#warpaved

they say all adepti are bound by contract to protect liyue from evil, but where do adepti come from?  some say they are gods themselves, descended from celestia to lend their support to rex lapis.  some say that adepti were once human, risen to the ranks of divinity after facing spectacular challenges presented by the gods themselves.

however, the chemistry of life is an extension of the chemistry of earth.  after all, blood is made of iron.

zhongli remembers the day of xiao’s creation well.

when zhongli was known as morax, the god of war, he knew he would one day require the aid of splendid warriors to fight at his side and to carry on protecting the city from all evil.  for days, he wondered what kind of soldiers would best serve his cause.  for days, he debated the cruelty of bestowing life only to take it away.  without question, his warriors would experience pain, loss and grief, but he hoped that they might earn the right to experience joy, compassion and love.  such were the traits of humans that he so admired from afar.  he hoped they could experience what he could not — the ability to live so beautifully no matter the expense.

it stormed on the day of xiao’s creation.  without doubt, it was a sign of the future trials his adeptus would, one day, be forced to face, but morax knew that he would learn to overcome his own nightmares.  it is the burden they all bear.

upon the highest peak in liyue, morax decided to sculpt.  from this height, he imagined that his warrior might appreciate the golden beauty of liyue when the setting sun bathed the land in cheery light.  working with the finest clay, morax began to carve out a set of feet, sculpting the heels so that they would be strong and support the rest of the body well.  fast as lightning too for he required this warrior to be swift and light as a feather.

once the feet were finely formed, he shaped the rest of him: well-muscled legs, sturdy knees, a lean set of hips and so on and so on.  he crafted the hands with such tender care for hands were the most important.  after all, it was with these hands that his warrior would learn to hold a weapon, to take a life, to learn how to love.  this heavy juxtaposition was vital to morax.  he hoped his warrior would too understand, one day, what cruelty and love hands are capable of and the heaviness of that burden that his shoulders would carry.

now, all that was left was the head.  for several more days, morax contemplated what his warrior would look like.  of course, like most gods, he too had a great fondness for beautiful things, but beauty takes form in many different ways.  the ocean is beautiful not only she is placid, but also when she is tempestuous.  the sight of his favorite tea shared with his most treasured companions on a yellow afternoon especially after years of drowning in endless battle is equally beautiful.  maybe it was these memories that led to the vibrant emerald of his warrior’s hair, the burning gold of his crimson-winged eyes, painted and crafted with precision.

perhaps, it was a little impish of morax to fit as many things as he loved about the world into one being, but morax was pleased with himself and with his hard work.  finally, the endless storm ended and he finished sculpting his warrior at long last.

and he was magnificent.

he was slim and graceful like a wild cat that he observed the movements of for days to burn the memory of its walk into his mind.  he was strong, built to counter any evil that dared to cross his path, complete with a divine heart of gold that would never tempt him to stray from his path, but should he ever waver, morax knew that he would, one day, find his way back.

now, all that was left was the gift of life.  with care, morax brushed his warrior’s cheek with a tender knuckle, reluctant to part ways so quickly, but he had already stalled for long enough.  “your life will be difficult,” morax sighed into the warrior’s mouth, heated, sparking breath steadily filling his lungs, and he could feel the warrior begin to stir beside him.  no longer was he a painted doll, but he was breathing and living.  he watches him open his eyes for the first time to drink in the sight of the pale gold valley underneath them.  morax can’t help but smile, as if he too was gazing upon liyue for the first time.  such youthful wonder.  “but you can always come find me, i promise.”

zhongli sighs, looking up at the lantern floating above his head.  a lot has happened since that day.  both of them have experienced unimaginable pain, loss and grief, but unimaginable joy, compassion and love too.  “no matter how hard life becomes, it is always worth living,” he remarks softly, hands behind his back, and xiao appears, seemingly from shadow, to answer him with silent understanding.

    HIS ANXIETY SPIKES,  something familiar. fushimi saruhiko is 3rd in command of scepter four  /  indiscernible, stoic and feared by many who cross his path  ——  &  yet, before the red king, he falters. freezes up, and suddenly feels  as lost and unfamiliar  with himself  (  and the extent of his own powers  )  as he had years ago. he knows that mikoto is one of two who know the truth;  who understand why he did what he did, but even so ...  ‘ tch, am i sweating ?  get ahold of yourself, saruhiko. ’  he struggles to place this feeling. steels himself.

    fingers twitch at his side, uncertain  where or how  to rest. it isn’t traditional fear that takes hold of him in that moment, no. perhaps, it lies in how as the red king meets his gaze, for all that his expression is stoic, seemingly passive, fushimi knows that there is more beneath the surface. wonders, and cannot begin to understand the answer.  ( deeper still ...  scorching beneath his skin  /  flaring where an insignia lays, marred with flame:  concern. guilt.  )  

no u

with plenty on his mind, joongi looks out his side of the window, refusing to address the elephant in the room.  he stares at nothing in particular, simply lost in the bright neon of kamurocho, nostalgic for a life spent what seems like years ago now.  a place he once called home is easier for him to acknowledge than the man sitting beside him in the taxi.  in fact, joongi pretends like zhao doesn’t exist at all, ignorant of the way ichiban and his friends divided them like this even though it makes more sense to split two cars in two groups of three.

damn, this ride shouldn’t feel strange.

it’s not like he doesn’t know zhao.  for how many years has he known the eclectic leader of the liumang now?  how many meetings has he attended?  how many drinks?  how many niceties exchanged between them?  but lately, something feels different.  without joongi realizing, their dynamic has changed somehow … granted, their set of circumstances have brought them together as close allies, but even so … even now, joongi can feel himself wanting to look at zhao, but the idea that zhao could already be looking at him makes his stomach twist in a way he’s never felt before.

too dangerous.  it’s not a risk worth taking.

so, joongi keeps his gaze averted, enduring the ride in contemplative silence save for the muted radio chatter and the occasional lo-fi tune playing between commercials.  he’s grateful for the dark of the taxi, casting everything in blue shadow, which makes it easier to hide any hint of expression.  makes it easier to hide from zhao in general.  but joongi imagines the way passing streetlights must illuminate zhao’s face in inviting gold and it takes everything in him not to confirm all too romantic notions.

ah, when was the last time he’s felt this way?  when was the last time he felt at all?

he opens his mouth to break the spell, but decides some things are better left unsaid and lingers in the comforting quiet for just a little longer ...

exasperated, zhongli laughs to himself, helplessly amused by his coworker’s shamelessness, and decides to reward such honesty with honesty of his own even though he doesn’t understand the young man’s desperation.  “one at a time now,” he chides, ruminating, “let’s see ... i have no preference for men or women.  my last relationship was with a woman and i’ve never been in a relationship with a man so this is admittedly a first for me, but it’s a little exciting.”

maybe he’s a little too candid, but he has nothing to hide.