"I was a god, Childe. I could fly." Aether breathes, and Childe has never seen him like this before; the sun caught in his golden eyes, his lashes, his daffodil hair. The wind does not blow on this mountain like it should, it is not harsh nor unforgiving, but gentle as it plays with his braid in waves. The dawning sun is not orange, but red and pink and violet as it colors his skin like stained glass.
He looks to Teyvat with solemnity and a sadness that Childe cannot place, a detachment that he does not understand. He doubts he ever will understand, the Traveler's pining, he has no place to. It is in rare times like this that Childe is starkly reminded that the Aether he knows is not of this world. Not of this life and not of this existence.
Right now, Aether resembles divinity. It is all the more easy to believe that he was a god.
"No." Aether drops his gaze, "Gliding is... liberating, certainly. And useful. I can never be more grateful to Amber for giving me my wind gliders. But, it is not flying."
Childe bites his cheek, "How so?"
Aether sighs, "Gliders only take you where the wind wills, where it blows and where it stops. But wings carry you in spite of that." and he smiles, all lips and teeth and little mirth. Bitterness had never found its way on Aether's face before, and Childe never thought it would. It does not suit him, he thinks. Sadness does not suit the Traveler.
Aether hums, reclining down on the grass as if asleep, bearing the last rays of sunshine on his arms. Childe lays down beside him and does the same. Maybe resting is not so bad. They'll stay, at least until night blankets over the sky. The stars should come out soon.
And they lay there in quiet for a while, left to their own contemplations. At least, Childe was anyway.
Aether is a god. Or, he was. The Traveler has seen Celestia in its glory, he has tread on its land as one of its own. It explains myriads to Childe, Aether's strength and his stranger habits, how sometimes he seemed older than even Rex Lapis himself. But, such a revelation also creates many questions. Some, he dares not even ask. Why did Aether tell him this? Is there a point, or is it a whim of his fancy? A trick, perhaps? Though this seems to run too deep to be an impulsive slip of tongue, and Childe knows Aether better than that.
Does he finally trust him? (It is foolish for Aether to trust him. Childe ignores the pleasant skip of the beat in his chest.)
It is Aether who breaks the silence first, "I used to scale Olympus, you know. A mountain in Celestia, larger than life, larger than seven times the whole of Teyvat." though Childe cannot see his face, he knows that Aether is smiling. It's almost a relief. "I flew so high that I touched the stars to rearrange them in the sky. I made them fall." he extends his hand upwards, grasping something he cannot see.
"I was a god, Childe." he says without inflection, "I used to be."
god!traveler is a weakness of mine that I do not mind festering
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