Sani_Cake

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You were munching one of the fruits that you were given by the Aranaras. It always surprised you of how good the fruits and other veggies they gave you.

Especially the veggies. Those are good veggies.

‘Hm, is it because I gave them the ability to be close with nature?’ you thought, picking another slice of fruit, ‘Very convenient ability.’

As you were picking another fruit from the basket. You noticed a noise of tiny footsteps walking towards you. You glanced at the noise and took notice of the little army of Aranaras walking up to you.

You tilted your head, and smiled at the little ones. “Is there something you need, Arana?”

The one in front, Arana, kept looking at the others then up to you. You suddenly felt something was amiss, as if a chilling air that blew past you. “Arana, is there something you want to tell me?”

The little creature fidgeted on its stubby hands, “Arana has something to tell Mama-nara…”

“Oh? Then why do you look so… sad, Arana?” you reached out to pet the little creature, “Is the news you have that bed?”

“VERY BAD!”

You flinched slightly at the interjection of Aradasa. The little orange Aranara waved their little stubby hands. “Mama-nara, please do not go!”

You looked at the frightened Aranara with worry and confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Your eyes flicked to each of the Aranara, although their faces don’t quite change. You can tell how their movements spoke fear and worry. “Can any of you tell me what is happening?”

“Mama-nara…” Arakavi walked forward to you, “Home is calling to you… Home is… hurt and needs Mama-nara..”

“Bu-but Mama-nara is too weak!” Arana protested, “Mama-nara has no power right now! Don’t leave! Or Mama-nara will get hurt by Home!”

You looked at the Aranaras, more confused and more questions bottling in your head. What do they mean by ‘Home’? What do they mean by you being weak? Everything was so confusing.

“Um..” you tried to say something but got interrupted.

“Mama-nara still not remember too…” Arakavi muttered, loud enough to be heard by everyone, “Mama-nara can’t leave yet, or Mama-nara… mama-nara will…waah!”

Arakavi ran towards your arms wailing, you couldn’t help but hold them and rubbing their backs. They wailed and the others also started to let out their own sniffles.

“Please.. Everyone, I don’t understand what you all mean…” you said, petting and holding the wailing little creatures, “You all mention me being too weak and not remembering anything. Am I supposed to remember something?”

Were you? You only remembered making and writing the concept of the—most—characters in the story. Yet the Aranaras have always been dropping hints or bits that seemed that you are more involved. Like, you were more than just a person writing but a person creating—involving within.

At first, you would shake those thoughts away, but right now, it felt more and more compelling. But you were still confused and lost of what was happening.

“Mama-nara…”

You looked up and watched Aramani, one of the older Aranara, walk up slowly to you. You were still comforting the other Aranaras who were now sniffling in tears.

“Mama-nara not remember Aranara… because Mama-nara made a wish. So Mama-nara is here because we promise to protect Mama-nara, because Queen Aranyani told us.” Aramani patted their sibling, “Mama-nara is back but still weak, but Home is calling. Too fast. Too soon. But Home is hurting.”

“Aranara do not want Mama-nara to disappear again, but Home is calling…”

You… couldn’t understand.

You didn’t understand whatever Aramani was implying at all!

What is Home? Do they mean Teyvat? What do you mean that Greater Lord Rukkhadevata asked them to protect you once you returned? What do they even mean by you returning?

Everything… Everything was so confusing.

You had thought you were able to adjust here.

You were able to accept what was happening.

But now that you think about it—you couldn’t adjust at all.

Because why does it feel like you were supposed to remember something that never happened?

‘Why is that, your Grace?’

‘Because he holds something special.’

‘Hmp! Is ‘he’ more special to you than the rest of us?’

‘Hahaha! Don’t be jealous~ Every one of you is important to me, but… yes, he is very special.’

He was special.

Rex Lapis. Morax. The Geo Archon.

He was special to their Grace.

When their Grace wasn’t writing his story. He would watch from afar as they walked amongst the humans. Her creation. Her children.

“Life is a book. You start as a blank page, until your life is written.”

A fate within a story.

And Morax was the main character of his story.

And his story was known to be the most favorite.

This simple information has caused his heart to flutter. His very being wished to be close and bask to their Grace presence. For he wished to be with them—as he was ‘The Grace's Favorite.’

…

Whenever their Grace would write their stories of their creation. The people would feel the strong connection. The connection that let them know that their fate was not just written but to know that their life was taken care of by the Creator.

They were not lost sheep within the lands.

Until that Khaenri’ah boy had to ruin it all…

“A world free from being governed by gods. Mortals given the free-will to seek their own fate and not written within the pages.”

Those were the words of the mortal child.

Morax should have killed him right there, but their Grace was kind to hear his words. And listened to it.

“I will no longer write stories of your fate,” Their Grace once spoke to the people of Teyvat, “I have written your fates and you trusted me in it. But now, I wish for you all to write your own fate. Let your story flow with the choices you have made from free-will.”

“Be free from my rule, my children. For free-will is my final Divine Blessing.”

And just like that…

Morax felt that he no longer was the favorite.

…

During the fall of Khaenri'ah…

He could feel the fracture—the pain of the death of the Creator. It was more than a bruise. More than a stab. More pain than any wound could ever describe.

Boiling—melting.

It was as if he was clawing through the most acidic liquid that could pierce through his immortal body.

It was that pain he felt when the Creator was murdered by the people whom she welcomed into this world.

The same people who gave her the first idea from her final blessing.

‘How dare they…’

Morax mourned just like the rest of the creation of Teyvat—the mourning of the loss of the Creator.

‘How dare they kill the one person who has given them the freedom to live in this world.’

Morax golden eyes that burned bright like fire, glared at the sky of Celestia.

“How dare you forsaken the Creator for their Divine Blessing bestowed to all.”

….

Zhongli awakened from his slumber—startled and stiff. He summoned his weapon and turned swiftly to the one who dared to disturb him…

Only to see an old friend.

“It seems you have lost your touch if a gentle breeze can frighten you, dear friend,” Barbatos, now known as Venti, teased the taller man. He strung his lyre with expertise as the melody danced through the wind of the window.

“What do I owe to be awakened at such a time?” Zhongli sighed as he rubbed his temple.

The playful smile of the barb vanished. The gentle melodies of his instrument now came to a halt. This does not go unnoticed by the brunet man.

“The winds have become unsettled,” Venti whispered, his voice serious—no longer teasing, “They have… I felt her…”

“I felt the rebirth of our Creator, Morax.”

You heard from your doctors during one check-up. They told your parents the possible reasons why you make these elaborate stories. It was for you to cope with your unknown illness.

“You mentioned how your child wasn’t outgoing because of their illness. Maybe this could be a psychological coping-machinism they made to cope from the lack of adventure in their childhood.”

Even if that were to be true, your father and mother would take a seat in front of you and listen to your stories. That was enough to make you happy.

“Do you ever wish to make these characters alive, little one?” your father asked you that question when you drew one of your characters. You didn’t think much of it during that time, but you told your father that, yes. You wanted your creation to come to life.

And your father did just that. He, along with his colleagues, made a game called, Genshin Impact.

You remembered how overjoyed you were and practically cried until you ran a fever.

You remembered how your uncles, even your father, asked if you wanted to be mentioned during the creation. But you told them that no. Because all you wanted was to enjoy and see the stories of your creation. You didn’t care about ‘credits’ or what not.

You were their silent writer. The script writer. The author. The Creator.

But it was a shame that your time had to end before you could finish the other parts of your story.

“A story can not end just yet,” your father told his colleagues, “We have to continue what my child made. Even though it may not be as creative or wonderful as they wrote. I know my child would want to make an ending to their story.”

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It was almost a week.

4 days to be more specific.

That you have been stuck in this little village. Confused and scared—slightly—but still scared.

It wasn’t that you hated the Aranaras. No, you remembered how you made them to be friendly and the definition of the innocence of children. Rather, you were scared because why were you in a fictional world that you created with your father.

This world. 

This world’s characters—people, and creatures.

Were all written from your imagination, because you needed a way to cope from your pain. Until your father made those imagination into a reality through a game.

Yet, the Aranaras felt real. Too real.

If this was all just a dream. Then why do you feel tired? Hunger? Taste? Feel?

Everything was real. Is real.

“Mama-nara?”

You blinked.

You look down at the little Aranara that was innocently looked up from your curled self. They were holding out a leaf towards you. Sensing that they wanted to give it to you. You took it from its hand(?) and said a soft thank you.

The Aranara puffed out its chest and waddled away—little skips on its stubby feet. You could only look back at the little creature then on the leaf that they handed to you. The color was pretty, and it had a unique design.

But you stopped admiring the leaf. Rather you thought back to the name they called you ever since you got here.

‘Mama-nara’

It was obvious.

They thought of you as their mother.

But why? You have asked this to yourself from the past days. Why did these little creatures see you as their mother?

‘Wasn't Greater Lord Rukkhadevata created them in the story though?’

Yes, in the story you wrote, Rukkhadevata was the one who created the Aranaras. They were a part of her. So, why did they call you, mother?

There was one thought that came to mind. But you wanted to deny such a thing. Because why would that be possible?

You let out a heavy sigh, thinking too much was tiring and draining. You just died four days ago after all. You didn't have the time to mourn nor think about that right after you woke up here.

“I wonder how my family and friends are doing…” 

“Mama-nara?”

You stifled a yell of fright, as you turned to look down at another Aranara. It was the older ones if your memories served you right. You smiled at them softly. “Is there something you need?”

They stood there for a moment, then they went close to you. You were confused but let them do what they wanted. The past you did wrote them to be the most harmless and friendliest creatures.

Once the Aranara was close to you, they spread their short arms and wrapped it on your torso.

“It’s okay, Mama-nara,” they said, soft and gentle, “Mama-nara can mourn here…”

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Yet at the same time, you did understand.

Tears that have been holding on within your eyes, finally burst. You could barely cover a whimper as you cried.

Cried, because you died leaving your family behind.

Cried, because you’re in another world.

Cried, because you felt so confused and scared.

Cried, because you couldn’t handle the swirling emotions inside.

“There, there,” the Aranara whispered, letting you hug them and letting you cry, “Mama-nara can cry. Because Mama-nara is hurting.”

Yes.

Mama is hurting, little one.

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Mama-nara is still young too D: Anyways, here is the continuation :P Author got food poisoned >~<

Hearts or comments are always appreciated (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

I remembered creating a life in my little dream. Creatures so ethereal, yet dangerous if provoked. Terrain so complex that you have to watch your steps—or even behind if not careful.

But it wasn’t the creatures or the terrain that made me mesmerize beyond my imagination. Rather, it was the ‘humans’ or ‘people’ that made me so happy in my lonely venture.

I wanted to make more.

Especially the stories that these people have. Their destiny—fate.

However, the more I create, the more I become weak. That was when I learned that creating took quite a tool to someone’s mental health.

Yet I yearned to create more—as it filled the loneliness that I live in.”

Note 4: Dreams

“I once asked my mother, ‘Do you dream, mama?’

She told me that there were times, but the majority of the time, she didn’t dream. ‘I feel embarrassed to dream, and that is too childish for a woman my age.’

I respected her opinion, however I would disagree. Because dreams create impossible things that reality may not create. And maybe… with that dream one can have the confidence to recreate it in reality.

And maybe I dream because… I wish to fill up the void. I dream because I wish to see what life would be if it wasn’t so… lonely and… sad.

Ever since that talk with my mother, I often asked others too. And yes, some dreams and some not so often. Yet in the end, people still dream at one point in our lives.

Though I wish to make my dream truly come true than just dreams. I wish I was just like the others, to recreate the dreams they had.”

Note 8: To be… love

“Though I know I am loved by many—as they always showed and spoke to me whenever I felt down.

But I can not help but feel I am… not so loved as I had believed to be.

If I was truly loved by many. Why do I bring so much… pain to those I love? Why do I only see eyes that are opposite to the words they spoke to me? Eyes that pain me so much more than the love that they give.

Perhaps—- Never—-- ….”

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“So these are the True Divine’s unfiltered thoughts?”

A young man spoke to himself as he evaluated the ancient text before him. Though it was incomplete, it was still worth salvaging as it was the True Creator’s wisdom on text. At least he believed it was worth it.

“It seems that the old folktales that those elders’ would tell children were quite…” the young man pondered for his next words, “Intertwined to the real thing.”

His ruby eyes scanned the text again. “These are more of… someone’s personal journal than actual knowledge.”

And here he thought learning the forgotten language was going to be valuable once he got scattered text from the Creator.

“But all I got were just words of vulnerability from someone who was supposed to be… Superior,” he said loudly to no one. 

He was about to discard the text, but his eyes landed on one particular sentence in the text.

‘Why do I bring so much… pain to those I love?’

He looked at it for a moment.

…

Then he stuffed the ancient text inside his bag. He tsked and stumped out from the ruined temple within the deserted and abandoned area in Sumeru.

‘I am only bringing it for… research.’

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So every new year was just you being quarantined and placed in the hospital while your family celebrated new years without you. (Your parents celebrate a late new year with you after a week of your illness.)

It was still a problem. A very painful one. You remembered how your parents would place you in every appointment with different doctors just so they could understand what was wrong.

And every answer was all the same: “She just has a unique Seasonal influenza. Nothing to worry about.”

‘Nothing to worry about’, you would bitterly say to yourself. Because it is something to be worried about.

The wasted money that your parents cost for your illness each year. Just so they could celebrate the new year with you at least once.

You remembered telling your parents to stop and just accept that you weren’t going to be better. You remembered telling them to have another child—a normal and healthy child.

You could still hear your mother’s cries, as she mourned for her child’s own acceptance of the unknown illness you had. But you had to tell her—you couldn’t endure watching your parents pretend in front of you that you could be ‘normal’ and ‘healthy’ throughout the year.

You were happy that your parents did try to have another child. And he was healthier and normal compared to you—your baby brother.

You remembered being so happy for once in your life. Not worrying about your illness, just admiring your brother.

And your parents were happier this time. Because now, they have a child to actually love rather than worry about.

Everything was fine by then.

Until it wasn’t, it started when you were 18 years old. Like every year, you fell ill again, but this time—it lasted a month.

You coughed more blood. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t feel your body. You felt like your entire body was burning—dying.

Ever since then, you were permanently ill. It wasn’t Seasonal influenza anymore. At this point, it was a virus that was crawling in every nerve of your body—killing each function that was supposed to protect you.

You remembered how your once happy family became distraught. Your parents did everything they could to support you and yelled at doctors to heal you. You remembered how your baby brother cried because he wanted to help but couldn’t.

It hurt. So badly. More than the illness that was killing you slowly.

So by the time you turned 23. You told them to just let you rest: “It hurts to keep watching you have hope in a dying body.”

You watched yet again how your family broke down into tears.

“All my life, I wanted you all to smile, but all I ever gave you were pain and tears” you told your family, “Please, let me rest, and move on. I wanted you all to be happy. No more tears. No more suffering.”

It was painful. But you knew it was the only right thing to do.

So your life ended right there. At the young age of 23 years old. It was pitiful, but what else could you do?

“As long as you all can be happy, then I am too.”

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You felt light.

As if your body was floating on water. Though you couldn’t hear the waves, you could feel it.

So gentle and calm.

It reminded you of your mother’s hands brushing your scalp, calming you from the pain you had once suffered when you were young.

‘So this death.’

It was… peaceful.

You had expected pain, but it seems that you were given mercy after all those years of suffering.

‘It’s okay now…’

Yes, it was okay. You have freed your family of the burden that is you.

You can no longer chain them with your illness.

Everything is at peace…

.

.

.

“Hmm…”

You felt a gentle poked on your cheek—

‘Wait, poked?’

You opened your eyes, but shut it immediately as light shunned you. You let out a choked breath. ‘What?’

The sounds of pitter-patter could be heard. It made you panic. ‘What is happening?’

You wanted to open your eyes again, however your body felt weak—sloggish even. It was like how you felt every year. The thought of it made you want to puke.

“Is Nara… awake?”

You flinched at the sound. “Wh-who?”

As if your body finally listened to you, the lids of your eyes opened slowly. You glanced the… what is that—-

“Nara-mother okay?”

Why are you looking at creatures from your father’s game?

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Hellow! It is I, the author. Anyways, here's part 2 of my SAGAU :D. Hope you all like itヾ(•ω•`)o Comments and hearts are much appreciated!