"May I know your name?" The old man gazed up to the First of the Fatui Harbingers, eyes crinkling adding to the faint wrinkles on his face with a warm smile to accompany it.

"Th-" He caught himself. Right, he was a Fatui.

"Capitano is just fine." The captain responded, his gruff voice regaining its composure as he recovered from the mistake.

It's been centuries since he has gone by that name, known as the First of the Fatui Harbingers, and yet Natlan manages to brings about an familiar yet distant feeling that made him forget of that fact. As soon as he set foot in the land of the sun, the people's resolve burning ever-brightly to protect their lands against the Abyss made his feel heart sting.

Perhaps it was how much Natlan reminded him of home, where he wasn't Il Capitano, First of the Fatui Harbingers — but Thrain, commander of the Knights of Khaenri'ah.

Natlan reminded him of the warm breeze brushing against his skin as he patrols around the kingdom. Of the children's laughter as they played with the simple yet intricately designed toys of the bygone days. Of his own men in arms as they made their rounds in their sectors to serve the crown and the people.

The memories of Khaenri'ah of the past would never leave his mind. He still remembers of the day the King commended him of his performance with the modified heart bestowed upon him.

"Your new heart has limitless potential," the King began, his watchful gaze studying Thrain as he bowed before the man in front of him. He remembers how the cold temperature of the marble floor seeped through his uniform. How he kept still under the eyes of his King, his position of kneeling on one knee never once faltering.

"and you have wielded it with bravery and honor." The King continued on, perhaps had he looked up to him, he could've caught a glimpse of a smile on the older man's face — one of pride.

"I grant you the title of Sentinel Knight." He remembered that this was the moment where he got his command, to lead his troops to protect the kingdom with their entire being.

"Like the four pillars of strength, you will continue to safeguard the glory of Khaenri'ah."

The glory of Khaenri'ah...

It was his duty it protect the kingdom, its people at all costs.

"Our land, our dignity, and every comrade that has fought alongside us."

These words would echo in his mind for as long as he continued his duties.

Especially during the apocalypse, the Cataclysm.

He remembers when the his world crumbled before his very eyes.

The day when the hellish creatures of the Abyss flooded Khaenri'ah and purged the kingdom of its light.

He remembers the helpless screams of citizens as all knights fought to defend the streets. Children hiding and families desperately trying to defend themselves against the ungodly creatures that reeked of death and corruption. Pools of crimson and ink black filled the kingdom in a furious tide, it was a grueling bloodbath. Wherever he looked, fire seemed to grow in all directions, its fumes coloring the would-be-skies in a shade of black and grey.

The moment the Seven Archons of Teyvat sent from above destroyed the kingdom, it ultimately eradicated most of the Abyssal creatures, and nothing was left of Khaenri'ah except for a curse.

Celestia was truly despicable.

He remembers walking through the ruble.

Many were killed, not even women and children were safe. His men were no different. His comrades he fought with and the men he trained himself paid their lives to protect the kingdom they devoted their lives to. In the aftermath, perhaps death was the easier route.

He looked at the spared men, the light in their eyes dimmed that day. They were searching in the leftover destruction for their loved ones. Hands were desperately digging the debris, attempting to find any semblance of life as their tears wet the ground. In the aftermath of the bloodbath, only silence remained as the dust settled on the devastation of what was once a glorious kingdom.

Every survivor was lost. Each had a distant look in their eyes, fragments of their hearts in their bloodied palms there for all to see. All of them lost their only home and their loved ones. What does it mean to live when there was nothing to live for?

It was clear, nobody has a the strength to go on. So, he decided. He would be that strength for them, for it was his duty. For as long as he live, he would never allow himself to be exempted of his sworn oath —to safeguard the glory of Khaenri'ah. When all that is left of their kingdom is ruin, then they would be the ones carrying the flame of honor of Khaenri'ah.

Thus, he continued his journey, leaving behind the wreckage of his homeland, to seek answers and to avenge those who lost their lives.

Time seems to drag on as they made their passage across Teyvat.

Every day brings its own set of challenges, both new and unfamiliar.

He recalls the first time he and his men surfaced from the ruins to the world above, where Archons oversaw most of Teyvat.

The warm sun of Liyue hitting their skin as well as the stronger breeze from Liyue was a start. The terrain in the Land of Monoliths were riddled with towering mountains and steep valleys.

Then there was Sumeru. H remembers when he and his men got drenched under the heavy rain of Sumeru. The thick forests full of life near its capital contrasted greatly with the never-ending dunes of sand to its west where nearly nothing survived save for a few villages and wild creatures.

Something they both shared was how all of them seemed to be impervious to the Abyss. Perhaps it was the work of their Archons.

Last was Natlan.

There, he came across the Night Kingdom and just when he arrived, the Abyss had worm its way between the cracks of the earth, laying siege on kingdom of beyond.

His duties were far from over.

With the native tribe and his men, he fought for the Night Kingdom. He wasn't going to let this kingdom fall prey to the Abyss. He was not going to let history repeat itself in front of his eyes.

Yet it wasn't enough.

No matter, how much he tried...

It wasn't enough.

"The Night Kingdom is almost destroyed," he remembered a man say.

"Our fallen soldiers, your comrades... They have nowhere to go."

Even more of his men fell in this pursuit, the curse put a heavy toll on their souls and bodies. He noticed how all their bodies were slowly decaying, it started with a small patch of obsidian skin with vessels of glowing like lapis that stung slightly. For some, it wasn't as bad. For others, it was horrifying. His men fought well, death was a well-deserved gift of their unwavering will.

His calloused hands let go of his bloody sword, unceremoniously clanking on the ground, forgotten.

He made his way to his righthand man, eyes closed and laid on the ground peacefully, as if he was simply drifting to the land of dreams. Had he not have blood pooling under his body, perhaps he would have thought that.

Thrain had a hand over the man's chest, right above his heart.

He closed his eyes and felt his soul merge with his heart.

He felt the agony, despair the man felt until the end of his life.

It hurt and it felt heavy.

But it wasn't over, many were dead and had nowhere to go.

"What are you doing?!" The man asked the solemn commander, watching in disbelief.

"Are you taking all of their souls with you?!"

The man hoped the Khaenri'an could hear his pleas. No man could handle the pain bore by hundreds alone. He would go insane. The commander did not deserve this that fate.

"You're just an ordinary person, you can't bear that kind of burden!"

His shock quickly turned to frustration as the quiet outlander continued to gather the souls of the fallen into his being, as if he didn't hear his words, not heeding any of his pleas.

"No hero should have to wander alone." Thrain stated simply, eyes focused on the men he lost. They were true heroes of Khaenri'ah.

He had his back towards the man as he stood up, the weight of souls making it harder to move, harder to breathe and frankly it was hard to even think.

It was suffocating.

But he had to.

He could not leave these valiant men to an undeserving death, they deserved a proper one. One where their souls did not have to wander the earth alone in search of something that was long gone.

Days passed, then months, then years.

Seasons changed, though he could hardly tell when he moved to Snezhnaya. It's bleak landscape was only ever of snow and ice every time he looked out the window. Walking through the snow had only show it more clearly when the eternal permafrost grew in every direction.

Under her majesty the Tsaritsa, he was offered a position and an abode. "To seize authority from the Gods," that was the goal that the Director of the Fatui told him. Considering their own resentment towards Celestia, he agreed.

It was... difficult.

With every glance at the mirror in his room, he noticed the changes on his body. His body was decaying, centuries left him unrecognizable to himself when he looked at a mirror. Unnatural obsidian skin covered most of his torso and nearly half of his face. The curse of immortality. Celestia's personal death-mark and yet it wasn't the worst part of the curse – it was the voices.

He could hear them constantly.

Wailing. Screaming. Weeping.

An overflowing tide of sorrow and despair. Its intensity was one that only hundreds of people with a lost home could generate.

There was also anger.

A fire that could never dim, fueled by rage and hatred from having their hearts ripped out from their chests by an omnisicient god from above.

They were never quiet, incessantly tormenting him with imaginary whispers and shouts in his mind.

Nights were a time to retire the mind, but he would always find it hard to return in the solace of sleep. Loud voices of the lost were ringing in his psyche, begging for rest.

But while solace in the arms of slumber was something he could not reach, he was comforted by a single voice in his mind.

One that reminded him of the sweet-scented flowers of Inteyvat wreaths in his home. One that reminded him of the paradise he found when returning to a warm cup of tea and a book. One that reminded him of the times he could come home to the arms of the woman he loved the most — you.

You, who caught his eye when he first patrolled around the kingdom as a rookie.

You, who gave him sweets and pastries from the bakery you worked in as a "thank you" for his service.

You, who always managed to make time to talk to him in the middle of your shifts and gave him a sweet laugh that tugged the end of his lips into a smile after he tried (and failed) to muster a joke.

You, who told him "I love you" under the warm flickering lights of the kingdom one night as he was walking you back home.

You, who loved him so much that you accepted his proposal to marry you after a few years of courting you.

You, who made his place feel more at home with small trinkets on his bookshelves, fresh Inteyvats in vases and the continuous scent of freshly baked bread from the kitchen.

You, who were unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of attack during the Cataclysm and passed.

You were the first soul he carried in his journey. You deserved a far better end than the bitter destruction of your home. For that, he carried your gentle soul until he found a suitable place of rest.

And now he had the chance to achieve it. For you and for the comrades who had given their lives.

"Using immortality to fight death..."

The unearthly voice echoed within the realm of night.

Capitano steeled his eyes to the sight of the eerie jet-black and crimson eyes in the rip formed within the sky, studying him as power surging within lifted debris and rocks from the ground.

"Using my rules against me..."

The voice continued, the skies' hue turning to one of crimson, reminiscent of the bloodshed he had witnessed in his life.

"Make your choice, reject your rules or allow me to trigger the paradox."

The only form of acknowledgement he would give.

The grip on his sword tightens, the plume of death following closely to his person. He does not plan to back down and he does not plan to negotiate his terms any further.

Crimson eyes flickered around to analyze the Harbinger, clouds of the same hue swirling around the deity, awaiting their decision.

"... The curse of immortality must stand," Ronova concluded, "Use it to fulfill your final wish."

With that Capitano walked towards the Throne of Primal Fire.

The Snezhnayan Fatui Harbinger's boots echoed against the stone stairs up the singular throne, a final walk towards his end. The air around him began to grow frigid, mists of ice followed him as well as the souls he carried with him for the last hundreds of years.

He could hear them more clearly now. They were more at ease, content.

"Well fought, my Lord."

Multiple chains hanging from his uniform and coat clanked on his armor as he made his way up.

"Thank you for everything."

His ebony hair flowed behind him as he tightened his blackened-ice sword in his clutch, ready to fulfill his final duty.

"This time, let's go together."

He felt the power coursing through him as he grew the tainted ice around the throne, ice beginning to cover the steps of stairs he had walked. As he reached the top, he sat down on the throne. His loyal sword planted to the ground beside him with his right as the ice grew to cover nearly the entirety of the throne.

"You've done so much... It's time to rest, love."

Thrain felt gentle hands on his shoulder, a familiar scent of Inteyvats invading his senses. Even with closed eyes, he knew it was your soul calling for him. He has done what he has promised and now, he received the greatest gift that could ever be bestowed upon him — a blissful rest.

Thank you for reading till the end :)