Wanderer post-Irminsul pre-memories
The Avidya Forest had fallen into an eerie silence. The wildlife, wisdom born of instinct, had retreated to their shelters as the sky wept furiously upon the land. Yet, amidst this tempest, a solitary figure cut through the curtain of rain, his steps as steady as a metronome.
The lone wanderer who had traversed Teyvat, fresh from his stay in Port Ormos, set his way towards wherever his legs would take him.
The snippets of conversation he'd overheard at the port flickered through his mind. Merchants discussing trade routes, scholars debating ancient texts, travelers sharing tales of distant lands— all potential seeds for his next journey.
A sudden squelch and a muttered curse interrupted. Around the bend trundled a merchant's caravan, its wheels struggling against the sodden earth.
"Blasted weather!" the gruff voice boomed. The merchant wrestled with the reins of the sumpter beast. His eyes, squinting against the downpour, suddenly widened as they fell upon the Wanderer.
"By the Archons!” The merchant stared, slack-jawed, as if witnessing an apparition materialize from the very rain itself. “Where did you come from?"
The Wanderer tilted his head, sending a cascade of rainwater from the brim of his hat. His response, when it came, was as calm as a still pond amidst the storm's fury.
A sound of part disbelief, part amusement left the merchant. “I can see that! But out in this weather? You're drenched to the bone!"
In that brief moment, the merchant caught a glimpse of eyes that seemed to hold the weight of centuries, at odds with the youthful face they resided in. Something about it sent an eerie chill though the bones.
"This is nothing. I’m used to traveling alone.”
The merchant shook his head. "Well, you won’t be traveling alone much longer. Hop on. I'm bound for Sumeru City. At least there you can seek shelter, kid. "
The Wanderer stood motionless like a statue. Then, with a slight nod that might have been mistaken for a trick of the light, he moved towards the cart.
"I'm Hakim," the merchant offered, flicking the reins to urge the beast onward.
The cart moved, its wheels cutting fresh tracks in the muddy road. The relentlessly percussive pitter-patter on the canvas cover was punctuated by the occasional boom of thunder—nature's own applause to this impromptu duet of man and storm.
“So, what brought you out this far? An emergency of some sort, or unlucky timing?”
The merchant's brow furrowed. "Passing through? To where, if I may ask?"
A shake of the head sent droplets flying from Hakim's hair. "Well, you’re lucky you caught me heading that direction myself."
The Wanderer inclined his head slightly. "Your kindness is appreciated."
"Think nothing of it." Hakim waved dismissively, though a spark of curiosity still burned. "You’re from Inazuma, aren’t you? Though I must say, you don’t sound like it. Your accent is...difficult to place."
For a moment, the Wanderer was silent. When the answer was spoken, his words seemed to come from a great distance. "I've traveled far."
Hakim waited, expectantly for the rest. But that answer never came.
His gaze darted to his enigmatic passenger, who sat unnaturally still despite the jostling of the uneven road
Hakim muttered, words half-lost in the rain "You're a quiet one, aren't you."
The Wanderer's eyes flickered towards him for the first time since he’d hopped onboard. "What would you have me say?"
A huff of disbelief left him. "Oh, I don't know. Where you're from? What you do? Why in the world you're out here in this storm?" He squinted through the mist obscuring the path ahead. "Most folks have the sense to seek shelter in weather like this."
The single syllable hung in the air, insubstantial yet somehow suffocating. Stunned into silence, Hakim was baffled by the ignorant and seemingly unfinished response. He cast a sidelong glance for the rest of the sentence, but the Wanderer’s eyes were still glued forward, unbothered by the look he received.
Yet again, Hakim found himself with more questions than answers.
They rode on like this for a while. Noting how the Wanderer's gaze seemed to take in everything and nothing at once.
"Have you been to the city before?" Hakim tried again, breaking the silence once more.
"First time." As expected the response was swift, clipped, like the snapping shut of a book one had barely opened.
"Is that so? You're in for a treat then! The markets, the architecture, the Akademiya... Can’t find anything like it anywhere else in Teyvat."
Unease crept up Hakim’s spine like ivy on a brick wall. It was a feeling he couldn't quite name – not quite fear, not quite worry, but a gnawing mix of both that set his nerves on edge.
Who was this kid, really? Why take a shortcut to the city if he seemed content to take his time in this downpour?
Frustration grew at the piling questions. It was like trying to converse with a statue – no, even statues sometimes seemed more forthcoming than this inscrutable traveler. It was impossible to hold a conversation with him!
The cart groaned its protest as it conquered another muddy puddle, sending a spray of earthy water over its wooden sides. Hakim grunted, and his grip on the reins tightened, knuckles white with the effort.
For just a moment, Hakim's eyes were drawn to the rippling surface. In that fleeting instant, he could have sworn he saw a figure reflected there – one that mirrored his passenger's form, but clad in vibrant reds and deep blacks instead of the muted blues.
A chill ran through him, one that had nothing to do with the rain. Why did looking at this stranger inspire a sense of dread deep in his bones? It was illogical, Hakim knew, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had invited something dangerous into his cart.
Enough! he mentally chastised himself. You're letting your imagination run wild, old man. It's just a shy kid.
Hakim shook his head, and the image was gone.
What was he even thinking? Was age really catching up with him? He must be losing his mind…
Clearing his throat to banish the last wisps of unease, he tried once more to start some small talk. "So, kid, what brings you to these parts? You don't seem like a merchant, and you're a bit far from the usual pilgrim routes."
The Wanderer's eyes flickered to him. "It depends. I go where the wind takes me."
"The wind, eh?” Spoken like a traveler. “Must be a mighty strong breeze to blow you all the way out here." He paused, then added with a wink, "Or are you running from something? A jilted lover, perhaps?"
For a moment, a flicker of confusion passed over the Wanderer's face, quickly replaced by that same impassive expression. "No. I seek...knowledge."
"Knowledge?" Hakim's bushy eyebrows rose. He hadn't expected that. "What kind?"
If it's knowledge he sought, he was in the right place.
The Wanderer's brow furrowed slightly, as if he was grappling with a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Of myself," he murmured, almost too quietly for the merchant to hear.
Hakim opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. There was something in the Wanderer's tone – a vulnerability at odds with his composed demeanor – that gave the merchant pause.
Rain continued to pour, but the silence that settled between the two travelers was somehow louder than the storm.
He really is just a lost boy…
"Ah, now that's a journey that never truly ends, kiddo. You won’t be the first person nor the last to seek it.”
Sensing the boy’s discomfort, he shifted the conversation elsewhere. ”What's your trade, kid?”
The confusion on his face served as a question in and of itself.
Hakim scoffed. “Surely a growing man like you must eat, even while seeking enlightenment."
The Wanderer's fingers moved to trace the outline of a strange ornament hanging at his chest. It clinked softly, a metallic sound out of place in the organic forest.
"I...make things," he answered slowly, as if tasting the words. "Mechanical things."
"A tinker, eh?" Hakim's eyes lit up with interest. He leaned closer, cart creaking beneath him. "Now that's a useful trade. Say, my wife's got this old—"
A sudden flash of lightning interrupted, casting stark shadows across the Wanderer's face. For a moment, Hakim glimpsed something in those dark eyes – a flicker of confusion, of loss so profound it made his breath catch.
The Wanderer blinked, and the moment passed.
"You were saying?" he offered, his tone neutral but his fingers still worrying at the golden feather attached to the crafted ornament.
Trying to shake off the unease that had settled over him again, Hakim nodded. "Right, yes… You know, my wife's always complaining about this old music box of hers. Maybe you could take a look when we reach the city?"
A small smile touched the Wanderer's lips. "I could look at it."
Hakim grinned, pleased to have elicited even this small reaction.
"Well, kid, it’s a deal.”
The bazaar swirled around him - a treasure of sounds, scents, and colors just waiting to be discovered. Yet the Wanderer diligently arranged wares behind a stall. Each fruit found its place in a growing pyramid that seemed to defy gravity, a testament to his dedication to the task he had sought out.
"Higher, boy! Stack them higher!" The merchant's voice cut through. "We need to draw eyes!”
A slight nod was his response. Dark strands of hair fell across eyes that held no spark of self, only the determination to fulfill the purpose he had chosen. Another apple. Another careful placement. Rinse and repeat.
This was why he was here. This was what he had asked for.
A name was called out. The Wanderer's ears strained at the familiar sound.
The call went up from several stalls, vendors and merchants alike waving enthusiastically to catch her attention. It wasn't the eager call of shopkeepers to a potential customer, but the warm greeting extended to a dear friend.
As she approached each stall, Wanderer watched the same scene unfold time and time again. Merchants would press fruits, sweets, or trinkets into her hands, insisting they were gifts. The girl would protest, her hands raised in polite refusal. The vendor would insist more strongly, and she would decline once more, her smile never wavering.
This transaction of generosity and refusal, taarof as they called it, would continue, a custom unique to the locals here that the Wanderer found fascinating. He had learned much these past few days about the place and what kind of people lived here, all by observing this girl.
Kindness was currency, more valuable than Mora, and debts of gratitude were meant to be repaid many times over. Help freely given was expected to ripple outward, creating a web of mutual support and care. Everyone, it seemed, was part of one big family.
It was unlike anywhere else his feet had taken him. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to settle down after centuries of wandering. If it was here he might have a chance at finding his purpose… It didn’t seem as impossible anymore. To learn, and to understand.
But some lessons, it seemed, were harder to grasp than others. The easy camaraderie, the unspoken bonds of community— these were as foreign to him as the strange customs and vibrant colors of Sumeru itself.
Could he really belong among them when they had no idea what he truly was?
The apple in his hand felt suddenly heavy. His eyes drifted back to the Star of Sumeru as she navigated the bazaar with grace and genuine affection for those around her.
A realization settled over him like a cold mist – he was not part of this. He stood apart, an observer, a stranger to the warmth that seemed to flow so naturally between these people.
"Hey–! Have you been standing there this whole time?"
Apples rolled in every direction, disappearing under the feet of startled shoppers. The Wanderer blinked, momentarily stunned as his meticulous work scattered across the cobblestones. He looked down at the round red fruits still clutched in his hands, then at the now empty display.
A heavy, hopeless sigh left Hakim.
"Lad, I appreciate your help, but we can't afford mistakes like this. Those bruised apples will have to be sold at a discount now."
"I apologize, boss." The Wanderer quickly crouched down to pick up the fallen fruits. "My mind was elsewhere."
"Clearly," Hakim grunted. "Look, why don't you focus on restocking from the back? I'll handle the displays for now."
He felt Hakim’s eyes on him for a moment longer, then turned away with a small shrug. He could tell Hakim thought that he was odd, no doubt about it, but he was a hard worker. In the end, that's what mattered in a place like this.
“And no more daydreaming! Got it?” He heard Hakim shouting out in reminder.
By closing time, the day's mishaps had been mostly mitigated. As they packed away the remaining produce, Wanderer felt Hakim studying him with interest.
"You did better this afternoon," he offered. “Keep at it.”
The simple praise sent an unexpected thrill through him. He hadn't even had the chance to demonstrate his true skills, the things he truly excelled at, and yet... he was accepted. Valued, even.
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