đào💫

Xiao remembered the first moment like it was etched in stone. Kindergarten — halfway through the year — Aether transferring from a school in Mondstadt with grass stains on his knees and a grin big enough to fill the classroom.

Xiao had been too shy to say anything, content to sit in silence and steal glances from behind his sketchbook. He’d never seen anyone move like that — like he was light itself, darting from one corner of the room to the next, already leaving his mark on the class.

The feeling in Xiao’s chest had struck when Aether plopped down beside him, arm raised in a wave as he leaned over to peer at Xiao’s page — and immediately started praising his doodles. Far too much praise for a kindergartener's shaky lines.

But Aether meant it. Or at least, he said it like he did. Bright-eyed and beaming and utterly unafraid to like things out loud.

And when Aether tugged him toward the playground minutes later, Xiao knew. 

He was already gone.

They’d grown up side by side — best friends, sleepovers, summer festivals, amusement parks, everything you could think of, they did it. 

Xiao’s dads teased him endlessly. When his siblings figured it out, they did worse. 

Everyone seemed to know before he did.

And even after he figured it out — that his chest only tightened around Aether, that his drawings meant more when Aether was the subject — the fear always won. He’d tried to confess, once or twice. Almost had. But the words never came.

There would be time, he told himself. 

Later.

Always later.

But later just kept slipping past him. And the fear — of ruining everything, of losing the one person he couldn’t stand to be without — never left.

Yet somehow, his feelings had only grown louder with time. 

He liked mornings like this. Ones that felt infinite.

—

“–iao?” 

Xiao blinked, realizing he’d stopped walking. Aether stood in front of him, waving a hand in his face, concerned with a touch of curiosity clouding his expression. 

“You okay? You spaced out again.” 

Xiao inhaled slowly, grounding himself, “Yeah…sorry. Just thinking. What were you saying?” 

Aether shoved his phone into his face. The brightness nearly blinded him, a jumble of messages lighting up the  screen. Xiao could never  understand how Aether kept his phone at maximum brightness without going blind. 

“I said our group chat was thinking about hanging out after school today to celebrate the start of the year.” 

Xiao pushed the phone down, blinking rapidly to clear the spots in his vision. “We literally just hung out yesterday at the arcade, Aether,” he deadpanned.

Secretly, he wouldn’t have minded hanging out again — if it meant spending more time with Aether (and… their friends).

Aether shrugged. “Yeah, but Venti found this new cafe that just opened up.” He scrolled for a second, then pressed the screen back toward Xiao. “Look how cute it is!”

Admittedly, the cafe was cute. The interior looked modern, but cozy at the same time: soft lighting, lots of plants, and plush chairs. 

Xiao nodded, “Sure, Aeth. Let me text my dad—he’ll want to know where I am.” 

Aether squealed, pumping his fist in the air before texting the group chat. Then he glanced at Xiao again, more serious this time. “Oh, we’re going around five, by the way. I have volleyball tryouts from 3:30 to 4:30.”

Xiao nodded, “That’s alright, I'll wait for you.” 

They continued their walk towards campus, a gentle breeze following them, tugging playfully at their hair. The silence between them was soft, unhurried. For once, they weren’t in a rush, an odd contrast to the previous years where Aether would chronically sleep in causing them to be nearly late every day. 

They arrived with time to spare. 

It was the beginning of September, and autumn had just begun to settle in. Leaves were already scattered along the school’s entrance and had already started to shift, green giving way to hues of gold and crimson, fluttering down in lazy spirals with each gust of wind.

Aether practically pranced through the gate, tipping his head back to watch a small cluster of leaves drift from a high branch. 

Xiao couldn’t help but stare. There was something weightless in the way Aether moved, like the weather was catered just for him. 

He looked away quickly, just as Aether glanced back.

The campus was buzzing with first-day chaos — students spilling across the quad, voices ringing through the air. Friends reunited after long breaks, schedules compared, summer stories exchanged. 

Aether spotted Kazuha first, perched on the edge of a planter like he belonged there — calm, balanced. He lifted a hand in greeting as soon as he saw them. Beside him, Venti was doubled over in laughter, clutching Kazuha’s phone.

“Look who decided to join the land of the living!” Venti called, voice lilting with mischief. “And early, no less. Mark the calendar!”

“First time for Aether, maybe.” Xiao said dryly. 

Aether grumbled, “This is slander.” 

“Is it though?” Xiao muttered, lips twitching.

“Yeah, Aether,” Kazuha chimed in, tone light and thoughtful. “There was that one time in middle school you showed up with your hair defying gravity. Quite literally. You looked like you'd been struck by lightning!”

“I was having a moment,” Aether said, but the defense was half-hearted.

“You were having a crisis,” Venti grinned. “One we all had to witness.”

Aether opened his mouth, paused, then sighed in surrender. “Okay, fine. I was late. Once.”

“Try every day of the school year,” Xiao grumbled under his breath.

“...Whatever.”

They settled into an easy rhythm — the kind forged over years of shared memories, small humiliations, and inside jokes that never seemed to fade. Aether had a reputation: chronic lateness, chaotic mornings, bedhead that could rival a natural disaster. The occasional unmatched sock. Eventually, after a full week of consecutive tardies, his sister—Lumine gave up on waiting for him and started walking with one of her friends instead.

But Aether hated walking alone. And after enough guilt-tripping and vividly imagined hypotheticals involving car crashes, kidnappings, and bear attacks (Xiao still didn’t know why bears were included), he caved.

He became Aether’s reluctant, dependable morning companion.

Now, most mornings were a chaotic blur of half-hearted bickering and near-death crosswalk sprints — full of adrenaline, shared breath, and laughter.

And as much as Xiao grumbled about it… he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The conversation shifted again — somehow still centered around Aether.

“Aether’s reputation is already in shambles,” Kazuha mused, leaning back on his hands as the breeze tousled his hair. “Do we really need to keep kicking it?”

“Yeah guys, come on! Remember Scara’s emo pha-”

“Yes,” Venti interrupts without hesitation, flashing a cheeky grin. “It builds character.”

“Characters like you shouldn’t be encouraging anyone,” came a familiar voice from behind them, sharp and unmistakably unimpressed.

Xiao turned as Scaramouche strolled up, a permanent smirk tugging at his lips. His bag hung over one shoulder, its zipper barely holding in the two baseball bats that jutted out. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his uniform, and his cap hung low over his eyes like he had somewhere better to be — which, to be fair, he probably believed.

“Speak of the devil,” Aether said, grinning. 

“Oh, please,” Scaramouche drawled, coming to a stop beside them, “As if I’d miss the annual trainwreck that is Aether pretending he’s a functioning human being on the first day of school.” 

“You’re just mad you didn’t beat us here,” Venti said, legs swinging as he leaned further over the planter. “Or are you always this salty before 8 a.m.?”

“I’m always this salty,” Scaramouche said flatly. “But thanks for noticing.”

“Come on, you love us,” Aether teased.

“Love is a strong word,” Scaramouche muttered. “Tolerate. I tolerate you. Barely.”

“Aw,” Venti cooed, clutching his chest like he was swooning. “You’re opening up. So vulnerable.”

Scaramouche’s glare could’ve curdled milk.

Xiao watched the exchange from the sidelines — half-listening, half scrolling on his phone. This was how it always was. Loud, chaotic, fast-moving. The words didn’t matter as much as the rhythm of them — the way everyone slid into their familiar roles, like a well-rehearsed play they hadn’t realized they’d memorized.

Despite the snark, Scaramouche stayed. He always did.

“Anyway,” Aether said, still smiling, “did you read the group chat?” 

Scaramouche arched a brow, “Do you think I read the group chat?” 

Xiao huffed quietly. Neither of them did. He and Scaramouche shared that trait — the unread message counter sat in the triple digits most days, mostly because of Venti and Kazuha’s 2 a.m. meme dumps. They both had one too many incidents of being woken up at an ungodly hour because the other members (Venti) couldn’t sleep at night. 

Aether rolled his eyes, “We’re thinking of heading to that new cafe after school. You in?” 

Scaramouche gave Venti a side-eye. “Did he pick it?”

“I found it,” Venti corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Which means it probably has fairy lights and cursed lattes,” Scaramouche muttered.

Aether interjected, bumping Xiao’s shoulder. “It’s actually not that bad! Even Xiao thinks it looks nice. Right, Xiao?”

Xiao huffed, he was doing this for Aether, “I guess.” he shrugged, expression neutral. 

“See!” Venti grinned. “Xiao approved.”

Kazuha spoke up then, before things could escalate“We’re heading there around five. After Aether’s tryouts.” 

“Sounds good. I’ve got a baseball meet after school anyway,” Scaramouche said, adjusting his cap.

He gave Aether a once-over. “Still clinging to your volleyball fantasy with your height?”

Xiao held himself back from pointing out that everyone in their group was short (including him). 

“Hey!” Aether pouted. “I’ve been on varsity since freshman year! I don’t need height — I’m the libero.”

“Sure.” Scaramouche replied, voice dry as ever, “Just try not to get another concussion.” 

“That was one time!”

“And yet here we are. Still talking about it.”

Xiao tried not to let his amusement show as his friends continued to bicker. 

He watched it all unfold, quiet as ever. The noise around him blurred into the background — but the warmth at the center of it, these people, these moments, remained vivid. They were messy, chaotic, always toeing the line between affection and argument, but they made the start of the school year feel... right.

And when Aether turned to him again, eyes alight, smile unwavering — Xiao felt something soft settle beneath his ribs.

He had everything he needed.

Right here.

The morning bell rang soon after, sending students scattering in every direction as they rushed toward their first classes. To both Aether and Xiao’s relief, they shared the same first period. 

That, however, was where the good news ended. 

The class was advanced calculus. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time: challenging, respectable, the kind of course that would look nice on transcripts. Aether had needed it for his STEM prerequisites and Xiao figured he could handle it. 

But now, they could already feel the tension coiling in their shoulders just looking at the syllabus on the board. Or…there would’ve been one, if there was a syllabus. Xiao already felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming. 

He slid into a seat near the middle of the room, pulling out his  notebook and calculator with a quiet sigh. From behind him, he could hear Aether’s unmistakable voice, bright, easy, warm–chatting with a couple of teammates. Thoma and Gorou he thinks they were. 

They were probably talking about tryouts, he knew that Aether wanted to become captain this year. 

Xiao didn’t usually talk to many people outside of their friend group. He wasn’t antisocial, but small talk didn’t come naturally to him. That was Aether’s speciality—buzzing with people and laughter, always one step away from a spontaneous group hangout.

Just as the teacher rose from his seat, Aether plopped into the seat beside Xiao, flashing a quick smile before hurriedly rummaging his belongings out of his bag. 

Xiao blinked at him, then turned his attention to the front of the room. 

For the first day, it was brutal.

Mr. Gafoor, the teacher, was known to have a no nonsense style, hailing all the way from Sumeru’s Akademiya where the coursework was rigorous. He had the attitude to match: sharp-eyed, unsmiling, allergic to wasting time. 

No introductions. No warmups. No syllabus.

Instead, he passed out pop quizzes.

Pop quizzes. 

“To ensure your minds didn’t rot over the summer,” was all he said

Xiao barely resisted the urge to groan. He could manage—it was just math, after all—but it was 8 a.m., and his brain wasn’t fully online. Next to him, Aether let out a quiet, miserable noise that made Xiao’s lips twitch without meaning to.

Math wasn’t an issue for Aether, but early morning quizzes definitely were. He was the type to thrive under pressure in a game, not in a classroom with fluorescent lights and scantrons. Still, he’d take a pop quiz over an essay any day.

Xiao, on the other hand, liked equations. Clean, logical, quiet.  He found it similar to art. If he could reproduce a product once, he could do it again. 

And lately… his art had a very specific focus.

He glanced down at his quiz, ready to begin. 

He froze. 

Instead of numbers and symbols, a face stared back at him–soft lines, wind-swept strands, bright eyes captured mid laugh. 

Xiao’s heart jumped. 

He hadn’t even realized he was sketching him. 

For a second, he panicked.  He looked around, heart hammering, but no one was watching. They were too busy groaning about polar coordinates and trigonometric identities. Relief bloomed briefly before panic edged in again. 

He had to erase it. 

But his hand… hovered. 

The sketch wasn’t even finished, but already it looked alive. Loose but precise. The way Aether’s brows furrowed when he was concentrating. The way his collar always sat slightly off-center from his volleyball jacket. Details Xiao knew like muscle memory.

He’d drawn Aether countless times before. Ever since he met the boy, Aether had been his favorite subject. His muse, some would say, his mind flickering to his father and his teasing tone. But he never let Aether see them, not once, despite the other boy’s constant begging. He feared that Aether would hate the way Xiao depicted him. That his lines wouldn’t do him justice. Even though Aether has complimented him time and time again on his portraits of landscapes, characters from shows, or even characters he had designed himself. 

Instead of erasing it, Xiao adjusted his grip on his pencil and started solving the questions around the sketch. The numbers came easily, even with his pulse hammering.

When he finished he drifted back to the drawing. Shaded the hair. Smoothed the line of Aether’s jaw. Filled in the curve of a smile he knew better than his own reflection.

Until–

“Time’s up! Pass your papers forward!”  

Xiao startled. Around him, desks creaked and papers rustled. Panic surged again as he stared at the page. At Aether.

His fingers scrambled for the eraser. He smudged the corner, but didn’t get far.

“Now, or it’s a zero.”

With no other choice, Xiao handed his quiz to the student in front of him, stomach twisting.

He could feel Aether watching.

When he finally turned his head, Aether’s brows were furrowed, his expression laced with concern. You okay? he mouthed.

Xiao nodded too fast, eyes flicking away before he could read too much into it.

His chest was still fluttering wildly. Not because of the math. Not even because of the drawing.

Because Aether’s face—bright and beautiful and unmistakably his—was now being graded by the most intimidating teacher on campus.

During the official class introduction, Aether began to write. Notes weren’t required and Xiao knew that Aether wasn’t one to take notes when they weren’t being checked. 

His curiosity piqued. 

He leaned over, just enough to see a list of words on Aether’s notebook.. His eyes drifted to a clump of sentences that Aether was writing–

But before he could make out a single word, Aether slammed his arms over the desk, face suddenly red. 

Xiao raised a brow, silently questioning what antics he was up to. 

Meanwhile, Aether’s brain was nowhere near math.

He was usually good at school—math, science, the whole pre-med track. His sister always teased that he’d end up being the family’s golden boy, patching up injuries from both their childhood adventures and sports games alike.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because instead of paying attention to the newly introduced syllabus, Aether had accidentally written about Xiao in his bucket list. 

Again.

He stared at it for a beat, heart sinking, then swiped at the letters with the side of his palm like that would make them disappear any faster.

He hadn’t meant to. It just… happened. Somewhere between trying not to fall asleep and half-listening to Mr. Gafoor talk about the difference between advanced and college-level coursework, his pen had drifted.

It always did when his thoughts got away from him.

Which was often. Especially when it came to Xiao.

Aether groaned under his breath and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. God. He was so down bad.

And now it was immortalized in his stupid tryout bucket list.

Of course it was.

The crush had been around forever—quiet and slow and stupidly persistent. It started sometime in middle school, when a group of kids had mocked Aether for his long hair and Xiao, without hesitation, decked one of them square in the face. Then he’d grown out his own hair in silent solidarity 

It had been awkward and uneven and borderline unmanageable, but Aether remembered how proud he’d been braiding it during lunch. And even though Xiao eventually cut it short again—said he preferred it that way—the memory stayed.

So did the feelings.

They hadn’t dulled. If anything, they’d just gotten more tangled with time. Every version of Xiao—brooding and sharp, quietly kind, always watching out for him in ways that didn’t ask for attention—just made Aether fall harder. And dumber. He’d catch himself watching Xiao during his games (when Aether definitely shouldn’t have gotten distracted) or wondering what he was sketching in that ever-present art notebook, hoping maybe it was him.

Spoiler: it probably wasn’t.

But hope was a dangerous thing.

Aether sighed and flipped the page, pretending he was focused. He rubbed at the back of his neck to ease the tension. Senior year, he reminded himself. Their last one. If you were ever going to say anything, it’d have to be now, right?

But the thought alone made his stomach twist.

What if it ruined everything?

They had something good. Close, easy. They’d been best friends for years—late-night texts, long walks home after practice, weekends where they’d hang out in total silence and still call it the best day ever. What if he said something and it changed all of that? What if Xiao didn’t like anyone like that?

He never talked about it. Not once. Not in all the time they’d known each other.

Aether, on the other hand, used to be full of tiny, passing crushes. Playground-level stuff. They came and went. None of them stuck. None of them meant anything.

Not like this.

The longer he stared at his notes, the more the words blurred into something unreadable. His head dropped against the desk with a quiet thud.

Somewhere in the background, Mr. Gafoor was still talking. Aether didn’t hear any of it.

The next thing he felt was a warm hand at the back of his head, steady and gentle.

He blinked. The room had shifted. Students were standing, gathering their things. Class had ended.

And Xiao was in front of him.

Aether’s breath caught. “Wha—?”

Xiao raised an eyebrow, lips tugged upward in amusement. “Seriously? It’s only the first period.”

Aether groaned and rubbed at his mouth, just in case. “Did I… fall asleep?”

“Looks like it.”

Before Aether could sit up properly, his vision tilted. He felt himself wobble—

And Xiao’s hand was already there, catching him by the arm. Anchoring him.

Aether’s heart jumped into his throat.

Sure, he’d always been a physical person—high-fives, casual touches, hugs. But with Xiao, it always hit differently. It felt… closer. Felt like gravity.

He tried to play it off with a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Xiao said, shrugging. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and, after a beat, hooked his arm around Aether’s shoulders. “C’mon. So you don’t trip again. Next class.”

Aether’s brain short-circuited.

They walked together like that—side by side, shoulder to shoulder—until the hallway forced them apart to their second class. 

The second Xiao let go, Aether felt it. Like the ghost of warmth clinging to him long after the contact ended.

Luckily, the second period was a breeze compared to Calculus. It was Advanced Teyvat Literature but today’s class had just a syllabus, ice breakers, and a general run down of the school year until the final exam. Aether found himself zoning out, propping his chin in his hand, imagining different scenarios that might have or might not have been about him and Xiao. 

Not just them as friends though, as something more. Something more…domestic. 

“Aether.” 

He blinked. 

Mrs. Lisa stood at the front of the room, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip and a knowing look on her face. 

“What’s with that smile? Does the syllabus make you that happy?”

His ears turned pink. “Sorry, Mrs. Lisa,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck while mentally kicking himself. 

She hummed, unimpressed but entertained, and moved on. 

—

By the time lunch rolled around Xiao was antsy. 

He wasn’t sure why. 

His classes have been fine. The advanced Fontaine Government teacher was interesting and the  Drawing teacher was new but relaxed. He already had an assignment but it was just a still life portrait. The sketch was already finished and half-shaded. 

But now, weaving through the hallway noise toward the cafeteria, he felt... wired. Restless. Like his skin didn’t quite fit right.

Maybe it was the quiz. Maybe it was the way Aether had looked when he half-fell into him — sleep-soft and bleary-eyed, like he hadn’t slept in days. Or maybe it was the fact that Xiao hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment since.

The way his hand had wrapped around Aether’s arm. The weight of his shoulder under Xiao’s.

The way Aether leaned into it like he didn’t even think twice.

Xiao exhaled slowly through his nose and adjusted his grip on his backpack strap.

He found the others already at their usual seats, one of the long benches beneath the skylight. Kazuha was calmly peeling an orange forming a spiral as it unraveled. Venti and Scaramouche were bickering over some snacks in the vending machine Venti had convinced him to buy for him.

“You can literally buy this at the supermarket for half the price!” Scaramouche hissed. 

And Aether—

Aether was laughing. Elbows on the table, eyes scrunched in that way that always made Xiao’s stomach twist. 

Xiao paused for just a second too long.  

Then he walked over and sat beside him like he hadn't just spent the entire walk replaying the sound of that laugh in his head. 

Aether nudged him gently, “Took you long enough.” 

Xiao hummed, unfolding the lid of his bento box his father had packed. The scent of warm rice and soy sauce rose between them. 

Their hands brushed as Xiao reached for his chopsticks. 

Aether stiffened. 

For a breathless second, neither of them moved. Then Aether’s fingers relaxed again, not pulling away. 

Xiao didn’t move his hand either. 

“Mama, what’s this spot?” A young, winged adeptus with dark-teal hair asked, tilting his head as he pointed to the place where his neck met his shoulder.

A woman knelt before him, her hair swept into a neat black bun. Her gaze was soft, her tone gentle as she answered, “████ that’s your soulmark. Remember I taught you about soulmates?” 

████ eagerly nodded, his golden eyes lighting up with excitement, “Mama, I want to meet them now! Where are they?” 

His mother chuckled as he bounced on his feet, too young to understand the weight of the world. “When the time is right, ████.” 

He huffed, a tiny pout forming on his lips. 

Her smile softened as she pulled him into a hug, cradling him close.  “Be patient, dear. I’m sure you will find them soon.” 

—

Who was he to dream when he consumed the dreams of others? 

Who was he to cradle hope in his chest when he tore it from dying hands?

—

His village was attacked days after his conversation, as if the gods had heard his desires and decided that he was not worthy of them. He was taken, ripped from his home, his mother perishing in her attempt to protect him, her final breath a choked whisper in the chaos. 

He was enslaved, forced to partake in the vile, bloody work of the god who had stolen him away. Obedience was beaten into him and rebellion was drowned in pain. There, Alatus was born, a name built from mockery as his wings were chained by his master. 

His boots squelched in mud as he trudged forward, the stench of iron clinging to the air. Around him, a sea of crimson stretched as far as the eye could see, the corpses of mortals and the remains of their gods were scattered across the battlefield. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, thick with ash and guilt, as he moved between the bodies. 

One by one he dragged himself to the victims and forced himself to consume their dreams. The dreams of the innocent, who deserve their dreams far more than he did. He, whose hands were soaked in their blood. 

The first dream was warmth, of sunlight against bare skin.

The second was laughter, fingers interlocked with another’s, 

The third—

The third was a faceless figure standing beneath falling petals, golden light haloing their form. A hand extended toward him, him. 

His breath stuttered. 

It felt wrong. Familiar. 

He swallowed it anyway.

His foot caught on the limb of one of the fallen. He stumbled, collapsing into the muck. The impact jolted through him, his head weighing heavy. He didn’t rise right away, stars filling his vision, his collarbone burned faintly beneath the blood and ash. 

—

Was he the end of dreams?

—

Something dripped, for a moment, he couldn’t tell if the wetness on his hands was blood or tears. 

He knew he could not bathe in his sorrow for long. 

The battlefield faded behind him as he traveled back to the god’s domain. The air within was stale and suffocating, shadows creped along the cracked stone like hungry beasts, ready to devour him whole. 

The throne room was a vast, empty space, save for the imposing throne at its center. 

“There you are, Dream-Eater.” A feminine voice purred, the sound slicing through the air like a blade. 

Shivers prickled down his spine, goosebumps covering where his clothes didn’t.

He dropped to his knees, trembling under the pressure of her stare, “It’s done, Master.” 

The god—his master smiled, a pleased twisted expression that worked only to drain what little light remained in the room. 

“Good. Hand them over.” She extended her hand, palm up, as her foot began to tap impatiently. 

Alatus nodded silently, swallowing down the bile that clawed at his throat. He took a shaky breath, pressing his hand to the center of his sternum. A faint glow pulsed beneath his skin, and the wisps of stolen dreams—pale, shimmering orbs, drifted from his mouth. He didn’t even have time to grab them as his master’s hands closed around them, greedily pulling the wisps into herself. 

A low satisfied sigh escaped her lips, the sound vibrating through the room, “Lovely.” 

Alatus felt hollow. His knees were rooted to the floor, head bowed. He didn’t—couldn’t respond. 

She crooked a finger, beckoning him to rise, “Come, vermin. We have things to do.” 

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, head still hanging low as he followed her out of the room. His movements were mechanical, every step weighed down by the feelings in his chest.  

Her voice remained calm, almost serene, but it carried a suffocating authority that demanded absolute obedience. "I am entrusting you with the destruction of the Guili Assembly."

He froze mid-step. She didn’t notice, too caught up in her own twisted satisfaction, but his mind reeled. Unknown to her, he had been observing the Assembly from a distance, drawn to the warmth of their laughter and the gentle hum of their community. He had longed to be a part of them, to bask in their bliss. He had heard whispers of those who had found refuge there and in turn, their soulmates..

His chest tightened, a dull, familiar ache settling in. For so long, he had yearned for something beyond his life in chains—something softer, kinder. But disobedience was not an option.

“As you command, Master.” His voice unwavering, not showing any signs of his inner turmoil

She gave a soft, contented hum and continued down the hallway, leaving him alone.

When her footsteps faded, he sank to the cold stone floor, knees pulled to his chest. He sat there in the dim corridor, mourning a place he’d never been. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, if things had been different, would he have found his soulmate among them? Would he have been allowed to dream, just once, without guilt clinging to his every breath?

—

Sometimes, he dreams of being engulfed by warm sunlight surrounded by gentle laughter. Things that clearly do not belong to him. He tries to ignore these dreams, for they clearly have done him no good in his life

—

The Guili Assembly was nothing and yet everything he imagined.

Standing at the outskirts, Alatus paused, his gaze drawn to the scene before him. The courtyard was alive, glaze lilies swayed in the breeze, their delicate petals unfurling in shades of blue and white. They danced together, whispering stories of peace and unity that felt so achingly foreign to him.

A breeze tugged at his hair, carrying the soft scent of the flowers. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to belong to a place like this—a community that thrived on kindness rather than fear. He imagined his mark glowing with them—untouched by blood. 

But the thought twisted his gut, reminding him that he was an outsider—a weapon forged to destroy places like this.

He had planted gallons of oil along the assembly, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. 

His fingers brushed his collarbone unconsciously. A wave of nausea churned in his stomach, his hands tightening around air. In his mind, the sound of laughter and the hum of community were replaced by the crackle of flames and the wails of the innocent.

He swallowed hard, forcing his expression to remain stoic. Yet inside, he felt something small and fragile fracture—a piece of himself slipping away, lost to the chaos and cruelty that had become his reality. 

He forced himself to concentrate, stringing a burning arrow through the wooden bow he brought for this purpose. 

He couldn’t afford to blink as he shot it, the sky bursting into shades of orange and red. 

As the flames rose, his mark throbbed painfully—like a star collapsing in on itself. 

He leaned forward, picking up his spear, his foot sinking into the soft earth. He saw something then, a small figure peeking around the corner of a stone house. A child, no older than the ones who he used to play with in his village, back when he was a name he could no longer remember, just a boy climbing trees and plucking fruit from the highest branches. 

The child’s wide, fearful eyes locked onto his, and a wave of memories crashed over him. 

—

A chorus of laughter echoed through his mind, the light tug of tiny hands pulling at his sleeve. 

“████, help me get that one!” A little girl with bright eyes pointed up to a ripe fruit hanging just out of reach.

He grinned, leaping into the tree, balancing on the thick branch as he plucked the fruit and tossed it down. The children’s cheers rang in his ears, pure and unburdened by fear.

His mother’s gentle voice wove through the memory, soft and comforting. “You’re so good with them, ████. Always so kind.”

—

Alatus could no longer consider himself as kind. 

The child shifted, a soft whimper escaping as Alatus took another step. Guilt stabbed through his chest, and his hands shook around his weapon.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing the memory away. This wasn’t his village. These weren’t his people. He had no choice. He couldn’t risk disobedience.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the last echoes of laughter fade. When he opened them, the child was gone—pulled inside by trembling hands.

Alatus steeled himself, forcing his heart to go numb.

He surged, attacking the nearest soldier he saw. 

The fire engulfed the assembly and the air grew thick with the cries of its citizens. The scent of blood and smoke mingled together, causing some to retch. 

The flames devoured their beloved homes and Alatus stood at the heart of it all, his sharp gaze tracking the flow of the battle. His polearm moved with effortless precision as he swung and jabbed at the incoming militia. 

Victory seemed inevitable. 

His eyes flickered to the glaze lilies, their delicate beauty now marred by torn soil. A pang of unease rippled through him just as he felt it—a subtle vibration beneath his boots, it started faint, but grew bigger…and bigger.

The tremors intensified, each pulse shaking the ground with greater force. Cracks began to splinter across the stone floor, spreading like bolts of lightning. A dust cloud hazed his vision, concealing the form behind it.

His heart raced, sweat trickling down his spine. In a blink of an eye, the figure burst out of the dust. 

CLANG

Alatus didn’t even remember raising his polearm to parry the strike.

The man—no, the god—towered over him, his amber eyes sharp and piercing, filled with a fury that he couldn’t describe. 

As the dust cleared Alatus’s eyes widened, the god was Morax: the Warrior God, the God of Contracts. The god that his master hated and the sole reason he was tasked to destroy the Guili Assembly. 

Morax bared his teeth, a growl rumbling from his throat, “You dare invade my home and kill my people?” 

But there was no time to answer as a barrage of swings came for Alatus’s head. 

It took everything in him to dodge the blows, desperately protecting his collarbone.

Not his heart. Not his throat. Not even his wings.

If his mark got mutilated, he didn’t know if his soulmate would still take him—if they ever met.

His efforts were successful, but it didn’t prevent him from all harm. His forehead stung and his eyesight became fuzzy as blood dripped into his vision. His arms shook as his weapon was knocked from his grasp and his entire being was engulfed in amber crystal. 

Alatus scanned the area, his blurred vision making out corpses and the smoldering remnants of the flames. 

The battlefield lay silent, smoke curling into the sky as the remnants of Guili Assembly smoldered. Alatus remained trapped within the amber crystal, his body frozen, his mind spinning with guilt and regret.

The few surviving villagers gathered cautiously, murmuring in fear and confusion. The adepti— Electro, Hydro, Pyro, and Geo—stood behind Morax, their eyes fixed on the defeated boy at their god’s feet.

Morax approached slowly, his spear at his side. The amber crystal shimmered in the night, holding Alatus like an insect caught in sap. He was too exhausted to struggle, his head bowed, heart pounding against his ribs.

A faint cry pulled at his attention—a child’s sob, muffled and weak. Alatus looked to the side, spotting the same boy from earlier, clutching an older woman’s skirt, his small hands smeared with soot and tears.

A lump formed in his throat, guilt crashing over him anew.

Morax stopped a few paces from him, his gaze unyielding. “Who gave you the command to attack the Guili Assembly?”

Alatus hesitated, his lips parting to answer, but his voice cracked. “My master...”

Morax’s jaw tightened, amber eyes burning with contempt. “And you did not question it? You chose to follow orders blindly, knowing the lives you would take?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Alatus whispered, the words scraping his throat raw. “If I disobey... she’ll—”

“Hurt you?” Morax’s voice was softer now, but still firm. “And so you chose to hurt others instead?”

Alatus felt his chest constrict, his hands trembling. “I... I couldn’t—”

Morax cut him off. “Your soul is stained with blood, but your heart is still capable of hesitation. Why?”

The god’s gaze flickered to the mark barely visible beneath Alatus’ collar—the small stars etched into his skin. Morax’s expression shifted to something Alatus interrupted as pity. “You carry the mark of fate. Did you not think of them before acting? Your soulmate—would they approve of this?”

Alatus flinched the words digging into his chest like a blade. He hadn’t thought about it—hadn’t dared. How could someone like him deserve a soulmate? The memory of that night resurfaced—of his mother’s voice telling him to be patient, to hold onto hope.

Morax raised his spear, pointing the tip above Alatus’s head. He shut his eyes, holding them tight. 

But nothing came. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A woman stood next to the geo god, her eyes soft with concern, she whispered something to him but Alatus couldn’t make out the words. The conversation lasted maybe seconds but to him it felt like an eternity as they seemed to decide his fate. 

It was odd to see a god as powerful as Morax be so hesitant. 

To his surprise the amber around him dissipated and he stumbled at his new found freedom. 

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, Morax lowered himself to one knee before him. A warm sensation engulfed his being and Alatus felt…lighter. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he was treated with such gentleness. 

His wings flew out behind him, released from their shackles. He resisted the urge to stretch his limbs, his wounds sending waves of pain through his body. 

Morax’s voice was gentle, “Little one what is your name?” 

The words felt oddly tender, a stark contrast to previously commanding presence. His tone held on mockery, only a strange sense of care. The title too, sounded foreign, after years of being addressed with nothing but condescending terms, orders, and insults. Alatus had never been called something so…soft. 

Before Alatus could respond, the air thickened, a suffocating pressure settling over the ruins. Shadows twisted and gathered, coalescing into a figure between Morax and Alatus. A woman with cruel, dark eyes and a twisted smile—his master.

Her presence was oppressive, filling the space with a suffocating darkness. Morax’s eyes narrowed, the adepti behind him stiffening, weapons drawn.

“Xuanyu,” Morax spat, his tone dripping with contempt. “Using a mere child to do your bidding? How cowardly.”

This was the first time Alatus had heard of his master’s name.

Xuanyu’s lips curved into a mocking smirk. “Cowardly? You of all beings should understand the nature of power, Morax. The strong survive, the weak perish. I’ve done nothing you haven’t done yourself.”

Morax’s gaze hardened, his spear tip glinting. “Do not compare me to you. I fight to protect the innocent—you twist and enslave them. Marking a child with your curse is not power—it is weakness. It is cowardice.”

Xuanyu sneered. “Spare me your moralizing. I have shaped him into a weapon, forged from pain and obedience. He belongs to me.”

Morax took a step forward, voice rumbling like thunder. “You speak of him as if he were an object. You may have shackled his body, but his soul does not belong to you.”

His wings twitched, urging him to flee, yet he was still trapped in the amber and his wings were still bound. 

Xuanyu scoffed, dismissively. “And what will you do, Morax? Lecture me to death?”

A flicker of light danced at the edge of Alatus’ vision—a glint of fire in the hands of one of the adepti.

Morax’s eyes narrowed. “If you won’t see reason, then you will face justice.”

Xuanyu smirked, her body coiling with shadows. “You cannot touch me. I am far more powerful than—”

Her words cut off abruptly as the adeptus with the Pyro vision moved with a flash of speed. A burst of flames erupted, and Xuanyu’s head fell to the ground, severed cleanly from her shoulders. Her body collapsed, ash scattering on the wind.

Alatus stared, wide-eyed, as the flames consumed her remains, leaving nothing but soot and scorch marks.

And yet, he did not feel free. 

If his master was dead…

Then the blood on his hands was entirely his own. 

He could feel the pulse beneath his collarbone, faint yet insistent, a star still flickering where it should have burned steady. Did it mourn with him? Or did it rage at him for what he’d done?

The woman was the one who broke the tense atmosphere, “I’m sorry you had to see that little one, I am Guizhong.” 

His voice was barely a whisper, “Alatus,” he murmured. His namesake no longer feeling like a weight against his body. 

Morax nodded slowly,“Alatus.” He hummed in thought, “Alatus, from this day forward you are free. You are free to do whatever you want, to live out your dreams, to find someone to love, whichever your heart desires.” 

—

But what is the point of dreams if they only result in misery?

—

His voice came out hoarse, brittle from disuse. 

“I can’t”

Morax tilted his head slightly. Not confused—simply waiting.“You can’t?” 

Alatus swallowed, his throat burned.“I can’t dream.” 

A breeze passed between them, lifting strands of Morax’s dark hair. It did not touch Alatus.

“Everyone dreams,” Morax replied calmly. “Mortal or immortal.”

Alatus finally raised his head. His eyes were not defiant, but hollow.

“I don’t deserve to.”

His words were small. Smaller than the corpses that lay scattered across the plain. 

For a long moment, Morax said nothing, the air weighed heavily around them,“Then atone for your sins.” 

Alatus flinched. 

“How can I?” His voice cracked, splintering under the memories that came flooding through him, “What could possibly be done to atone for my sins? So many innocent people have fallen under my blade.”

The confession tore from him, leaving his mind and soul in agony. 

The wind shifted.

“Fight for me” Morax said, and this time there was iron beneath the gentleness. “Fight for a better future than the wasteland of the present.” 

Not punishment. 

Not absolution. 

Purpose. 

The words settled into Alatus’s chest. 

A command. A lifeline. 

His shoulders, which had been curled inward like a wounded animal, slowly straightened. But not because he believed he deserved redemption, but because he did not know how to refuse an order. 

“Okay, my Lord.” The title slipped out instinctively, a shackle that he had worn too long. 

Morax’s gaze softened by a fraction, “Morax will do.” 

The correction was quiet, but it was the first time anyone had offered him a name without ownership attached to it. 

That night, the palace glittered in gold and wine.

The banquet celebrating the prince filled the grand ballroom with light and noise. Nobles from neighboring nations laughed too loud and drank too freely beneath jeweled chandeliers. Music soared through the air, curling like incense.

Aether stood at the prince’s side in silence, armor polished to a mirror’s shine. His posture was tight. Controlled. His attention split between every entry point, every twitch of movement near the velvet curtains, every glint of metal too sharp to belong.

Occasionally, his gaze flicked to the prince.

But Xiao never looked back.

He moved with indifferent elegance, gaze focused forward, the hem of his silk hanfu brushing across marble like a whisper. Aether might as well have been a statue.

The crowd began to settle as Xiao lifted a silver spoon to his crystal glass and tapped it lightly. The chime echoed through the ballroom, drawing the nobles’ attention.

Then—movement.

Aether caught it instantly: a gleam outside the far window. Subtle. Swift. Too deliberate to be anything but deadly.

The prince stood directly in its path as he began to speak. 

Aether moved. 

His blade was drawn before the crash of shattered glass echoed through the hall. In one breathless moment, he was between Xiao and the source of the threat.

An arrow sliced through the air.

Steel met steel.

Aether caught it with the flat of his blade, the impact sending a violent jolt up his arm. Pain flared as the arrowhead scraped across the web between his thumb and forefinger, carving a hot, flaring line that immediately began to bleed.

He didn’t have time to assess the wound.

A sharp nudge came at his side.

He turned—only to meet the prince’s narrowed eyes.

No concern. No gratitude. Just annoyance.

Xiao said nothing, but the glare he gave was unmistakable: Move.

Aether hesitated, glancing at his hand. Blood ran down his fingers, pattering quietly onto the marble floor. He opened his mouth—to warn, to report, to ask for a moment—but the prince's expression remained unreadable, his focus already shifting back to the crowd.

Without a word, Aether stepped back into formation.

He stood silently as Xiao resumed his speech—unshaken, indifferent, untouched.

Blood continued to drip onto the floor beneath him.

Aether gritted his teeth. A storm of curses spun in his head, all of them aimed at one person. He had just saved the prince’s life, and yet—not a single word of thanks. Not even a glance or breath of gratitude. The prince carried on as if Aether was no more than a fan at his side, ornamental and easily replaced.

He swallowed back the urge to roll his eyes, reminded that every movement—every expression—was being scrutinized by a room full of noble sycophants and scheming courtiers. One misplaced grimace could be twisted into treason.

Still, the longer the speech dragged on, the lighter his head began to feel. The cut on his hand pulsed angrily, blood still dripping down his fingers and staining the hilt of his sword. He tried again to shift closer, just enough to draw the prince’s attention, to signal his need to retreat and dress the wound. 

But the prince’s eyes flicked to him only once. Cold. Flat. Dismissive.

“Don’t bleed on me,” he hissed under his breath.

Aether’s mouth went dry. He didn’t reply.

He wobbled slightly where he stood, knees threatening to buckle. Hand wounds didn’t usually bleed this much; the arrow must have sliced deep. He focused on his breath, on grounding himself, on not passing out in front of the guests while anger pooled through his veins. 

He held formation until the final word was spoken and applause broke out.

Only then did he allow his body to ease, shoulders tight as iron as he followed the prince out of the banquet hall, blood drying on his hand like war paint.

The palace corridors were dimmer, quieter. Their footsteps echoed too sharply off stone walls.

The silence that followed them through the palace corridors was painfully thick and suffocating, Aether’s hand had gotten unsettlingly numb, and while a scab had thankfully begun to form along the cut, it did little to dull the sharp, residual throb crawling up his arm. 

But he stayed silent.

Because duty demanded silence.

Even when anger boiled in his chest like lava.

The prince’s behavior was unbelievably inconsiderate, his father was known to be kind and righteous, just where did those traits go in the prince? 

The door to Prince Xiao’s chambers came into view. Aether held his breath, praying that no conversation would pass between them. He wasn’t confident he could hold his tongue.

“So,” came the prince’s voice, sudden and sharp. “What was that?” 

Aether froze mid-step. Of course. He had jinxed it. 

He turned his head slowly, only to meet a stare laced with disdain. There was no concern in the prince’s eyes—only annoyance, “Your Highness?”

“I’m talking to you, knight.” He continued, scoffing, “You see anyone else around here?” 

Aether clenched his jaw. His fists were already curled tight at his sides, blood still drying on his fingers. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”

“I mean, what was that idiocy just now?” the prince snapped, voice rising. “How dare you embarrass me in front of the entire party?!”

Aether blinked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Embarrass you?” he repeated, incredulous. “I saved you!”

“You raised your sword in the middle of my speech. You spilled blood at my feet. Do you have any idea how that looked?”

“I was protecting you,” Aether said, voice low, trying to keep the edge out. “Someone tried to kill you.”

“Watch your tone,” Prince Xiao hissed. “You don’t get to talk back to me.”

The urge to shout, to shake the prince,—it burned in Aether’s throat. But then came the final blow.

“You’ll be cleaning the stables tomorrow morning. Before sunrise.”

Aether’s vision darkened for a moment. Rage welled up, hot and bitter.

But duty was a collar that fit too tightly to slip.

He bowed stiffly. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Xiao gave a dismissive noise and turned into his chambers.

Aether rolled his eyes at the Prince’s back. 

Only when the latch clicked shut did Aether allow himself to move. He turned sharply on his heel and hurried through the winding halls to the lower floors of the palace, to the room assigned to him since his appointment. It was modest, tucked away in the barracks and the training yard. A single bed sat in the corner, a desk piled with blank pieces of paper, and a lone oil lamp casting shadows across the floor. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was his.

He didn’t waste time. Shedding his armor piece by piece, he changed into sleepwear and moved to the adjoining washroom. Under flickering lamplight, he cleaned and dressed the wound, silently grateful it didn’t require stitches. The scab had set in deep, dark and crusted around the edges. It would scar.

Fine. Let it.

He extinguished the lamp and lowered himself into bed, limbs aching. The room fell into darkness, and Aether closed his eyes.

He hoped the next days would be better. 

—

The stables reeked of manure and rot. 

Aether rolled up his sleeves and picked up the shovel, jaw tight as he worked through the filth. His wounded hand throbbed under the bandages with every movement, but he didn’t let himself slow. The stench clung to his skin, invading his senses, the straw scratched at his wrists, and the early morning chill sent shivers down his spine. 

He didn’t hate the labor. But the insult of it—after the banquet, after the blood—left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He swallowed it. Like everything else. He needed the job, everything else was secondary. 

And in the weeks that followed, nothing changed. He resumed his post at the prince’s side, but Xiao offered no word, no glance, no sign that Aether’s presence registered at all. Always the same: cold, unmoved, eyes fixed forward. Not even the barest flicker of acknowledgment.

Aether sometimes wondered if he’d gone invisible. 

Sometimes, he fantasized about punching the prince right in his perfect, expressionless face.

He never did.

But Archons, he wanted to.

-2-

The morning rooster hadn’t yet crowed when the sharp pounding on Aether’s door jolted him from sleep. 

Half-dreaming, half-ready for battle, he threw the door open with his dagger drawn from underneath his pillow, squinting his eyes into the darkness in an attempt to see who would wake him up at this ungodly hour. 

Prince Xiao stood in front of him, calm, as if the current time was a normal time to wake up. His eyes, sharp as frost, locked onto Aether’s.

“Hurry. Get ready.” He tossed something at Aether’s face.

Aether caught it by reflex. A rough brown cloak—civilian garb, thick and plainly cut, the kind worn in colder months. He stared at it, confused for a heartbeat too long.

“You’re… down here?” he muttered, barely processing. The barracks were not a place for royalty—especially the crown prince. Xiao never came this deep into the knights’ quarters, not unless he was observing training from a distance. And speaking of which, Aether couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn his sword for anything other than protection.

He rolled his eyes, “Just get ready.” Tapping his foot like Aether was already running late. 

Resentment flickered to life beneath his ribs.

“Where are we going, sir?” he asked, tone sharper than it should have been.

“Downtown,” the prince replied, flat and unconcerned.

Aether arched a brow, annoyed at his vagueness, “For what, your highness?” 

Prince Xiao exhaled slowly, his patience thinning. “Is this an interrogation?”

When Aether didn’t answer, the prince added, “It’s for my father. The holidays are nearing.”

Aether lifted the cloak in his hands, expression wordless but questioning.

The prince rolled his eyes. “We’re going in disguise. If we get caught in the holiday swarm, we won’t make it back before noon.”

Disguises. That meant no armor. No obvious weaponry.

His only small weapon was the dagger in his hand, a gift from Lumine. Its hilt was encrusted with a single Rose Quartz gem, light pink, smooth. His fingers brushed the familiar grip with a quiet sense of grounding.

He gave the prince a curt nod, saluting without a word before retreating into his quarters to prepare.

—

The wooden carriage that arrived to pick them up was plain but sturdy. Its iron wheels groaned over the cobblestone road, rocking gently as it passed through Liyue’s plains. Aether sat across from the prince, draped in the rough civilian cloak, his hand never resting far from the dagger hidden at his waist. Without armor, he felt bare. His back remained straight, muscles coiled with anticipation. 

The silence stretched long between them. 

Aether sighed and rested his chin on his hand.  He cast the occasional glance toward the prince, because regardless of how insufferable the man was, Aether could admit it: He was good looking. Golden eyes, sharp with avian pupils, rimmed with faint red that made them seem to burn even in the low morning light. There was a reason that royalty and nobility lined up at his doorsteps seeking his hand in marriage. 

Xiao stared out the window, with his expression unreadable as ever. Then, without turning his head, he spoke.

“Don’t call me ‘Your Highness’ or anything of the sort while we’re outside the palace.” 

Aether blinked. “Then what should I call you?” 

“Xiao,” he said simply, “Few people beyond the inner court know my name. Let’s use that to our advantage.” 

The name felt strange on Aether’s tongue. “Alright. Xiao, then.”

It sounded too human. Too soft for someone so cold and untouchable.

He didn’t let the thought linger. He shifted his gaze to the window again, fingers idly tugging at a fray on his cloak. The city had long disappeared behind them. They were moving through a dense bamboo forest now, and the dim light of early morning was smothered beneath swaying stalks and mist.

Aether leaned closer to the window, instincts twitching. Something felt off. The woods were too still.

No wind. No birdsong. No crunch of distant wheels or hooves. Just the muted creak of wood and the soft exhale of breath.

The carriage lurched.

Aether pitched forward, nearly tumbling into the prince. He caught himself on the wall, heart already thundering.

“Bandits!” the driver cried.

Before the word had even fully registered, Aether was already moving. He unsheathed the dagger at his side in a clean motion, the familiar weight grounding him as the horses screamed in panic.

The carriage slammed to a stop. Outside, steel flashed in the moonlight — shadows weaving in and out of the trees, flickers of movement where no one should have been.

He turned to Xiao, already issuing orders. “Stay inside. Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

He didn’t wait for acknowledgement. He kicked the carriage door open and leapt into the fray.

Wind tore at his cloak. Cold bit down to the bone.

A blur of movement — Aether twisted, raising his dagger just in time to parry a blade aimed for his ribs. Sparks flew. His arm jolted back from the impact, the weapon flying from his hand with a sharp clang as it skidded across the dirt.

The attacker lunged again, emboldened.

Aether dodged, using the attacker's momentum to slam his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him back into the grass with a heavy grunt. 

No time to breathe. Two more figures were closing in fast. 

He cast a glance towards the carriage, hoping that the two bandits in front of him were the last of them. 

He moved first. 

Darting low, sweeping one bandit’s legs out from under him with a harsh twist of his boot. The other came in, sword raised, swinging with wild, erratic force. 

 Aether narrowly pulled back. The blade nicked the air inches from his face. He cursed under his breath.

He didn’t recover fast enough.

A fist slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back. Pain flared white-hot behind his eyes. 

Another first dead center in his face. Blood spilled from his nose, hot and coppery. 

The bandit he’d knocked down was already up again, snarling.

Aether staggered but held his footing. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve, teeth grit. 

They came at him together.

He didn’t have a weapon. Just his fists. Just his body.

He blocked what he could, but blow after blow landed — a kick to his ribs, an elbow to his shoulder. He could feel bruises blossoming beneath his clothes, sharp and angry.

His breath came ragged. His muscles ached.

And then—his boot struck something hard.

Aether glanced down in the chaos. A glint of pink. His dagger.

He dove.

His hand closed around the hilt just as one of the bandits brought their sword down. Steel rang against steel. He parried, twisted, and drove his dagger forward in one fluid motion.

The bandit cried out, dropping his weapon as he collapsed.

Aether pivoted — ducked a punch — and slammed his elbow into the second man’s temple. The body crumpled like paper.

The last went down with a solid kick to the chest, landing hard and staying there.

Silence fell. Just the wind again. Just his heartbeat in his ears.

He stood still for a moment, panting, head lowered, body throbbing. Then he turned back toward the carriage.

The driver was shaken, pale, but uninjured. Aether gave a single nod before limping toward the door.

He pulled it open and stepped inside.

Inside, Xiao was exactly where he’d left him, untouched.

“They’re taken care of, Your Highness,” Aether said, voice hoarse as he stepped inside, dipping his head slightly. “Are you alright?”

Pain lanced through his neck, sharp and sudden. He winced and reached up instinctively.

Xiao didn’t answer right away.

“I told you not to call me that out here,” he said, but his voice was quiet. Not sharp. Not annoyed. It was surprising. 

“Right. Sorry. Xiao.” The name still irked him, sounding foreign on his tongue

But the prince didn’t look away.

He was staring — not at the dirt smeared across Aether’s armor — but at his face.

And not with judgment.

With something else. Something unreadable.

Aether shifted under the scrutiny. Despite the fact he’d just fought off three men nearly twice his size, he suddenly felt… awkward. Small, even.

He cleared his throat. “Is something wrong?”

A pause. Then Xiao’s voice, softer than he’d ever heard it.

“…Your nose.”

Aether blinked, raised a hand to his face, and felt the sticky warmth of blood. He’d forgotten entirely.

“Oh. That. It’s fine. Just a scratch.” A white lie as his nose began to pulse again. 

Xiao didn’t look convinced.

Without a word, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a handkerchief. Pristine. White. Silk. Probably worth more than Aether’s weekly pay. Ridiculous. 

He held it out.

Aether hesitated, making eye contact with the prince,  “Are you sure?”

“Take it,” Xiao said, rolling his eyes, but the gesture was anything but dismissive. His hand didn’t waver.

Aether took it gently, pressing the cloth to his nose. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled.

Xiao still didn’t look away.

His gaze tracked lower — over Aether’s ribs, where his hand had gone briefly. Over his shoulder, where his cloak had torn.

“Any other injuries?”

That voice. That tone. It was almost…concerened 

Aether looked up, surprised by the question. That tone. That flicker of concern. It was so at odds with the distant, cold prince he’d guarded these past weeks.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Xiao cared.

“Just bruises,” he said quietly. “Nothing serious.”

Xiao’s brows drew together, just slightly.

“Do you need to return to the palace?”

Aether blinked. That question hit him harder than any of the blows earlier.

The prince, Xiao, was willing to abandon the errand, go back empty-handed… not for the safety of the crown, but for the sake of a bruised knight.

It was so absurdly kind, so impossible, that Aether almost laughed. But his throat was too tight.

“I’m fine to continue,” he said after a moment, more gently this time. “Thank you, Xiao.”

Xiao studied him a beat longer. Then, with a slight nod, he turned toward the window and tapped once on the carriage wall to alert the driver.

The wheels began to turn again.

The carriage rumbled forward into the morning sun. 

But the silence that followed was not the same as before.

—

The tone during the trip was…different. 

Aether was no stranger to silence. Most of their travels were quiet, punctuated only by the clatter of wheels or the occasional instruction. Xiao didn’t waste words — and Aether had long since stopped expecting them.

But something had shifted after the ambush.

Xiao was still composed. Still sharp-tongued and cool. But now… he spoke.

Not just in orders or clipped reprimands — but in actual conversation.

He dangled intricate jewelry in front of him with casual grace. He lifted vials of perfume for him to smell and asked if they would suit the emperor, his brow arched in inquiry. 

Aether gave answers, clumsy at first. Xiao actually listened.

Sometimes he nodded. Sometimes he scoffed. But he listened. And Aether… couldn’t stop noticing.

It wasn’t just that Xiao talked. It was the way he did it — offhand, casual, like it had always been this way. As though he hadn't built walls of silence between them for weeks. 

Aether had never done this with him before — never sat beside him as anything but a shadow while the prince made his rounds. He’d never been part of the conversation, only the protection.

But now?

Now Xiao looked at him when he spoke. Asked questions. Listened for real.

Maybe he was warming up to him.

Aether didn’t know why, or what had changed, but he found himself hoping — really hoping — that the prince wouldn’t retreat back into his cold shell once they returned to the palace.

He didn’t. 

The change wasn’t loud. Xiao didn’t smile more. He didn’t laugh. But the space between them felt… lived in now. Looser around the edges. Aether wasn’t sure what it meant, but he clung to it all the same.

Sometimes, when Xiao wasn’t looking, Aether would glance at his hands.

Smooth and pale. The kind of soft that came from wealth, not fragility. He had scars too — faint ones, superficial, layered with old memory.

Aether’s hands were nothing like that. Calloused. Practical.

But sometimes — only sometimes — he imagined what it would feel like to lace his fingers between Xiao’s.

Just to see if they'd fit.

-3-

Aether hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Xiao was popular with the ladies.

And the occasional nobleman.

This had to be the hundredth time he’d witnessed someone grovel for the prince’s hand in marriage since his status as Crown Prince had been officially announced. Aether was half-impressed, half-appalled that Xiao hadn’t nodded off mid-proposal out of sheer boredom. He nearly had.

It was always the same: simpering smiles, empty flattery, calculated compliments so sweet they made Aether want to gag. All of it aimed at wooing the prince. None of it sincere.

Unable to endure it any longer, Aether leaned closer, his breath brushing against Xiao’s ear.

“Permission to step out, Xiao?”

Since the attack in the forest, he’d stopped using titles. Surprisingly, Xiao hadn’t corrected him.

And if the casual drop of his name made something flutter in Aether’s chest, well—no one had to know.

The prince gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on the noblewoman mid-monologue.

Aether bowed slightly and left the tea parlor, grateful to breathe in something that wasn’t thick perfume and desperate pleading. The corridor was beautifully decorated, tasteful in a way that spoke of wealth without being tacky. He passed a set of open kitchen doors, where the warm aroma of roasted meats and baked breads wafted out. Waiters lined up beside the wall, silver trays in hand, ready to deliver lunch. 

He rounded the corner, then paused. 

Voices. Low and hushed. Just ahead. 

“...poison the wine?” 

His blood froze. 

“Yes, sneak it in before you serve it to him.” 

“Got it.” 

“What happens if it doesn’t work?”

The answer was too muffled for Aether to catch. 

A shadow flickered across the wall — a man, tall and ginger, dressed like the other servers. He passed by, unaware of the knight pressed into the shadowed alcove behind him.

Aether held his breath. Waited.

Once the man had disappeared around the bend, Aether moved.

He couldn’t go back the same way. If he spooked the would-be assassin too soon, the plan might change — or worse, succeed. He looped through the outer corridor, boots silent on the marble, cutting across the length of the hall until he slipped back inside the parlor just as the noblewoman was nearing the end of her pitch.

Xiao’s gaze found him immediately. A flicker of inquiry.

Aether gave the prince a small shake of the head, not here, not now, and resumed his post behind him. But his thoughts were already racing.

The wine. 

They were going to poison the wine.

His eyes darted to the far doors just as the servant entered with a silver tray and two gleaming goblets which were placed before Xiao and the visiting noblewoman.

The moment the tray was angled toward the light, Aether saw it.

The wine shimmered too much. Not the rich gleam of vintage spirits, but something else—synthetic, magical, wrong. And etched along the rim of the goblet was a string of symbols. He couldn’t read it, but he recognized the script: Snezhnayan.

Of course. The diplomat, a noblewoman from the Snezhnayan delegation, had been unusually persistent, unusually smooth. Snezhnaya had always maintained a tense relationship with Liyue, their peace talks delicate at best. This was no proposal. This was a ploy.

Aether couldn’t let Xiao consume the wine. He hoped that other guards would be able to capture the culprits in time. 

Aether moved forward before he could second-guess himself.

“Allow me, Xiao,” he said quietly. “It’s tradition for the personal guard to drink first.”

A flicker of something passed in Xiao’s golden eyes—concern, confusion, something unreadable. But he nodded, allowing Aether to take the goblet.

“You dare let your servant drink wine meant for you?” the noblewoman said sharply. Her voice was tinged with outrage, but something faltered at the edges—panic.

“He is not my servant,” Xiao snapped. “He is my guard. What I permit him to do is none of your concern.”

She recoiled, trying to recover her composure. With a dismissive wave, she lifted her own goblet and sipped, her eyes carefully avoiding Aether.

Aether met the server’s gaze—briefly. Just long enough for the man’s forced smile to falter.

He lifted the goblet, hesitated only for a breath, and drank.

The liquid hit his tongue like fire.

Not the warm burn of wine. Something colder. Cruel.

It slid down his throat like acid, burning everything it touched. His stomach turned violently. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. The edges of his vision fuzzed, colors dimming, sound warping. He placed the cup back on the table with a quiet clink.

Aether looked up, the waiter and noblewoman were pale, looking like they just saw a ghost. He gave them a polite smile, nodding at Xiao. 

“I need a moment,” he murmured. “It’s… stuffy in here.”

Xiao’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve just returned,” he said slowly, suspicion tightening in his voice.

Aether didn’t reply, turning on his heel and leaving the room, keeping his steps even, and masking the tremble in his fingers. Each step was harder than the last. 

He made it just past the door.

Then his knees gave out.

His back hit the wall, and he slid to the ground, hand clutching his chest as his heart pounded like a war drum. Heat surged through his body, then a chill. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep from crying out, but a low groan escaped him as his vision narrowed.

Inside, chairs scraped. Someone shouted. Footsteps. 

The doors burst open.

“Aether?!”

Xiao’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. A moment later, hands were at his shoulders, pulling him upright.

Aether’s head lolled sideways. Something warm trailed from the corner of his mouth.

Archons, he hoped it wasn’t drool.

A soft thumb brushed his lip.

Xiao went still.

It was blood.

“Oh,” Aether breathed. Then he coughed—once, twice—before a fresh spill of red dripped onto his tunic and across the silk of Xiao’s hanfu..

“You idiot,” Xiao whispered, but his voice cracked around the word.

Aether’s body jerked again—convulsing this time, fingers spasming as darkness curled in at the edges. His fingers fumbled for Xiao’s sleeve and clung weakly.

“Stay with me,” Xiao hissed, arms tightening around him. “I said stay—!”

There were more footsteps now. Yells for guards. For doctors. Xiao’s palm cupped the back of Aether’s head, fingers threading gently through his sweat-damp hair, grounding him, trying to hold him here.

But Aether's grip was slipping.

“Just hold on,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare go.”

Aether’s eyes fluttered. The world tilted sideways.

The last thing he heard was Xiao’s voice, ragged and furious and scared, calling his name into the silence.

—

It was dark.

Not the suffocating kind, but something softer. A quiet kind of black, like drifting beneath a calm sea, the current rocking him gently as if the world were holding its breath. He felt weightless. Detached.

But not alone.

Something warm was cradling his hand—solid, steady, smooth fingers laced between his own. A thumb brushed softly across his knuckles, over and over in slow, distracted circles. Familiar. Grounding.

The cot beneath him dipped slightly with a shift in weight. Then, a second touch—cooler—swept gently across his brow, smoothing back strands of hair damp with sweat.

“You fool,” a voice whispered.

Sharp, trembling. Cracked not with anger, but something far more fragile.

“What were you thinking?”

Aether wanted to answer, to reach out, to smile and say I’d do it again, but his body wouldn't move. His mouth stayed closed. Heavy. Helpless.

“You’re not allowed to die.” A pause followed. A shaky breath. Then softer, almost broken:

“Not like that. Not for me.”

Silence settled in the room, but the hand never left his. Its grip tightened just slightly, as if afraid he might slip away.

And Aether, in the depths of his still-sleeping mind, tried to hold on.

-4-

Aether's nose crinkled at the sudden stench curling through the air — acrid and heavy. He dismissed it at first, chalking it up to something smoldering in the communal kitchen, perhaps. But the smell thickened, clinging to his throat like oil.

He stood, fastening the clasps of his armor with deliberate speed, though dawn had not yet kissed the sky.

The castle halls beyond his door were still dark. Quiet.

Something was wrong. 

A glance out the window halted his movements. He had expected to see the usual ink-black sky. 

Instead, he saw red. 

Smoke. 

His breath hitched. The horizon glowed not with morning light, but with the violent flicker of flames licking up the castle walls.

Without another thought, he seized the last of his armor and grabbed his helmet, bolting into the hallway. Heat hit him first. Then came the shouts — panicked, disjointed — and the ever-growing roar of the fire.

The sky was glowing — not with the coming sun, but with the yellows and oranges of flames spreading violently across the east wing. Flames curled over stone, devouring the castle’s edges like paper.

Outside, the training grounds had become a staging ground for chaos. Servants milled about in frightened clusters, some shouting names, others frozen in disbelief. Aether’s eyes swept the scene, landing briefly on the emperor, flanked by a woman with red horns —Ganyu, the royal secretary.

The fire hadn’t been contained. In fact, it was growing — the whisper of flames matched only by the rising volume of voices.

“...Crown Prince?” 

“Did you see them?” 

“Rex Lapis, please could they have escaped through the west wing?” 

Panic lanced through Aether. That’s who was missing.

Xiao.

He wasn’t in the yard. He hadn’t made it out.

Aether’s heart thudded violently in his chest as he broke into a run. Unlike his own quarters, Xiao’s chambers were near the top of the eastern spire — dangerously close to the origin of the fire.

He tore through the crowd, ignoring the startled voices that rose in his wake.

The castle groaned around him — timber snapping, stone cracking. His armor clanged with each step, the sound swallowed by the hungry growl of the inferno. He shoved his helmet into place, securing it as smoke curled inside the visor. His lungs burned, his eyes stung.

He kept going.

He climbed, floor by floor, the smoke thickening with every step. The heat was stifling, and though his helmet shielded his lungs from the worst of it, it did little to stop the sweat that poured down his neck. His hair clung to his face in sticky, matted strands. It felt like he’d been dropped into a Natlan sauna — only this wasn’t steam. This was fire.

His skin prickled beneath the armor, each piece of metal like a furnace pressed against his body. Breathing was becoming harder. Shallow. Ragged.

The walls groaned, the structure itself crying out. Somewhere above, something cracked. Below him, the stairwell hissed with flame. Still, he climbed.

Finally, he reached Xiao’s floor.

He ran blindly through the corridor, eyes focused on the door at the end — and nearly missed the figure staggering along the opposite wall.

“Xiao!” 

The prince turned sharply, eyes wild. His nightclothes were soaked through with sweat, hair stuck to his forehead in limp strands. He was upright — barely — and moving not toward the exit, but deeper into the hallway.

Xiao opened his mouth to speak, but a coughing fit overtook him. His shoulders shook violently with each breath.

Aether sprinted to his side, slipping under his arm to keep him upright. “Xiao—what are you doing?! The stairs are the other way!”

“Qiqi…” Xiao choked out, voice hoarse. He doubled over with a fit of coughing. “She’s still… she didn’t… I have to—”

Aether caught him before he could fall.

“Hey—no. No, listen to me,” Aether said, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re not going back in there. Here’s the plan.”

He took a deep breath, then pulled off his helmet. The moment he did, the smoke hit full force — it clawed down his throat and scorched his lungs. His eyes burned, watering instantly. It was like being plunged into ash.

He shoved the helmet into Xiao’s hands. “Put this on and go downstairs. Find the others. I’ll get the princess.”

“But—” 

A splintering crash interrupted him — a flaming beam dropped from the ceiling just a few feet away, spraying sparks across the hall.

“Now, Xiao!” Aether barked, tapping the helmet urgently. “Go!”

Xiao hesitated, staring at him with wide, conflicted eyes. Then he gave a sharp nod, shoved the helmet on, and stumbled toward the stairs, barely looking back.

Aether swallowed, his throat raw. He watched until Xiao was gone, then turned toward the deeper corridor.

The hall had started to collapse in places, stone scorched and floorboards sagging underfoot. The smoke was suffocating. Without the helmet, every breath was agony. Sweat drenched his back, and his hair stuck to his face. He felt like he was being cooked alive.

His breathing grew ragged. He coughed violently, slapping a hand to his mouth.

When he pulled it away, his glove was slick with something black. Not soot — thicker. Sticky.

Phlegm, dark and thick as tar.

He stared at it for a heartbeat too long.

Then he kept moving.

He knew the way. He had escorted Xiao and Qiqi to their playdates countless times. She was a sweet kid — forgetful, often called him the wrong name — but kind. Bright. Aether had no doubt she would grow up to do great things.

He reached Qiqi’s door.

Or what was left of it. The upper half had splintered, the frame blackened. The handle was warped from heat. He shoved against it with his shoulder once, then twice, until it groaned open on brittle hinges.

The room inside was thick with smoke, but the fire hadn’t touched everything yet. The flames licked along the far corner, devouring curtains and creeping across the edge of a bookshelf.

“Qiqi!” 

Silence. 

Then, soft, rasping breath. He turned, eyes adjusting through the haze. 

She lay curled under the blankets, clutching a ragged doll. Barely conscious. Her skin as pale as porcelain.

Aether rushed to her side, pulling the sheets back.

“Qiqi,” Aether breathed, kneeling beside her. His lungs burned, and his voice came out hoarse. “Princess—we have to go.”

She didn’t stir.

He reached for her shoulders gently, giving her a light shake. “Qiqi. It’s me, Aether. We need to leave, now.”

She twitched faintly. Her head turned. “...Too loud.”

Aether glanced back at the door. The fire was catching faster now—the heat pressing in from all sides. He had no time to coax her.

“I know,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I’ll carry you, okay? Just hold on to me.”

He slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her carefully. She was lighter than he expected—fragile, almost cold to the touch despite the heat that threatened to suffocate them both.

She didn’t resist. She tucked herself against his chest like a doll, one tiny hand curling unconsciously in the fabric at his collar.

Aether stood, readjusting his grip. The air was thicker now, nearly opaque, and he had to squint to make out the hallway. His throat ached. His body screamed for rest. But he ran.

The ceiling groaned overhead, and embers rained down as he passed under the broken door frame. Smoke bit at his eyes, blurring the path forward. He held Qiqi tighter, shielding her with his body as he retraced his steps.

One flight of stairs, then another.

His lungs burned.

The staircase blurred beneath his feet — stone, smoke, heat, all melting into the same pulsing haze. Aether kept his arms tight around Qiqi, her small frame tucked against his chest, her face hidden beneath his chin.

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Could barely hear his own foodsteps over the blood rushing in his ears. 

The air grew cooler as he descended, but it didn’t feel like relief, it felt like collapse. 

He saw light. 

Real light. Morning light, diffused through the smoke and fog and shouting voices. And people. So many people. A lot more people than what there was before he went inside the castle. 

Aether stumbled through the half-collapsed archway that led out to the grounds. As soon as he stepped into the open air, the noise of the world crashed back in: gasps, cries, orders being barked.

Someone screamed, “It’s him! The knight! He has the Princess!” 

But Aether didn’t hear them. He only heard the sound of his own breath — ragged and shallow, catching in his chest like he was still drowning in smoke.

And then—

“Aether—!”

Xiao’s voice cut through everything.

Aether turned his head, vision swimming. Xiao was running toward him — helmet tucked under his arm, eyes wide. His face was streaked with ash and tears he probably didn’t even realize were there.

He reached Aether just as his knees buckled.

“Hey—” Xiao caught him by the arms, steadying him as he sank to the ground. Aether went with it, not fighting anymore. His body had nothing left to give.

He knelt in the dirt, cradling Qiqi in his lap with trembling arms. He couldn’t speak. He just breathed — or tried to. His chest rattled with every inhale. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Xiao dropped to his knees beside them. His eyes darted between Aether and the little girl in his arms, too overwhelmed to say anything. He reached forward with hesitant hands, brushing Qiqi’s hair out of her face.

She was okay. Her lips were pale, but she was breathing. Her hand was still curled in Aether’s tunic.

“I…” Aether’s voice cracked. “I got her out.”

“I see that,” Xiao whispered. “I see.”

His voice broke at the end.

He looked at Aether like he didn’t know whether to scold him or hold him. And Aether couldn’t meet his gaze — not yet. His eyes stung too much. From smoke. From something else.

A stretcher was being wheeled towards them. Qiqi was carefully picked up from his arms before another set was lifting Aether too, placing him on the soft mattress. 

Xiao held his arm lightly. “You’re—burned,” he said, as if just realizing it. “Your hair—your skin, it’s—”

“I’m fine,” Aether rasped.

“You’re not.” Xiao’s brows knit together. ““Why did you do that?” Xiao asked. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. Raw around the edges.

Aether blinked slowly, like the question didn’t make sense. “She was still inside.”

“No. I mean before that.” Xiao looked at him fully now, and his voice sharpened. “You didn’t know she was there when you ran in.”

Aether didn’t answer right away. He just watched the ground — the ash-softened dirt, the soot coating his boots, the faint prints left where he had stumbled out.

“I saw the crowd,” he murmured. “The servants. The soldiers. The emperor.”

He swallowed hard.

“But not you.”

“I looked for you, and you weren’t there.” Aether turned his head, meeting his eyes at last. His face was streaked with sweat and soot and something achingly honest. “I didn’t even think. I just ran.”

Xiao opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Aether turned his gaze downward again, voice quieter. “If I hadn’t seen you—” He exhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t have stopped. I would’ve gone all the way to the top.”

Xiao’s throat tightened. “You could have died.”

“I know.”

“You almost did.”

“I know that too.”

His hands were empty now. He didn’t know what to do with them.

Xiao stared at Qiqi as she was being examined by the physicians and then looked up again. “You’re… such a fool.”

“Probably.”

“You weren’t even heading for the stairs,” Aether murmured. “You were going after her. You couldn’t even stand, and still…”

“She’s my sister,” Xiao said.

“I know,” Aether murmured. “And you… you’re you.”

“You went back for her,” Xiao said, softer now. “Even after you found me.”

“I couldn’t let you lose her,” Aether answered. “Not after seeing your face.”

Xiao’s breath hitched. He turned his head, as if looking away could keep the tears from forming — but it didn’t.

Aether leaned forward slightly, swaying with the effort, and Xiao instinctively reached out to steady him. Their hands met — Xiao’s fingers warm, Aether’s skin like fevered iron beneath the armor.

The fire still crackled in the distance. The sky above them was grey with smoke, the first light of morning barely pushing through. Somewhere nearby, soldiers called for order. Water was being hauled, plans shouted, injuries counted.

Aether closed his eyes, exhausted.

And felt lips press to his forehead.

-+1-

Snezhnaya declared war on Liyue not long after their failed assassination attempt on Xiao, demanding the return of the 8th and 11th Fatui Harbingers without reparations. The Emperor denied the request outright — not just on principle, but with venom. He wanted the Tsaritsa herself to stand trial. He had already arranged with the Regina to hold the proceedings on Fontaine’s neutral soil.

Instead, a declaration of war arrived by letter.

Xiao demanded to fight.

He was a prince, yes. But before that, a Yaksha — a warrior born in war, sharpened by it, haunted by it. The palace could dress him in silk and jade, but it couldn’t strip the fire from his blood. His weapon was not just a symbol. It was survival. The generals protested. The Emperor hesitated.

Aether begged.

Because to Aether, Xiao wasn’t just the crown. He was him.

But he went anyway.

He found Xiao gearing up in the cold light of dawn, hands steady as he strapped on his armor. His spear leaned against the wall, its tip shining even in the dimness.

Aether had no say in the matter. Not truly. And yet he had tried, that last morning.

“Xiao,” he said, as the prince secured the plates of his armor. “Please. Just this once. Stay behind.”

Xiao didn’t meet his eyes. “You know what I was before I was called Crown Prince, right?”

Aether hesitated. He’d heard rumors. Whispers of a war god. A shadow. A monster.

But he shook his head anyway.

Xiao finally turned to face him, jaw tight. “I was a Yaksha,” he said. “I can handle myself.”

“But what if something happens to you?”

Xiao's eyes flickered. A beat of silence passed.

“It won’t.”

He turned, finally meeting Aether’s eyes. There was no softness in his voice — only command.

“As your prince, I order you to drop this conversation. I’m going.”

Aether had bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

It felt like losing something.

—

The battle was chaos.

What had begun as an organized formation had devolved into a bloodbath. Steel clashed on ice. Bodies fell. Arrows sliced through frozen air like shrieking birds.

But the battlefield was silent now. What remained was snow, red, and steel.

Aether limped across the frost, his ankle throbbing where a skirmisher had clipped him. The cold made it worse — every step like moving through tar, his joints stiff, armor biting into his skin.

Snezhnayan winters were no joke.

He hated to admit it, but part of him wished the battle had taken place on Liyuean soil. At least there, he wouldn’t feel like a doll with faulty articulation.

Most soldiers — Liyuean and Snezhnayan alike — had already fled or fallen. The silence was eerie. A battlefield with too few survivors always was.

And Xiao...

Aether hadn’t seen him in minutes. Minutes that stretched into eons.

He spun in place, searching the field — eyes sweeping blood, bodies, broken blades.

Then he saw him.

Xiao was crouched low beside a pile of debris, spear still in hand, chest heaving. His face was streaked with ash and gore. He looked exhausted. There was no visible injury — and that alone was enough to make Aether’s pulse settle, just for a breath.

Despite everything — the snow, the blood, the ruin — Xiao was beautiful.

Aether started toward him, relief blooming like warmth in his chest.

He almost called out—

Then he saw it.

One of the corpses twitched.

Corpses don’t move.

A Snezhnayan soldier rose with a grunt — leg nearly gone, face pale, arm wobbly as he lifted a bloodstained claymore and moved toward Xiao’s unguarded back.

Aether didn’t think.

He ran.

The sword came down.

And Aether threw himself between them.

They hit the ground in a tangled blur of armor and snow. Xiao gasped. Aether grunted, shoulder slamming into the frozen dirt.

“Xiao,” Aether panted, breath hitching. “Are you okay?”

Xiao stared at him, wide-eyed. Not in relief.

In horror.

He didn’t answer.

His gaze dropped.

Then lifted again, slow and disbelieving.

“Aether…” he breathed.

“What?” Aether asked, glancing behind him. “Let me finish him first—”

“No,” Xiao whispered. “Let me.”

The Snezhnayan attacker lay still now — truly dead this time, what remained of his leg a mess of frozen blood and torn flesh. The effort had taken the rest of his energy. 

His sword was gone.

But Xiao was still holding Aether.

And his hands were shaking.

Aether started to push himself up — only for Xiao to push him gently back down.

Aether frowned. “What’s—”

“Aether… don’t move,” Xiao said. His voice was shaking. “Please. Just—don’t.”

Aether stilled. “Why?”

Xiao’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his eyes lowered to Aether’s torso.

The snow was red.

Aether followed his gaze and saw it.

The sword. Protruding clean through his body. The tip glinted with blood just beneath his ribs. The hilt jutted from his back like a mockery.

He hadn’t even felt it at first.

Just pressure.

Now—

Now he felt everything.

Aether’s breath caught. His vision blurred. The scream tore from his throat unbidden, sharp and ragged. Pain bloomed like fire through his chest, white-hot and unbearable.

He curled inward instinctively.

“Hey,” Xiao said quickly, his hand flying to Aether’s cheek. “Don’t move. Just breathe. I’m here.”

“I can’t,” Aether whispered, eyes scrunching shut. “Xiao, it hurts—archons, it hurts so much.”

“I know.” Xiao was already pulling off his cloak, pressing it to the wound. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

Blood soaked through the cloak in seconds.

He lowered Aether onto his lap. Cradled him like something precious. Aether could feel the panic in him — in his touch, in his silence. His hands were slick with blood. The snow around them had gone crimson.

“You’re okay,” Xiao whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

Aether knew that was a lie. 

He tried to breathe, but it came in shallow gasps. The cold was gone now. Everything was warm. Too warm. He blinked slowly, lashes wet, eyes clouding.

He had to say it.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Xiao said. His voice broke. “You shouldn’t have—”

“But I did.”

“You always—why do you always do this?”

Aether looked up at him. “Because I never wanted to protect the crown. Okay well, maybe at first”

Xiao’s let out a small chuckle before his breath hitched.

“I wanted to protect you.”

That shattered something in him.

“You did,” Xiao whispered. “You always do. Every damn time.”

Silence fell. The kind that ached. The kind that was already mourning.

Snowflakes drifted down, catching in Aether’s hair, melting against his skin.

“Don’t,” Xiao said. “Don’t go. Don’t you dare.”

Aether was still now. Too still. He could barely see now.

“I think…” His voice barely audible. “I’m tired.”

“No. No, not yet. Stay with me.”

Xiao clutched his hand. Fingers trembling.

“Aether,” he breathed. “Look at me.”

Aether did. 

Barely.

Then Xiao leaned down.

And kissed him.

It was soft. Shaking. Tasting of tears and iron. But it held every word Xiao had never said. Every regret. Every prayer.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered against Aether’s lips. “I should’ve… archons, I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do,” Xiao breathed. “I love you. I love you. Thank you for protecting me.”

Aether’s lips curled faintly.

Then the light left his eyes.

The crowd roared, thousands of people chanting his name, cheering for the beginning of his first set. Xiao could feel the vibration of the drumbeat pulsing beneath his feet, the thrum of the bass following close behind. He inhaled slowly, lips brushing up against the mic.

“Alright,” he said, voice low but steady. “Let’s start this off right.”

The volume of the arena grew impossibly louder, almost drowning out the opening notes. Lights shifted—purple and teal sweeping over the stage. The first song was a fan favorite, its tempo fast and beats heavy, a perfect outlet for Xiao’s raw energy. His voice rang out, strong and piercing, every word carrying an edge of passion.the kind that let him scream his lungs out and drown in the sound.

Aether stood just a few feet behind him, fingers effortlessly strumming his bass, the low hum vibrating right under Xiao’s skin. His braid swayed with each movement, catching the strobes of light every time he tilted his head.

The edge of a smirk tugged at his lips as Xiao began to sing.

The words came easily. Muscle memory now. Xiao had performed this song dozens of times on this tour, but tonight, every note felt sharper, more alive, like the electricity in the air had laced itself into his vocal cords.

The bass rumbled through the floor beneath him, steady and smooth. He didn’t have to look to know Aether was moving. He could feel it.

The beat kicked up. Xiao moved with it, hips tilting, body swaying into the rhythm. He didn’t usually dance, he wasn’t that kind of performer, but tonight he couldn’t help it.

The crowd fed off it, screaming the lyrics of his song louder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aether lean in, stepping closer during the instrumental break. Fingers flew over the strings, braid flicking over his shoulder as he dipped into the beat. Xiao’s lip quirked into a subtle smirk as he sang harder, voice rougher, more intense.

He didn’t turn to face him. Not yet.

On the next song, his voice cracked—just a little. Not enough to ruin anything. Just enough that he felt it.

Felt the shift.

Aether didn’t miss a beat. He never did. His fingers stayed steady on the strings, bassline clean and rich beneath Xiao’s voice, anchoring him when the adrenaline threatened to spin him off balance.

He gripped the mic tighter, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t need to look to know Aether’s eyes were on him, piercing through the fabric of his shirt, burning into his skin.

It wasn’t part of the show, yet every movement between them felt natural, like it was a long time coming.

By the second verse, Xiao was prowling the stage. Aether stayed behind for most of it, in his own element.

But during the bridge, he stepped forward again.

Right into Xiao’s orbit.

They passed each other. Close.

Not close enough.

Xiao’s shoulder brushed Aether’s chest, and for a second, neither of them moved. The contact barely lasted a breath, but it jolted something inside of him, setting fire to the parts he was trying to put out.

The lights pulsed in time with the beat.

He turned—not to the crowd, but to Aether—screaming the last few lines with everything he had. Aether played like he was the one singing, body curved into the music, lips mouthing the lyrics with him.

Like it meant something.

Like it was meant for him.

The song ended in a crescendo of lights and cheers. Xiao stayed in place, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his neck.

He dared a glance over his shoulder. Aether was already walking back toward his amp, braid swinging low against his back.

The drums were already picking up another beat.

Xiao barely had time to catch his breath before the synth kicked in: dark, slow, coiled tight like a spring.

The third song was flirtier. Dirtier.

Xiao tilted his head back, exposing this throat as he hit a high note. He knew what it looked like. He knew Aether was watching.

By the fourth track, Xiao let the mic cord wrap about his wrist. Aether’s bass rumbled low, vibrating in his chest like a dare.

The lights burned red.

He rolled his shoulders once, loosening up.

The bass kicked in hard, deep, pulsing. The riff slithered out from his fingers—smooth, teasing. Xiao could already feel the crowd react, their screams hitting a higher pitch.

He moved without thinking, dropping into the beat.

His back collided with something solid.

He could feel the heat through his shirt, it was hot. His mouth felt dry.

Xiao exhaled through his nose.

Then, together, they started to drop.

Slowly.

Controlled.

The crowd lost it.

Aether’s back was firm against his. Unshaking. Xiao placed a hand on his shoulder, before feeling the dip of a head on his own.

They hit the floor in sync, knees bent, bass and vocals tangled in something that wasn’t just performance anymore.

The flashing lights framed them, turning them into silhouettes, two bodies melting down into the rhythm, tethered by sound and skin.

Xiao could feel Aether breathing behind him. Could imagine the curve of his mouth, the sweat on his neck. Aether’s braid brushed against Xiao’s arm as they rose together, still back to back, like their bodies were molded to fit each other. Xiao let the music guide his movements—every sway, every tilt—synchronized with Aether’s rhythm

They didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Aether’s bass spoke for him. And Xiao’s voice, raw and yearning, answered right back.

The lights dimmed, signaling the end of the performance.

Or it would be, if it was any other night.

One spotlight shone in the middle of the stage, illuminating Xiao.

He swallowed harshly, his body hot, nerves wracking throughout his limbs.

A hush rippled through the arena.

He stepped forward, mic lifted to his lips, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "I wrote this one… for someone who’s been with me since the start," he admitted, the words hanging in the air, vulnerable.

A pause. A breath. A glance sideways.

Aether’s fingers stilled for a moment, his gaze widening.

Xiao smile gently, “I hope he knows who he is.”

Another beat passed. The air was thick with anticipation.

The background track began to play, soft and slow, a harsh contrast compared to his usual music. The lights shifted again, warmer now. Shades of yellow and green flowed through the arena, gentle and intimate.

Xiao inhaled deeply, his voice smooth as he sang, “Your morning eyes, I could stare like watching stars.”

Aether glanced up at him, brow furrowed with curiosity. He hesitated for a moment, fingers stilling on his bass. Xiao shook his head slightly, signaling that he didn’t need to play this time.

Xiao continued, his words soft, “I could walk you by, and I’ll tell you without a thought.”

“You’d be mine, would you mind if I took your hand tonight?”

Aether began to play his bass, a few gentle chords and arpeggios that fit in with the rest of the melody.

“Know you’re all that I want in this life.”

“I’ll imagine we fell in love.”

Aether’s eyes widened, realization dawning in them, the meaning behind them hitting him, the muse the song was written for. His movements slowed, and he began to walk toward Xiao.

I’ll nap under moonlight skies with you.”

Xiao turned to face Aether, the air between them thick with something unspoken. Their positions mirrored the earlier moment when Aether had mouthed the lyrics to Xiao—but this time, there were no words exchanged. Only the music, and a palpable tension.

“I think I’ll picture us, you with the waves.”

Carefully, Aether stepped closer, tucking his head into Xiao’s neck as he continued strumming his bass. Xiao could feel Aether’s breath, warm and steady against his skin. His heart fluttered, a blush creeping up his neck.

“The ocean’s colors on your face.”

They began to sway together, the slow rhythm of the song pulling them closer, the crowd’s cheers muffled in the background as they focused only on each other.

“I’ll leave my heart with your air.”

Aether closed his eyes, exhaling softly, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“So let me fly with you.”

The softest of kisses was placed at the curve of Xiao’s neck, the warmth of Aether’s lips sending a shiver down his spine.

“Will you be forever with me?”

Aether tapped Xiao’s shoulder, coaxing him to look down. His hand rose, cupping Xiao’s jaw with a gentleness that contrasted the wild rhythm of Xiao’s heart. He pulled him in, lips meeting in a tender kiss just as the lights shut off, concealing them in darkness.

They stumbled backstage, still tangled together, unwilling to part. Xiao had left his mic behind. Aether’s bass however, still slung across his front, jostled between them, ignored.

Aether’s lips never left his skin. He mouthed along Xiao’s neck, tongue trailing sensitive lines before blowing softly over the damp skin, making Xiao shudder and his breath hitch.

Shamelessly, Xiao pressed Aether gently against the nearest wall, gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head as he crashed into his mouth again. The kiss turned messy fast, needy, breathless, a tangle of teeth and tongues. The bass bumped between them, and Xiao quickly reached up to unhook the strap, letting it fall to the floor with a dull clatter.

Somewhere in the haze, Aether’s hands found their way under Xiao’s shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin. Xiao gasped into the kiss, breath ragged.

“Not here…” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded.

Aether voice came low, unsteady. “Okay.”

Xiao grabbed his hand and pulled him down the corridor. Their steps were staggered, kisses stolen between doorways and shadows. When they finally reached the makeup room, Aether turned them around, slammed the door shut behind them, and pressed Xiao flush against it before recapturing his mouth.

They kissed like gravity had lost meaning. Hands roamed, desperate and uncoordinated, drawing each other in until they were chest to chest, learning every inch of fabric and flesh they could reach.

Xiao’s fingers slipped under Aether’s shirt, skimming up until they found a sensitive spot. He flicked his nipple, then tugged it lightly.

Aether moaned—high and sharp—his hand flying to his mouth too late to stifle the sound.

Xiao caught his wrist and gently pulled it away.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

Aether’s breath caught. He nodded, pupils blown wide.

“X-Xiao–” He cried when Xiao tweaked his other nipple.

The sound of his name falling from Aether’s lips nearly undid him. Every noise, every shift of Aether’s body sent another wave of heat surging through him.

As he was about to switch their positions he felt a hand on his chest preventing him from moving.

Just as Xiao moved to shift their positions, Aether stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Please, Xiao…I want to make you feel good,” he whispered.

Xiao flushed deeper, heart hammering. “S-shit… okay.”

He barely had time to think before Aether sank to his knees, hands already tugging at Xiao’s waistband. Slowly, he unzipped the fly of Xiao’s pants, tugging them down until they swamped his ankles.

Gently, he mouthed at his boxers, his mouth warm against the fabric, teasing. Xiao groaned, burying a hand in his braid, tension making his limbs tremble.

“Stop teasing,” Xiao growled, tugging lightly on Aether’s hair.

Aether's face displayed a sly smirk on his face. He yanked Xiao’s boxers to the same level as his pants.

Xiao’s erection throbbed, its color an angry red, begging to be touched.

With his hands, Aether cupped his member, toying with it as he collected Xiao’s precum and smeared it across the surface, rubbing his hand up and down.

Xiao glared at Aether, urging him to pick up the pace, making Aether chuckle and send him a wink.

Finally, Aether kissed the tip before engulfing the entirety of it in his mouth. The end hitting the back of his throat in seconds.

Xiao whined, bringing a hand to cover his reddening face, one hand still in Aether’s hair, “F-fuck.”

Aether sucked hard, swirling his tongue along the shaft, backing off to mouth at the tip before taking it all in again.

“A-Aether…I’m gonna…”

Xiao’s head tipped back, his breath caught in his throat, rutting against his face at the sensation, eliciting a whimper from Aether.

He panted, staving on his orgasm to check on the blonde,“You okay?”

Aether hummed, sending vibrations to his spine, before popping off, “Do that again.”

Xiao’s stare darkened before taking Aether’s hair and guiding him back to his cock. Aether’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as Xiao began to pound into his mouth.

Their pants filled the room. Xiao felt himself reaching his peak again tugging himself away from Aether’s mouth, a whine escaping from the loss of sensation.

“Still with me?” Xiao rasped

Aether eye’s moved up, his mouth open as deep breathes flowed through his lungs. “Y-yeah.”

Xiao leaned down, scooping him up in one smooth motion. Aether’s legs wrapped around his waist with ease. Xiao kicked off his pants, lips brushing over Aether’s ear as he walked them over to the vanity.

He pushed aside makeup tools and palettes with one arm, setting Aether gently atop the cleared surface.

His voice was husky with desire. “Ready?”

Aether’s eyes met his, nodding enthusiastically.

Xiao tugged Aether’s garments off his body, doing the same for his own shirt.

“Turn around.” Xiao whispered, nudging Aether’s side.

Aether complied with a breathless chuckle, sliding off the table and turning to face away. He leaned forward, pressing his bare chest against the cool wood, his elbows braced on the surface for support.

The sight made Xiao’s mouth go dry. He licked his lips slowly, gathering his thoughts.

Gently, Xiao traced two fingers along Aether’s shoulder before bringing them to his mouth, brushing lightly against his lips. “Suck.” he commanded softly.

Aether parted his lips, taking the offered digits into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them with deliberate, slow movements. Small, muffled moans slipped past his lips, and Xiao felt his arousal grow, heat pooling low in his stomach.

When Xiao withdrew his fingers, a thin strand of saliva connected them briefly. He traced a circle around Aether's entrance, earning a shiver in response

“H-hurry up.” Aether breathed, burying his face in his hands to muffle his own sounds.

A low chuckle rumbled in Xiao's chest as he pressed a single finger inside, feeling Aether's body clench around him.

Aether moaned quietly, his legs trembling as he gasped, "More..."

Xiao rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his fond smile. "Impatient," he muttered, but obliged, adding a second finger. He moved with care, stretching Aether slowly, relishing every twitch and gasp.

Aether shuddered, one hand gripping the edge of the vanity to keep himself steady.

Xiao curled his fingers experimentally, and the reaction was instant, Aether's whole body arched, a loud, breathless cry escaping his lips. "Xiao! R-right there..."

Encouraged, Xiao set a rhythm, his fingers sliding in and out, pressing against his prostate until Aether was a trembling mess. Just as Aether's breathing grew more erratic, Xiao withdrew his fingers entirely, wiping them against his own thigh.

He wrapped a hand around his own aching length, giving himself a few quick strokes before positioning himself at Aether's entrance.

Without warning, he thrust forward, sinking in fully in one smooth motion.

Aether cried out, his hands scrambling for purchase on the table. Xiao hissed at the tight heat enveloping him, savoring the feeling.

Breathless, Aether whispered, "Xiao... move..."

Leaning in, Xiao's mouth brushed Aether's ear. "What was that?" he teased, even as his own hips twitched with the need to move.

Aether groaned, rocking his hips back to seek more friction. "You heard me... please..."

Smirking, Xiao pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. "You’ll have to beg a little better."

Aether shivered, the tension winding tight in his body. "Xiao... please... fuck me."

The plea broke Xiao’s resolve. Gripping Aether’s hips, he snapped his own forward, setting a relentless pace. Aether’s cries filled the room, his voice breaking on Xiao’s name each time he hit that spot deep inside.

"X-xiao, I'm close..." Aether panted, his body tightening around him.

Xiao moved closer, his hand tangling in Aether’s braid to pull his head up. "Look at yourself while you come," he rasped, eyes dark and commanding.

Aether almost forgot that they were at a vanity, one fully equipped with a mirror. At the sight his body blushed redder than what he thought was possible.

Seeing that Aether was looking, Xiao nibbled at his ear, “Good boy.”

The words pushed him over the edge, his climax hitting hard as he tightened around Xiao, his moans spilling unrestrained.

Xiao didn’t slow, even as Aether shuddered through his orgasm. With a swift movement, he lifted Aether, turning him around and pushing him onto his back on the table, still buried deep inside. Aether’s legs wrapped around his waist, and Xiao pressed their bodies close, driving into him with renewed fervor.

Overstimulation ran through Aether’s core. His nails raked along Xiao’s back, almost certainly leaving marks.

"Xiao... too much..." he whimpered.

Kissing along Aether’s jaw, Xiao whispered, "You can take it. Be good for me."

Aether whined, the words sending a jolt through him. He looped his arms around Xiao’s shoulders, burying his head in the crook of his neck, leaving small bruises as he traveled from his chin to his clavicle. His voice broke into soft, desperate moans.

Xiao’s thrusts grew erratic, small moans leaving his mouth as Aether played with him.

One particularly strong thrust sent stars flying through Aether’s vision. The strong thrust became two, then three, four, five…

One final, deep thrust sent him over the edge, his body tense as he spilled inside. Raising his hand to bring Aether to his second peak of the night.

Aether's lips sought his, the kiss messy and breathless, their bodies trembling as they slowly came down from the high.

With a soft hum, Xiao rested his forehead against Aether’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. Xiao’s hands gently traced soothing circles on Aether’s sides, grounding them both as their heartbeats gradually slowed.

Aether let out a soft, contented sigh, his eyes half-lidded and dazed. He pressed a lazy, affectionate kiss to Xiao’s jaw, his lips brushing warm and soft against Xiao’s skin.

Xiao couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that slipped out, his fingers brushing through Aether’s tangled braid. “You really know how to make me lose my mind,” he murmured, voice low and warm.