinds the salt into the open wound afresh. But can he really turn away from the humans that he clearly loves so dearly? Can he ignore their cries for aid, their hopes and prayers for a ray of light to guide them out of the darkness of despair? Is there any point to his continuing existence in the world if he has no purpose for being there? If he's just some pretty stone (some old polished lantern) that no longer ever shines?

Thus, Flins is trapped on a precarious tightrope, unable to separate himself entirely from the mortal realm, unable to turn a blind eye to human suffering, but unwilling to commit to reconnecting fully, obviously hesitant to open his heart to such fragile creatures ever again.

Although I'm sure more will be revealed with time and we still have a very limited amount of information on his background, I think for those looking for ways to characterize Flins, this is the aspect I find most compelling about his character:

Flins is the architect of his own isolation, and his lack of connection to humans is not from a lack of emotion or an inability to understand how humans think or feel. He could blend in with mortals without an issue if he chose to. He can understand and feel human emotion just as easily as humans can.

But it's because he is a feeling, loving creature who understands the human heart that he can't bear to fully join the human world again.

It's because he once loved the mortal world so dearly--loved it and felt the pain of losing something in it--that he can't bear to "turn his heart to humanity" once more.

Flins's tale isn't the story of a monster cleverly hiding among humans he doesn't truly understand.