Headcanon Backstory Retelling
TW for death, religous themes & (implied) child abuse
He grew up in the Last Fortress of Khaenriah; a small group of ruins still intact enough to house the remaining people who had not been transformed.
They tried their hardest to keep their culture alive; teaching the small group of children the runes, telling stories of great architecture and craftsmanship.
Their food was more sparse than before, although the people of khaenriah were well equipped with fostering limited amounts of resources.
Kaeya loved listening to the adventures the guards and soldiers of the fortress would tell him. He and the other children would circle at the feet of their heavy armor, starry eyes wide.
The Elders were crushed, kind, crazed - they were sweet, reminiscent, sorrowful souls with no light left to light up their eye. But oh, they loved the golden prince.
He had a great many nicknames and titles. Being one of the last khaenriahns with royal blood, moreover one with a golden eye ("and heart") he was loved by all. Aurum, golden child, golden boy, golden hope, golden future...
Although he spent most of his time exploring the ruins with other kids, listening to stories, writing runes in the dust, singing along to songs and learning to read and write, it wasn't all perfect.
The elders, the few remaining parents, the knights; their eyes are haunted, their bodies frail, littered by burns, scars, lines of corruption. He watched as they shook, some in sleep, some all the time.
Kaeya made acquaintance with Death at young. His father, or an elder, would walk up to him with sad eyes, clasp his hand and lead him to one of the sick beds. Laying there would be a dying creature, hands blackened by the curse. He would sit by their side, hold their hand until the last light vanished from starry eyes.
"To see the golden child alive was a promise of a future beyond ones own life" his father had explained when he'd asked, lowering his arm, an odd sensation of warm death sticking to skin.
Fire was white. It would flicker in what they called "night", even if they had no means to measure time down here. The Elders would stand, hands spread wide, lamenting and speaking of the old times. Cursing at the Gods, at the false Sky, the Kingdom that fell.
As Kaeya grew older, their speeches became wilder, angrier, fantastical. His father spoke too; almost each night. Lately, (when he was 5) he had taken to praise the words of a God like no other. It called itself SINNER.
He did not believe in much his father told him. He loved home, but he couldn't miss what he'd never seen - and while he yearned to see his Kingdom in its prime, it wouldn't get up from the ashes through the Gods fall.
Kaeya did not mention this, of course. From 6 years on, he was schooled in the language of "Mond". The elders, the remaining Teacher, tried her best at it. Based of an old dictionary from before the fall and two books in Mond, he could speak and write it by 11 years old.
Father's speeches and rants were becoming nonsensical. He'd convinced more people to belive too. Kaeya silently nodded along, unsure about it all.
Despite the destruction of everything they'd ever known, the fortress was not vacant of culture - song, dance, myth. Echoed rhymes, hushed legends, clacking shoes on stone. The nights were alive, alive, alive.
Kaeya liked the lullabies of Teacher. She sang to the children in their beds, khemia lighting up her hand, creating fluttering shards of flowerpetals. He finds himself humming its melody even decades later, when he struggles falling asleep.
Father and some Knights had taught him how to use a dagger. He playfully fought against the other kids, eyes gleaming in energy only reserved for a child.
Although Kaeya is unsure if he'd ever truly been allowed to simply be a child; burdened with the Hope, facing death and annihilation before ever seeing the sky.
The weeks leading up to his departure were filled by all sorts of celebration and preparation. Dance, Feasts, Hymns, glowing petals woven into his hair, glowing light of khemia striking and pure.
Kaeya was regarded by the other kids with envy, pity and awe. Bright starry eyes familiar and warm, hands as dirty as his own - playing catch around the fire despite warning calls.
On his twelfth birthday, he was gifted a crown, celebrated with the song he'd heard each year.
"Golden child, oh golden child of hope - you grow and grow, golden hope, golden boy - we lift you up to the sky, aurum o aurum, - for you will bring down the gods with a cry - golden boy, our golden child, you age again tonight!"
Father had taken him by the hand, bags filled with food and sleeping mats, crazed eyes dark, smile alive. It was time.
He had hugged the other children tight, gotten pats on the head from the Knights, a wave from Teacher, an echoed farewell from the entire Fortress.
A tunnel of light split the wall, and his father dragged him into promised land.
The journey took over two months, mostly spent in caves and domains, hidden from all.
Voices would call out to them, beg, cry, tell them to stay in those halls. His father never spoke about it, asleep as he guarded, dagger clutched in thin hands.
Father had become more harsh. Mad, at the world, at the Gods, at his son. Burning hatred pointed towards the golden boy, cowering beneath iron command.
Their food did not last; it wasn't meant for a world like that. They had to reach the surface for the first time. Hunting animals he'd never seen, eating plants strange and tall.
Each and every day, his father would rant. His instructions impossible, yet Kaeya did his best to follow each command. It way futile; nothing could mend the madness of a broken man.
Kaeya grew to be afraid of him. He spent his nights guarding, not for enemies but the man sitting up in dreams and screaming.
As their travel reached Mondstadt, they had become thin and starved. Kaeya was tired, yet plagued by dreams of anger and father or sadness and home.
At last: The Manor. They had left the last cave and walked through the woods, and it was the last time Kaeya would ever see his father. It began to rain. He had never seen it before, fascinated by the cold drops from the sky.
Father instructed him to cover his eye, and with a final, cold goodbye, he opened his palm as a slit opened up in the world. "You're our only hope, Kaeya."
He dropped to his knees to dirty them. He stumbled through the vines, legs getting cut on thorns. He was met by a yelling maid, rushing inside.
Not a minute later, he was being embraced by a red-haired man, speaking softly to him.
Never before had he heard that language, but he could understand parts of it. "Bist du...'Alone?' 'What's a child' drauÃen ohne 'coat'? 'Boy, what's your name?"
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