#voidrifter

Almost.

A glimpse of fire-red is all she needs to see to know, but she's used to seeing it. Just that, a glimpse. A moment, a blip of the imagination that can be blinked away. This one lingers, stays after she has blinked, after she has held her breath and waited for it to be like everything else.

Suddenly, as though a switch has flipped and she cannot bear the idea of it disappearing, Kiana's head swivels. Sure enough, she is there, except it's not... her. Lips press into a thin line, fighting the emotion that threatens to make them quiver. She is like a picture frame whose glass has cracked, shifting the same image just enough to be something else. It isn't her, Kiana doesn't have to ask to know it, but she wishes it was.

"Oh-" she's been staring. Heat crawls up her neck and sends her gaze darting away. "S-sorry. You just look... like someone I know, is all."

.✧ ー OVERTURE 2024

It would always begin with a long, searching stare—a look of surprise; slightly parted lips, widened eyes. She would always feel the weight of their gaze before she even turned to meet it, only to be greeted with a look of disbelief and hopeful eyes that almost seemed pleading. Just for a moment, they would hold their breath, mumble her name, even, before realisation would come. Then followed a quiet sigh escaping them, soft and empty, as that gleam of hope would slowly fade from their faces.

She’d often see it on Welt. Saw that flash of recognition from Acheron. She’d noticed the yearning in that young lady's eyes as she asked for a photo with her. And as always, Himeko had long learned to brace herself for it, greeting each look with a resigned, gentle smile. Before she could even hear their request, their apologies, Himeko already knew they would see her as someone else—a reflection of someone they loved and, perhaps, lost.

It was an almost-familiar ache she had come to expect, knowing that she could never fill the place of the one they missed so sorely, but that did not mean she could not be there for them as Himeko, the Navigator of the Astral Express instead. She will not live as anyone’s echo, no. She shall continue to refuse to be seen as a ghost of someone else’s memory. But even so, she can still be there for them—be someone they can trust. Someone they can rely on.

Someone they can call a friend all the same.

“ May I? ” She offered, stepping closer behind the girl so that she could thread her fingers through those stubborn light locks. “ I think a different style would help tame these. Can I try? ”

Briefly shifting her gaze at the mirror in search of the other’s eyes, Himeko began undoing the ponytail her hair had been tied to, hands gentle as she gathered her hair into two equal sections and, starting with one side, she divided the hair into three even parts, fingers weaving them together slowly—over and under, over and under, as though in a rhythm, a hum of a song nearly slipping past her lips.

As she reached the end of the first braid, she secured it with a small tie, before turning her attention to the other side, fingers moving with that same gentle—almost careful, really—touch.

When both braids were complete, Himeko stepped back to admire her work, giving each braid a final, gentle tug to make sure they matched and… it was almost ridiculous, that aching warmth that slowly bubbled up within her, her fingers lingering for a moment before finally letting go.

Spiderman Kiss

Though Dominance's dolls had only been crushed just the day before, there was little time to rest for the old woman. It felt that the star players energy could not be kept down after such a victory. Perhaps it was the flurry of rap, rap, rapping at her door before even her alarm had gone off that really keyed Fu Hua into how important this was to her.

Kiana, the girl who slept in late, could barely find energy to do homework, and complained at even having to do an inkling of complex thinking, was itching to show Fu Hua more of her newfound strength. While a schedule had already been made, it was impossible to say no, and not because Kiana would not let her.

To explain what Flamescion was to the Empyrean was like swimming through the waves of oceans to find the right words. Each desire was conflicted, knowing what she wanted could not be hers, knowing that even if she had left of her own volition, thunder would always strike when needed. Everything they knew about each other began with deceit. It was only what came after that that Fu Hua could hope to rewrite. Mistakes stamped letters, even if its content contained love.

As she was dressed, she would make her way down to the open area they used for training. Kiana, deaf to the worries of the Phoenix, was practically flying herself. A sword was her choice, flame-licked locks and fabrics streaming overhead. It was like watching a child show off something that, while simple or trivial, was endearing. It held weight to the white-haired girl, that much was clear. Closure to that which was finally gone.

As her mind wanders, a crash, Kiana having missed a stepped and gone careening to the nearest wall. Her attire would get snagged upon some hooks, leaving her sprawled out, hanging upside down.

Quick to get to her feet, she would approach, a hand on her hip. That giggle, too cute and pure, only made her shake her head. The request that came after was to be expected. Before fulfilling such an obvious need, she would tilt her head, eye level with the Kaslana. Leaning forward, her lips would snag Kiana's for a moment, wordless.

"You're much stronger, but you're still a little reckless." Reaching forward, she would tug rather lightly on one particular piece of cloth, causing Kiana to fall a few feet.

One final thud.

It's hardly a very exciting display, but Kiana presents it as though the most important thing her two hands have ever held. Knitted in bright red yarn, she presents... a tube.

As though only then realizing the thing's purpose isn't obvious, Kiana manages an awkward half-laugh. "It's a sweater, for your little chicken friend. See-"

Frantically, she adjusts the little garment to stick her fingers through identical holes in either side. A little wiggle, to demonstrate. "I mean, surely they get cold in the winter too! I can make more, if you want."

And then, suddenly, she forgets the sweater in favor of folding the other into a hug.

"Happy birthday, Hua!"

Presents were a luxury rarely afforded to the Empyrean. Be they students too afraid to get her anything more than a pipe or incense, or cataclysmic events yielding only a cake and some warm wishes. Perhaps there were other moments of proper gifts being bestowed upon the older woman, but she could no longer recall those specific instances. Most likely cast away, too menial, too trivial, not worth holding onto or seeking out.

Memories fleeting, somedays even forgetting her own home, where her name would ring on lips of local shopkeepers or friends, vanished and compressed beneath pressure.

As the sweater is held, Fu Hua is stricken by a realization. She could not recall even the presents her parents must've given her. Memories cannot replay, like a video tape with static where all those parties, birthdays, and holidays should have been. Not melancholic, yet still sobering.

Her expression is hard to read. While soft and tender, eyes seem to scan the garment over. What could be misinterpreted as disappointment, there is regret for the ones that she loves. That her own reaction cannot be calmed, cannot appear humble. To shed blood and to shed tears for her family, her new family, was all she knew.

A smile, finally.

"Alright, promise not to laugh!" From where she sits, legs crossed on the edge of her bed, Kiana flashes the Herrscher a pointed look. It's without much bite, though, and with a sigh she shoves out her hands. "Happy birthday! His face is a little lopsided, but otherwise I think he turned out okay..." Presented for Senti's inspection is an egg shaped little plush, which is rather evidently hand stitched. She's right-- on either side of the felt triangle that is meant to be its beak is an eye, though one is certainly higher than the other. It looks just like the two (much larger) chicken plushies that take residence right behind her on the bed, except instead of Senti's black or Hua's crimson, this one's feathers are purple. "See, so now you have one that looks like me, too." She looks away, sheepish.

Laugh? How in the world could Senti laugh at this? She’s ready to cry at the sight of Kiana’s gift, having to shake her head off to the side and suck up her tears like they’re pieces of her soul breaking off. Not a single one will be shed, not if her nose and eyelids have anything to say about it. She’s the Herrscher of Sentience, after all. It simply wouldn’t do her any good to show the signs of weakness.

Still, she does wonder if Hua got something different. She’d have to commune with her about it later. 

“Are you still an idiot?” she barks, grabbing the doll and bringing it to her face, still so that she doesn’t have to face the Kaslana, “He’s perfect. Don’t say anything nasty about his face! Whatever you say about his face I’ll do to your face!” 

Though she quite obviously doesn’t mean that, she does care enough to take a second look at Kiana’s Piyo. She isn’t very good at sewing, is she? Senti sighs. Somehow that makes the gift more endearing, and her usual parlor trick of things in her sentient realm seem lame by comparison. Kiana likely put real effort into learning how to make this. She worked no less hard than the rice farmers did at the start of the current era, toiling away at land with little more than steel tools. She feels a tightness in her chest: the kind she’d choke trying to describe to you. 

But it does make her wonder if this is what an earnestly-made gift can do to someone. And maybe, just maybe, slaving away at some boring task like a mortal… Might not be such a bad thing after all.

“I like him.” She speaks matter-of-factly, like she’s telling the time or some other inalienable truth. Kiana-Piyo’s flaws make him human; no amount of lopsidedness could make her hate him. As she turns to face her again, she stuffs the plush against her chest, his uneven little face sticking out from her top. He receives two soft pats before Senti speaks again.

“From now on, I’m taking him wherever I go, and I’ll be feeding him lots of rice so that you won’t worry about him growing up big and strong.” 

Does she know he’s just a plush toy? No matter, what’s more important is how the next few words struggle to fall off her tongue:

Or, rather, that she recognizes the woman in her peripheral.

"Not a familiar face I expected to see so far from..." Ah, what was that city called again? A laugh, to fill the silence or maybe at her own expense. "Have you made a lantern yet? You should."

And then, after a beat, her voice softens. "Sorry if this is weird to ask, but... The people you were looking for, back in-" she gestures vaguely with her hand, "-that weird movie-- were they alright?"

lantern rite 2025.

a stroll through the harbor's streets brings her upon a familiar petite figure --- angelic, literally, in the context they'd last met, and now as she releases a lantern into the night sky. marked eyes blink when the young woman beats her to the punch of asking about the other's presence. a slim smile; enough to bear teeth as she thinks to finish kiana's first thought. "mm, court of fontaine...? or, were you thinking of the other town, the one we met in more properly. I couldn't tell you its name anymore either. with the exception of strange cases like that town of angels and demons we found ourselves in, my work takes me all over teyvat --- and liyue is not too far from home." dark hands skirt over the stand with lanterns to put together, she considers the suggestion, if for a moment, before eyes return to the strange acquaintance before her to answer the other question.

Neither knew how long it would be until they saw each other again. The party was a nice little distraction from such truth, but that excitement slowly became stale as hours went by. The moon rose, and the unfortunate reminder that Kiana would soon return for an indeterminate amount of time became more and more prevalent. A stroll through a stray hallway was where Kiana would suddenly stop.

A glance up, following Kiana's own.

The act of a kiss was not foreign to the Phoenix. Though each of her previous lives only had a handful, they were something to be cherished, a memory found in one intimate action. Others would find no hesitation in providing such moments. Fu Hua was not them. Friends, loved ones, those that she cherished, these small affections were what made each new connection memorable.

Eyes find Kiana, and though there is hesitation, her eyes do not falter as the others do. While their past was rocky, they had become pillars of each other. Support when there was nowhere else to find it, love when there was no way to feel it. At their lowest, they only had each other. Such reliance was not a luxury, but a necessity.

Of all those that could have shared such a moment, Kiana deserved it the most. As of now, there was no one more familiar with Vicissitude. Hands gentle as they reach for Kiana's, thumbs rubbing over pale knuckles. Finally, her gaze is set upon those hands, remaining silent. A deep breath, a step forward, resolving to maintain such an act until Finality comes to pass.

It's not that Kiana's bad at gifts-- in fact, she would consider herself quite great at them. It's more so that, well, she's overthinking this one in particular. Which is stupid, because how different is a gift for your sister than a gift for your friend? Very, if her current anxieties are any good metric, which they aren't. Kiana huffs. It's normal to want to impress your big sister, just disregard all the things that make her anything but a normal big sister. The longer she stands here thinking about it, the stupider she's going to look. Definitely-not-shaking hands move to knock on the wooden frame of Bianka's door. She'd made the trip all the way here for the occasion, though she can't imagine it'll be a surprise. They don't often let her off the moon without announcing it to every name in Aunt Teri's contacts, much to Kiana's dismay, but it's the thought that counts. And when it opens, there stands one Kaslana herself, a rather unimpressively wrapped rectangle tucked under her arm. She wastes no time in thrusting the little thing forward for her sister's inspection, now-empty hands immediately shoved into her jacket pockets (lest they betray her nerves for her.) "Happy birthday!" The smile doesn't have to be forced, however, sun-bright despite her ears burning. "It's nothing, really. I made it myself, so..." In the wrapping is a picture frame, hand painted around the edges in soft blues. She made it herself, alright, if the messy brush strokes and poorly hot-glued charms and collage of stickers weren't indication enough. Tucked in the center, behind the glass, is a picture of the two of them somewhere in Penacony-- a very artistic shot, with Bianka mid-blink and Kiana herself only halfway in frame. "It always makes me laugh, this one, so I kinda hoped it would do the same for you."

Bianka did not think Kiana would be present at all today, no.

Now that she thought about it, perhaps this was the reason why most of her friends had been so insistent she spend most of her day elsewhere. The Herrscher of Sentience had whisked her away into a domain crafted specifically for her birthday, and for a while, they spent their time there trying various cakes and drinks, a sinful treat she rarely allowed herself. Afterwards, the rest of the Immortal Blades took her to a private movie screening, courtesy of the very generous Overseer. The film, about a puppy's life, was heartwarming and a tearjerker, leaving Bianka misty-eyed despite herself.

By night's fall, Bianka’s cheeks ached from all the laughter and smiles she had shared.

Today had been a wonderful day, she’d muse, carefully tucking away the ornate box Welt had gifted her. Today, everyone had spoiled her rotten, showering her with presents she never dreamed of receiving, and really, there was nothing more she could have asked for.

Which made the knock on her door all the more surprising.

Hadn’t everyone greeted her already?

She closed the drawer on her desk and walked to the door, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear as she opened it.

Happy Birthday!

Two words she had heard countless times today, each repetition carrying warmth and cheer. Once, she might have found them silly—awkward, even—especially when directed at her, the supposed celebrant. After all, it wasn’t as if there was anything special about the day itself. It was just a date she had chosen, nothing more. But her adjutant had taught her something recently: the date itself didn’t matter. What mattered was what the celebration stood for.

Today marked a new beginning—a fresh start for the year ahead.

And what better way to open a new chapter of her life than surrounded by the people who made it all worthwhile?

…What better way to end the first day, than with a family’s smile? So bright and endearing, that Bianka couldn’t help but feel choked up, her eyes stinging as she felt her chest tighten with the unfamiliar but not unwelcome ache blooming there.

She let out a quiet laugh, her fingers gentle as they undid the wrapping of her sister’s gift. Inside was the handmade frame, and all its imperfections—the uneven brushstrokes, the misaligned stickers, and off-centred charms—only made it all the more endearing. And then there was the photo, her smile only growing as her laughter bubbled up again.

It was so perfectly clumsy: Kiana half out of the frame, while Bianka herself was caught mid-blink. She didn’t even think Kiana kept this picture of them, much less printed it out for them to keep.

But it was perfect.

No, it was amazing.

With a step forward, she pulled her sister into a hug, tight and unrelenting as always. Predictably, she could hear Kiana let out a muffled groan of protest—or could it have been of pain?—but Bianka made no effort to loosen her hold, either way.

Bianka did not think Kiana would be present at all today, no.

But the fact that she had come, despite the distance and obstacles, with everyone else even conspiring to keep her arrival a secret until this very moment, meant more than she could ever express.

She had never once doubted herself.

A lie she’d come to chant over and over again like a mantra, until it finally felt true. She could no longer remember anything about her past, could no longer recall her name, her birthday, her family, so she came up with them on her own.

Bianka Ataegina—that was her name now. And because she didn’t want to think too hard on her birthday, she settled for one she could easily remember: the first of January.

Bianka Ataegina. 01-01-2000. A girl with no memory.

She had never once doubted herself.

If she were to wake up with the opportunity to relive her life from the beginning, she would follow the very same steps she’d taken. She wouldn’t mind waking up again with no memory, wouldn’t mind crafting her identity from the very beginning once more. She would name herself Bianka Ataegina again. Give herself that very easy to remember birthdate, though truly, it was only but a silly date, so she’d always insisted that there was no need to celebrate her birthdays to begin with.

She had never once doubted herself.

So always, she would introduce her new name, her new identity, with her chin held up high. This was something she’d forged on her own. Something precious to her. Something hers. And on her own, with her own hands, through her own strength, she’d risen to be the strongest Valkyrie—a model to many, the commander of Immortal Blades. On her own, she had come to achieve a great many things, spent years in the Sea of Quanta, met people many would never have the chance to.

Right… She has had a fulfilling life so far. A life many would envy, without a doubt, the very moment they would turn to her and see her radiant white armour and lance.

Still—it has been quite lonely, hasn’t it?

She had never once doubted herself.

A lie she’d come to chant over and over again like a mantra, until it finally felt true.

But even then, she could never deny the rare ache that would worm its way into her heart whenever she thought about her past—the one thing she could never recall. She could never deny the hint of envy that would sometimes flash across her face whenever she found a family walking together, hand in hand, the brightest of smiles on their faces.

How nice would it be, to be a child held so preciously in the arms of her parents. How nice would it be, to have a mother she could run to whenever the nightmares come, a father who could soothe her whenever she felt vulnerable, a sibling to play pranks and make fairy tales with until they’ve worn themselves out and fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

Come to think of it, she never did have the chance to live like a young daughter should, did she? From the moment she woke up, her fate had been set in stone, though it was one she’d carved on her own, ever confident in her choices.

Bianka Ataegina. 01-01-2000. A girl with no memory. An A-Rank Valkyrie at the age of 12.

The girl who took it upon herself to safekeep this tiny Bubble, that it may continue to exist. She was only 12, but even a 12 year old must learn how to grow stronger, more responsible, so that no harm could ever come to those who lived within her. So she stopped being so hot-headed and learned how to quell her anger before it overtook her. She learned how to properly lead. How to properly command. How to properly live the expectations nobody had set upon her except herself.

She was only 12, but for those she loved, she thought it was only right she grew up faster.

Bianka Ataegina. 01-01-2000. A girl with no memory. An A-Rank Valkyrie at the age of 12. Shicksal’s strongest S-Rank Valkyrie at 16.

Bianka Ataegina. 01-01-2000.

Bianka Ataegina.

Bianka Ataegina.

It had been quite lonely, yes.

And perhaps she may have doubted herself after all, every now and then, perhaps there had always been this seed of jealousy deep in her heart, a deep longing for a family, for a childhood, to live a carefree life for once without any responsibility and fear but this was a life she had moulded on her own.

This was her most precious treasure. The seed of her hardwork. A life she had created herself.

She is Bianka Ataegina.