TSUUKIRANA

He gives you an arrogant smile. His head leaning into his open palm. “Don’t tell me you believe in scary monsters. I heard from Childe they tend to lurk around the dark corners of Liyue.” His nonchalant attitude warmed your heart just a tinge. Whether that be of annoyance or not was never something you wanted to answer. It could have possibly been a delusion as well. 

The navy-haired man raises his arms, drawing his hands out like claws. “I bet as a kid, you were probably scared to go outside because you might get taken away.” 

“What kind of person would be scared of something like that?” Your hand reaches out, your fingertips barely touching the flame. It was warm and comforting. It felt more honest than the man sitting beside you. You let out a sigh of relief when you feel your body stray from the cold. “It’s just some kid's tale.”

“You’re from Liyue though, you should believe in it a little.” He huffs as if you were the one boring him. 

You kick a rock beside the edge of your foot. “It’s a kid's tale.” 

“You’re quite childish yourself.”

“And you look childish.”

You glare at each other for a slight moment. The air has gotten a little tense but it was nothing compared to the Tsaritsa’s gaze. You could almost feel her eyes dig into the back of your head despite her being a forward-eyed creature. You are amazed and flabbergasted that Childe would at all believe her words. You could not say the same for your beloved Archon whose ruling left you abandoned and tired. 

You think of him as an old man. Someone once great yet faded into nothingness. You think it’s rather sad. You had hoped that perhaps he could have put more fight into his life. To stray further away from obscurity, to retain his glorious legacy in person. It’s a shame that he was nothing more than a pawn willing to be played by a foreign woman. You thought it was a joke when he agreed to hand over his gnosis, but nothing would have shocked you more than the defeated look in his eyes. 

It was pitiful, to say the least. 

“So. What should I be scared of?” He asks, his shoulder brushing against yours slightly. The sudden movement of his body sends shivers down your spine. 

“. . . Nothing, I guess.” You say, “It was nothing.”

“If it was nothing you wouldn’t have said anything.” 

“If I say it, you’d just laugh at me.” Biting the bottom of your lip, you suck in a breath, “You thought I was scared of some stupid kid's tale.”

“It was a joke. Take it with a grain of salt.” 

“Your words seem more than just a grain of salt.” 

“What?”

“You’re quite petty,” He stands up from his seat, staring down at you with a surprised look. You raise your eyebrows at him, confused as to what his reaction may pertain to. Was he truly offended by your words? Or was he feigning hurt so you could lower your guard? With this man, anything seems almost possible. “What is it?”

“I was being serious, what are you scared of?” 

You look away from him. He resists the urge to sigh in front of you. 

“Don’t turn your head at me. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing.” 

There is a moment of silence. A long period in which neither of you talk to each other. The man in front of you is trying hard not to place your head in his hands. He wants to wrap his fingers around what he would describe to be a “thick skull” and raddle whatever is left within it. He would ask you, ‘if you had anything left.’ 

That was the kind of person he was. Someone who would laugh at you when you feel anything less than confident. He was someone always there to jump on you when you least expected it. Whether it be in the palace halls or during meetings, his tongue never fell short upon you. It was as if he had every insult and word laid out in front of him, locked and loaded like a gun that he never hesitates to fire. While it may be comedic, you find it hard to take him anything less than serious.

“I. . .” Talking to him would lead to nothing but dead-end conversations. 

“Aren’t you scared, going back to Inazuma?” But you can’t stop yourself.

He blinks once. Twice. Three times in a row. He doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he was in his head. You can’t read it though. His expression and personality have always been rather unpredictable, and you wouldn’t be the slightest of surprised if he were to be thinking about something else other than your conversation at the moment.

“What?”

Did he not hear you properly? You swore you said it with the clearest voice imaginable. Perhaps he is only messing with you. And if he was, then it would have been a cruel time to do so. “I said, are you scared to go back to Inazuma!” 

“No, I heard you.”

You stare at him with a hollowed-out expression. Why do you even worry about him? He has everything underneath his belt. Out of many of the Harbingers, to you, he seemed the most capable of this job. He has enough men and power. He has stealth and knowledge. He could finish the mission in a day if he wanted. So why do you worry about him? Why worry about how he feels? If anything, you should be worrying about yourself.

“Why would I be scared?” He asks you as if you had asked the simplest thing in the world. 

You grip your clothes tightly. “You–You’re going back and seeing Ei. Is that not scary?”

“Not really.” 

“Why?” 

He opens his hand out to you. 

“Because we’re going together. That’s all that matters to me.”

Your eyes flicker to your side, gazing at the Balladeer who pushes his lips tightly together, trying to hold back a sigh. Making your way through the open plains, you can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the light-grey stones. Birds leave their chirps at your companion's ears, much to his dismay. He has been shooing them away for quite some time now. You try not to laugh at him. You know he’s embarrassed by the way the tips of his ears light up a bright red color.

Stifling a small chuckle, you lower your arm, letting the ends of your knuckle graze against his soft skin. Ever since your encounter with the lonesome Adeptus, your group has been scattered throughout the plain, all in search of this mysterious meteorite. Though you have only found a few worth investigating, many of them had already been cleared out. You would like to think that it is the work of the Traveler, who has been wandering Liyue as well. You suspect that they aren’t alone at least. This was not a one-man job. 

The Balladeer seemed less than pleased to be walking around, much less looking for dull rocks. If he had to spend another hour scouring the area for some glowing stone, he might go mad. Madder than he already was, you say to yourself. Despite his slightly gloomy nature in the morning, he had been extremely focused on trying to finish this investigation as soon as possible. At first, you suspected that he may have had issues working with you, but you doubt this was the case. With his personality, it seemed more as if he was bored. You cannot blame him too much. Your travels in Liyue had been rather pleasant for you, however, it might have been a bit of a bore to someone who had already explored many of the nations on his own time. 

“Are you tired?” You break the silence, walking closer to him. You notice that his complexion seems paler today. “You seem bothered as of today. Is something the matter?” 

He waves off another few birds which settle on his shoulder. “Aside from these nuisances, there is nothing. I was simply hoping that we could make some more progress about this meteorite strike but all that I’m left with is this mundane task of walking around. If my soldiers weren’t so incompetent and annoying, we could have finished this job on our own.”

You hum in response, “Were the soldiers Tartaglia left for you not good enough? Need I call upon my own?”

“They are subpar at most,” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at the mere mention of the russet-haired man. At first, he didn’t want to accept Tartaglia’s soldiers. He wouldn’t want to touch anything that belonged to that man. Who knows what sort of filth he carries with him, he says to himself. But at last, he was left with little to no choice. The Jester advised him to take his men, so he had to oblige. “Don’t bother with yours. We’re only looking for rocks anyway.” 

Despite his declination, he glances at your figure shortly. If he wasn’t allowed to use his unit for this investigation, what difference does it make with yours? Sure, your troops were more skilled, experienced, and diligent than anyone in the Fatui. They worked quickly and efficiently, never spouting more than just a few words of affirmation and agreement. You could snap your finger and they’d materialize right without a second of hesitation. In short, they seemed too perfect, even by his standards. Sighing under his breath, he shakes his head. It would make a huge difference if he had a hold of your unit. Regardless, as if purposefully planned, he had to settle for Tartaglia’s as by the Jester’s suggestion. 

Stopping in your tracks, the two of you notice an unconscious man on the side of the road. The Balladeer raises his eyebrows as he moves closer to his body, inspecting the meteorite that crashed into his cart. You try not to step on the splintered wood as you make your way through the grass. The blue glow is as luminous as ever, and you almost find yourself being drawn to it. 

You kneel beside the man, checking for his pulse shortly before your companion glances back at you. You give him a curt nod which leads him to reach out to the foreign object, his eyes closing as he enters a dream-like state. Pressing your hand against the other man’s chest, you haul him into a sitting position, his head leaning slightly to the side. If you listened closely, you might have heard a few snores escape the confines of his lips. You gently shake his shoulders in an attempt to wake him up. Yet no matter how often he swayed left to right, he was still drooling over himself. You conclude that he was deep in slumber and no amount of shaking will wake him. 

Hearing the sound of secondary footsteps, you quickly stand, alerting the Balladeer who snaps awake. He pulls himself together as the two of you stand alert on the other side of the road. The two of you share a glance before you gesture with your lips. 

As if on cue, the sound of a high-pitched companion reaches your ears: “Is the guy on the floor sleeping?” 

You both snap your attention towards the three newcomers, their figures growing closer as they observe the old man from afar. Thinking quickly, the navy-haired man reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as his body shifts to touching your side. The act is slightly intimate yet subtle enough to convey a message. The Balladeer squeezes your hand for a moment, to draw your attention toward the figure in the middle. He presses the tip of his nail into your palm shortly.

‘Is this the Traveler?’ He is sure that he is holding you with the opposite side facing the Traveler. Using a combination of clicks and taps, he asks you, ‘What should we do?’

He was using morse code. What a clever way of communicating, you said to yourself. Humming, you drum his hand: ‘Stay calm, I don’t think they know about us yet. But be on guard. I don’t want to rule out the possibility that Tartaglia mentioned our names. Stick to our disguise and we will be fine.’

‘Right.’ He clasps onto you, his fingers slipping through the cracks to hold onto you tightly. From this small gesture, you felt the cold shiver of his ring press against your skin, giving you small goosebumps. You swallow a thick lump at the base of your throat. Don’t think too much about it. It was all just for the show.

Raising his opposite hand, he presses his thumb against the base of this chin. He directs his next few words toward the trio, watching them from the corner of his eye. “We believe so. We’ve tried everything but he won’t wake up.” He notices the Traveler’s furrowed eyebrows and drooping eyes, their expression showing unbridled concern for the fallen man. 

“Looks like he touched the meteorite, just like the others. . .” The floating companion wavered in the air, bouncing back and forth. Was it some sort of trickery, or did she have some unknown power that kept her floating? To your eyes, it didn’t seem like she had a vision. So how is she floating like that? Was it the wind? You attempt to push your intrusive thoughts at the back of your head. The Balladeer is also trying not to question the strange physics of the Traveler’s friend. Despite his boiling curiosity, he has to let this settle.

“If by ‘meteorite’ you mean the rock that struck the cart—worry not, I have dealt with that already using my magic.” The navy-haired man raises his head in question, hoping to strike up a conversation. “But by ‘others,’ do you mean to say, there are others who have fallen into a similar slumber?”

The woman dressed in a multitude of dark layers confidently smirks at your group. She places her hands on her hips, shifting the weight of her body onto one leg. “One has witnessed with one’s own Auge der Verurteilung the nightmarish slumber that proceeds forth from the Valley of Demonbone. . . It has caused great suffering for the humble peasants in the Vale of Springdom, many of whom still battle this wretched affliction even as we speak.”

You and the Balladeer make eye contact once more. His gaze tells you that he is confused, yet you only shrug in response. Was this a new way of speaking nowadays? Were you out of touch with how the locals are talking? You’ve never seen anyone use such a unique way of speaking. Despite her wide range of words, you might comment that it seemed a little too fanciful for your liking. Even when she spoke quite clearly, you can tell by the Balladeer’s expression, he was resisting the urge to pluck the wax from his ears to hear her better.

“As mein Fräulein most eloquently describes, we have just come from Mondstadt, where many people have also fallen into unwaking sleep. Their symptoms are identical to those of this poor gentleman here,” Her raven familiar speaks in a similar tone as her, which was equally long and confusing. You try not to fall asleep to their drawn-out words. Resisting the urge to sigh, you conclude that at least you can tell which companion belonged to which. Yet this conclusion still doesn’t help your desire to keep awake. 

“Is that so. . . It appears these meteorites made quite the impact,” You said, “It is a surprise seeing such beautiful ores causing so many problems in the area.” 

The small child snaps her fingers in a moment of eureka, “Seems this guy is dressed like a Winery worker. . . And we’ve already met Ben— so this one must be Fritz!”

“Given that workers’ attire has precious few distinguishing features, I must conclude that Paimon is blessed with exceptionally acute eyesight.” The violet familiar nods to her words, finding her explanation rather profound. You didn’t think it was as exciting or news-breaking as they did but to each their own, you suppose. Whether or not what she said was genius remains a mystery to you. 

“Actually, Paimon’s eyesight is normal, Paimon just has a really good memory!” You would be surprised if her name is not Paimon. She scratches the back of her neck sheepishly. She didn’t think her ability was something to be in awe of, it was nothing much. Nevertheless, she won’t complain over a small compliment. If anything, it serves to boost her ego a little. Quickly turning her attention to you, she says: “You’re right, though, his clothes don’t really stand out much. . . Especially not compared to these two over here!”

The Balladeer innocently smiles, “And by ‘these two over here’ you mean us?” 

“Yep! Paimon’s never seen anyone dressed quite like you guys before!” 

You notice the way the Traveler eyes your figure. They catch a glimpse at the glistening cryo vision which settles just beneath your hand. They try not to gawk too much at your appearance. The guard positioned at your waist is nothing like they’ve seen, but they have the acute awareness to believe that you were not from any of the nations they’ve previously visited. Were you from Sumeru? They press their lips together. Looking at your clothes, it’s a little hard to believe that you may have come from the land of knowledge and deserts. They even doubted there to be a church. Fontaine? With that guard, it might be possible, yet it all seemed far-fetched. Your vision was too elaborate, too grand, and ornamental to be easily manufactured. It had to be custom-made, or something created decades ago.

They describe your face as youthful, focusing on the trails of flowers that settle at the base of your neck. This is the first time they’ve met someone from a Church, aside from Barbara and Rosaria. Though the former was the only one who wore any sort of identifying features of a religious group. Your white veil, covered by jagged thorns dances alongside the chilly afternoon wind. The faint scent of flora rises to their nose. The Traveler ponders for a moment. Something about you in specific seemed off to them. However, they chalk it up to you and your companion being foreigners.

“Those unique clothes are quite beautiful,” the Traveler comments, pointing to your vision, “Are you two Adventurers?” 

Before you could open your mouth to answer, you are interrupted by the Balladeer. “Oh no, we aren’t interested in such things.” He waves his opposite hand, alluring them with his kind smile, “Although we grow a little curious about what the commission has to offer, my fiancée and I are only here to plan our wedding.” 

“Congratulations!” The trio claps at the news, albeit with a bit of surprise in their voices. 

The Balladeer tries not to look at them with signs of irritation. Is it that hard to believe that you were his fiancée or were they thinking about something else? You nervously wave them off, feeling a little shy over their awkward gesture. Paimon is suddenly elbowed by the Traveler when she asks about the extreme height difference between you and the Balladeer.

“I hope it wasn’t too obvious. I am from Snezhnaya, and he’s a vagrant from Inazuma,” You feign being bashful, hoping they would play into your disguise. “Back in my homeland, I don’t think he’s well suited for the cold weather, and it wouldn’t be very romantic seeing our guests turn to ice. We thought about Inazuma, but because of the Vision Hunt Decree, it’s a little hard to get around safely. We settled on Liyue because it might be the perfect chance for us to tie the knot.”

“Well, it seems like you chose the perfect spot!” Paimon grins, her expression growing bright as she looks at you, “Liyue has the best food!”

“Do you only think about food?”

Traveler shakes their head, scoffing at her words. Again with the food, they said to themselves, it is always food with Paimon. Who would they be if not a glutton? You try not to giggle. Their interaction reminds you of the short bickers at the Tsaritsa’s banquet. Ones where the Ninth and Tenth get into arguments, and the Eighth drinks her heart away. You think those times were fun. 

You give them a small smile, “Food is a great way to bring people together. I don’t blame her for thinking such things. In Snezhnaya, we always eat dinner together as a family. Sometimes it’d be so cold, you’d have to huddle together when you eat to stay warm.”

“She has the right idea! Paimon is starting to like her!” Paimon puffs out her cheeks in annoyance, disappointed at the fact that her months-long traveling companion wouldn’t agree with her. She thinks that they are uncultured and their love for food only applies to survival.

“Anyway, we stopped to assist this poor gentleman when you showed up,” The Balladeer cuts, “We wouldn’t want him sleeping out here like this. Say, are you investigating the aftermath of this meteorite strike?” 

“Yeah, we were sent to help out.” Paimon brings her hand to rest upon her chest.

The woman with dark clothing giggled, giving you and the Balladeer a dramatic pose. You try not to raise your eyebrows at her grand gesture. “I am Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung, responding to the cry of my people in their hour of need!” 

“I am mein Fräulein’s humble familiar, Oz the Raven.”

Paimon points to herself, “And Paimon is an Honorary Knight of the Knights of Favonius’s best friend!”

The navy-haired man turns to the Traveler, tilting his head slightly to the side as he looks at them with a mischievous grin. “Oh? Then you must be said Honorary Knight of said Knights of Favonius.” With such garments and a unique set of friends, he would have thought tracking them down would be a lot simpler for his troops. He sighs under his breath. Why bother with that thought, he can’t count on those simpletons too much. 

“I am an adventurer of the guild, and I suppose an Honorary Knight.”

Fischl breaks through the conversation, filling the short second of silence with her proud voice. “Behold, my people, your beloved sovereign in the flesh! Do not despair, for judgment by Thundering Retribution is nigh, and it shall surely purge the seeds of nefarious nightmares that now sow chaos across the land!” 

The Balladeer is lost, “Um. . . Excuse me?”

“Don’t mind her, just. . . y’know, let her do her thing,” Paimon shyly explains. It’s a little hard not to feel a bit embarrassed about their friend’s antics. 

“She’s a good egg.”

“Excuse me! What’s going on here?” Your conversation is cut short when a Millelith approaches the scene. 

The Balladeer quickly taps the center of your palm, using morse code once more to communicate the need to leave the area. It would be dangerous if the Millelith asked for any form of identification for the two of you. For it would completely blow your disguise. Your eyes flicker back to his figure for a moment, seeing the way the navy-haired man furrowed his eyebrows and hardened his gaze.

The floating companion sighed in relief, glad to see the man. With them around, it might help them on their journey to discover more about these meteorites. “Oh, great— good thing you’re here, Mr. Millelith. This guy’s fast asleep, and he won’t wake up!”

Without skipping a beat, the Balladeer waves to the group. He tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to his side. You resist the urge to let out a small gasp. “Ah, it appears this is now in the hands of the Millelith–in which case, we are no longer needed. It was truly a pleasure to meet you all.” He feigns a sympathetic tone in his explanation, “We have other matters to attend to now, so we will take our leave.”

Nodding your head, you give them a short wave. “I am truly sorry we couldn’t stay for a bit longer. We only hope you luck in your future endeavors.” 

He pulls on you, dragging you close behind as you trail behind him. Your shoes nearly brushed against the back of his heel. The Traveler silently watches as your veils flutter behind your body, the sound of the Balladeers bell echoing alongside the sound of whistling birds. The otherworldly being presses their lips tightly together, watching as you grew further and further away until you were specks on the road. They would like to describe you and your companion as anomalies. 

While they may have met many different people in Teyvat, all with unique quirks and qualities, none of them sent shivers down their spine quite like you. Ignoring the way Paimon tugs on their clothes to catch their attention, they clench their hand into a fist, they wonder if they will see you again.

You stare at him in awe, lips parted just slightly to watch his rough, teal locks flutter like butterflies. Each strand bends to the curves and pattern of the wind. Split ends raising themselves upwards as if to ward off the most vicious of creatures, their sharp tips threatening anyone who dare cross this man’s path. You remember stories of wandering spirits guiding children to safety in Snezhnaya, one made of gentle souls hoping to save helpless humans. You figure that if things were slightly different in your meeting, you would have thought that this man was a wind spirit, hoping to guide you onto the path of righteousness. 

However, this man with sharp fangs was anything but a kind wind spirit. Hands that seemed clean enough on the surface were dyed a dark, crimson color. His polearm resting between the tips of his fingers remains light to the touch, and easy to maneuver. It is colored in the same liquid that flows beneath his skin, albeit slightly thicker, and crueler. Your eyes flicker toward the shape of his body. His bulky yet lean arms showcased a variety of lustrously colored markings that glow so luminously under the golden lights of false stars. Though beautiful, his flesh wounds create disharmony in his portrait. You press your lips tightly together.

His skin and appearance remind you well of the Balladeer yet he seemed more human. Narrowing your eyes, you tighten your hold upon the Knave’s letter, crumpling the edges slightly. Would you dare say he was more human than you? More so to be provided divinity? 

“Enough of your foolery, you shouldn’t be up here. It’s time for you to come down.” He repeats, adding a bit more gruff to his lines. They sound as if they were rehearsed thousands of times before meeting you. “And the stars do not speak. Do not talk about things you do not know about.” 

You hum, “You must be deaf then.” His ears perked up at your sudden insult but he restrains himself from pressing forth. “If you listen closely, you might be able to hear what they are saying.” 

He does not think of himself as deaf. If he were deaf then he would not have heard the cries of his people. However, such thoughts of his only serve to prove your point. He presses his lips tightly together. He remains silent for a little while, admiring some familiar features he notices on your face. He thinks of you as someone he has met before in his previous life, yet he cannot put his finger on it. The soft yet tragic look in your eyes reminds him of his reflection in steel waters. He thinks of you as a weak mortal, so would that mean he was one as well?

He ponders on your words for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation. He tightens the hold on his polearm, the sharp blade brushing against his skin lightly as he shivers. His knees are unusually weak in your presence, and he was sure that he has never met you once in his life. Nevertheless, his body begs to differ. The scent that lingers on your skin is familiar to a peculiar woman. Imprisoned in his memory, she is held there for eternity, waiting to be set free into the sky. She waits for recognition. 

A woman with hair like yours, her arms outstretched at the center of the battle. Her hands were bare and soft, a trait unfitting of a warrior. If she wasn’t a Lord, he would have laughed at her foolishness. There was no room for weak-minded gods who cannot defend their honor. With no ego to uphold and status to seek, he believes that they are unfit for higher positions. Resist these temptations, she sings, tears beckoning sympathy, Let not your anger control you, for the future holds great misfortune. 

Heed my words! While his god stands beside him, his fingers tremble at her strong words. If you continue this mindless slaughter, the world may fall apart. He acts as if he is moved. He could care less for the strange ramblings of a lesser god. And so he observes her merciless slaughter by his friend’s hand, her blood spilling across the ground and his skin. It is sticky sweet, not any less bitter and metallic than his other victims, but more noticeable. It burns his skin. His friend looks at her blankly as her fingers graze his cheeks, slowly crumbling underneath his sword. A loose smile hangs from her lips. 

Gods roar in her name, screaming as their attempts at peace are broken. They raise their weapons, their tears growing hot as fire as they rushed toward the center. He is tugged forth by his god, left to walk over her helpless body to reach the other side. His head turns only for a fraction of a second to see her once last time, burning her image in his memories. Barbatos, why must you spare her not a second glance? He asks. Are your ears deaf from the music of war?

He calls back to you with an empty tone, his gaze hardened and his heart numb. “I do not hear anything.” He remains ignorant to your words, just as he was to that powerless woman. “If you continue to spout such nonsense, I would take you as mad.” 

“Mad?” You laugh, “I suppose you may call me that.” The distant look in your eyes makes him feel as if there was more to discover. In his time wandering the lands of Teyvat and specifically Liyue, he never once felt as if he didn’t know anything. The idea frustrates him for a moment, the feeling of being blind yet open-eyed makes him quiver. 

“You are not human.” He carefully says, his teeth grazing the bottom of his lip as his fingers grow clammy. “These words you speak, and that tone of yours, you are not from here,” nor were you from this time, he presumes. With that strange ancient trailing that drips from your tongue, he is sure that you are not from this era.

“I am from Snezhnaya. Are you referring to my accent?” You play dumb to his words. 

“You are from Snezhnaya, I could tell from your Vision that guard is not the work of any craftsmanship I’ve seen. But that is not the point I am trying to make.” He replies. Your gaze flickers onto your guard for a moment, commemorating him in your mind his sharp intuition. 

With the Fatui being so prevalent in crowds with Delusions, most people can’t tell the difference between a true Vision, and one the Tsaritsa manufactured. Though, you suppose it may be difficult to find someone from Snezhnaya with its signature guard, for not many are created due to the scarcity of materials. Gold and silver tend to be used for the creation of automata. 

“You are different. You almost remind me of the Traveler.”

“Traveler, you say?” A smile creeps up on your face. You hope that with only a few more bits of prodding, he may disclose the location of this strange, otherworldly being. You think this interaction will bring about great progress, much more so than your previous rock dealings. “What a fine compliment. In what ways do I remind you of the Hero of Mondstadt?”

“Do not be too nosy.” The man lets out a huff: “You are simply not from here. You talk in the native Teyvat language yet you pronounce your words differently. I would even say that you remind me of the Lord of Time with that slur in speech. Although she passed many moons ago, I sense remnants of her power in you. Say, are you–”

“No, no,” You wave, brushing off his accusations. You already knew what sort of puzzle he was trying to solve. And if you were to hear the end of his sentence, you might find yourself freezing more than just the air. He stops in his tracks, withdrawing his tongue as he stiffens. 

“I think you may have gotten me mixed up with someone else. I’ve only arrived here a few days ago with my fiancé. We heard that Liyue has one of the most breathtaking scenery. From the Traveler’s experiences here, we thought it was a nice place to settle for our wedding. We are big fans of them you see,” You pull your hand down, “After what they’ve done to help Mondstadt, we’re happy to know a protector is going around.” 

You think that if you were to say these words around the Balladeer, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull your tongue out of your mouth. Such boisterous remarks you said. He would be disappointed to be lumped in a small group that worships the Traveler. If not for your feigned disguise against this unknown man, you would have laughed at the absurdity of your words. 

“A protector.” This man peers down at your finger, noticing a thick silver band resting at the base. He tries not to scoff at such materialistic possessions. People were always fascinated by small objects. He thinks that putting too much meaning into one thing makes you a fool. “If you are here only to celebrate, I suggest you stay away from some of the open plains. Dangerous ores are surrounding Liyue and Mondstadt.”

Your ears perk up in interest. “Dangerous?” You presume that he is talking about the same, mysterious meteorite that is going around. The ones that settled upon your hands, forcing you into their world. You think this man knows a bit more than he realizes.

“Yes. They are known to cause people to fall into slumber,” he answers, “If you do encounter these, you shouldn’t touch them. I believe the Traveler and their small companion are looking for them. Some of the locals have already fallen ill.”

“How fascinating,” you place your thumb against the base of your chin. “Very well. I shall heed your words for once. If I were to ever encounter any of these stones, I’ll be sure to find the Traveler.” You slowly stand up from your previous position, straightening out your legs as you chuckle. “I’ll return to my room for the night. It’s chilly.” 

He chooses not to react to your words, nor to your tall stature which towers over him. The air grows warmer as the wind blows softly against your cheek. Tucking the Knave’s letter between your fingers, you shift the weight of your body so that you are facing him. You bend your knee slightly, giving him a polite gesture. “Still, I don’t think this will be the last time we see each other, is it Adepti?”

He remains unfazed by your recognition. “So you figured it out?”

“I don’t think it's hard to deduce your identity. With those markings, it’s easy to say that you are more than just someone around these parts.” His gaze hardens on you, and you think that the hairs on his neck were beginning to stand. Was he on guard now? Or more so than before? Regardless, you got the information you needed. Talking with him a little while longer would only prove fruitless.

You press your finger to your lips, smiling: “Don’t be too worried. I don’t think this information will hold any value in my travels. What could a married woman do with the knowledge about Liyue’s great protector?” He does not laugh with you. Instead, he seems lost in his thoughts. “Though I suppose it would make a great story for my fiancé.” 

“Do as you will,” The Adepti said, turning his head away from you.

The Balladeer awaits at his bed as if commanded to wait. He is left biting the tips of his thumb as he looks towards the wooden door. The white blanket which you’ve draped across his figure had been pulled to the ground, pooling at his feet. The night was still young and fresh but he cannot help this uneasy feeling which settles in his stomach. When he awoke from his strange dream, you had disappeared from the room. The warmth you’ve left in his hand had long faded. He holds back the click of his tongue. To say that he yearned for you to stay by his side was humiliating, yet admitting it calms the storm in his mind.

He raises his eyes to overlook the desk. The letter the Knave had written for you is now gone, the table stripped empty of what belonged to you. He concludes that you’ve taken her word and perhaps left him behind for whatever meaningless task she dumped onto you. Bringing his hand to cover the side of his face, he says to himself that this cannot be true. You could never leave him for such a traitorous rat. You had to remain by his side, you promised you would watch over him of course, so why must he doubt your words now? Was it because of her presence? Does her overarching existence threaten him? 

He stares down at his hands, to eye the way his fingers move and bend. They were slender and soft to the touch, very unfitting for a Harbinger of his status. The Doctor once called him a failure for being unable to form callouses, a sign of being a grown man. Even Tartaglia once told him that all Snezhnayan boys first become men when they slaughter their first prey. He scoffs at the memory. He has slaughtered many things yet he remains nothing more but a boyish figure in the hall of adults. 

Gripping his hand into a fist, he lets his nail settle between the cracks of his palm. He hates the idea that this skin of his was not his own, and was something made to replicate a higher being than him. He hates the thought that his purpose and creation were nothing more than something that didn’t live long enough to succeed in its purpose. To have his heart ripped from his chest to serve someone else, he finds it utterly despicable.

The soft click of the door unlocking snaps him out of his daze, his body scrambling up from the bed to watch as you make your way into the room. He notices that your eyes are a lot more distant today than usual, not that they weren’t already, but that they now hold similarities to an empty tea kettle. He wonders what was in that letter. Biting the tip of his tongue, he hopes that you found nothing special and that your promise stays afloat. 

“So you’ve awoken, Balladeer,” You start, placing the letter onto the wooden desk. “I hope that your dreams were painted well tonight. I wonder if those nightly terrors you once had still fester. You see, I was a little worried to see that you were out of breath.”

“Where did you go?” He questions, inhaling sharply, “It’s been quite some time since I had nightmares. Don’t treat me like a child. Now I must ask again, where did you go?” 

He bites the bottom of his lip in hope that you don’t see him lying through the skin of his teeth. And though you noticed the tense nature of his body, you chose not to look into it deeper, nor did you bother to address his stiffening muscles. If he does not want to be treated like a child, then perhaps you shouldn’t coddle him too much. 

“I went to watch the stars. I believe the innkeeper, Verr Goldet mentioned it having a great view. Perhaps next time we should go together. We might be able to scan the area for any materials.” 

“The stars?” He laughs, dropping back down onto the bed, “You went out in the middle of the night to watch the stars?”

“Yes, because stars come out at night. Regardless, they were as beautiful as Goldet says, although I might add that the view in Snezhnaya might have been a bit better.” 

He swallows loudly and his eyes tremble just slightly as you make your way closer to him. You stand before his sitting figure with his head in your hands. Your soft hands pressed against his cheek. Oh, so that’s what it was all about, he said to himself, for a moment he almost thought you might have left him for the Knave. What a foolish thought it was. You brush away the string of tears that slipped past his guard. You press your lips tightly together as a moment of silence grows between the two of you. Your mouth is closed shut as you struggle to find the right words.

“Were you worried?” You asked, letting him click his tongue at you. The tears he grew have now stopped, almost as if he had created a barricade to stop himself from pouring out his feelings. A shame, you unconsciously slip, perhaps you wanted to see him shed a bit more emotion.

He grins, albeit with a bit of hesitance: “What is there to be worried about? You came right back to me in the end.” While his words may have stripped him of any insecurities which lie on the surface, it does not erase what was beneath them. He knows that in any case, the Tsaritsa may pull you away from him, lock you far away and leave him to rot at what fleeting touch you’ve left for him. He is at the mercy of her, and he feels as if he cannot defy her. 

“You seem rather confident.” He raises his hand to hold yours. His grip is loose yet tight enough for you not to pull away. “Did something happen while I was gone to provoke such feelings?”

“Hah, there was nothing.” The Balladeer scoffs, “Did you think I would suddenly leave?”

You think that no one can stay for very long, even if they are immortal. They’ll always float around the space in Teyvat, aimlessly wandering until given the right purpose to fulfill. You believe that it is no different from you. Someone who started as a small child, raised in the tiniest of cottages at the edge of Snezhnaya by a singular mother. A nobody who left their home in search of a new way of living, abandoning all sense to join a newly formed church and orphanage in cities. Wanderer, you believe it fits you quite well, you might even say Stranger fits better.

You mindlessly answer, “You might, it’s a possibility.” 

He presses his lips against the base of your palm, his teeth gliding over the surface to teasingly bite you. It stings for a moment. The feeling of his porcelain canines dragging across your skin sends shivers down your spine. He laps at the small mark, bubbling satisfaction rising in his stomach. “Then you’re taking me for the wrong person,” 

“You and your peculiar words.”

“Who would I be if not for them?”

You hum, seemingly amused by his reaction. Brushing aside his previous comments, you chose to speak about a more pressing manner: “I met a strange man on the roof tonight.” 

Your fingers rise to touch his fangs, the tip pressing against the center of your finger. You feel him hesitate for a moment, his urge to bite down on your hand growing stronger as he pulls you close. You sense fierce jealousy pooling beneath those violet eyes. The act is intimate, yet you think nothing of it. “He was an Adepti.” 

“An Adepti, you say.” 

“That’s right. He had the skin of a mortal, but he didn’t seem very human.” You continue, “I think he was watching me for quite a while before talking to me. I should have questioned a bit more about his identity, however, it seemed a little too pressing. I didn’t want to scare him away by knowing too much.”

“I see.” The Balladeer tilts his head downwards. He is lost in his thoughts for a moment, scarcely worried at the possibility that the Adepti might latch onto their plans in Liyue. Dealing with his senseless troops seemed difficult enough, he cannot imagine what it would be like to have someone looming over his shoulder as you travel. “Did he say anything of importance?”

You sigh under your breath, “Yes. It was about those meteorites appearing around Mondstadt and Liyue. He advised us not to go through the open plains, for many locals have fallen ill by touching them. I suspect that we haven’t encountered this issue because our sample size has been too small for us to be affected. Regardless, I wouldn’t want to rule out the possibility that once we get our hands on a larger one, we might start feeling its effects.”

“Aside from that, he gave us information about the Traveler. It’s been confirmed that they are looking for these meteorites as well. I would like to believe that they are not alone in their journey.”

The navy-haired man huffs in annoyance. More fools that he must take care of, he thinks to himself. If it was just the Traveler, striking them down would have been easier said than done. Though now they have a bit more on their hands. “For what obstacles lie ahead of us?”

“Two women,” Ignoring the way the Balladeer tightens his grip around your hand, you continue forth, “One is an Astrologist while the other is. . . rather unique. I cannot put my finger on it quite yet but I believe that only the former will be an issue.” 

“Anything on them as well?”

“Not that I know of personally. We will know when the time comes,” He releases an exhausted sigh. 

He rests his hand against yours, intertwining his fingers between the cracks. Your alluring smell leaves him rather speechless in this conversation, his mind far too drawn out and tired to think of any clever remarks. You take his silence for thought. You assume that once he heard the news about your investigation in Liyue getting harder, it would make him more susceptible to irritation. 

He would have called you a fool if he were to hear your thoughts. A blind, ignorant fool to a poor man’s worship. Despite the way he looks at you with his eyes drunk on your image, he has bit little charm to capture your attention. He figures that you are doing this on purpose, and you might even toy with him and say that you are. You notice the way his cheeks heat up to match the warmth in the air, a flicker of a flame wavering beneath your hold. 

“. . . I ask one thing from you,” He whispers to you, letting only your ears hear his voice. His words come out softer than he intended, his tone betraying his hardened exterior. 

His violet orbs capture yours like a butterfly to a net, encapsulating you in his gaze as you lean closer. You brush a few strands of his navy hair away from his face, settling them behind his ear. He fights the growing heat on his cheeks. “And what is that, Balladeer?”

He holds his breath for a moment, unsure of whether or not it was worth asking you now. He was scared but did not want to admit it. Slightly nervous yet all the more tempted to ask. He knows quite well that regardless of what he is going to say, you already knew, and had planned your answers at least a few hours in advance. You were merely playing into a game that Celestia had created, and you had no intention of breaking the streak. His fear only comes down to what your answer will be for him, and whether or not he would be satisfied.

He presses his lips tightly together: “Will your journey with me end once this is all over?” 

To which you reply to his call with the brush of your finger. The surface of your skin glides across his soft, porcelain body. He settles his head in your hands, finding comfort and love in them. A feeling that he had been so forcefully ripped from by his mother. A touch that he craves so dearly. He finds you to be rather intoxicating at this moment, the heat of your breath settling on top of his teeth.

“There is no end,” You answer, “For we are immortal.”

Your blanket falls loosely from your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to the open air as you let out a soft exhale. Your mind feels restless from the neverending nightmares that plague you. Bringing your hand to your forehead, you wipe away small beads of sweat that formed in your sleep, clicking your tongue as you pull back your hair. It was a cold night, you notice, peering out at the balcony with its curtains flowing alongside the wind. The trees were still brushing against each other as they danced in unison, birds now asleep as fireflies flicker across your view like stars.

Although it's been a few days since your departure to Liyue, the progress you and the Balladeer have made was quite little and rather insignificant. Many of the shards that you’ve come across have either lost their luster or have been taken by some local. For the few that you gathered in your hand, you speculate that they were an unknown element from the sky. Previously holding one between the tips of your finger, you sense this strange feeling of wonder and adventure that leeches onto you. It pulls you close to it, enveloping you in its vision. Nevertheless, you’ve already sent a letter to the Tsaritsa about your discoveries, curious if she would have any use for these stones. 

Lowering your arm, you turn your attention towards the sleeping man, watching as his chest slowly rises and falls. He was dressed in some traditional Inazuman sleepwear, his robe slipping off of him to reveal his milky skin. You press your lips together as you listen to the sounds of his muted sniffles and whimpers, your eyes drawing themselves closed as he shifted in his sleep. His cries caused your heart to hump loudly against your chest, the familiar sense of helplessness washing over you like cold water. 

Quietly bringing your foot to the wooden floors, you slowly walk towards his bed, noticing the way his cheeks glistened underneath the light of the moon. Reaching out to him, you wipe away his stray tears, skimming them across the pad of your fingers to dissolve their presence.

He was like this in the past too, you say to yourself. This was not unfamiliar. When you had found him at the edge of Snezhnaya, he too had fallen asleep like this, with his hands clutching onto the sheets tightly as his eyebrows furrowed, his breath coming out short as if he was running. You find it rather pitiful. Bringing your hand close to him, you let your fingers envelop his. Your muscles squeeze him gently as he reciprocates this warm gesture. You fight the growing redness that threatens your skin. Your mind remained focused on his skin, watching carefully the joints which wrap around you so delicately, almost as if beckoning you to stay.

You wonder what he has done in his past life to be given such a cruel punishment. You did not understand the motives of the Shogun, nor did you care to understand what loss caused her to birth a child like him. You find that all of those things are trivial and that there was nothing to know about a careless mother. You hated the thought, and you hated the truth a lot more. To be abandoned and left to rot, was one of life’s greatest tragedies. 

You raise your hand to touch his cheek, grazing it. His skin was cold, freezing even. As you slowly grace his skin with your touch, you hear his whimpers come to a slow stop, his breaths growing quieter as he brushes up against you. His body grew desperate to cling to any sign of warmth. 

You think he could be quite fragile at times. Something that perhaps might be too difficult for others to understand. Unlike many of the other soldiers you’ve seen on the battlefield, his hand was the softest of them all. Delicate and slim, their pale color reflects the moon’s brightness. They were slightly childish and youthful, so tender and loving that you wondered if he was made this way on purpose. You knew from the way he presses his skin against yours, that he was nothing more but a lost soul. One that had been abandoned too early by its creator. One who has seen betrayal too many times. 

Pulling your hand away from his now-dried cheeks, you lift his blanket, quietly placing it over his shoulders. He shivers at the cool material, his breaths coming out slightly shaky as he mumbles in his sleep. His cries have subsided to soft exhales, a sound that you find most relaxing to hear. Brushing aside a few strands of hair from his face, you let his skin bask underneath the crack of moonlight, hoping that one day, Celestia gives this man mercy. 

You step away from his bed, admiring him from afar. He seemed much calmer now, more peaceful and at rest. No longer plagued by nightmares, he is given clarity. Perhaps it was best to leave him like this for a while, you thought, to collect his broken thoughts and rebuild his palace. Pulling back your hair, you let out a long, drawn-out breath. Your presence is as fleeting as the golden leaves which flutter across Liyue’s skies. Reaching out to your chair, you pick up a letter. Before you could leave the Balladeer, you turn to stare at his sleeping body, his chest rising and falling at a calm tempo.

Shutting the door behind you, it clicks.

You lean back slightly, your figure sitting at the top of your inn, letting the wind glide against your cheek comfortingly. Your hair was blowing alongside its blissful waves. As you bring your knees close to your chest, you thumb the base of your hand, noticing how soft the air is in Liyue, and how alive the nation feels when the people sleep. You hold your breath for a little while, unable to comprehend the strange, heavy feeling that bubbles at the very center of your stomach. It was fluttery and light, yet at the same time, weighed a ton. It brings itself up to the tip of your throat, threatening you with its metallic taste. 

Though you were sure that what lies within you was a soul, it felt a lot more empty than it usually did. It was as if it had been stolen, and that it soared high into the sky, unable to be caught by your mortal fingers. You wordlessly open the pristine envelope, glossing over the title. You notice that it was a handwritten letter filled with small trinkets. Some of them slipped through the cracks, which you quickly spooned in your hands. Your eyes admiring some of the small crafts that were left.

To my Lord, you read this as if the Knave had spoken to you, I write to you about the recent activities taking place at the House of Hearth. While you are gone, Natalya and Ivan have grown to be around twelve years old, and they’ve agreed to participate in training with the other children. It is a miracle, one might say, despite being late bloomers they have shown great skill. Was it truly? You ask yourself, trying not to cut her letter short with your thoughts. 

They work very well as a partner, and I have decided to send a letter of recommendation if they choose to join the Fatui. I hope that they are of use to you in the future, more so than that. . . native barbarian.

You are not surprised that the Knave is so quick to jump on this opportunity. It wasn’t uncommon for those living underneath the Hearth to join the Fatui, it seemed rather inevitable of course. To be in debt to their caretaker, you suppose. You would have thought that perhaps she picked up on your slight distaste for the mere idea of using children to fuel the Fatui’s ideals, you cannot blame her. For you are a hypocrite. 

Nevertheless, Sofiya has started planning for a choir for the winter season. It might be a little early but the children there are very excited. They want to visit the city to sing holiday songs. It is quite endearing. I’m sure that they would have wanted you to see them. At last, you must be caught up in your work. And for that, I have left a few gifts in this envelope.

You wanted to let out a small chuckle at the Knave’s words. So those were the trinkets. You tilt your head downwards to admire some of the charms. Although some of them were more clumsily made, you could tell each of them apart. It seems as if most that were sent to you were from some of the children you’ve previously handled in the past. Those who have lingered by your side each time you visited those doors, all with warm smiles and welcomes. You toy with one of the charms, letting the bead revolve around the base of your finger. 

If you have time to spare, please visit us in Snezhnaya.

Folding the letter into the envelope, you close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting off. How nice it would have been, to see each of them grow. While you may have missed a great part of their childhood, you believe that you would at least have the future to see them. It’s said that the future is far grander than one might think, and you almost play into this foreign idea. The longer you go on in your life, the smaller your past becomes until it's nothing more but a speck in your tapestry. You hum. Where have you heard this saying before?

You think such a saying relies so heavily on the aspect of freedom, and the kinds of actions one might be able to take to move forth. It’s not easy, you suppose, to carry on in this life of yours without a sense of purpose or drive carrying you. And yet you do so anyway, with nothing more than an empty patch at the center of your chest, reminding you of your fleeting mortality. You entertain the idea that one day, everyone will eventually turn into a star, floating away in the dark, velvet abyss. That the wind may carry their ashes into the sky. How simplistic and naive. To be anything more than a star that lingers within the sky, watching over everyone carry on with their journeys. Some of which may have lasted longer than yours. 

You think it's fascinating to stare at these stars, to know that they were just like you in some ways. To understand their feeling of unconditional love, to dance amongst themselves without a care in the world, to lavish in its beauty. You figure; with those kinds of powers, would you be a God?

Perhaps there was more to this than just being a star. As there lies complexity that some might never be able to understand. A sense that must be felt and experienced to even grasp its nature. You question the thought that once you become a star, there is nothing left for you but to watch everyone live on. It must have been a helpless case. To be unable to reach out to whom you love, to love those you’ve left behind, to not feel their warmth beneath your hand. You would only silently plead for them to stay and remember what is left of you. How painful it must have been. Standing alone, shining by yourself, believing that was all you could have hoped or achieved? 

You think it’s pitiful. To not be by their side when they needed you most. 

Where did father go? You ask, pulling on her long, cream-colored apron with your hands. You looked up at her solemnly, your lips pushed together tightly to form a childish pout. He said he would come home. He always comes home!

For where has your father gone? Where has he disappeared? You think it has been decades since you’ve last seen his rough, jagged hair. The one that you would always scrunch up beneath your finger with a playful, joyous smile. The promise that your father made to you seemed more like a distant dream as days turn into months, and eventually years. You wanted to desperately believe that he may return to you, to tell you stories of his great adventure, to bring back what he had slain, to let you admire him from afar as he fights the cold winter to bring you firewood. 

He was a strong man, you always said, he was nothing like the other children’s fathers who disappeared. He could fight the Tsaritsa’s tempest with one hand. He could slay a bear in his sleep, and tame those wild rabbits and sheep. You knew from the deepest parts of your heart that he was more than just your father but a man who can resist even Celestia’s toughest obstacles. You knew this to be true, yet you find yourself doubting the idea that he may return home to you.

He went to the Abyss for an expedition, she replied, turning away from you with her hollow eyes. Her hands were busy cutting a white onion, her mind much too busy at the thought of preparing dinner to acknowledge the blossoming pain in her chest. The tips of her fingers held onto its milky flesh, her grip tightening on the knife. She restrains herself from wiping away her tears with a towel. There were a few travelers who got trapped underneath the rubble, and he wanted to make sure they made it out to their families. It was the right thing to do.

What about us? We are his family too. You lean your head against her hip, holding onto her apron tightly as you tried not to cry, for it is a weakness. He should be coming back to us.

And he will, eventually. Just wait a little more. She sighs. Everything will be okay, you and I will be okay. 

Sometimes you don’t think of her as a warrior or a strong fighter. To you, she was more like a star, helpless in every way possible. Forced to bear witness to the evil which lies within the woods, to watch those she loved fade away so quickly due to their flawed mortality. This was all she could have done, all that her life amounted to. No amount of crying could ever echo her profound desperation to see that man once more, to reach out to him with her otherworldly hands, to comfort and kiss his lips with her fragile, mortal shell. 

She cannot deny that she misses his touch. That she misses the way he would sway against the swing of her hips. The way his warm skin would press against hers underneath the dead of midnight with a passion unmatched. She longs to hear the sound of his voice calling out her name. She stops her task at hand, letting the knife lay idly within her grasp. 

Your mother was a liar, you concluded. Gripping your hands tightly into a fist, you dropped to your knees, helplessly staring into the dark abyss with a blank expression. The lantern that you carried fell, its flame slowly flickering to a close as the wind blew against your cheek with violent intent. The cold weather seeped into your skin like a freezing lake, washing away any warm, hopeful feeling that you might have had. Was this what it felt like to be betrayed? Was this betrayal? Were you betrayed? 

She promised you that everything would be okay in the end. That the two of you would be okay even without him. You pondered over the idea that it was just an elaborate lie for her to escape in the dead of night, to leave you behind for him, to abandon you for you were not him. The kiss that she left upon your sleeping forehead was the last fleeting touch you felt from her before her body disappeared into the darkness, never to be seen again by your eyes. You leaned forward, your forehead touching the frigid ground as you wept loudly, unable to contain the heartache she caused. 

You remained obvious to an unknown object materializing beneath the palm of your hand. Its smooth exterior called forth an icy storm that raged like a ferocious beast. Its blue color shines as brightly as the moon, beckoning you to say its name and bring upon this world a revolution. You tighten your grip upon this mysterious gem, your nails clawing into its flesh as you heaved forth a heavy breath.

The first to betray you was your father, the strongest man in Snezhnaya. You always thought he was a loyal man, with the way he held onto your mother with those loving, tender eyes. With arms strong enough to tear apart the skies, with a grip to rope the moon into his hands, you hopelessly thought that he could uphold the simple promise of coming home. You thought that even if there had been a war, he would have fought with the skin of his teeth to see you. Yet he was not stronger than his mortality. And you suppose he breathed his final breath in the Abyss.

You sobbed, trying to capture the tears in your hand. Your throat hiccuped with every puff, the pipes that bellowed cries now closing in on itself. Trying to breathe underneath the layer of snow was like fighting a vicious cold. Your body grows weaker by the second, and your brain begins to fade in and out of consciousness as you struggle to maintain a semblance of warmth. 

The second to betray you was your mother, a kind-hearted woman of divine blood. You always thought she could see right through you like a picture book, with the way she would press her lips against the side of your head when you wept underneath moonlight stars. With a heart big enough to swallow up your childish fears, with her soft hands wiping away all the bad memories, you thought everything would be okay. And that when the world turns upside down, she would be there to capture you within her arms, holding you tight against her chest as she sings lullabies. Though the color of her blood may never be the same as your father, her love was not oil and water.

Child, she says, pulling you close into her arms as you stare blankly at the stained glass window behind her. Her body is colder than anyone you’ve met before, yet her touch is soothing and comforting. For a fleeting moment, it seems as if you’ve met her before. You do not understand how much of a blessing it is for us to meet like this. For me to see you, she brushes away strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, it means everything. 

Soldiers line up beside you, placing their hands against their chest with straight faces. Their uniforms are tight against their skin, covering every inch to shield them from the frigid weather. They look at you with divine recognition. They know you to be someone of great value, not to just the woman of ice, but to themselves. You were more than a helpless star, more than ashes destined to fly. You were destined to walk upon this world to grace them with the mercy that Celestia took for granted.

Let us rebuild this world together, with you by my side, there won’t be a single second where you feel helpless. 

She presses a kiss to your forehead. You are motionless in her arms. 

“What is a mortal doing up on Wangshu Inn’s roof? Return to your room at once, fool.” You are nearly caught off guard by this unknown man’s sudden presence, if not for the flickering emerald fireflies which dance around his body. He stares at you intensely through the cracks of his mask, looking at you with piquing curiosity. “Did you not hear what I said?”

His tongue grows dry as he watches the way you bring your hand to your side, shielding the Knave’s letter between the tips of your fingers, your nails brushing up against the crisp material. He finds the air growing cold, and he presumes that it was the doing of your Vision. Hardening his gaze, he finds himself disliking your quiet nature. He fears that if he hadn’t noticed your shadow at the top of the inn, he could have trampled over your body. He pressed his lips tightly together.

While it was easy for him to revere you as a mortal, he is disturbed by your presence. It was as if there was some sort of pressure laying heavy on his shoulders, the kind that he could only feel when in the presence of otherworldly beings of Teyvat. He tries not to shiver from the cold air, hoping that his dripping blood could warm his freezing skin. He holds onto his polearm tightly to his figure, refusing to let his guard down around such a mysterious woman.

“The stars,” you start.

“Huh?” He replies to you with a puzzled expression, waving his glimmering weapon between the tips of his finger. He lowers it slightly as you make eye contact.

“The stars are loud today.”

Raising your fragile fingers to the open sky, you could feel the wind brush against your skin. It nips at the edges of your hand, tracing itself across the map on your palm. It’s gentle and cooling. The air is fresh and clean, nowhere near as heavy as those from Snezhnaya. Regardless, you find it rather strange and comforting. It was like a mother’s touch, you would say. Your eyes flutter alongside the whistles of trees. Your eyes noticed the way the breeze moved against the palm of your hand, taking upon it with its own, and waving you into its intricate dances. It was cool like the silver ring which rested upon your digits. Its embrace shields you away from the flame that yearns for your skin.

The winds of Liyue were nothing like those from the loveless Archon. Compared to the desolate lands of snow and ice, you saw in them the ways that life bloomed. In Liyue, you can wake up to the welcoming noise of birds singing their songs in the morning, welcoming you into this strange world. To the sound of mortals relishing in their trade, their words churning their meaningless chatter into gold. To the winds kissing your bare shoulder as a lover does to their darling. You find it to be a rather peaceful nation. One that rested soundlessly against the chest of its god. How sheltered, you thought, for a place to be so devoted to an otherworldly being written from the stars above. 

Snezhnaya was nothing like the land of contracts. While one was a land full of warmth and joy, the other was a scornful resting place of former deities and their acolytes. With the air being so thin, many travelers make the fatal mistake of standing still for too long. In only a matter of minutes of being exposed to the Tsaritsa’s winds, your lungs may have been frozen over from the inside out. With only a few breaths left to spare, helpless wanderers collapse to the ground with black and blue skin. Such tales aren’t too uncommon. Not even the most experienced Dragonspine climbers could survive more than a few nights in your homeland.

It’s much too easy to see bodies washed over with waves of snow, the eternal blizzard that reigned over the land devouring all that stands in its way. Its hunger is insatiable like starving wolves. With an appetite to engulf large cities and small towns, it was an unrelenting and unforgiving force of cruelty, such as the Tsaritsa, one might say. Closing your eyes for a moment, you remember her icy fingers caressing your cheek, her gaze frigid yet timid. A strange shyness overcomes her figure as she looms over you, struggling to hold onto you tightly with her eyes desperately blinking away tears. The tightness of her grip makes you wonder if she fears the thought of losing you or losing a piece of someone she once loved. You dare not raise your hand to hold her, letting only her shaky breaths settle upon your ear. May it be out of fear or relief, you chose not to question her motives, only hoping that she never leave you.

You wonder if these storms meant anything. If they were just figments of the Tsaritsa. You still hear her voice beg for you to stay in her arms. It rings in your head like a neverending dream, one that lingers a little too long. You still feel her sense of devotion and eagerness to consume what is left of the world world. Her need to create that which she had promised long before the war. You could feel the rage that engulfs her when she holds onto your waist, embracing it until your ribs feel the pressure of being shattered. 

If she could preserve one last memory of what she cherished before, then she would have done it. She would have done anything in her power to freeze time, to revert it to where it all began. If she had to rewrite the stars, tear apart the clouds, and rip Celestia from her throne to complete her wish, then so be it. She had no reason to stay in this false reality of hers. She would do anything to say those three words, to right the wrongs, to take back what she loved. She would do anything. 

So when you sit upon your bed, leaning your head against the headboard to watch the skies turn into a gray color, you realize how lonely she is. You can hear her cries grow louder when spring comes as this is when women bring flowers to mourn. They weep for a woman you denounced as a traitor. You may never understand the sentiment she feels, but when she presses her forehead against yours, forcing you to gaze into those cold irises, you are consumed by her sorrow.

You know, there is no one I love more in this world than you, she said. Her cold hands brush against a woman with (h/c) hair. The two of them lay underneath a fruitful tree, one that had only recently blossomed this summer. She feels this strange tightness in her throat and chest. The thumping in her heart cannot be stopped. She had tried many times to get it to settle down but it still beats so loudly for the woman beside her. I mean it.

Do you? The woman laughed, shifting the weight of her body. She lies on her side, facing the Archon of love. Her smile was bright, she would say. Brighter than any star she could have ever imagined. Brighter than the sun even. What if she was the sun? And the moon? And everything in between? She was everything to her. What have I done to win your affection, Ritsa? I thought you said you were tired of my antics.

Liliya. She reaches out to her hand, holding it tightly against hers as she presses her lips together. She won’t deny herself this any longer. She refuses to deny this strange feeling that bubbles at the pits of her stomach, the cause of her powers weakening and turning into pools of water, the reason her ears and cheeks turn to the shade of red. Pulling herself up from the ground, she stares at the woman. I do love you.

But that was all just an elaborate dream, wasn’t it? A spectacle that never came true. And that is what the Tsaritsa regrets. This is the reason her tears turn to glass, the memory she wished to have made into reality. If she had just said those words, everything could have been fine. She wouldn’t have had to sob over this strange woman, she wouldn’t have to remember the lovely sound of her voice calling out her name, nor would she be able to return to the tree which bears fruit. 

“You are still lost in your head,” The Balladeer cuts, breaking through your thoughts as you slowly let your arm fall to your side. His eyes deliver glances to the silver ring that rests delicately upon your finger, a smile nearly creeping up on his lips. He tries to restrain himself though. If he was less careful, he might have let such useless emotion slip through the cracks of his facade. “Pray tell, what are you thinking of?”

You let out a small chuckle, seemingly amused by his sudden interest. “I am just in awe at this scenery. Liyue is nothing like Snezhnaya. The air is a lot easier to breathe in. . .”

“That is to be expected. That nation is too damn cold for anyone, even its people have a hard time getting through the snow. It’s a miracle that anyone can get through the thick blizzard without freezing to death.”

“Every time we get back from the ship, the harbor is always frozen over. It takes a dozen men to break through the ice just for us to step foot.” He tilts his hat upwards, the jingle of his bells echoing alongside the sound of whistling birds. He kicks a rock off to the side of the road, letting it dart a few steps before settling on the lush grass. “I can’t stand being in that place. It’s freezing even when it’s in the middle of summer.”

Out of curiosity, you ask: “Do you prefer Liyue then?”

He snaps his head towards you, scoffing. “As if I want to be here with that meddling child. He somehow makes things all the more difficult for us. With his impulsive and persistent behavior, I am surprised that we haven’t started a direct war with Liyue and its Archon.” 

He folds his arms over his chest. “While he may be stationed in Liyue Harbor, I can’t help but feel as if he is watching over us. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched of an idea to think he sent his men to follow us. His personality is irritable and unnerving, to say the least.”

“I don’t think he is as terrible as you describe,” you reply. 

“Perhaps not to you. I don’t think anyone would have the nerve to talk back to you as I do.” The Balladeer chuckles, masking his annoyance and bitterness. “Though, I would see that there might be other reasons for his awful behavior.” 

Awful might be an understatement, he says to himself. He finds it utterly repulsive when that man follows you around the palace with those lovestruck eyes. That man-child, he calls, was nothing more but a nuisance. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he might even see a few dog-like qualities within him. He wouldn’t be surprised if that man revealed himself to be some sort of Snezhayan dog that somehow looked human. With the way he trails behind every step you take, looking out for you in those grand halls, complimenting you every second of the day. It was as if he worshipped the ground you walked upon. This begs the question if he swears loyalty to the woman of ice, or if he was only there to prove his worthiness to you.

There is a moment of silence. The crinkling of grass and rock was the only sound filling the empty air. You hold your tongue as you quietly thumbed the palm of your hand, interlocking your fingers with each other as the wind brushes against your cheek. You sense tension from the man beside you. The Balladeer looked up at you for a moment, his cheeks growing a slight tint of red before he looks away. 

Your shoes click against the hardened ground. Dirt soils your heel as you held your breath for a moment. You didn’t think all too much about Tartaglia, let alone any of his other relationships with the Harbingers. Though you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t too interested in his life, you knew better than anyone else that it would be a futile attempt to reconnect. Tilting your head to stare at the passing clouds, you watch as the skies part themselves to reveal Celestia through its soft, pillowy cracks.

You question if he became the warrior he had always dreamed of. Ones that he described in his picture books. He wished to be the same kind of hero who would fight time and god itself if it meant saving his family. Part of you thinks that such ambitions have already been fulfilled. Yet when you bring yourself to look at his dull, ocean eyes, you understand that there was nothing left but unrelenting desperation and hunger. His mortal blood meant nothing when faced with the heat of battle. His desire will burn like a raging fire and you fear one day that it might consume him. You knew that man would never be satisfied, he was anything but that. He was a glutton at heart, and you could see through his gaze that the shining, crown jewel of his dreams was still far out of reach for him, waiting to be dyed red.

You remember a vivid memory.

Waving his father a kind farewell, you turn your back on them, hoping that he and his son may never return to these blood-stained grounds. A woman brushes her hand against her son’s shoulder, beckoning him to follow her home so that she could make him a warm meal. But he stayed grounded for a little longer. Those bright blue, ocean eyes of his followed your distant figure until it was no more, shut behind closed doors.

You only made it a few steps into the palace before stopping. That boy of yours. Your body slowly turns to stare at the shorter man dressed in royal blue, a shade much too different from the nameless child. His suit is rather pristine. You might even say freshly pressed, as he brushes his hand against his sleeve, wiping away at any specks of dust. You see that he has an intrigued expression plastered across his face. His lips curve into a small, amused smile as he looks up at you. He raises his hand to lift his circular glasses, shifting them slightly as he clears his throat. The one you picked up from the Abyss. You think he’d make a fine Harbinger, don’t you?

You blink several times in surprise at such a bold request. You tap your nails against the palm of your hand, your shoulders growing tense as you raise your guard. The cold breeze from Zapolyarny Palace brushes against your slightly bruised skin, sending chills down your spine as you let out a deep exhale. In the eyes of the Rooster, he saw the exhaustion on your face. How troublesome it must have been, to chase after a small figure in the darkness which claimed the lives of thousands. He could only imagine what it was like to meet a young boy in the shadow. Lost, quivering, terrified yet barely holding on to any semblance of humanity that the Abyss left to spare. 

You are rather. . . bold, Pulcinella. You frown. He is too young to join the Fatui. What business must we have with a child?

He can tell that you are hiding your concern underneath the feign of harshness. Of course not, but he has talent, does he not? Someone like you can see it. You clutch the fabric of your clothes tightly, balling it up in your hand. It’d be a waste not to ask his father if he could join.

You curse yourself for such a wretched power. One that had been passed down to you like a blessing, yet you could only see it as a scourge. Although he has the potential and the future to become a fierce soldier, you were unsure as to whether or not such a future was worth following. Children were meant to play in the open field, throw snowballs at each other, and laugh at life’s strangest miracles. Their soft hands were not made to hold weapons. Hardening your gaze, you stare at Pulcinella’s confident expression. While you may protest against such crude suggestions, even he knew you cannot deny the strong potential this boy has. 

As I said before, he is a child. You refuse to show emotion towards him. Not to a man whose devotion lies only in the will of the Tsaritsa, and less of the people he claims to rule over. Enlighten me as to how this small, pitiful child from a nameless village could help the Tsaritsa. If you could do so confidently, perhaps I would play into this game of yours.

While Pulcinella was speaking the truth, you were desperately fighting against fate itself. You could see it so clearly. This innocent boy with innocent ocean-blue eyes would surround himself with hardened soldiers. His hands are stained with blood, a color that he has grown to quite like very much. You could see the way he trilled his words, his body moving to the gruesome sound of crackling bone. It was a wicked dance, but a future that you cannot save him from. You begin to question if you should bother kidding yourself into thinking you were some kind of saint. A kind-hearted woman who wanted nothing more than to guide a lost child down the road of righteousness. Hah, you say, regardless of your answer, you know that fate will always lead him back to where he was meant to be.

He swallowed a thick lump that had formed at the base of his throat. Despite the palace already being freezing, Pulcinella felt it get colder. He straightens his coat as he holds his cane. We can train him, and hone him into a great warrior. I believe he has the right potential to learn quite a lot underneath Capitano. 

He nervously cracks a confident smile. It would be foolish on our part to leave that boy in his hometown. The Abyss has already corrupted him enough. He’s a wild animal. You wouldn’t want to create a monster, now would you? Your nails drill themselves deeper into your skin, a cold shiver running down your neck as a small bead of sweat trickles down the side of your temple. 

Let’s straighten that boy out before he becomes trouble.

“Where would you like to go?” You ask, turning your head towards the Balladeer with an unknown expression. One that he could only describe as conflicted. The look in your eyes made him worried. His hands felt slightly clammy at the sudden change in atmosphere. “If you could go anywhere on Teyvat, and remain there forever, where would you call home?” 

What an interesting question, he hums. When his journey with the Fatui is over, where will he end up? Will he be washed up on the shores of the Land of Eternity, or would he be running amongst the starved animals in Snezhnaya, desperately clinging to any warmth? What a fine question. It truly boggles his mind the kinds of things you think of. If in his hands was the gnosis of the Electro Archon, would there be anyone to welcome him? Any sort of place that he could call home? Would you fine him if he were to leave? All of these questions linger in his mind, and all of them seem to go unanswered as of now.

He is unsure of what to say. He finds that part of him wishes for you to fill in the blanks. He wants you to call his name, to reach out and caress his skin as you did that winter night. To say that you’d remain by his side. Promise him that because he wishes to be where you are, to eat the same warm stew made from boars, to hold your hand when the storm grew, to rest upon those familiar sleeping bags alongside you. He doesn’t need anything fancy. He just wants to be by your side, is that too hard to ask? He yearns to relive those fruitful memories of watching you teach him how to use a bow, to hunt a deer with a small knife, to butcher a rabbit, he wanted to keep all of this.

“Inazuma.” He mutters with a voice too small for you to hear. His voice trembled slightly, almost as if he was struggling to articulate his thoughts. It was as if his tongue had been confused as to what he wished to say, hidden words lying deep underneath the slick, pink muscle. “I would stay in Inazuma.”

You let out a small, satisfied hum at his answer. You can’t say that you were surprised by his answer. After working alongside him for a few hundred years, it seemed almost inevitable that by the end of his journey, he might return to the land of Eternity. You huffed, holding back any noises that may have itched the Balladeer’s throat. Inevitable, you tell yourself, what a farce.

“Where would you go?” He questions.

His body is tense as you raise your hand to toy with your decorative pin, feeling its thorny edges prick the tips of your finger. You shouldn’t be too surprised that he would ask you the same. It was in his very nature and the future you gazed upon. And while it was preplanned, you can’t help but feel as if you were left puzzled. Conflicted at the thought, perhaps. 

Where would you go? Where exactly could you go when the storm calms? When the world is at the Tsaritsa’s heel, where is home? Unlike him, you doubt it would be easy to decide on a place to rest. It would have been easier to say that you would continue living in Snezhnaya, underneath the ruling of the Cryo Archon. However, something deep within your heart begs for you to turn the other way, to defy what you already claimed to be inevitable. It was its being, one that wanted to consider the idea of choice, and the possibilities that could arise. 

Would you allow yourself the chance to give in to these thoughts? To play along with them as if they held any meaning. Could you see yourself abandoning your homeland, in favor of some kind of fleeting dream? You didn’t see yourself as someone who could be so easily swayed by such simple notions. Have you grown weak? Or were you becoming more human? You had the thought that deep within, you may never be able to escape your homeland. Even if you were to cloak yourself in the finest and thickest of wool to conceal yourself from the cold, it would always creep up on your feet. It was not the nation of ice that follows you, but your conviction and misery that grows frost.

You find yourself condemned to eternal suffering, to hear the rings of your voice beckoning for someone to stay. You thought you might have been cursed. Every night, you relive the painful memories of watching buildings crumble and collapse, to watch the people grow ill and sickly, it was destiny, you presume. Clutching onto your pin, you feel your fingers shake as violently as the trees fighting against the frost. 

. . . No matter how hard you try, you may never change anything. 

Mother (Y/n)! He calls out for you with a toothy grin, one that you remembered vividly as being bright and innocent. With his small legs, he rushed towards you with a hop in his step. Your eyes widened for a moment but quickly softened as you kneeled forward, letting him jump into your arms as you returned his eagerness with a small smile. Your soldiers whisper to each other from the sidelines, gesturing toward the small boy as they looked at the scene with fondness. 

The russet-haired boy wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you close as he basks in your warmth. I went ice-fishing with my father the other day. Even though I haven’t done it in months, I think I became a lot better! My mom calls it a miracle but my other siblings think I just got stronger! 

Is that so? You replied, pulling away from him to brush away some strands of hair covering his face. You are a strong boy after all. It’s not easy surviving the Abyss. Your family must have been so proud of you. 

His smile grows wider at your response, feeling his heart swell just a bit at your compliment. You know, I really missed you! You look at him with a foreign expression. It was dark and scary there, and I’ve always been afraid of the dark, but after seeing you, everything I was afraid of just went away! They poof’d! Everything feels nicer when you’re around! Are you some kind of magical witch? 

Your soldiers restrain their gasps, some of them elbowing each other as they nervously pulled on their collars. You only dismiss their look of disapproval. Raising your fingers, you gently brush them against the boy’s face. That is right, I am a magical witch who saved you from the scary Abyss. Pinching the tip of his nose you giggle. If you aren’t a good boy, I’ll freeze your nose so you behave.

He laughs. You wouldn’t do that to me! You’re too nice!

. . . No amount of praying could ever prepare you for what fate had kept in its hands.

Sister (Y/n)! The young teenager waved at you from the crowds, his body politely pushing through the thick mass to reach your figure at the top of the stairs. He notices that this time, you are not surrounded by a sea of soldiers. He heaved with every breath, trying to catch up to you with a smile on his face. I went hunting for the first time today, I caught a deer on my second try! The first one was just a wild rabbit, it’s not that special so I didn’t want to show you that yet.

He nervously scratches the back of his neck, a red tint forming on his cheeks. He plays with the ends of his fingers, his body rocking side to side in a fit of shyness. His heart was thumping loudly against his chest, pounding it like drums as if he ran a marathon. Do you think you could go hunting with me someday? I know that you’re always busy but I want to show you what I can do! 

You bend your knee, no longer having to touch the ground to meet his height. Of course, you only need to send a letter and I will be there. 

As if his grin couldn’t get any wider, he says: That’s good! I’ll make sure to hunt a big animal then! I heard that to marry a woman, you should show up with a bear at her doorstep! But I would rather hunt a dragon and leave it here for you! That way, no other man can compare to me! 

For what Celestia had planned.

(Y/n)! A familiar boy ran in your direction, the same bright smile plastered across his face. While the air was cold, his breath was warm and his cheeks were painted like a beautiful shade of apple. His eyes were not as luminous as they once were, nevertheless, they showed great fondness and adoration towards you. He held a black mask tightly to his chest, gripping it with his small, delicate hands. Wearing an earlier version of the Fatui uniform, he looks up at you. 

I’m not old enough to go on adventures but it won’t be for too long! That man with glasses said that he’ll take care of my family while I’m gone, and I’m a little sad I might not be able to watch my baby brother Teucer grow up, at least I can send letters! He laughs. 

I’ll be right behind you every step of the way! And one day, you and I will be able to go hunting together! I’ll be sure to save the best animal for you! 

For what the divines deemed. . . as inevitable.

(Y/n), he says to you, kissing your knuckles as he kneels. His head is lowered alongside his eyes. He would never dare to look at you in the face, not when he knows you were smiling in delight. I finally caught up to you.

Perhaps what he lacked was the awareness that came with being human. You hold yourself back from gasping. Unable to focus on the way he grasps your fingers, your gaze is fixated on the monstrous beast which lies defeated at the doorstep of Zapolarny palace. Their white fur is now dyed in a thick crimson liquid, and their open eyes are left hollow and defeated. Your fingers waver slightly underneath this man’s touch. This beast was shown no mercy, not with the jagged cut that rests beneath its chin. Their body drools blood over the clean tiles, staining the cracks. Many attendants and soldiers rush to the front door to watch the scene unravel. For their stomachs felt nauseous. 

Your lips tremble as you feel him tighten his grip around your hand, his lips pressing against your knuckles once more. No man has ever gifted you a fiend this big, have they? That’s good. He continues to smile. 

It means I still have a great lead on your hand.

“I suppose. . . I would stay in Snezhnaya,” you answered, a cold shiver running down the base of your spine, “There is nowhere else I could go.”

The Balladeer stares quietly at your figure, your arms slowly propping your body into a sitting position. Your cold, distant eyes stare off into the open balcony, birds twinkle and dance opposite to the sound of your resting heartbeat. If there was silence, it would have already been broken by the sound of their loud chirps and calls. Small creatures sing songs of your awakening, their ballad lingering across town. You exhaled softly, letting your lungs fill with the fresh scent of native flowers. Dressed in nothing but a simple, thin night dress, you feel the cold touch of wood meet your bare feet, a shiver running down your spine. 

Sunlight pours through the cracks, illuminating your figure. The sight of you causes the navy-haired man to swallow a thick lump that had formed at the base of his throat, his eyes quickly withdrawing themselves as if he had seen something obscene. Though he has been accustomed to the sight of a woman’s bare skin, with the account of his earlier passings of red-colored cities, he has never once thought of you as someone to be gawked at. A saint such as yourself should never have to be seen in distasteful light, he says to himself, he would never want to see his superior crudely. If he had talked about this with someone else other than himself, they would have surely said he was a jealous man. 

Jealous or not, he cannot find the energy to care all too much. He brushes through his slightly coarse hair, flicking through a series of notes and letters left behind by a Fatui agent. He sighs under his breath, placing his elbow against the wooden table. He rests his chin on the palm of his hand. While many of these letters were addressed to him, speaking upon other diplomatic matters in Inazuma, there were a few that were yours. He clicks his tongue as his nail fingers the sealed edges of an envelope, his lips pressed tightly against each other as he stares at the uniquely printed, wax steal. 

House of the Hearth. He lets out a scoff at the name. One of Knave’s prized possessions, some run-down orphanage located at the edge of Snezhnaya. His gaze hardens, the tip of his tongue tasting rather metallic. He thinks of her as a pest. Someone undeserving of attention, he might add. For a traitorous mouse to be lurking around thick palace walls, he begs to question the Tsaritsa’s intention. He toys with the corner of the envelope, balancing it on itself as he flicks it. The paper dances around in a circle like a crass waltz between his fingers. He can’t blame her too much for having ulterior motives though. It’s hard to believe anyone’s words these days. With everyone being so tight-lipped around the Tsaritsa, trying to find an honest-to-good man seemed close to impossible. 

He huffs. There is no point in dwelling upon trivial matters. Not when he knows that every man and woman placed into that court is nothing more than wolves in sheep’s clothing, a monster wearing the skin of a human. He is no different from the rest of them. Though, unlike some people, he might say that he’s a lot more honest than the other Harbingers. Lightly tossing the envelope across the desk, he leans back against his wooden chair, pressing his fingers to his chin. 

He finds it rather odd that the Knave would contact you at such an unprecedented time. Does that woman have nothing to do in her free time? He wants to write her a letter but that would mean that he cares. He certainly doesn’t, and never will, yet his annoyance nags at him like a gnawing beast. If this traitor is contacting you about matters outside of the Fatui, would it be wrong for him to think that there was something suspicious going on? Or was it just his paranoia catching up to him? He dares not to ask you as the fear of him being mischievous and prying might turn you away from him. No, he wouldn’t want that, he says to himself. 

The Balladeer closes his eyes for a brief moment, feeling your presence shift to watch the terrace. He wants to talk to you more privately yet cannot find the courage to speak up to you. His colleagues may all him as brute and rather impolite in some ways, although, when it comes to you it seems as if all words had been lost in his throat. All the sentences and topics he talked about in his head vanished as quickly as if you had erased his memory. However, that would be quite an exaggeration. He knows you cannot do that. 

He hates this strange sensation that bubbles in his hollow chest. This longingness and desperation to stay by your side feel like a hindrance that he wouldn’t mind bearing. He thinks that thought is pitiful and disgusting. Laughing at himself internally, he fails to think about the idea that if he were to ask another man to describe what he was feeling, he would call it denial. Opening his eyes and turning his head, his face breaks into a small smile that he is powerless to stop. The sight of you lightly pressing your lips against a songbird weaves itself into his memory. The light of the golden sun shines upon your skin, illuminating it with a warm hue. 

He was a rational man, he likes to think. Though when it comes to you, everything he knew and wanted to do had been thrown into the abyss. He hates this emotion. . . but doesn’t mind it too much.  Not when it’s with you.

Holding your tongue by the edges of your teeth, you carefully danced around the thick crowd. Your hair bounces slightly to your gentle steps. Every click of your shoe resonates with the ground below as if Teyvat calls for you. Like a skipping rock in a lake, you fluttered. Straightening your back, you peer forth at the people of Liyue, Adults and children hold each other by their hands, guiding themselves through the rocky path to different stalls. All of which bustle with life. Their joyous laughter and cheers remind you of grave memories, one that was locked away at the back of your mind, caged like a bird. Releasing a short hum from underneath your breath, you tilt your head slightly to admire the trinkets and jewelry that slept on velvet pillows. 

Time slows alongside your steps, your dull eyes growing curious as you looked at one of the displayed rings. You weren’t one to dabble in the arts of jewelry, nevertheless, you enjoyed the craftsmanship that each piece has. You might even describe it as telling a story of sorts. There was a ring made of silver, tuned to glisten underneath the natural light of the sun. It was as bright and glowy as the frozen lakes which bathe underneath the moonlight. A piece that shows no restraint in flaunting itself, an ego that cannot be cut down no matter what color the sky may be. While the shape itself might have been a little too simplistic, you find the hand-carved engravings to be rather stunning. Each side had been created with purposeful dips and waves, all of which resemble traditional Snezhnayan ornaments. You describe it as beautiful from underneath your breath. 

In your pursuit to admire this ring, you failed to see the way the Balladeer caught sight of your fruitful gaze. He raises his eyebrow in interest, a small smile perking up on the edges of his lips as he looks toward you in disbelief. How amusing, his voice trills, the right hand to the stone-cold, frigid ruler of Snezhnaya, being so easily enamored by a simple ring on the side of the road? If someone had told him this story, he would have laughed until his ball-jointed knees crumpled to the ground. He hardens his gaze to cover up the way they loosen. If it was anyone else from the Fatui, they might have brushed your behavior as sleight of hand, but he knows better. A woman such as yourself would never pay attention to just any charm, it had to have some sort of significance to the future. 

That’s what he would tell himself, at least. Masked beneath his pride, he forgets about the possibility that some russet-haired boy may have had the same idea. He lightly flicks the top of his hat to adjust his vision, the bells on his charm jingling as his lips parted way. He calls your name in a tone you may only hear. 

“Do you want this ring?” You stop in your tracks, your body shifting its weight to turn your heel toward him. “You’ve been staring at it for a while now. I would have never guessed a woman like you could be so entranced by something so small. What changed?”

You let out a curt huff at his words, finding them rather amusing yet difficult to comprehend. You think he was exaggerating. It was only a matter of seconds. Surely those passing moments weren’t enough to capture the Balladeer’s strange concern. You try not to break character, not wanting to draw suspicion from an old woman listening closely to what could be a possible customer. 

“Nothing has changed, darling.” You notice the way his fingers twitch at his new nickname. “I was just window shopping. You don’t need to be worried.”

‘Darling,’ you say. He restrains himself from letting out a boisterous giggle. He doesn’t want to come off as too excited. Since when did you stoop so low as to call him that? He hasn’t heard such a word since he left the land of Eternity. Those words remind him of the sickly sweet honey that lovers spill to each other on open streets. He tries to brush it off as nothing more but a coverup for his identity, yet he feels his stomach doing strange flips. Pressing his lips together he looks up at you with a blank expression, the itch in his chest drums loudly. Those words were nothing special, just a few teasing remarks to get his blood going, to keep his head grounded to Teyvat, but as he stares into your soft eyes does he give into the idea of wanting more. 

Your gaze lingers on his slightly flustered appearance. You notice that the tips of his ears are slightly red, a shade familiar to wild berries which grow during Snezhnaya’s spring. A smile is brought to your face. What a strange yet interesting expression. You would have never thought that the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers would ever share the face of a lovestruck man. You thought it was amusing, he thought it was humiliating. Letting your thumb rest beneath the surface of your chin, you innocently grin. 

“Has the cat got your tongue?”

Scoffing, he peers down at the silver ring. “Not at all, love.” He answers sharply, not missing a single breath. “I just thought you wanted me to buy you another ring. What sort of future husband leaves his wife unsatisfied?” 

Taking out a pouch of mora, he leaves it on the table. “Besides, it’s commonplace in Inazuma for a wedded man to show off his bride. I wouldn’t want any of these men from Liyue to gawk at you.” Lowering your hand, you stood by his side as he strikes a conversation with the grey-haired owner.

She raises her head slightly to meet with the standing Balladeer, a grin erupting on her face as she speaks to him. With just one look can you tell from those dim, amber orbs that there was nothing more to her than fine generosity and kindness. Her murky hair was very thin and fragile with the way it flows alongside the wind like fallen leaves. Part of it is pinned loosely by an ornamental hair clip which you find equally beautiful to what she is selling. Her cheeks were loose and wrinkled, and though her lips were rather dry, you think that her skin tells a story. 

Your eyes flicker to your hand, staring at the faint scars which linger on your skin. While you may have healed thousands of times, there never seemed to be a bump or uneven structure on your skin. It was as if you were built to be as clean as marble slate. Skin that may never be able to create memories. A body meant to remain stripped of identity. Sucking in a breath, you stand beside the navy-haired man, your fingers grazing against each other for a fleeting moment. And while you may remain ignorant to these soft touches, you cannot help but lower your gasp as you felt him grab onto your hand, tucking his fingers in between the cracks of yours. You may not feel much, but he feels a lot. 

The two conversated over different rings, each of which told a very distinct story. You watched as with every passing tale, the woman seems to grow younger and more bright. It was as if she had been waiting her entire life to talk. She speaks about sailors and adventurers, naming various gods and mystical creatures which roam the land of contracts. You would say that Liyue was known for more than just contracts, it seems as if everything has some sort of historical value here. You notice the way she moves her hand as she speaks. Her words are all over the place, a chaotic spout of information that just flew into the open skies. It was a strange, eerily contrast to the two Fatui soldiers whose faces hold stillness like quiet lakes. 

You hold your tongue close to you as you tighten your jaw, your gaze quickly drawing itself to the way the Balladeer clenches his teeth. You figure that he was growing a bit tired of an old woman’s rambling. Restraining a small, amused chuckle from escaping your tight lips, you think to yourself. 

You wonder about how things could have turned out if she had known about your relationship. If you were to break the facade of happy newlyweds. Would she still show you such kindness, or would she turn away from you in disgust, cursing you for slaughtering Rex Lapis in his sleep? Would she still hold onto your hand as gently as she is now, or would she back away with her hand pressed against her chest in fear? You wouldn’t be surprised if she did any of those things. After all, Liyue had always had a sour tongue for the Fatui. You stare off into space, unable to focus on the way the Balladeer raises your hand, presenting the older woman with your delicate, porcelain-like fingers. His touch was slightly cold, like freshly fallen snow. It’s very delicate. You think it’ll melt against your palm.

And while you entertain yourself with the memories of your blood-stained hands, you question the nature of your existence and what sort of place you hold within the world of Teyvat. You knew that the Tsaritsa had great plans for you in the future. Plans that involved what you could only think of as merciless. You unknowingly hold your breath. There was something unnatural about what you see before you: a simple woman providing service to two beings unlike her. It’s hard to believe that any of you shared similarities in your blood. You begin to grow distasteful at your next few thoughts.  To mingle and dance amongst these mortals,  to share their customs and love as if you were one of them, made you feel bitter and disheartened. 

You see your reflection amongst hundreds of polished jewels, your eyes darkening as a flicker of light waltzes along its shimmering cut. You would describe yourself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A wanderer in a land unwelcomed. A stranger to a place unfamiliar. 

How could you feel yourself fitting in when you are nothing like them? No matter how hard you disguise yourself as some traveler or a woman betrothed to a loving, Inazuman man, it would never change who you are on the inside. A pitiful soul who is damned to watch the others fade, unable to keep them within her grasp. You think of them like sand, and that you were the one protecting them against the crashing waves of an ocean. Despite such cold metaphors, you found yourself burning on the inside. Those are my children! A flicker of flame rose to the tips of your fingers, blistering the muscles you had. Those are my children, please move! They need me!  

It was a familiar touch that never leaves.

You blink away stray tears which had formed at the edges of your eyes. The burning sensation that had manifested slowly disappeared as you watched the Balladeer bring the cold, silver ring to the base of your finger. No longer deafened by the cries and crackling of an old memory, you can hear the sound of bustling crowds, and the smell of flowers fills your nose. The once-blurred figure of the Balladeer cleared up like morning fog, your vision getting clearer as he pulled you close to him. 

His expression was more than pleased to see how well the ring fits upon your fingers. His lips were no longer curled in disgust. His violet irises linger on the cool metal which left your skin tingling. And for a fraction of a second, you could see fondness within those eyes. The heat of your past has now simmered. Washed away, taken by the wind where it would float and disappear. You think it’d be easier if all things were like that. It would have been much easier for the people of Teyvat as well. Your breath hitches for a moment, your foot stepping back as he reaches out to hold your waist.

“What is wrong love? You are spacing out,” He questions, his words snapping you out of your trance. “You aren’t coming down with a cold, are you?” 

There was a moment of silence between you. You bit the bottom of your lip, swallowing loudly as you try to collect your broken, scattered thoughts. He tries not to question you out loud. But you know from the look in his eye that he wants nothing more but to hear words of affirmation from you.

“I. . .” You started, your gaze breaking away from him. “My apologies. I was getting lost in my thoughts, that’s all.”

Holding up your finger towards the sun, you gave him a shaky smile. With eyes whose pupils quiver lightly like the newly blossomed flowers, you hope that your facade holds itself well. Despite the warm weather, you could feel a cold shiver brush against your lower spine, a strange touch of a woman you once remembered. You felt nervous. Some might even say unsure. While others might understand it as being lost. Those were the kinds of feelings you were experiencing. “It is a beautiful ring.”

. . . And as if it was the simplest thing in the world, the Balladeer says: “Of course it is.”

The Balladeer has only heard short stories about you. From the best to the worst cases, he cannot deny that out of everyone in the Fatui, you were the most capable of shaping his dream into a reality. For you would understand his dream of becoming a god. Swallowing a thick wad of saliva, he looks up at the expansive, double doors which frame the outside of your office. Your title: Sovereign of Dawn is carved into a golden tablet.

He did quite a lot of research about you. About your time in Sumeru and the experiments which brought you here. He knows you as a great scientist. Someone who seemed to have found a miracle underneath the rubble of doubt and scarcity. He remembers stories about how you cured an entire village of their mysterious illness. Gossips about you traveling to Fontaine to satisfy your curiosity about human prosthetics. Tales of your time in the Spiral Abyss, experimenting on what he could only describe as mortality. 

He surely didn’t come to you on a whim. He wouldn’t have even bothered to request your audience had he not known you were the best of the bunch. To him, you were everything the Fatui could have offered to him: power and retribution. You will be the person who can mold him into the perfect doll, a perfect vessel for gnosis. You could make him into something Ei was not, and the idea was enough to satisfy his greed.

His hands grow slightly clammy at the thought of seeing you. To say that he didn’t fear you was an understatement. He could throw insult after insult to your protégé, calling him anything from a freak to a monster, yet when it comes to you, he knows better and holds his tongue. Especially when you cheerfully roam these halls with nothing more but an empty smile. If he didn’t want to see it on the operating table, he should stay quiet, he thinks to himself. Pressing his hand against the door, he slowly opens it to reveal your sitting figure at the center of your office. Your legs are crossed over one another as he enters the room, the entrance slamming shut behind him as he grows close to you.

“So you must be the Balladeer,” You hummed in amusement, peering into his dark, soulless eyes. He only grumbles in response. Resting your chin against the edge of the clipboard, you admire his body. You must say, you like the violet color he carries. It seemed to have the right amount of storm of trouble. You think you would like it even more if you had it tacked onto a wooden board. Placing your papers on the table, you fold your hands over, letting them rest upon your lap. 

“How about you join me for a cup of tea while we discuss your deal.”

He hopes this isn’t some ploy. He stays silent as he pulls up a chair in front of you. He feels his body sink into the cushions. His fingers fidget with each other underneath your table. You worsen his anxious feelings by ringing a bell, calling upon your assistant to bring you two cups of tea. He hardens his gaze. He is unnerved, however, that would be the nicest and simplest way of describing his conflicted emotions. Despite your overwhelmingly warm invitation to discuss his offer in your office, he likes to think that your bright smile was infectious and soul-sucking. 

While you may have tried to tidy your office space just a bit, you never made any real effort to take down the wicked display which hangs behind you. You sat in your chair with enough grace to match a swan but the rather crude, stitched-up tarp made from anything but animal skin sent shivers down his spine. Each stitch was meticulously placed with intention, not a single string was sagging and the seam was too clean. He might have thought you hunted a beast if not for your grim record.

You were like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A kind-hearted scientist on the surface, cooing over some small slimes stationed outside of the palace. Underneath those covers, you were just some unhinged experimentalist who wanted nothing more than to further their research. You cared about no one but yourself. You were that much of a barbarous, selfish monster he despised. Hundreds of empty, dull visions dangle above him like stars, waving at him like trophies. He doesn’t need to ask you to know where you got them from. 

“Your tea, my Lord.” Your assistant said, their heads lurching downwards to not meet your eyes. They set down a steel tray. Two cups lay side to side, one smaller dish with cubes of sugar. The Balladeer slowly reaches out for his cup, not wanting to show fear in front of your eyes. How amusing, you think to yourself. That a small doll such as himself is capable of feeling human emotion. You let out another hum before waving them off. 

You stir your drink, watching as the Balladeer takes short sips. He is still hesitant. You know that he wants to cut to the chase and demand something outrageous from you. You swallow from your porcelain teacup, not bothering to add any sugar.  Yet as absurd as it might be, you think it might still be in the realm of reality. After all, you never liked to be told you couldn’t do something. “People who have been poisoned are strong against poison. Have you heard of it?”

“I have heard a few stories about it.” He replies, rolling the handle of his cup between his fingers. He watches as his drink dances in its small cage, the liquid threatening to dip over the edge. “It relates to the theory that as you consume poison in small doses, you’ve built immunity.”

“I suppose you aren’t all just talk then. I once heard from a friend that it works quite well. Slimes, nightshade, bane lotus, exotic frogs. . . they all eventually taste the same to you.” 

“Have you found any uses for this information?” He asks, curious about your research and studies. 

You take another sip, “I have. If you keep building your immunity, it’d get to the point where you wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore. It’s very useful when creating soldiers you see.” You raise your cup, holding it from its edges as the navy-haired man frowns. “When exploring Sumeru, I make sure that all my men have at least half of Teyvat’s poison running through their veins. It’s a safety precaution you see.”

“Seems like you’ve taken great joy in it.”

“I did.” You chuckle, “At least a dozen men drop dead before you can administer a second dose. Human life is quite fragile isn’t it?”

He cannot deny this fact for he knows it all too well. Human life, at least to him, was one of the biggest failures that a Creator might have created. What was the point of making something so great, it dies so easily? It seems like a misstep or a mistake. He hates the idea that he has to bend his knee over this idea of mortality. This idea of having to wait for someone or watch them slowly fade away in his eyes caused him great anger.

“Is that why you helped Dottore create segments of himself?”

Pressing your lips together, you lean back against your chair, swaying slightly back and forth. You aren’t too surprised that the Balladeer has hold of this short information. You indeed helped him on several occasions in the past. You resist the urge to smile wickedly. What else could you have done? He was your precious protégé, after all, you would be a fool to turn him down. You even think some of his younger segments are quite cute. Their curiosity holds no bounds. They’ve done quite a lot to advance your research.

“That’s right, every segment he made was all done under my supervision,” You place your cup down on the table, eyeing the man in front of you, “I will say, it’s not my greatest work but it is one of few that I care about.” 

“And so what is your greatest work? What are you most proud of?”

You don’t hesitate to clip your Delusion from your waist, laying it on the table for display. His eyes loom over it slightly as he observes the shape and color. It was different from the ones he has seen at factories. Your guard was rather extravagant, something he didn’t seem all too started about. He thinks that if you were to be proud of something to this great extent, you might as well flaunt it for the world.

“This is my best creation.”

“A delusion?”

You shake your head. You suppose it was easy for anyone to mistake it for one. It was a good disguise. “It’s not quite the same as the one the Tsaritsa distributes.” You tap against it with the tip of your nail, “As long as this exists, I will have no trouble finding a new host and body.” 

“So you can come back from the dead as long as this remains unharmed,” The Balladeer stares at your Delusion in awe. To think that such a tiny, vision-looking object could hold so much power and control seems rather inhuman, he would say. He figures that if you were to make this for the rest of the Tsaritsa’s armies, they would never lose a single war. He thinks that if you were to have given this to Dottore, he would not need his segments. He would just need to have one of these to stay alive. However, this begs the question: “What about their consciousness and soul? Where would they go?”

You drone a small tune from under your breath, your hand reaching out to take back your Delusion. He swears that your expression seems a lot more childish than he would have taken it for. Tilting your head off to the side, you shrug your shoulders, “I guess they just get kicked out and sent to the afterlife?”

“You truly are a horrible person.”

It’s not a surprise you would reply in such a way, for you had little to no care in what comes in human life. It was fragile, just as you said. People die all the time and while it’s a small tragedy, it weighs so little on you that you could hardly bat an eye. 

The Balladeer tilts his head down slowly, noticing a small petal drifting at the top of his tea. It is violet and blue, with small tints of pink at the base. It seems familiar and for a moment, he thinks that it was a harmless flower. It was only when he finds his tongue feeling numb that he senses there is something wrong with this drink. His eyes widen.

“You!” He suddenly stands from his chair, knocking it back as he slammed his cup down on the table, some droplets flying onto the surface. 

“So you aren’t human,” you laugh. You press the base of your chin against the palm of your hand, looking at him with a bizarre, victorious grin. “Something like this would have knocked you out minutes ago, but here you are. Say, what does morning glory taste like to you?”

He quickly raises his hand, pulling out a small knife which he thrusts forward. Loose papers fly off the desk by the sheer force of his power. Visions tied to string dance and wave in the air, their dull colors flicking small beads of light around your room. However, instead of plunging it deep within your skull as he wanted, he stops only a mere centimeter from your pupil. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” You sense his hesitation. Teasingly pressing your fingers against the tip of his blade, you let it pierce the outer layer of skin. He watches as your blood drips onto the wooden surface, some of it leaking over his steel knife. You are unaffected by his sudden resistance. He notes that you’ve never once flinched, nor have you shown any sort of fear towards him. 

“Even if you were to kill me here, I’d still just come back with a new body.” You gesture for him to sit back down to which he obligates once more, knowing well he might not leave this room alive. His attempt seemed futile.

He supposes you are right. He pulls his weapon back, sheathing it. After what you’ve done to Dottore’s body and his numerous segments, he can be assured knowing that even when he kills you, over and over again, you will return. This might not even be your body in the first place, just a hollow shell of a person you’ve taken over like a parasite. If he was just a puppet, then what does that make of your previous incarnates? 

“Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?” You pick up your clipboard. Tapping your pen against the edge you raise your eyebrows, “What is it that you desire? Since you came to me first, you must already know what will happen.”

“That’s right,” He says, “I came here to ask that you experiment on me. Anything you can do to try to get this seal off of me,” He presses his hand against the back of his neck, the symbol of Electro shining brightly underneath his grasp, “I want you to take it off so I can return to my divine self.” 

“Oh?” You smile. “What do I get out of this exchange?

“Don’t act like I don’t see your excitement,” The navy-haired boy gave you a cocky smirk as he leans forward, moving closer to you as he grabbed onto your chin, “You’ll be testing with one of God’s puppets. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to even touch someone so close to an Archon. And if you are successful in giving me the power I want, I might even let you rip my skin out to create a door to Celestia.”

“. . . If that’s not enough then I’ll give you all of me until your research is satiated.” He announced, making his final proposal to you.

There was a moment in which both of you did not speak. Not one word was uttered and not a single movement had been conducted by either muscle. The two of you shared a conjoined silence, letting the room fill with nothing aside from the sound of footsteps echoing from the halls. After a minute has passed, you let out a boisterous laugh at his offer. He flinches slightly at the booming sound. His legs trembled a bit, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of your skin against his.

“Well if that isn’t something. . .” You licked your lips before standing up, finally reaching your correct height as you made eye contact with the shorter man.  If his proposal was boring, you wouldn’t have hesitated to break his wrist for trying to touch you in such ungraceful matters. However, because of this rare opportunity, you can’t decline.

Mold him, pamper him, and worship him, he thought. Give him the power that he craves so desperately. Give him something that Ei couldn’t, and do it better.

“Make me a product of your success, Sovereign of Dawn.”

You brush your fingers against the side of the wall for a moment, burning the feeling of the chalky texture into your skin. Your eyes gaze upon the vast windows, all of which seemed rather tall, their image decorating empty halls and rooms. You think this was a nice inn, it was certainly better than camping outside in the wilderness, hoping not to encounter wild beasts. You toy with the steel key. With every corner you turn, there seems to be this lingering sense of life. It reminds you of tales that lingered in your dreams, memories that never leave you. Ones about people, their stories, and their lives. You can imagine the fingerprints left on these walls, the sound of thriving crews, and their joyous laughter alongside slurred words. Hands covered in blood, sweat, and tears, they survived one more day. 

You remind yourself that is not your life, and never will be. Tightening your grip, you let your shoes click loudly against the wooden planks. You were not destined for a life of freedom for such concepts remain fleeting, and rather foolish. What is freedom, if demanded of you by a god? You once heard the Jester say. The Tsaritsa has yet to return, though he takes her absence as an opportunity. You sit in front of him at the table, tapping your nails against the surface as you patiently await his next words. He stirs his glass of wine, his teeth grazing the cold glass. He looks at you with an expression unknown. That bard had taken away her freedom. Silly, isn’t it?

You choose not to acknowledge your unspoken connection with that man. If you could even call him one with that body that is. Thousands of years of sleep and not once has he considered the consequences. He never once looked back on the way her blood spilled on his face, the sweet and sticky taste of her golden honey which dribbles helplessly on the ground. His blade drives further into her torso as she holds onto him lovingly, her body trembling and shaking as she accepts her fortune. Her words come out forced as she chokes. She never once blamed him but he wished she did. You try not to crush the key in your hands. 

Focusing on the hall in front of you, you gather your thoughts. Liyue. You were now in Liyue. You’ve heard countless stories about this nation. Whether or not it was of its Archon was little to no concern to you. You had no reason to care for a foolish man. You only know that his land is home to hundreds of contracts, hands shaken in agreement as crooked smiles paint themselves on faces, it was a place for all travelers to make their pass. When you brush your fingers alongside the wooden doorknob, twisting it to reveal a grand room, you are reminded that you were not only living in the present but reliving part of the past.

You find yourself at peace, humming in the process. Those who have come and gone, people who once rested their heads against these pillows, stargazing on the open balcony with their hands intertwined, all of them had a life and a story to tell. Being able to sleep so comfortably at night with nothing more than the sound of whistling lovers and families was something many took for granted. Placing your bag down against the wooden dresser, you suck in a deep breath as you admire the view.

The room was relatively plain with not many paintings adorning the ivory walls. While the headboard had unique carvings alongside its edges, it was still rather simple in style. You suppose it keeps it easy to clean. Your shoulders drooped slightly as your breaths became steady and soft, so undoubtedly quiet that not even the Balladeer could hear the sound. The man only brushed beside you, with little care for his surroundings, much too busy with the task of emptying his suitcase. He finds the act of research still boring, and the aching dislike towards unpacking his belongings only further boils his blood. At the moment, he would have wished that he had one of his soldiers do all the monotonous chores. Though he finds that perhaps you’d mock him for being too pampered and that the months of staying in Snezhnaya hadn’t hardened him into the warrior you thought he was. He clicks his tongue. As if he had grown soft. 

Besides, with how clumsy his soldiers act, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were to disgrace your honor in front of him. He would never let them take a single step without their head coming off. He quietly sighs under his breath, cursing to himself. He notices that there are two beds in the room, both of which are easy to push together. If you were to drape a sheet over them, no one would have suspected that it wasn’t a master. He cheekily smiles. You must have booked this room in advance with the knowledge that you would be going undercover. 

You turn your head away from him, allowing your eyes to feast on the grand scenery of the bright, golden-colored trees that were spread across the city. Green and yellow mix harmoniously with each other, and the presence of what you can call tranquility fills the empty air with life. You think it’s quite funny. Your homeland would never be this kind to you. While the land of contracts flourished underneath the sun’s rays, the kingdom of ice would only threaten the star with its frigid winters. 

Something far from the present brings itself back to you. A reminder that when you were underneath the command of the Snezhnayan Church, you vaguely recall stories of Liyue travelers. Though their hands were beaten by the harsh colds of the countryside, you couldn’t forget the look in their eyes as they dreamt of returning to their homeland. You wouldn’t dare forget the feeling of their hands brushing against yours, grasping onto you weakly as they tried to picture a world of paradise. To them, Liyue was paradise. It was a place that was so warm and loved that they wished to bask in its glory one last time. You still picture their brilliant eyes as their hands reached up to the empty ceiling, their sights glowing brightly as their smiles matched the radiance of the spring sun.

Many travelers who came to the land of snow had always told you that getting through the icy gates was difficult, though it was a task that they wished to see to its end, a contract that they couldn’t break with themselves. It was a deal that locked them in the eternal longing for freedom, but what does that truly mean? 

You think that their contract was another way of saying that they were committed to their dreams, though you remain unsure of their true intentions, and whether or not you wished to dive deeper. Things were left to be simple, you say to yourself. Having too little to dream of leads you to being unfulfilled, while being too ambitious leads you to one being unsatisfied. A perfect balance is what is needed, and what you see in the future would do just that. You placed your hand against the balcony, resting your weight against the balls of your feet. You note the scent of glaze lilies as the wind toys with the ends of your veil, slithering its way against your neck.

Raising your hand to touch the scarred skin, you hold your breath as leaves glide across your vision, their golden coats washing over with snow. Visions of the past overwrite your reality, lands that were once a lush, green color turning dark as your eyes look towards the open view. No longer in the land of contracts, you stare down at your tiny, nimble hands that hold onto the shell of an onion, the smell of smoke and wood rising to the tip of your nose. A woman no older than thirty glancing upon your curious nature with eyes so loving that you could feel the air grow warm. Her smile curves in ways that could only express thoughts of happiness and contentment. She brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away at the loose ends of hair that had stuck to your skin. 

When you bring yours to rest upon hers, you notice the way her eyes soften, the feeling of her calloused knuckles brushing against the palm of your hand. You once asked her if she was a warrior in her past life, and she’d reply to you that she would fight a thousand battles to see the sun. She chooses not to tell you about the red liquid that dribbled on her lips, or the ones that were splattered across her hands, but she will tell you how it all ended. You think of her to be like the warriors that had their destinies written into the stars. All heroes hold some sort of secret. And you would like to think that you knew hers.

Her words were laced with a sickly sweetness, love that would overfill pots of warm stew, a voice so delicate that you swore could let the tides of the ocean rest along the sandy shores. Her kindness was that of weakness. One that had plagued her for generations to come. Though she loves the people of ice, their love for her was rather thin and fleeting. In a world so unloving, love comes at a price. When love is for the highest bidder, there is no trust, and without trust, there is no love. She lives on with heartache and heartbreaks, an illness that you could only describe to be yearning and desperation. 

She would stay outside on late nights, waiting on the open porch, knitting away at a sweater that was much too big. She would save a smile for a man that she loved. With a love so true, she could feel her heart flutter like the birds in early spring, their calls luring her into a deep sleep. While her hands may be tender and loving with you, you could feel the frostbite nipping at her fingertips, her sorrows eating away at her from the inside. She was a painting left abandoned. One that was once a finished masterpiece, is now left to rot alongside artifacts of the time. Her body sometimes leans forward as if waiting for a warm embrace. Wet tears drip down her cheeks like melted snow. She calls out to the man you call father, arms outstretched to the sky as if waiting for him to fall into her.

She hopes that one day he will arrive at your doorstep, heavy breaths trailing his lips as he grinned from cheek to cheek. A light that could never dim even during the night’s darkest times. Though his hands may be rough from cutting wood, they were careful enough to grip her hips, pulling her up to the sky as they would share a loving gaze. His lips would press against her cheek as she giggled, the howling wolves becoming nothing more but a fading echo. Yet as lonely days passed, all that was left was a fragment of her former self, a shell of a woman who had lost everything to the darkness. No longer comforted by the presence of your father, she chooses to lay beside you, holding your hand close to her chest so that you can feel the gentle beating of her heart. It slows as days pass.

Your mother pulls her gaze away from you to stir a mixture of meat as you step forward onto a dark, wooden stool, your chin touching the counter. She laughs in the same soft tone that you remember so vividly, a smile that is never lost within the darkness of your mind. Since you are done with all your chores, do you want to help me make pelmenis? They were your father’s favorite after all. Her giggle was as infectious as it was lovely. It was no wonder that a man such as your father would cave so easily to the culling of her voice. As you nod, she leans over, letting her hands guide yours with ease, her stare becoming as tender as the freshly cut meat that had settled into a colorful bowl. You pressed your lips together to draw together a bright, excited smile. You can help me fold them, it shouldn’t be too hard, just follow my lead. 

You settle yourself next to her, lazily pulling the sides of the dough to wrap around the ball of minced lamb. Your small fingers pinched at each side, keeping it nice and tight so that the filling doesn’t spill. While there were a few spots that you had missed, your mother was right by your side, supporting you through the process. 

You would like to think that this was how your father had fallen in love. Perhaps they overestimated the time of their hunt, which led to them being trapped in a snowstorm so heavy that the air grew cold enough to freeze one’s lungs. Your father must have chopped up some trees as quickly as he could to light the fireplace within an abandoned cabin, his back leaning against the wooden walls as he sighed in exhaustion. Too tired to even sit in one of the empty chairs, he chose to sit on the ground as a humble man. 

After a whole day of hunting, in their hands was nothing more but a small deer that they had found in the deep, northern parts of Snezhnaya. Though his stomach growled as if he wanted to eat a bear. Your father was a polite gentleman, your mother would say, so he covered his roaring stomach with a sheepish expression, asking her for forgiveness for his rude stomach. He must have felt embarrassed, you imagine. And as kind of a woman she was, she must have used whatever was left within the house to make him what had become his favorite dish of all time. Whether or not it was his favorite because of his childhood memories, or because it reminded him of the first time he fell in love, was a matter that could only be known to him.

As she worked her charm in the kitchen, your father leaned against her, peering over sheepishly with a curious expression. His hands grazed against her fingers for a fraction of a second. Noticing the lack of a ring, he could feel heat pooling on his cheeks as he coughed into his fist. Your mother looked at him with a raised eyebrow, unsure of his strange gaze was one of interest. Nevertheless, her work continued, her lips parting themselves slightly to sing a soft tune to herself. She thinks of him as rather sweet. He thinks she looked beautiful. Feeling a bit confident in himself, he chose to press his body against hers, sharing the warmth of his mortal body with hers. A smile crept up on their lips, a familiar thought bringing them closer.

Blinking the tears away from your eyes, you return to the present. The sounds of your mother’s humming become as distant and faded as the sun’s embrace, the wind blowing ever so stronger as to call upon the night. You raised your hand, mindlessly closing it and opening it, thinking it was just a short dream. You could no longer feel the gentle touches of dough that had left your fingertips dusted in flour. Letting go of a breath that you had mistakenly held, you let it flutter through the skies as orange hues paint the sky.

For you to get lost in your thoughts, you wonder if that was your weakness. One that would plague you as it did your mother, a kindness that never leaves you. You question if you might meet the same fate as her, betrayed by her kind for she had favored a mortal. Called a fool by the god of wind and freedom. Mocked by a warrior’s accomplice. With the blade driven clean through her stomach, she is known as a hopeless lord. You know that by the end of your journey, this heart of yours will turn against you. 

But it is not all for nothing as your full heart offers only the best of services. It is the reason why the Balladeer stood quietly as he did, staring at the way your hair dances to Barbato’s waltz. His hands are outstretched and empty as if yearning for the comfort of yours in between his fingers. A cold breeze glided across his open palms. He who was attracted by your kindness has never once left your side, even if his eyes wandered only for a fraction of a second, he would swear on his pride that you were someone worthy of his attention and devotion, and he would always come back to you. 

You have given him something that no one else could. Charmed him in ways that no one else could. If not for your empathy he fears that he would have died in that frostbitten land. If not for your gifts he wouldn’t have seen the greater possibilities that come with being by your side, watching as you whisper gentle lullabies. 

He shames other mortals for such trivial weaknesses yet when it comes to you, it was different. Things were different. All logic was twisted when you entered the picture. You were a beautiful enigma that left even the best of scholars left fumbling for words. When you stood on the balcony, watching over the people of Liyue with a fond expression, he found that the world around him would shine ever so brighter like the chandeliers that lit old palace walls. A glimmer that he could only see in the night stars brightened as to be by your side. These were not your people but you loved them. You understood them. 

It was your kindness that brought upon what he could only describe as the golden hour. 

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟏 | 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎)

A place or state of restraint or confinement.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟐 | 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓)

Usually intense, unbridled sexual desire or longing.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟑 | 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐆𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘)

Greedy or excessive indulgence.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟒 | 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃)

 A selfish and excessive desire for more of something than is needed.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟓 | 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇)

Strong vengeful anger or indignation.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟔 | 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐘)

Dissent or deviation from a dominant theory, opinion, or practice.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟕 | 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄)

Injury by or as if by distortion, infringement, or profanation.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟖 | 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐃)

An act of deceiving or misrepresenting.

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟗 | 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐋𝐄 (𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐘)

Violation of allegiance or faith and confidence.

Pressing your thumbs together, you slowly close yourself, letting yourself open up to the gentle breeze of the wind. Its soft calling guides your mind to a peaceful and quiet resolution. Leaning slightly against the carriage wall, you smell pinewood whiffing through the air. It’s been quite some time since you’ve longed for the feeling of open skies and plains. You suppose that after countless expeditions to the dark Abyss, it would leave you desperate for the sun’s warm rays. It was a complete world above the surface. 

Cracking your eyes open slightly, you stare at your tinted windows, noticing the way your carriage passes through lush, green forests. Their arms graze the side of the vehicle, reaching out to you. Grasses dance alongside the breeze, blowing ever so meekly. You seemed too fascinated by your surroundings to have noticed the way your navy-haired companion sighed under his breath. 

He finds the prosaic task of researching meteorite strikes to be too mundane. He dares call it a disrespect if it had not been ordered by the Jester. If he had any choice in the matter, he would have wanted to explore the Abyss for it would have made great work of his time. But at last, he was left on a journey of a lifetime. What was more exciting than learning about some rocks? He drowned, his sarcasm dripping ever so poisonously. He leans into his open palm, raising one leg over the other. Nevertheless, when he looks to meet your dull eyes, he is reminded why he accepted such a mediocre job.

He notes that your face is as young as freshly bloomed flowers of spring, the colors of your eyes bringing him back to the days in which he enriched himself in the beauty of Inazuma’s gardens. While they seemed dull and muddy, they hold a glimmer of light from deep within, something he occasionally wishes to gauge from your form. He swears that he is the only person who can bear witness to your luster. Black sleeves contrast your battered skin, scars so jagged it was violent. When he lowers his gaze, he can see small, transparent wrinkles which glide across your hand. It was like an elaborate constellation that functions as a map to your heart. 

And while you may hide your glory behind a thin, white veil, you bear thorns so sharp and thick that he fears being swallowed up by them. Flowers grow on your shoulders. They lean into your collarbone and remind him about how elusive you are. They blossom alongside your snowy veil, dancing along the bottom edges of your neck. 

You raise your hand to caress the collar of your clothes, fidgeting a smooth gem. You remember the day the Tsaritsa lovingly held you in her arms, a gift that perhaps weighed heavier than your small trinket. She calls you her child as she brushes aside strands of your hair. While the world prides itself in its darkness, let your light be your only guide. You let her graze your cheek with her frigid hands, her eyes filling you with a sense of adoration and worship. You would have never thought that a nation’s ruler could look at you in such a way. You think this service is fleeting. 

It’s too intimate, too loving, and too pure. You wonder if she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart, or if it was an obligation to someone she met in a previous life. Someone that she once loved. Someone she once worshipped even. Shades of blue and purple intertwine with each other, mixing to create what you could only describe as breathtaking. And while you think this gift shines brighter than you, she is there to correct you and say that it will never overshadow you, for you are what gives it life. Her voice sends shudders down your spine.

Let us celebrate the coming of a new nation, one birthed from the future! Pulling you to her side, she lets her soldiers raise their hands. Her men, now transferred underneath your care, clap gleefully for your accomplishment. Their uniforms are tight fitting and they stand with pride. May her light guide us to succession! When you stand before them as her right hand, you are reminded that this will be your new guard, army, and family. No matter how many come and go, you will always have people beside you. You clench your hand. In that case, it seems as if everyone is expendable. 

You try not to think about it for you should bathe in their adoration and love. Regardless of what you do, and what blood you must spill, they will stay with you for eternity. They will remain by your side until Teyvat turns to ash, and when Celestia kneels her head under your heel. If you told them to offer their everything, the clothes on their backs, the families they left behind, they would do it in a heartbeat, not because they have nothing to lose, but because they love you. 

It is fate, you presume. With great leaders come the best helpers. Those who will trample all that stands in your way, their hands outstretched to grasp at any opportunity of expanding your empire, these were the kinds of individuals you’ve welcomed in your arms. Witches and puppets fall prey to your charms. Even the most reasonable of people cannot resist the desire of being wanted. You accept their love willingly, knowing well that human life is nothing more but a passing time on your grand scale. Harbingers, you like that title. It is smooth when it runs down your tongue. You like the sentiment as well. 

So when you raise your hand to countless lost souls, offering them a future, you warn Celestia of the end of her time.

The navy-haired man nibbles on the tips of his nails, watching as your fingers interlace with each other. He describes this as a short yet fragile barrier. Your presence was so close yet so far from him, the gentle scent of vanilla only reminding him about how short his relationship is with you. 

It is not every day that a Harbinger is to accompany the Tsaritsa’s hand. Especially with something as mundane as collecting meteorite samples for the Jester. You’ve always been doing your tasks alone in secrecy, with only the First of the Fatui Harbingers by your ear. So to what god did he pray for this opportunity? He laughs. To see your extraordinary vision enlighten him of the future seemed like a strange blessing. He suspects that you were going to be the first people to meet the Traveler. Whether or not it was meant to scare the outlander is left to his interpretation. 

It’s a shame that between the two of you, neither shared enough words for him to feel remotely satisfied. He might even say he was a bit insatiable when it comes to you. Something about you drives him over the wall. It might have been the distant look in your pupil or the way you hold yourself and move like some sort of puppet on strings. Everything you do has been perfectly calculated to the smallest detail. You were living in your script and your eyes never once left the page. He thinks it's fascinating and that he was merely trying to satiate his curiosity.

You had always spoken with a voice so tender and loving that he swears you are mocking him. It feels like he was underneath a spell with how hypnotically you curved your vowels. He thinks you might be some sort of witch who allures her victims with the promise of glory. You’ve gathered not only the most uncooperative people under your thumb, but you’ve also leashed all of them like dogs. He scoffs under his breath. He was merely coping, that’s all. He knows damn well you wouldn’t hurt a fly if you could catch it. 

Biting the side of his cheek, he stares you down. He swears to his empty heart that he likes no one in the Fatui. He knows this to be true so why does he feel deprived when you are not around? When you are not roaming the halls or leaving trails of flowers, why does he feel sick? To him, being stuck in a palace so grand and hollow, filled to the brim with the worst of humans made him nauseous. And yet when you are there, leaning against the Tsaritsa, your presence makes it all the more bearable. Had it not been you hosting such lavish feasts, he would have long abandoned them.

He thinks his emotions are bittersweet. This yearning feeling he had brought forth into this world was something he loathed. He hates to admit that you were an extraordinary being in his life, someone whose heart holds no bounds, and he would have mockingly commended you for leaving yourself vulnerable. Though, he tastes something sour grow on his tongue when he thinks of the way you drag your feet across tiled floors. It makes him think you held chains that were heavier than his. Guilt was something no Harbinger expresses, so why must you hold it so freely in front of others? Perhaps it was simply in your nature. 

He likes to believe that you and he are the same. Two lonesome beings whose tears fall too easily in the dead of night. With hands too fragile and scared to make mistakes. You both have blood that is too sacred to let fall. Was it a curse? To be given a burdensome existence where no one wins. Carrying grief so heavy you could feel your body break under the slightest of pressure. It’s too easy for anyone to give their everything in search of something easier. The underground must have had some sort of otherworldly allure to bring others to their knees. He tilts his head slightly to the side. You were a wandering question that had yet to be answered, a being lost in the space of time itself. He would call you pitiful if not for your kindness. 

He resents the idea of being found like a stray yet it brings back memories when he pictures your loving hand grazing his cheek. 

Where are you from, boy? You once said, your thin nails gently touching his skin. Do you need a place to call home? You, an unknown being whose eyes see the future, had found him at the edges of Snezhnaya, beaten and bruised. He didn’t know who you are, but he knew the look in your eyes. It was kind and loving. Welcoming like that traitorous Niwa. Could it be that he found comfort in your presence, or was he drawn forth by your sickeningly sweet honey?

He remembers your first meal with him. 

One day, you will regain your strength and claim what you’ve lost, you pour him a warm bowl of stew. It fills the air with its aromatic smell. Perhaps then, you will find satisfaction in your work. As he brings the wooden spoon to his lips, he glances up to meet your eyes. Snow rested peacefully against your skin, melting ever so slowly as you stirred the rest of the food. He notes the look of tranquility on your face, and questions if there was something you lost and cherished. Were you like him, or just someone who empathizes with his struggle?

He wants to call you a fool for letting him into your life so easily but can’t say it out loud. Not when he feels this unnatural emotion bubbling at the center of his stomach. He knows it to be different from the hatred he spills. He knows it is not to be compared with his grievances. It feels warm and odd. It feels like this soup. It’s comforting. Was your love for him like soup? No, it was more than just that.

He remembers your first gift to him.

What is your name? You asked, letting him lean his shoulder against you as the storm raged. Names are life’s first gift. The two of you were taking shelter in an abandoned cave. Going outside was dangerous. If you were to even step one foot out that opening, your legs and arms would be torn to shreds like a starving bear eating its prey. He closes his eyes for a moment. With nothing more but a small fire keeping the two of you warm, he allows you this moment to ask about him. I have no name, he replies, I’ve lost everything and so I am nothing. 

He had nothing to go by, not when he had abandoned his previous incarnates. He cannot call himself the same name his mother gave him, nor could he accept ones from his damaged family. He listens to the sound of your humming, your fingers tapping against the back of your hand. He feels you turn your head towards him. 

Balladeer, that seems like a nice name, doesn’t it? He leans his head against your shoulder, mumbling to call him anything. He didn’t think too much of it at the time but at that moment, he chose not to ask you why his heart beats faster. The Balladeer, Scaramouche. . . it fits you.

He remembers the proud look in your eyes.

Your hands were as warm as the campfire which you’d created, his skin growing warm as you smiled. You were the first person he wanted to see when he was crowned Harbinger. He wanted you to be there on the day of his coronation. And you were, thankfully. He tries not to feel bashful over the way you walked down the hall, your hands full of what he could only describe as unique and beautiful.

You will catch flies if you keep your mouth open, you joke. While we might not see each other as much, I wish you the best of luck in your journey. If he could, he would wish to be reborn at this very moment. He wants to see you pin his electro-plate to his chest again, and again. When he opens his mouth to ask you about its origins, you describe to him your harrowing journey of Inazuma. You explored the nation for the finest blacksmith who could carve the symbol of his power on tablets of gold. 

You were not shy to express your love, he remembers. He wanted to call you silly for going as far as to give him something so priceless, yet when you called him by his gifted name, Balladeer, he forgot all about it. 

He would have chalked you to be a fool for your overwhelming kindness and love, but as he raises his hand to touch the golden plate on his chest, brushing his slender fingers across the smooth surface, he could only feel the way his heart beats a little quicker. What could this feeling be? Was it respect for you as a fellow Harbinger, or something more? What was it that made him feel this way? What could this feeling be and what would you call it?

He finds it to be bitter and sweet that it hurts him. It hurts to say that he would swear his successes to you and no one else. It becomes difficult to breathe when his illustration of eternity is one he could share with you, the Tsaritsa’s hand. You will always have him trailing behind you as long as you allow it. Great leaders always have the best helpers.

The Balladeer calls your name, to which you reply with a faint hum. He dares not to call you “La Strega” as your service was much more than providing destruction. He thinks of it as an insult to address you as a foreign monster when you’ve been nothing but benevolent. And while he may be a hypocrite to some, he would be as truthful as he could with you. He doesn’t hesitate to call his other subordinates the wrong name, but will never do so to you.

“I ask why you have chosen to attend to such mundane tasks. It would have been easier to have left the job to someone else, especially if it was about the recent meteor strikes. Perhaps it could have been left with,” Tartaglia, “another Fatui member stationed in Liyue.” He chooses to leave the man’s name out of his mouth. 

He scrunches up his face as proof of his thoughts but does not let the image of him rile him. The idea of you bringing along that bastard man produced a rotten taste in his mouth. He was sure that if you were to bring along the russet-haired man on your journey through Liyue, he would only cause you trouble. What could that man possibly do other than get into mischief? He resists the urge to sigh. The mere thought of Tartaglia, Childe, or Ajax had always left him feeling exhausted. It was like saying his name wore him out.

He finds working with him unbearable, so what could he possibly make with the two of you being together? He would most likely drag you all around the city of Liyue for something as simple as sightseeing when the two of you had nothing more than work. The man of battle was nothing more but a starving child who wanted to enjoy the fruits of life, so naive and foul, the Balladeer describes. 

He dismisses his thoughts as nothing more but a precaution or warning to you as a fellow Harbinger, though the stinging sensation that pricks his chest wants to tell him otherwise. “I believe that we could use our troops better by having them search the area for any samples. Having us dispatched to Liyue would only attract attention.”

You turn your head towards him, dull eyes taking glances at him. He feels his hands grow clammy at the sight but he focuses on the way your lips slowly part themselves. “I think it’s a nice change of pace. Exploring the nation of Liyue with such a noticeable guide would be difficult.”

“Nevertheless, Teyvat’s Traveler will also be researching the same meteorite strike. It would be wise for us to scout them,” You squeeze your hand, holding your breath for a mere moment, “I’ve already seen some of Tartaglia’s letters and reports. He’s been sparring with them consistently and taking them out for lunch.  It wouldn’t be in our favor if we had him around.”

“So we should disguise ourselves.”

“It appears that is the case.”

He huffs, leaning back against his cushioned seat. What a drag, he says to himself. If it was any other task, he might be able to finish his job quickly. “What are we supposed to say? Our clothes are going to be a dead giveaway that we are associated with the Fatui. I look like I came out of Inazuma, you look like you came out of Snezhnaya’s local church.” He points to you. “Our reason for traveling together must be vague enough for anyone to believe.” 

You chuckle. “I suppose we are in a predicament.” 

He clicks his tongue. Of course, you were unaffected by this. You already knew what the right answer is but you chose to dangle it in front of him. He watches as you innocently bring your thumb under your chin, staring into space as if you were thinking about something profound. He would be somewhat correct, for you were thinking about Teyvat’s Traveler. You knew very well that they would take notice of your clothes, and that whatever relationship you had with the Balladeer needed to be significant enough to leave untouched. 

The Balladeer clears his throat before throwing you a cocky grin, “Let’s say we were recently engaged, and that Liyue was the best choice to plan our wedding?” 

He, of course, had no problem disguising himself as your fiancé if it meant investigating these meteorites in peace. It would even serve as a bit of bragging right to that russet-haired dog that follows you in Zapolyarny palace. What a great plan, he mentally pats himself on the back. If the Traveler were to ask you about your relationship, he would simply answer these very words.

You smile, “Is this your way of proposing to me?” 

You raise your hand, showing him your rather bare, ringless fingers. He resists the urge to let out a boisterous laugh as he reaches out to you. You were entertaining his thoughts. What a joy, he says to himself. He fights the growing heat which forms at the tips of his ears. You must be doing this on purpose, he suspects, for you are giving him something he had always desired. You were dangling everything he wanted right in front of him.

Bringing you close to him, he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. You shiver at the way his lips linger on your skin. With his violet regards, he glances up to look at you. “Anything to make that dog jealous.”

He thinks of you as rather naive. Too naive to see the way his finger grazes past yours during meetings or the faint smile he offers to you when he is alone in your office. Too innocent to know when his touches last longer against your skin, hoping that it would seer into your flesh. It was strange, he says, for a woman trained in seeing the future, you hadn’t once brought up the idea that he may have favored you a bit more than the other Harbingers.

Your journey with him will eventually come to an end, whether he or you liked it. Yet he cannot settle the uncomfortable, bubbling emotion of nervousness he gets when he looks into your eyes. It was not the usual warmth that he had grown slightly accustomed to, but a sense of frigid coldness that stops him from wanting to look any further than he should. He finds himself thinking about what sort of future you might be brooding about. After knowing you for several hundred years, he has yet to understand the intent of your plan. Your reason for joining the Tsaritsa, the purpose you share with her, and the likes of her people. He bites down on his lip. For what reason did you assemble the Harbingers? And for what purpose may they serve you? What did you see in the future, that you had found so deeply disturbing as to formulate an army of the strongest warriors? What could you possibly be defending if not for the Tsaritsa? 

“It looks like we arrived.” 

He flinched slightly, forcefully dragged out of his thoughts as he looked up at you, seeing that you were already standing up to leave the carriage. Your long dress trails alongside your legs, a gentle smile still resting on your face as you look out to the grand view of Liyue.

The Balladeer presses his lips tightly together as he decides to abandon his thoughts. Taking his hat from the other seat, he drops down to the floor with a slight ‘thump’ before placing it on top of his head, shielding his vision and skin away from the heat of Liyue. His bells jingle alongside his footsteps behind you, his hand never too close yet too far from yours. A tinge of misery follows him, his lips tightly held together as he peers up at your much taller form. 

He feels remorse pooling over the emptiness of his heart, but he chooses to dismiss such feelings in favor of seeing how far your kindness travels. While he knows that his journey alongside you was nothing more but a fleeting, passing of time, he wishes that perhaps you’ll meet again in later life.

Discipline will help you overcome fears, and raise your willpower to survive. Guiding the younger woman in front of you, your hand stayed hovering over her figure. She grits her teeth in a brutal struggle against her relenting legs, her fingers tightening the handlebars as tightly as she could. She trembled, her breaths becoming heavy alongside your heartbeat. The chirping birds echo their songs through the hospital walls, guiding lost souls to salvation. Sweat dripped slowly down the side of her temple, trickling like new rain as she grunted. Her legs felt numb and she hardly found the strength to bring herself to straighten her back. Though from underneath your guidance, she found herself forcing herself to move. Her legs buckled underneath the weight of her body before she caught herself using the steel walker. You can do it, I believe in you.

She heaved, gasping with every breath as the air around her grew tense. Your eyebrows furrowed in response, turning your attention to her form, your eyes gazing at her with empty pity. Struggle now but do not let it overcome you. It wouldn’t be the first time this happened, despite that, you were desperate to seek hope. Your hollow appearance failed to convey the sense of upbringing that many sought after. The color of (e/c) that had once glimmered underneath the shining moonlight had now dulled, their sparkle was no longer as prevalent as they once were. Several thousand years of rain only brought you closer to the shade of gray that you’ve seen through windows. Did the people of Snezhnaya even see the sun or was it simply an illusion created by Celestia? Holding your breath, you soothe the woman with your soft voice, letting her ears fill with the gentle melody as she readjusted her position. I’ll always be by your side until you are reborn. Her dark-brown hair fluttered as she sucked in one deep breath, her head lifting in determination as her eyes glistened with tears. Her foot moved forward slightly, creating a proud smile that she wore happily: there was progress being made.

Mother (Y/n), when can I leave the hospital? Brushing through his golden locks, you silently allowed him to cough violently against your chest. You wiped away the thin droplets of blood from his lips, your handkerchief soiled with the ominous telling. He only glanced up at you with an innocent look. What was it like to live outside the walls? He pressed his fingers together, his lips curving into a slight frown. It is cold but beautiful, you said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, though worry not, you will be able to see it soon enough. And while you’ve told him these ideas many times, he continues to look back at you with satisfaction, as if you were there to only reassure him that despite his health and displeasures, he may one day see the outside as you promised. You’ll get to see a lot more children and play with them, so try to keep your head up, it is the best thing you can do right now. A smile forms on his face. He knows that you were lying through the skin of your teeth, yet he trusts you anyway, hoping that what you told him would come true, even if it was a lie. You can do it a hundred times over and he’ll put his faith in you.

My wounds don’t hurt as much anymore! At her words, you choose to hold your tongue, allowing her to wave at you with her bandaged arms. Thank you, Mother (Y/n)! The fabric drooped from her shoulders, loosening up as she smiled gleefully. She who was once a soldier of Mondastadt left the field in a bloody mess, coming to your shelter for assistance before her body collapsed to the ground. The woman winced as she forced her body to move forward. Despite her limping form, her infectious laughter filled the gray halls, happiness overflowing through her veins. How strange must it be to see her now than for who she once was. She who had once fought against the evil of Teyvat returned to your side as a desperate beggar, now revitalized as a young woman with ambition. You shift your body to the side, your feet standing close together as you hold your breath. She tells you about the things she discovered while exploring the shelter’s halls, a blossom forming deep within her hazel eyes. 

You wish to understand more about her ambitions. What brought her so much fuel to keep pushing forward? Was the desire that leads her to continue fighting for what she describes to be the beauty in life, truly worth the sight? Could you even describe what you saw outside the window as beautiful, or would you rather say that it was pitiful? Rain that freezes into icicles as sharp as blades, snow so thick you find your steps slowing to a steep halt, and dreary sky that is loveless to even the ones who worship them, is that her definition of beauty? Perhaps her aspirations could bring her great fortune. Her wishes that burn as brightly as the stars above may come to fruition, planting their seeds throughout the land as she brings upon the world everlasting joy. Though you find yourself coming to the strict reality that was Teyvat and Celestia.

Humans were much too fragile to last, especially not for eternity as they wish. The war that they bring was not of each other, but a battle to rebel against time and the existence of a powerful, all-seeing God that rests upon the throne of the divine. Whether they committed to the act of survival for themselves was merely volatile in your eyes. Dreaming of something that may never come true left you with a sour taste.

Now I can return to the battlefield! And while you hoped that a bud of hope may form at the base of your heart, you refused to take pride in her words. When I come back, I hope to show you what I find! You averted your eyes away from her sonorous voice, shielding her from the painful expression that lies on your face. Nothing good ever comes out of war, and you knew that nothing will ever change if everyone is at the mercy of fate itself. Pressing your lips tightly to form a thin line, you gaze out the stained windows, remembering the smell of lit fires that sat upon old, withering blocks of wood. A memory that lingers within yourself for as long as time persists. Perhaps, you said to yourself, letting your shoes click against the icy cold grounds, what brings people to continue fighting is a memory they wish to relive and create. And while you may not understand fully how hot that flame may burn, you can only want to see it rest amongst the constellations. 

Thank you for taking care of me all this time. The older woman shivered as she leaned back against the snow-colored beds, letting her wrinkled fingers crinkle the pristine sheets. You knew her as a loving and tender woman, who many had always turned to for a sense of wisdom and advice. She would wave to the children early in the morning before leaving for the garden, always tending to the plants as if she was nothing more than a watering plant destined to give others life. You’ve done so much for the people in this town, are you taking care of yourself? It’s not like me to scold you like this but it would be nice for you to take time for yourself. Her hands would always be holding onto flowers, whether by the tips of her fingers or by the handful, she would always have a smile stretching alongside her aged cheeks, her hands lifting the fruits of her labor. I assure you that everything will be fine, please don’t force yourself to talk, you are still recovering. You commended her for such strength and vigor. It is not common to see someone of her age so full of youth. 

Yet as you hold onto her hands, looking into her eyes with deep admiration, you are reminded of her fragility. Her back was now much too weak to bend over with her wheelchair, fingers no longer clutching onto flowers that miraculously bloomed underneath the Snezhnayan night. To see her as fragile as her age made your heart ache with a great deal of despair. You wish that she didn’t strain herself for the mundane. Deary, you don’t always need to think about others. What you’ve done for all of us is more than enough, and you should feel proud. It’s not easy. From her words did your hands flinch against hers, unsure of what to say. Her wise words had never struck a chord, yet her voice caused your lips to quiver alongside the shaken leaves. It’s never easy.

You wouldn’t describe your simple actions to be as grand as she or anyone made them out to be. You were merely doing your duty as a devoted Church follower, always doing it for the sake of the people and never for yourself. It was hardly anything to be proud of and yet the look in her eyes made you think that perhaps the work that you produced was something of more importance. Those few words of encouragement gave hope to thousands of people struggling to get out of bed, their souls much too weary and tired to continue going until they were brought forth by a guiding hand. I can assure you that everything will be okay and that I will be fine. You slide your tongue across the edges of your teeth, finding the numbing sensation to be a common trait among liars. Guided by Celestia herself, everything will be fine.

You don’t have to go this far to help others, you are doing enough. She reaches out for you briefly, attempting to break you from this spell. You disdain her words, shifting your body away from her as you tinker with the ends of your rosary, clutching tightly to its edges. Instead of looking at her eyes, you stare towards the cathedral windows, the beautiful stained glass structure becoming muddy and lacking color. Vague figures of snow fade into the background, and what you could only describe as passing melancholy runs past you, a cold breeze drifting alongside your skin. It is never enough, you argued, squeezing onto the black beads as your fingers trembled. If you had tried a bit harder with your powers, you could have at least given salvation to a few more people. They could have made it out of the Church, able to witness children skating along frozen lakes, pick flowers off of the ground when spring came, and see the rest of Teyvat resting. You could have given them the life you had promised. It was never enough, and you’d be a fool to think that there was hope.

The world around you becomes colder, the winds billowing against the window, knocking ever so eagerly. What could you have done to guide such ruined souls? Could you have salvaged what was damned and condemned to a life of solitude with nothing more than a figment of what you call power? Even the fantasy of Celestia cannot pour water into a well whose emptiness spans millennia. With nothing but a candle illuminating the darkened room, you sit alone at your desk, holding your head in your arms. What could you have done to fight against fate itself? If humans were destined to fulfill a short-lived life, there wasn’t much for you to combat the growing darkness. You insist that there is another way around it, praying late at night to a shrine that holds little promise to you. Your fear of dissolving faith leads you to a path many dare not to tread.

“La Strega,” a voice calls, her icy tone holding little shield to her apathetic nature. The Tsaritsa brings forth her right hand, ushering the room to be pin-drop silent and still as to hear your soft-spoken sound. “Let us hear of your suggestion of this. . . Traveler. Share with us your vision so that we may tread lightly.” 

You glanced up from the table, finally recognizing your surroundings as you watched your fellow associates rearrange their notes together, pens settled down on the cool surface with arched brows. You are reminded that you were seated for a meeting called upon by the Cryo Archon herself, a relic of what you can only say is the old times. She wishes to dispel any sort of suspicion amongst the people, while not drawing attention to her desire to obtain all the pieces of her game of chess. Tilting your head towards her, you allowed her to stare deep within the empty irises that you hold. To preserve the inevitable dangers that lie ahead, you suppose that you have become great use to her after a momentary demonstration of your ability. You wordlessly rest your fingers amongst each other, interlacing them. 

“I see that the world will experience change,” You started, “This Traveler you speak of. . . is in search of something rather unobtainable as of this moment.”

You failed to change anything in the end. The church that you had devoted your life to had dissolved into icy waters, their people unable to raise their crosses high enough to praise a being other than the loveless Archon they once adored. Murals and decorated stones were left to rot amongst each other, withering away as the harsh weather grew stronger. No matter how long it may have been, you cannot wash away the years of torment that you have faced. The callous look in your eyes was unmatched by any of the cold-hearted, battle-hungry seekers that you sit beside. Being alive was a curse. Being sightful gave you only the chance to see what could have been, and you swore one day that you wished you had been born blind. Humanity was destined to crumble at the hands of time and destiny, and that was all. That was all it was made for. 

You ask yourself if ‘choice’ was merely an empty lie. Grazing the ends of your finger, letting your nails glide against the surface, you come to terms that you had resigned from the desire to create change. You cannot change what was steadfast and starving. You are tired of the same failure from a game that you couldn’t play. 

“It will be no concern to us. . if you give us the chance to pursue this Traveler.”

𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐂

✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟎 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟏 | 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟐 | 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟑 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑?  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟒 | 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟓 | 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟔 | 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍  ✦˚ ·  𝟎𝟕 | 𝐈'𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

𝐓𝐁𝐀 𝐀𝐑𝐂