An uncomfortable, stifling weight had encased the hearts of Teyvatâs Watchers for months, pressing down on their chests, stifling their breath. And yet, the people of Teyvat had not called on them.
Life still lived, someone lived to call upon them, and yet nothing opened the gate between them and their sibling world. So, as agreed upon millenniums ago, they would not interfere. As long as the people believed they could handle it, the twins would watch on.
But why did it affect them so?
When Teyvat finally, finally called, the twins rushed to its side.
Within the temple, an audience awaited; humans, adepti, yokai, Archons, and⌠humans, adepti, yokai, Archons, and Divinityâand Mother. Their first thought, before the lights faded, was that the foolish mortals had thought to make preparations before completing their end of the Watcherâs Vow, calling upon them when the Divine One returned, the discomfort they felt trying to inform them that they had failed their half.
And when the light faded, revealing a temple unable to be maintained by mortal hand, agony wrenched apart their hearts.
The thousandth star dies and the next draws first breath, Their first fragment shall return to favored lands when deception meets its death.
And yet, there Motherâs broken form lain limp across the stone floors theyâd crafted themself, while deception grinned down at them with a sadistic smirk.
Mother hurts, their hearts cry, Mother hurts.
Mother hurts and the children rage.
Cyres hits the ground by them first, dusting the chains, dusting their pain, dusting everything and anything that comes too close, too close, too close to the dearest existence he knows. Mother isnât supposed to hurt, he thinks, hugging your healing form closer as you go limp. Mother is supposed to smile at us and laugh when Cryas is being an idiot and scold us when we take things to far and read us stories from civilizations before us when weâre upset even though we all say weâre too old for it. Mother is supposed to be happy.
He can feel Cryasâ powers at work, restoring Mother once Cyres had cleaned the rot. Cryas, who was dumb and brash and had too much fun with things; Cyres trusted no one more to make these heathens suffer.
âYou.â Destruction seethed, intent on getting his part in. âYou foolish mortalsââ Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. Cyres forged the Watcherâs Vow for a reason. âHave you forgotten our deal?â
For every single second since Motherâs passing, the brothers had watched and waited, ever heeding of Teyvatâs call. Theyâd let multiverses rot and crumble for the preservation of a single planet. Theyâd allow destruction to collapse in on itself, creation to run rampant, if it meant their Motherâs chosen place would be able to call when the time came.
One thing, theyâd asked for one thing in return.
The oldest of the âgodsâ, a snivelling child to the two, found his voice first. âTheir first fragment will return to favored lands when deception meets its end,â he recited. âWe bring you the deceiver.â
âYou bring us Mother in chains!â Cryas bellowed, the earth trembling under his rage. âYou cater to the every whim of deception and dare to recite the words we taught you?!â
Mother hurts, Cryasâ very soul screams, Mother suffers.
Whenever Cryas threw a fit in the past, he remembers being lightly scolded and brought to calm down. He remembers each and every technique and lesson Mother taught him to control his rage, he remembers their voice reminding him to be kind.
But Mother wasnât awake right now, and these heathens would be punished.
âYou have the nerve, the audacity, to stand there and claim yourself faithful?â He spat. âIâll tear you limb from limbâno, Iâll make you wish Iâd been so kind!â
Heâd tear their very souls to shreds, heâd skin them alive and salt their flesh, heâd never let them die from shock or loss, heâd never let their nerves fail them, heâdâ
âYou must be mistaken!â Some wind sprite tries to insist. âWeââ
âMistaken?â Cryas echoes. âMISTAKEN?â
âWho here wrote those prophecies? Who here was woven together by Motherâs very own hand? Who here is tied to Them in ways youâll never understand?â Cryas spat, snarling at the group. He stalked forward, spitting profanities in languages so obscure and ancient even Mother would have trouble recalling them. Wake up, a part of him whimpered, wake up and scold me like you always would. âWe founded the Vow. We have spent millenia watching over this good for nothing world for Motherâs return, we are Motherâs Faithful. And we gave you one job.â
He stopped a mere meter away from the mortals, who tried so hard to hide their fear. âCall upon us the moment of Motherâs arrival. Even if you thought thisââ he grimaced at the sight. ââthis thing could ever be Mother, you should have called us.â His eyes shifted to the dragonling and wind sprite. âWelcoming Mother is our right. Destroying the deception is our right.â
His lips curled up in a sadistic grin, a crazed glint flashing through his eyes.
In a single swift movement, Cryas took the imposter by the throat, nails digging into their skin, tearing it like paper, and raised them into the air. âSpeaking ofâŚâ Oh, heâd always thought itâd be so difficult to destroy something with Motherâs visage, but his bloodlust had never been so intoxicating. âWe were going to let you off with death, perhaps a painful one if you were⌠uncooperative.â
The fools surrounding him tried to attack, tried to retrieve their false icon, as though they could harm Creation itself. No, all they succeeded in doing was bloodying the fighting body in his hands.
âBut to torture Mother so⌠to call upon us to harm themâŚâ Cryas laughed, a crazed, unhinged thing. âOh, how Iâve been wanting a plaything. Iâll be sure to listen to you begging for death whenever I get too bored.â The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. âIâm sure Mother will be glad Iâve found somewhere to redirect my frustrations, they were always telling me to find a hobby I enjoy.â
Only once the struggles ceased, did Cryas throw their body to the floor.
Only the inhabitants of the cursed world remained. Cryas was a filial son, heâd wait for Mother to decided Teyvatâs fate, but for nowâŚ
He cracked his knuckles, grinning at all his new prey. âDo make this interesting for me, wonât you?â He didnât bother even calling upon a weapon, instead slamming the wind sprite into the ground by his hair. âScream a lot and try to run away, that always makes it more fun.â
âOh, and, donât bother trying to die.â
