#hroptatyr

Yet the high mage did not falter – this was not a failure of his making. Instead, the man presented the Celestial child as a gift to his most precious treasure. You, who held every second of Eftirvit’s heart and breath.

“Stars beyond…! She is utterly adorable!” – You fawned and beamed at the little toddler before you, while your man recounted his endeavors with King Irwin's court. Though initially stung by the King’s dismissal of his capabilities, your excitement was infectious as you radiated joy for Eftirvit’s gift. Even amidst your splendor, he saw the subtle narrowing of your eyes: 

“His Majesty rejected her? So be it. What good is an ignorant court for such a blessed child? What is her name…?”

Indeed, what is this creature's name? The Khaenri’ahn mage did not possess an answer. He observed as you placed the girl upon her back, gently playing with her tiny fist as she cooed and laughed at your warmth. The child regarded her surroundings with bewildered innocence, untouched by any comprehension of the mortal realm. For it was as King Irmin said: she was merely a child. A child neither he nor you were ever granted, a yearning you both endured.

Fate be cursed, your beloved had long perceived the ache with which you yearned for a family. You, too, saw how Vit watched mothers with a sleeping toddler pushing strollers on leisurely walks. It was an unjust punishment from the Gods to deny you, for Eftirvit knew there would be no better parent than you in all of Khaenri’ah, no better love such as yours, no better divinity than you to have a family with. However carefully the two of you concealed the sorrow of empty arms, your man wasn’t blind. He sees how your eyes gleam with unshed tears whenever he tells you: “You will be a wonderful parent, my love. It will work out one day…” 

Perhaps this is what drove him to invoke the Usurpers’ heavens in the first place. Now, as he stood in the living quarters of your shared palace, watching as this little child grasped at your index finger with renowned focus, all of Eftirvit’s previous disappointments have vanished: 

“You may name her then, my divine. Bestow upon her a name you deem more fitting than whatever the court of fools can ever muster. You are far wiser than me, dear.”

Thus, the Celestial child was named Paimon.

Paimon was physiologically no different than any toddler. She crawled when she tried to follow you, she cried when you didn’t give her an extra serving of Sweet Madame, and she laughed when Eftirvit bought plush toys resembling cute slimes. For she was merely your child now. It didn’t take you long to discover Paimon’s ravenous appetite, too. The moment you noticed she had little teeth, you cautiously introduced solid foods. She ate more than you and Vit combined.

Eftirvit found himself spoiling you and Paimon with new clothes and baby items. His closet, which held his and your blouses? Now it had a new section of pastel onesies. The bathroom shelf that had separate combs for both him and you? Now there was a new little comb. The always tidy and immaculate living room that served as a space of private solitude? Now a spacious playroom with toys skewed to and fro. Each one purchased by your beloved Vit whenever he returned home wearing the unmistakable expression of a guilty man who had once again surrendered to a shopping spree for Paimon.

Life was changing, Eftirvit mused.

You reveled in your new parental role. Fussing over Paimon’s meals, always making sure she was dressed well and clean. To him, you had never appeared more luminous than when you cradled Paimon against your shoulder, rocking the sleeping child while you hummed. So warm, yet so content with a little blessing of your own. You’d smile back when you’d catch Eftirvit gazing at you in adoration. 

Though Paimon, like any gleeful child, had her own mischievous side that would send Eftirvit into a frenzy. One day, he heard you calling him over, excited. When he entered the room, he saw you lying flat on your back, as if exercising with your feet up, and Paimon balanced high on them as if she were your weights. What was shocking wasn't the play itself, but that the little toddler levitated, with starry sparkles following her like her starwoven cape.

“Look, look, dear! Paimon’s first steps… or uh, first flight!”

He dropped everything in panic, hovering near you two to catch her.

Or one day, when the mage returned after a long day from the Universitas Magistrorum, he found you looking particularly disheveled. Paimon’s wails were loud and clear, immune even to your tender shushing. Your hair was an endearing mess, and a strand of your top was slipping past your shoulder. He barely had the chance to greet you with a welcome kiss when his eyes widened at the mess:

“Now, now, little one, what is that weeping?” – he stepped in with concern. “My divine, are you alright?”

“She… she eats so much I can’t keep up. When I fed her the whole dinner and told her it was time for a break, she started crying. W-what if she gets tummy aches again? She won’t let me rock her when I took her away from the dinner table.” 

“There, little one… hush. That won’t do. Allow me to take her,” – the resounding sigh and determined words told you Vit is here for the rescue. With Paimon in his hands, he began rocking her, casting a reassuring gaze. “We don’t cry and scream at our beloved, Paimon. We will change and read as well-behaved children. And in the meantime, dear, spare yourself. Take a shower and a nap without worrying. Paimon and I will not disturb you.”

You fussed and defended yourself, but your fatigued eyes showed immense relief at Vit’s fatherly intervention. Excusing yourself that afternoon, you took a quick shower and plummeted face first into the pillows. Parenthood is no easy ordeal.

When you awoke from your nap, it was late in the evening. Stillness enveloped the dim palace, and you rose in quiet confusion to investigate. The living room was tidy. The toys were neatly sorted in a basket. The dishes were drying in the rack. You glanced around quietly until you noticed a solitary desk lamp glowing within Eftirvit’s study. In the corner of the room, by the plush armchair, you found your little family dozing off. Eftirvit was asleep, his head resting on his fist, while Paimon was curled up on his lap, clutching her favorite toy. Her little face was hidden against his torso. It seemed Vit was teaching her simple words again, but the children's book remained half-open on his knee now.

You smiled tenderly.

Yet what is fate but a grand jest from the gods? After 500 years, very few remember the name Eftirvit, and even fewer remember yours. But Pierro would never discard your memories. Even after five centuries of grief, of mourning and separation, he still searches for any trace of you, remembering every happiness and sorrow you both endured in Khaenri’ah’s days of glory. How you held Paimon’s little palms. How you smiled at him in bed. Wherever in the Abyss you may be, Pierro would continue to traverse every land in pursuit.

The jester watched in solemn silence as the celestial creature, now levitating and speaking with certainty to a golden-haired traveler, remembered nothing of his visage. He dared not explain why Paimon felt an unexplained protection from the Fatui Director, yet he kept wondering if she remembered the warmth you raised Paimon with. Does she know who nurtured her curiosity and joy? Whose arms she rested on when she was falling asleep?

She even laughed like you. But perhaps she won’t remember her brief childhood, for then she was merely a child.