#aetherial

Aether bonds with each element differently.

When he first placed his hand on Mondstadt’s statue, he is filled with overwhelming delight, as if he is six-winged and space-high, traveling wherever he may. He feels the wind settle in the unnatural hole in his chest, the one where his power should be.

He takes to Anemo immediately, as if it had always been part of him. Maybe it had- after all he is a shooting star, bound only, and vaguely, by gravity. He was freedom incarnate, held down by nothing.

Was.

Geo presents itself to him almost as easily, with its unmovable promises and steadfast loyalty. The element prickles as it enters him, almost icy in nature, and Aether feels urged to shrink away, as if the statue were a chiding teacher and he a misbehaving student.

He knows why. Since he can remember, he has only made one promise: to experience to universe in its entirety by her side. The promise is not broken, he reminds himself, cupping a gleaming orange stone in his hand, and the feeling eases. He wields Geo just as fiercely.

Aether is not prepared for the inazuman statue. The lightning charges through his very soul, tears apart muscle and bone on its way and leaves nothing untouched. So painful it is he cannot scream. It goes on for eons, his hand frozen against the statue, until quite suddenly Electro pulses strong and sharp in the space in his chest.

Eternity is a concept he is similarly well-adapted to and petrified of. Aether is an eternal being- nothing in this life or the next could bring his life to an end, no matter how many times he is dismembered. But the idea of living the same moment until the world dies makes nausea roll his stomach backwards. It is a cowardly, despicable thing, he thinks, and if the price my saying so is pain, so be it.

When he learns of the Twin, and how she died in the Shadow’s arms, he understands, and the lightning becomes malleable in his scarred hands.

Sumeru provides a wonderful reprieve for him, hesitant though he is to touch the statue. Knowledge is a thing sought desperately by all, craved and hoarded and traded more commonly than currency. It is universal. But the delicate cycle of life and death, the one Aether defies, hinders him, and Dendro becomes a struggle to learn.

He only fully understands as Greater Lord Rhukkatevahta’s shadow vanishes, leaving her other half utterly alone. Dendro becomes a bitter element to use, and he does not like to use it.

Aether is careless when he approaches the fifth Archon’s statue. The childish display of theatrics he was greeted with was infuriatinf, and the people’s loose opinions further disgust him. Such flippancy, especially at a the distinction of truth and perjury, should not be the norm, and with this irritation occupying his mind he forgets to be wary.

He touches the statue.

It is pain beyond the Inazuman storms, beyond what Teyvat has thrown at him thus far. It is bursting organs, drowning lungs, rushing blood, as if his skin has split to allow his being to spill out on the ground for all to see. As if he can feel every inch of his body swelling and splitting apart and he is drowning in his own blood.

It is only over when he hears Paimon.

“Aether, you are in Fontaine with Paimon. You are in Teyvat. Paimon needs you to breathe. When you can, please say something…”

She repeats it over and over, chanting in her squeaky voice, and Aether finds it is not in the syllables of Teyvat. She speaks in his home language, and it is just enough to pull him out. He grasps onto her voice like an anchor and wakes.

His body gives out, crumpling upon the pristine flagstones, and he cannot find it in himself to stand. His body feels so very heavy, and the fifth element weighs down upon his bursting chest like a bad omen.