It’d been centuries since then. Dainsleif spent his time tracking down the Abyss Order like a rabid hound to a faint smell, like a desperate man seeking redemption. Really, it was the only thing he held onto to ensure his sanity. Immortality was a curse for those who didn’t wish for it, and a purposeless life was a depressing one.

Until, one day, he saw you.

Dainsleif halted in his tracks, staring at your oblivious self in the marketplace of Mondstadt. You weren’t truly you, he knew that much, but you looked similar. Too similar, in a way that made his heart ache. He wasn’t one to believe in reincarnation, but it was the only explanation he had to justify your existence.

In this era, in this nation, you were healthy. Happy. Alive.

When was the last time he recalled your blissful smile that wasn’t tainted with blood and sins? He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter now. Because you were here, a few meters away from him. A few steps away from him. His throat itched with the urge to call your name. Was it still the same? Was it different? Would you give it to him if he approached you? Would you allow him to utter it with ancient reverence?

You’d finished shopping and were walking towards him, but you didn’t see him. No, you were focusing on the path in front of you. You didn’t know him. You didn’t remember him. And it hurt more than anything else he’d endured since the cataclysm. Because if you had no memories whatsoever about him, what right did he have to ruin it? What right did he have to ruin your newfound peace?

Nothing, Dainsleif had no right whatsoever. Whatever happened between you two was something that happened in the past. Whatever happened between you two was something that your past self did. Not this one. Never this one. Because in here, you were merely a stranger. Supposed to be a stranger. A Mondstadtian woman who was walking home from the market and was just concerned about what she should cook after this. Not the cataclysm, and certainly not him.

And yet, Dainsleif found himself turning slightly and bumping against you.

“Oh, forgive me.” he muttered, helping you put your groceries back. His fingers, stained from curses and failures, brushed yours, and he felt a jolt at the realness of your existence. “I wasn’t looking at my way.”

“It’s alright. It happens.”

His chest constricted slightly at the sound of your voice. Oh, how he missed hearing it. Did you know that he’d spent the last 500 years trying to recall the pitch, the tone, the timbre of your voice as it spoke to him? As it called his name? But you merely smiled at him, as if pardoning him of his mistake. As if pardoning him of his sins.

“Will you be alright?” Dainsleif asked, unable to keep the concern from leaking in his voice. It was something that he’d been dying to ask you. Were you alright? How had your life been so far? Did you have someone special yet?

“Oh, yes. Of course. It was just a little accident.”

You smiled at him for the last time and left him behind. Dainsleif stared at your retreating back before his feet moved to follow you indiscreetly. To protect you, he reasoned, even if he knew otherwise.

Turns out, your house wasn’t that far from the market. It was a modest abode, unfenced with a few pots of flowers lining the front door. Dainsleif wondered what it felt like to come home and be greeted by the smell of your house, the taste of your cooking, the sound of your domesticity, and the sight of you. It was a dream he’d long buried under pain and hatred, under death and trauma. And now, it crawled out of its grave with vengeance. It whispered what-ifs into his ears, filled his brain with scenarios, and twitched his fingers with the urge to realize them.

You were humming. Dainsleif closed his eyes as he listened to the Mondstadtian lullaby and leaned against the wall outside your house. The window to your kitchen was open, letting the stuffy air of your cooking out. His stomach grumbled. He was so absorbed by you to the point where he forgot his original intention here: to get something to eat.

Once upon a time, he’d wondered if it was possible to starve himself to death. And now, he was glad he didn’t test that theory.

Reluctantly, Dainsleif left his spot and went to the nearest restaurant. Just for a moment. Eating wouldn’t take up much of his time. After that, he’d return here. To see if you were still alive. Still cooking. Still humming, even if it wasn’t the Khaenriahn lullaby he wanted.

By the time he finished eating, it was your time to eat instead. Oh, how delicious your food seemed. Dainsleif wondered if you’d allow him to taste it one day. He never had a chance to do it back then, too busy with his knightly duties. If he’d known about the cataclysm, he would’ve done everything to spare some time.

Maybe you wouldn’t have argued with him about his schedule.

Maybe you wouldn’t have left him in a huff.

Maybe you wouldn’t have died being angry at him for something so preventable.

***

“Oh, it’s you.”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of him in the market, and Dainsleif cherished that particular face. After centuries of staring at a similar expression in the distance, and envying those who received it, he finally felt like coming home. Even if he’d spent most of his time lurking just outside of your vision lately, observing your new life. Observing the people within it. Observing anyone who might be special to you.

Thankfully, you were still single. He didn’t need to stain his hands further.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’re staying here?”

“No, I’m merely passing by. I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh…”

You nodded, and sensing an opening in the lull of conversation, he immediately pounced.

“I’m Dainsleif. And you are?”

“[Name].”

It was still the same. Your name was still the same from 500 years ago. He felt his muscles relax slightly as he uttered it with ancient reverence that eluded your innocent ears.

“Let me accompany you.”

“Oh, no. It’s alright. My house isn’t that far.”

“Please, I insist.”

Dainsleif knew that he should’ve left already, should’ve resumed his search for the Abyss Order. After all, he’d told you that he was a traveler. But the thought of leaving you here all alone, even when he knew you’d live just fine without him, pained him. He didn’t want to move on from you. He didn’t want you to move on from him. He’d been so lonely these past centuries. All his comrades were scattered across Teyvat, each pursuing their own motives. Didn’t he deserve a respite? Didn’t he deserve a company?

***

“I think I shouldn’t drink too much.” you said, slurring slightly from the wine he’d bought for you both. You didn’t know it, but today marked the 500-year anniversary of your relationship.

“Nonsense, we all need to let loose once in a while.”

He said that, and yet, he himself didn’t drink much. Instead, Dainsleif merely poured more into your glass and urged you to drink more. Maybe once the Abyss Order had been defeated, he could truly ‘let loose’.

But not now.

You hiccupped and giggled with each drink, rambling about the minor troubles in your otherwise peaceful life. You’d never know just how much he appreciated that you trusted him enough to complain, even if it was partly under the influence. Your proximity slowly decreased, and before you could realize it, you were sitting on his lap and kissing him passionately.

And it escalated from there.

Clothes were scattered on the floor while the owners writhed on the once tidy bed. Moans and gasps filled your sacred room as Dainsleif gritted his teeth from the overwhelming sensations. When was the last time he did this? He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter now. Because you were here, under him. Under his touch. Your hands scratched his biceps, his back, trying to find an anchor from the feelings that threatened to swallow you whole. And despite his primal part screaming at him to spill inside, with great effort, he chose to withdraw and release on your stomach.

Not now. Not when it was still too dangerous.

Afterwards, the silence settled in. The kind of silence where someone had just committed a transgression. The kind of silence where someone had just used up all their instant gratification.

But despite the regret that he knew would follow, Dainsleif didn’t think he would’ve chosen any other way.

Maybe because he was a sinner.

Maybe because this sin was a mere drop in the sea of his cursed existence.

Maybe because he feared that there might not be another chance like this.

For now, Dainsleif would let you sleep. Tomorrow, you’d find yourself awakened in another country. In his arms. In his heart.

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