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fabricated-misslieness · 4 months

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: prince alhaitham x knight male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: settling into your new duty

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.34k ~ PT.1 ~ PT.3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sword training, incredibly minor injury, classism, mention of civil war

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Sumeru is a kingdom of knowledge, the wisest, most strategic of all. Yet they had not foreseen the kidnapping of the Crown Prince, much less by a dragon.

Azar, the king of the nation, is a man that takes pride in his intelligence. He knows of risks and consequences as much as he does of rewards and outcomes—he uses this as his stake in the world of Teyvat. His immense knowledge and the expanse of his land strike fear in the other kingdoms, despite his nation's sworn neutrality. These aspects of his make him the most admired man in Sumeru.

At least, that is what the common folk think.

At first, the King did not seem to have noticed his adoptive son was taken; or at the very least, he didn't care.

The Crown Prince was a clever man himself. Ever since he was young, he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. As he grew into his adulthood, his collection did not satisfy him still, even if he has shown that he is already smart enough to take his father's place.

Perhaps Azar saw him as a threat to his throne. The dragon was actually doing him a favor. Why did he need to undo a deed so convenient?

But his Queen begged him, and eventually he gave in. He could not have her daily weeping stain their reputation.

He sent you. Your men lacked experience, and you, among the rest of the war generals, were the only knight of low blood.

It was clear that he intended to rid himself of you. When the news that you had failed would eventually reach the castle, he would cradle his wife in his arms and tell her he had tried.

But then you were back, the beloved Crown Prince in your arms, and he was displeased.

The Queen wept, finally, out of joy.

It was she who bestowed upon you the great honor of being Alhaitham's Knight, his alone, and you should be grateful for it.

In her eyes, you should be grateful. In your comrades' eyes, you should not. You were to be ripped away from your beloved peers, all to protect the Prince you had already saved once.

You know you should agree with your comrades, and yet there is something inside of you that thinks otherwise...

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There was an oath.

You had promised many things, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet. He stood in front of you, in his golden gown, with the most blessed waters from the churning river of the Asavan Realm in his hand. He poured this water onto your head as you spoke the words.

The water that streaked down your bloodied helmet and armor pooled red around his feet, as if the very words you spoke dripped down your body.

"I am your shield," You had said almost mechanically, "the blows upon your body will not be yours, but mine. I am your sword," You stared at his bare feet—even as he stood in the bloodied water he did not flinch, as though he too took the oath from you himself. "where you point, I will strike."

"I will serve and protect you as your Knight," You had said, then, with great conviction, a surge of emotion in your body you couldn't quite point an origin to, and said, "I am yours."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

What did Alhaitham need from a knight?

He was very thankful for what you had done for him–it was the first time in his life that he had thanked a knight, much less a low blood–but it did not mean he required his protection.

He did not need his shield, who would dare to strike him? He did not need his sword, who would he seek to harm?

He did not need you at all.

He didn't need you stalking behind him, every step he took mirrored by your feet, he would much rather you stayed behind. You were not allowed even to do that, it seemed. The oath was meticulous, your sense of obligation towards it even more so.

Yet, as he turned around to shout a command to keep you away, he could not.

How could he, the Crown Prince, not tell a simple command? He had done it all his life, to servants, to knights, to nobles.

And there you stood behind him, your steps stopping suddenly, your face turning startled as you had almost ran into him.

You were just serving your oath. You were just protecting him.

He turned back around and continued on without a word.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The first night you turned him in for bed, bowed your head as you closed the doors, you didn't know what to feel.

But then, you had your first meal. It was big and hearty, nothing you'd ever eaten before. It felt like a King's feast: an entire roasted pig on a platter of lettuce, a basket of all assortments of bread, a big bowl of steaming rice, another platter of smoked brisket ready for the taking. All of this encompassed in one plate. You could enjoy this.

Then, when the servants redirected you to your new chambers, you got a room. Your own room, for the first time, in the royal chambers wing.

The moment you collapsed on the bed you let out a big sigh—heaven must feel like this.

For the first week, you are satisfied. You finally get to rest.

Then the second week comes, and you miss your brotherhood. The Prince is not a good companion. He does not speak to you nor address you, but you know he does care for your presence when you find him staring at you during conversations he does not quite care for.

His gaze is judging, then. At least you think so.

His eyes drag boredly over the expanse of your armor, like a foe on the other side of the battlefield looking for a chink in your armor, something to take advantage of.

Most of the time he finds nothing. Most of the time, he brings his eyes back to the person opposite him within the minute.

And that is that.

No non-noble knight nor servant was allowed to voice their opinion to royal blood; if they came to be in that position of lowly work, how could their opinion matter?

They were only allowed during open discussion, and even then, most brushed off their ridiculous notions.

Generals could, but you were no longer a general.

So you are silent, and so too is he. Most days he would be fine with this silence. Today he is not.

"You are just going to watch me read?" He had asked, a book poised over his lap. It was fiction. Scholars would be baffled by the choice, what need would the Prince fulfill with fiction? But he knew you were not going to say anything.

"Yes." It is simple. You are supposed to be simple.

"You may go."

"What?" Emotion, no longer simple. He had caught you off-guard, and now you were questioning his command.

He was merciful anyway, "Leave."

So you often spent afternoons in the middle of the week, when he was without duty and reading for leisure, with your comrades. Training, for there was nothing to do with the Prince that would keep your muscles built as they were supposed to be, and also, due to your time together, you had begun to crave the grueling hours of hard work. These hours were your respite.

Sometimes he came to watch. You found him in the corner of your eye. He though he was being sneaky.

He does not stare at you the same way he does when conversation no longer draws his attention. He stares at you with, what is it, entertainment?

You don't speak of it to him.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

One afternoon, he does not let you go.

He has to begun to be more tender with you. He's increased a lot of things as of late: his eyes flitting over to meet yours, his visits to your training sessions, greeting goodmorning and bidding goodnight. They are subtle, but welcome.

Today, he has given you the honor of sitting beside him. He is not holding a book. You think that perhaps today the focus of his leisure will be you. You are right.

"What's your name?" It hadn't occurred to you that he didn't know it.

"(y/n)." You had said then, and it was simple.

In Sumeru, a servant does not speak the words "I have something to say.", what would a master care for what a servant had to say? They say, instead, "I have something to report.", then it is something important.

"You might have not seen me, but I watch you train." You've noticed, and you find yourself working harder when he is there. "You seem happy then, should you not be strained?"

You have to tread on your words lightly. "Being with you, your highness...my duty has just been to follow you around, for now. It is not enough exercise."

The Prince's nose scrunches up and for a moment you think you've offended him. "You wish to exercise?"

"It is...a change of pace."

"Right..." He hums, his gaze fluttering away. "Well, I'll see if I can arrange something."

He does not. Perhaps his mother said no. She and his father were the only ones he could not object to; his father by hierarchy, and his mother by respect.

The next afternoon, again, you sit at his side. Today, he is admiring your sword.

"This is the one that cut down the dragon?" He asks, running his fingers over the blade.

"Yes, your highness." You nod. In a rise of panic, you forget that he is supposed to know certain precautions himself. "Be careful, your–!"

If he hadn't pricked his finger as he did, you would've been punished.

The blade falls harmlessly over his lap. He stared at his finger like he had never felt pain before, his eyebrows furrowed. You take his hand over your palm and examine the wound. It is akin to pricking one's finger on a needle, if not deeper. It is nothing serious.

He knows this, knows that the pain is lesser than that of an injury caused by even a paper, and yet he lets you examine it.

Touching a royal blood without explicit consent is punishable. He does not mention it.

"I should've been more careful," He speaks the words he sees so clearly at the forefront of your mind, "it's fine. I'm fine."

"Of course." You take away your hand, and for a moment he finds himself missing the cold steel of your armor.

He clears his throat and offers the blade back, "What do you think of your sword?"

It's a peculiar question. Swords were just tools to kill with, nothing more. Especially not for a low blood. This blade was standard, your fellows had the same blade. But it was different, you suppose.

The leather of the handle is frayed, the pommel flattened, and the edges of the sword sharper. It looks used, it looks yours.

"It has grown old." You sheath it away. "Its whistle is not as sharp, it does not cut the air as it had once did. But it has served me well."

To think an object ages...yes, he has seen it. He sees that some books' pages are light, and others are dark as if coffee-stained. But a sword? "And your armor?" He asks curiously, "Has it grown old as well?"

"Well," You flex the plates over your fingers, "there is dust and dirt in the cracks, and it feels tighter than it had once been, but that is just me growing."

So the armor wasn't old, but you were? You were hardly a couple years older than he, and yet...yes, he sees it. He sees the way you are aged by battle. What battle? The failed civil war inspired by "king" Deshret, perhaps. But you must have been fourteen when you fought it.

"Did you fight in the civil war?"

"Yes." A nod.

"Do you wear this same armor?"

"No." You let your hand fall over the center of your chest. "But I wear the same chainmail." You remember how it had felt when you were young, slipping past your wrists. You had bound the excess higher with leather. It made your gloves fit tighter.

"How many years did you fight?"

"Two. I was thirteen my first battle."

So he was wrong. He rarely ever was wrong. It didn't taste bitter on his tongue like most wrongs he'd spoken. It tasted like revelation.

"Thirteen?" He asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, your highness." You say it like it is nothing.

"Open discussion." He declares. You did not need to reply anymore, you could speak unprompted.

"Some of my comrades were twelve." You let your hand slide down your leg, the glove feels heavy over your knee. "Most of them died their first battle, others their second. I was among the youngest to survive that first year."

He asked many questions after that, and you answered truthfully. He asked about the battlefield, the civil war, your encampment, and many more things you had to dig your mind for. Despite it being open discussion, he did not leave you time to talk more after the question was answered.

Perhaps you had grown tired of it, because you asked, "Why are you so interested, your highness?"

He paused. You had taken him off guard, "Well..."

He was curious. Why was he so curious? You were a low blood knight, akin to a servant. The peculiarities you held were merely your battle prowess and the fact you defeated a dragon, and he already knew these things. What more would he need to know?

He was curious for the first time about a knight, for you weren't a remarkable nor infuriating scholar or servant, but a simple knight.

"I am simply curious." He replied, then, because he did not have an answer.

You couldn't ask him for a better one.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Today there is no time for leisure, only appearances. You trailed behind him in the city whilst he showed his face. It was meant to demonstrate that the royals were not so out of touch; the Prince had always thought it foolish.

Especially hauling a knight around behind him and not even talking to him.

You've long since gotten used to it, so the conversation of the last two days and his apparent need for another today was quite the challenge.

Don't speak out of line, don't speak unprompted, don't offend, don't speak too much.

"What do you think of this?" He asked, holding up one of the traveling merchant's wares, a model of a Liyuan dancer carved from wood.

An opinion. He was asking you for an opinion. No one but your fellows did so. You clear your throat to dismiss your surprise, "It is good, you can see the subject clearly. However, the carving is not smooth."

He nods his head and sets the sculpture down. "Then, which would you pick?"

Just a small look at each of the sculptures and you shook your head, "I would not."

"Why is that?" He furrows his brows, he hadn't expected that.

"None of the carving is smooth. There are edges you could cut yourself with." The Prince rolls his eyes, he thinks you're only fearing for his safety, but you continue, "It does not make for an appealing sculpture. It looks like it was carved with a butcher's knife."

The Prince laughs then. You'd heard it before, but this time it sounds different. It sounds pleasant, and dare you say more genuine.

"Right," He smiles at you. It's rare and all the more beautiful. "a Sumeru carpenter is better, then?"

"I believe so, your highness."

He nodded at this and moved on. He seemed appreciative of your opinion. A first for you, coming from a noble blood. It felt, for a lack of better word, refreshing.

He asks you again for your opinion at different merchant stalls. He asks you about the quality of this embroidered fabric, your opinion on pig's blood–you've never had it before, to his dismay–and even simpler, about the color green.

All these opinion had affected his choices.

When you came upon another carpenter, this one unequivocally Sumeru, he had not asked you about a single sculpture specifically, as he had done with other merchants' wares. Instead, he waved his hand in front of the display and asked, "Which one do you like?"

It wasn't "which one do you find most appealing", then it would've been an opinion for him to take into account. He asked it like it was definitive.

"That one." You pointed at the sculpture of a tree, a mere weeping willow. It reminds you of the myth of Irminsul, but that is not why you chose it. The leaves remind you of the color of his iris; the orange shading of the bark, the ring around his pupil; and the gray-lilac of its flowers, the silver of his hair.

He does not question you, only shoots a smile at the vendor, completes the transaction and moves on.

It was strange, the way your opinions mattered to him, for all the reasons given before. It might've made your peers feel powerful, even, that they had so much sway over a royal blood's decisions, much less the Crown Prince. But to you, it only felt...like you were seen, in a way. That you mattered.

You did matter, in situations such as battle and the war table; but you never mattered in the smaller things, like what color pleased you.

He seemed to think otherwise.

When you returned, that same day, to the castle, it was already evening. Dinner, however, is not served yet, so again you are left to your leisure.

The Prince considers the objects he has bought. His father does not like him to keep them—they are made less than skillfully in his eyes, by low-blood hands and low-blood artisans. He buys them only for show, because, again, that is what his father wishes. The King does not make appearances himself.

The Prince never really thought it a waste. It was just the way things were, much the same as the world created rain only to dump it over barren soils.

However, as he held these objects in his hands, he thought it was a waste; not of material, but of your opinion. The sculpture, most of all, as you had picked it out of desire.

He gives the servant that greets you at the door most of the things he's bought, then turns to you with the sculpture.

His hand extends it to you. For a moment, you are too dumbfounded to realize he is offering it to you. "My Prince, I–"

"Take it." He only says, his arm still extended; neither does he mention the way you call him yours.

For the first time since you were declared a war general, there is sheepishness in your gestures as you take the sculpture. "..thank you."

It is not in his blood, even less in his title, to say the following words, "You're welcome."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He stood a little closer today whilst you trained, even more when you beckoned him closer. It drove your fellow knights away, fearful of the Prince's gaze, but you didn't mind it. Perhaps you should've. It was because of him that you missed a chance to reconnect with them since last week, after all; but he was merely curious.

His curiosity about you was also curious. You couldn't quite put your finger on why he was so interested.

Except you could. You had saved him from a dragon. That is enough.

Although you knew the King and the Queen both were each inquisitive in their nature, they were hardly ever curious about their servants and their knights. With how alike the Crown Prince was to them, you would've imagined him to be the same way. He had been the same way in the beginning. Something sparked a change.

You don't find yourself worrying about it, not now.

Instead, you worry about your stance. You worry about the way your sword strikes the dummy and you worry about the way your feet strike the muddy ground.

Most of all, you worry about not making yourself a fool—or...

Is it that that you worry about, or is it about making an impression? Impressing him?

In your distraction, you make a mistake. You swing down your sword, and it does not quite sever the dummy's stuffed, fabric arm. You click your tongue and dislodge the blade, about to strike the dummy again when he speaks.

"You said your sword was old?" He phrases it as a question, but he continues as if it wasn't. "Why not replace it?"

"It works the same." You reply, in the next moment, severing the fabric arm entirely.

His voice cuts through the sound of your efforts, "The frayed handle is not hard to hold?"

"Perhaps." A frustrated grunt.

"And the pommel doesn't affect the weight of the swing?"

"It does." Another.

"And yet you keep it." This statement has you stopping.

It has you turning around to face him, balancing the sword in your hands so as to show him each aspect, regardless of the fact he has examined it before. "The other men believe it is luck to keep the same items. I do not know if it is true; my men wore old armor and wielded old swords when they were melted down by dragon's breath. What I do know that my blade holds is sentiment. It holds memories. I did not wield this blade during the civil war–those are bad memories–but I have wielded it during moments of hardship, and most of all during moments of victory. Killing the dragon, for one."

It was not open discussion. He hadn't declared it, and neither had he asked you a question. You weren't supposed to give an answer.

He seems shocked, not at the unprompted rant, but at your words. "...yes."

It had not occurred to him that the age of things was good, nor that it might hold sentimental value. The tunics he wears this month are not the same as the last. The tunic he will wear for this year's Enlightenment Festival will not be the same tunic as the one of the year before. His plate is not the same each dinner, and his utensils neither.

Nothing in his life has been the same, permanent. Everything changes. He had never thought it a bad thing, not until now.

Your breathing steadies, the frustration fades. You speak your apologies, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet, the pose of a beggar, the pose of an oath-taker. "I'm sorry, your highness. I did not mean to speak out of line, I only–"

"Haitham." He replied.

His name? You knew his name. You keep your gaze on his feet, "Prince Alhaitham, I greatly apologize–"

"Haitham." He repeats. Not Prince Haitham, not Alhaitham. Just Haitham, no respect to the name, no "Al", no title. Just Haitham.

You don't know what to say.

"Lift your gaze, (y/n)." He speaks your name...tenderly. Full of apprehension, you obey, looking into his green irises and red-rimmed pupils. When you meet his eyes, you see that he looks down at you not with anger, but with sympathy. "Speak my name. No apology."

"Haitham." You say. It feels strange on your tongue: titleless, respectless.

He smiles. It is a tiny thing, but it is directed to you. "I forgive you." He offers yet another mercy, "You don't have to impress me, even though I know you will continue to, subconsciously."

He was right, but it eased your nerves a bit.

You turn around and continue to train. Your sword whistles in the air, now, with ease; creating a song he quite enjoyed. The uninterrupted harmony created by metal as it thrummed with each coordinated swing of the sword felt akin to the pieces he played during his harpsichord lessons, though the playing of the instrument seemed much more mundane in comparison to this.

It was much more than music too, it was a dance. The step of your foot with each lunge and each strike–recovering from the strength required for each swing and simultaneously gathering more strength–seemed to take as much grace and effort as a ballerina.

There was beauty in this, beauty in the skill to slaughter, ignoring the reason for which to know it.

"My Knight," He speaks not your name, but to be his is still a special condition that sparks emotion, "what do you say I follow you around tomorrow?"

The excitement created by the way he addressed you turned into confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Alhaitham shakes his head with a smile, "Open discussion."

"Why do you need to see what I do on the daily, your highness?" After all, your routine was hardly important. No one would ever ask such a question of a knight nor a servant.

"I am merely curious."

He was always curious as of late, mainly about you. It was starting to seem normal now. "My routine...my duty is to be your protector, your highness." You press your lips into a pitiful line, "I do not have anything outside of that."

He frowned. It was true, and he hadn't considered it. It was a strange thing, to not know what came next, unlike how he always did. Actually, it felt a bit exciting. "Then how about what you did before?"

He likely knew what you had done before, if he ever paid attention to the knights' routine. Yours was never separate, you've been doing the same thing for over a decade. But...you had actually started to miss it. It was evident in the thrill you received from taking up your training once more, even if sparsely.

When he speaks up again you think he only seeks to break the silence, but his voice was soft, empathetic? "I'm interested."

It sounded narcissistic at face value, but he was easing your concern from the mundanity of the routine. "Sure."

You hadn't imagined the Prince ever taking an interest in you, much less another noble. This will be interesting.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // alhaitham #🌸 // success!

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fabricated-misslieness · 2 months

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: wriothesley x gn reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, death of cockroach

part 1

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: also based off a true story

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The ONE time you decide to kill a cockroach yourself, you miss, and guess what?

IT COMES FLYING AT YOU.

You've never screamed like this before, you think, as you hurriedly swat at it with the shoe you were holding, just narrowly avoiding its flying path. It vanishes behind the bed, and you're out the door within the minute.

Within the same minute, or perhaps the next, you find your boyfriend. "Wrio, there's a cockroach behind the bed."

"What do you want me to do about it?" What a bitch.

Some other time you might've replied sarcastically, 'maybe kill it?' but you're too traumatized by your recent brush with death that you respond quickly, "Kill it."

He sighs.

You catch up with your pet as Wriothesley makes his way to the bedroom, petting it to calm yourself and asking, "Do you wanna hunt a cockroach? Yes you do~"

When you go back to the bedroom again, he's already there, and he's moved the bed. "Can't see it."

Fuck.

"Turn on your phone light, help me out." And so you do.

And then what? He can't find it. He shakes the curtains, it's not there. He's shining the light over the floor, toeing dangerously at piles of built up, ignored dust, and he can't find it.

But you can, and it's on your fucking sheets. "There." You point, frozen in place.

You think to offer him a shoe, but no, he reaches for it with his bare hands, and he grabs it, like it's nothing.

The next moment, he stumbles, accidentally letting it go. The cockroach lands on the floor, quickly trying to scurry away, but Wriothesley is faster. He smacks it, bare hand unleashing a fuck ton of force against the roach and the floor, and it dies just like that.

He doesn't even grab a paper this time; he takes it by the antenna and disappears into a toilet.

As you fix the bed back in place, chanting la Ave Maria under your breath, you hear the toilet flush. Phew.

Wriothesley's leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, his hands are wet, clean.

His stare is nothing but slightly disappointed as you prance on over. "It flew at me."

He says nothing for a second, though his face does change. "Damn."

Some years ago you did a biology bug collection project, cockroaches allowed, and you had your father catch one for you, while you watched (a valiant man, bare-handed as well). You'd pinned it in place at school, but you were wearing gloves then, and it was dead.

A shudder goes down your spine.

"C'mere." Wriothesley says, and you oblige. There is nothing better in the world than a hug from your valiant boyfriend. "Feelin' better now?"

Muffled into his sweater and spoken with shame, you say, "Yeah..."

#Wriothesley x gn reader #Wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #🌸 // success!#🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // wriothesley

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fabricated-misslieness · 3 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: prince alhaitham x knight male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: after spending some time with you, the prince finds himself wishing for things

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.65k ~ PT.1 ~ PT.2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sword training, classism, mention of war

☾⋆☆⋆☽

This is a horrible place, Alhaitham thinks, but instead he says: "This is, well..." and it's not that much of an improvement.

The Crown Prince has never been to the servants' quarters, nor the kitchen, nor the knights' quarters or the troops' training grounds. He has never seen the thorough use of space, and has not experienced the smell of two dozen worked men sleeping in the same room.

Your old pallet-based bed has already been claimed by another soldier, but you know the position well and the new tenant doesn't have many memorabilia to show for his use of the space.

It is lucky that you have visited in the middle of the day while the knights are training, otherwise the Prince would've been nothing but drowned in the crowd of soldiers and their odor; odor so musky it still lingers.

He is vaguely aware of the wing reserved for war generals in the palace and wonders why you do not have one. "Should you not have had your own room?"

"They told me it was all occupied." You reply, to hide from him the truth. You know, from your sparse time in the castle as a war general and your now abundant time as the Prince's knight, that the castle has so many rooms, many are left unused.

Although of course, as the Prince, he knows this too. "Speak freely."

You answer immediately, "I am of low blood."

The Prince nods his head. This, he had expected. Among the many variables he had not, such as the foul odor of the room, something he was correct about pleases him. But, despite the burn in his nose, the rarity of being wrong and what's to come still excites him.

"I used to make polishing oil for my own armor, as well as my sword, and my own whetstone." You said, your hand gesturing to the small shelf above the head of the pallet. "But now the servants, and I suppose the King or Queen, supply me with those."

"Did you read about how to make one?" The Prince asked. It was as much a theory as a question.

"No." Is all you say. You can't just tell him you've never read a book in its entirety before, being read to not withstanding. "I have simply found walnuts work well, actually."

His eyebrows raise, "With trial and error?"

"Precisely." You smile.

He has tried, ever since the first day he had sat down to listen to you speak, to not let his judge of your character to fall into the stereotypes deeply ingrained in him.

That stereotype being that knights were nothing but brawn and battle prowess. They were not taught the word misslieness, for it was hardly necessary, but were taught the word hubris in order to not fall into it themselves. The same stereotype dictates that knights did not seek to expand their wisdom to tidbits of knowledge they did not require, much like nobles did not need to know what commoners did.

Trial and error for measly armor polish one could buy from the market on even a low blood knight's salary was certainly one of those tidbits of knowledge he thought you wouldn't care for.

He shakes the feeling off and listens to the rest of your words, choosing to focus on your explanations of how life was...and the finer smell of your plain armor polish, as opposed to the other odor he could smell.

The very same odor you either ignore or have grown used to. "The other boys snore," You smile fondly, "it is nothing like the sound of swords striking metal in aspects of harmony, but it is just as loud. The palace has been...respite, but hearing my old mate Rohan snoring is something I miss."

"And the bed?" He asks.

Respectful of the new tenant's space, you place your hand on the thin mattress and press down with minimal force. It creaks. "No."

He nods his head, a smile on his lips, despite the misery of smell. "Yes, I imagine a bed in the palace is a lot better."

Glee crinkles the corners of your eyes when you smile at him, "It is."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Alhaitham is very happy to leave that dastardly room when you're done talking about how it used to be in there. You had talked so fondly about it: about how, even with the lack of space, you treated everyone in that room asa brother. The Prince had heard about it once before, from the less authoritarian, more cocky Knights of Favonius, that they were a brotherhood. He had hardly pictured it from the Sumeru knights who all behaved stiff as twigs around him.

The next stop is the troops' training grounds. On the way there, you explained some things to him. As a war general, you were also in charge of training your men. When your duty became to protect the Prince, the task was awarded to some of the lesser yet competent captains the other war generals often deferred to.

He's beginning to regret asking to follow your old routine, slightly, as one revolting place is replaced with another. He can hardly hear himself think when you step out into the field, beyond the sound of blades parrying other blades and men's shouts and groans.

As you maneuver through the crowd of sparring soldiers, they don't even realize that the Crown Prince is among their ranks.

They notice you first, the captains. "General!"

Their shouts of your name die out in the chaos blasting in his ears, but he stays his ground as he reaches the end of the worst of the men and watches as you continue forward to greet them.

You really are like brothers, bantering, fluffing up their hair and knocking on their speckled armor.

He knows war generals don't speak this way with their subordinates. He knows war generals don't even build bonds with them. He knows that, to them, it is all business: listen to me, plan this strategy with/for me, fight for me.

What is it that's–

"Your highness!" One captain shrieks, and suddenly swords clang and fall to the ground, either on their blunt side or tip first, digging up the Earth. Many men fall to their knees in an instant, more join them in the other.

There is a whole field of men kneeling to him, and Alhaitham turns up his nose with a snarl. "Stand." He says, his voice loud and stern. He cherished the silence leftover in the absence of metal, but he wishes even more for the attention to be off of him. "I thank you for your respect. Return to your duties."

The soldiers eventually stand, and after a reluctance quickly stepped over, they return to their training.

The three devoted generals remain on their knees as Alhaitham strides up to stand by your side, not in front.

"I said stand." Alhaitham repeats, his voice emotionless yet interpreted as angry by the generals.

The first that stands stiffens up like a thin tree in the wind, nervous. "Your highness," His head is bowed, "what do we–"

"Look at me when you speak, Captain."

The captain yelps. He yelps, unbecoming of a man of his stature, build, and rank. "Y-Yes." He says, his voice a pitch higher. When their eyes meet, he knows that the mere act of eye contact makes his pitch even higher when he speaks again, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence today, my prince?"

He dislikes the way he calls him his. "I only wish to observe. Carry on as usual. Do not work harder on my behalf."

Alhaitham begins to walk further towards the sidelines, somewhere he can spectate without obstacle as well as listen to his mind.

However, when you call out to him, he stops the both of you. "My prince–"

He does not stop you because you call him yours, but because he wishes for the company of his own solitude and a view of the soldiers as seen by a bystander. "Command them as you would have."

"Yes, your highness." You nod your head dutifully and turn back to your former men.

After the quick talk of "yes, I'm back" and ordering them to train their stances, standing in line and slicing the air almost mechanically, you're back to talking with your captains.

The slicing of the air is a lot more quiet than the clanging of swords, an acceptable replacement he will thank you for later, so now he can actually hear himself think; and also accidentally eavesdrop. The way he does not try to shift his focus away from your conversation waves off the "accidental" notion.

You don't notice him anyway; you are much more preoccupied with catching up with your captains. They are busier now, without a war general to guide them, and you have not seen them since you were appointed the Prince's protector.

"How is the life?" One captain asks you, a bright glint to his worn smile.

Boring, is what he expects you to say. "It's interesting."

"Just interesting?" Another gawks, jaw slack, and Alhaitham can't help but mirror the question in his head. "Tell us all about it! It cannot just be interesting."

"It is gilded, and gaudy. Do you recall General Ipsit's golden armor? It is like that, an unnecessary show of wealth; but all the luxury is actually welcome. The floors are carpeted when wood is just fine, and even the tiles have a design. I can see my reflection on them."

All three of them laugh, as if such an idea is absurd. The third captain, which seems to be quite young yet clearly strong, asks the next question, "Well, how's the food?"

"Like heaven." You chuckle, "The puddings are as fluffy as clouds and the breads crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. The meats are spiced; dried or smoked or grilled, all so divine it is like eating wealth."

He's never heard you speak in such a way.

"How about your quarters?"

You sigh, eyes closed as though collapsed over your mattress that very instant. "The head of the bed is colored with gold, and the sheets are even lilac." A diluted purple, but the color of royalty and wealth nonetheless. "The mattress is soft, and it molds to my very body."

And by this way, it was with descriptors for such worthless things. When you speak to him, you are always objective. This marble reminds me of magma, this green is very bright, its whistle is not as sharp. This is all in benefit, of course, to him, and it is always the way servants speak to their masters.

"Man. How come you get this treatment?" The youngest captain speaks up again, clearly jealous.

"Oh, dear Nayak," You laugh. It sounds so lively. "you are not the one who slayed a dragon."

And he has never heard you speak so jokingly before.

Perhaps he is not deserving of this, he thinks as you continue to joke with your fellows. He does not deserve to have your humor nor your emotion, only your solemnity. In fact, it is not that he does not deserve it, but that it is the only way you should address him—the only way a knight should address his prince, with objectivity. It is an irrational...fear? Thought–just a thought, nothing more–and it should not be occupying his mind, much the same way that you are treating him as you should.

And yet...there is a yearning. No one has talked to him like this, not his peers at the Akademiya, not the scholars, not his servants, not the knights, not his lesser brothers.

That is why he wishes for this...inessential way of speech. Because it is new.

That is what he's been prodding for these days, he realizes. Not just your friendship, but the unceremonious exchanges as well. He doesn't want you to report to him, he wants you to speak to him.

Nobody's ever spoken to him. There is his father scolding, his mother doting, the servants reporting, scholars exchanging, guards courteously greeting, peasants showing their respect, and you answering his questions.

How does one fix this?

Fix? What is he thinking? This is exactly the way you should be speaking to him. But, oh, he wishes for casualty. Yes, that's it. Companionship, from the man who saved his life, it is only natural.

Now, how to do it?

☾⋆☆⋆☽

When the both of you are back at Alhaitham's personal library, where he spends his time of leisure, the Prince thinks he should collapse into a heap and hide himself. He had thought about the dilemma, and with increasing effort came increasing thoughts—overthinking. He takes you out for an outing, no, you'd be too guilty and grateful to be honest, same thing if he gave you a gift. Having friends, no, making a friend is hard.

And then the blistering heat of the midday sun ruptured his thoughts, and the clanging of swords took over his senses, and then the heat came to rupture that too.

He does collapse in a heap on the couch, albeit more gracefully than in the hypothetical scenario.

Perhaps still affected by the joy of nostalgia and seeing your old brotherhood again, you spark a conversation yourself, despite him not declaring open discussion. "What did you think?"

Alhaitham is glad he didn't have to declare it. "It was horrible." He admits, wiping his sweaty, warm forehead with his damp handkerchief. He grimaces.

You laugh; it sounds nice, better than swords, at least, "I too would think it a horrible place if I had an upbringing such as yours."

You mean it as sympathy, but it only makes the Prince feel privileged and lucky. "Yes...quite."

You sense it yourself, a moment later, of course you do. You're way better at intimately social matters and empathy than he is.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way." You bow your head, already back to the Knight Protector of the Crown Prince.

"It's quite alright." He places his hand over yours, the joints of the iron glove dig slightly into his skin, but he doesn't care for it.

You turn your hand, letting his hand rest over your smoother palm. It feels like turning a new leaf, physically.

"So, it was horrible," you look down, and he tracks your gaze down to your hands, "and..what else was it?"

He wracks his head, thinks about it. Normally he doesn't have to think for such a thing, but he is considering something else now: your feelings. "...admirable."

You burst out laughing at his timidness, and if it were anyone else, he would be offended.

Alhaitham scrambles for something to say, "I mean it!" His face is red, he's sure, "I can't believe you can live under such conditions–without something as necessary as privacy–and fight for our lands and protect our people."

"The knighthood takes recruits before they even reach the cusp of manhood, my prince." You explain to him, and he is grateful for it, "We grow used to it."

"It is not a good thing to grow accustomed to." He says, his voice quiet, small. He is not the Crown Prince here, he is just Haitham.

You speak up again, to ease his worries, "We bear it for the people, as you do, and will." He is so grateful for you.

He grasps your fingers with his own, and has half the mind to intertwine them. He does not. "Thank you, (y/n)."

"There is nothing to thank me for."

There is a lot to thank you for. He doesn't mention it, because you would only shut him down. So he sings your praises, instead, in his mind; and he speaks his wishes there too.

His mind has never been quiet, but for a moment, there is only you.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: im sorry folks i am a terribly busy man

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // alhaitham #🌸 // success!

124 notes · View notes

fabricated-misslieness · 10 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: alhaitham x gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: when the rain comes down suddenly, alhaitham comes to walk you through it with his umbrella.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 472 ~ established relationship

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: slight hint at autistic alhaitham

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Alhaitham

It's raining

Pick me up please

What about your umbrella?

I didn't bring it today.

Okay

Man, Alhaitham was a dry texter...and a dry conversationalist. He was dry person? Could you say that? Whether or not it was a dictionary-certified expression, it was true. Alhaitham only showed tidbits of emotion at a time. How did he even come to be your boyfriend? Either way, you couldn't complain about his "dryness" when he was rescuing you from the rain.

"Hey." Speaking of...

"Hey." You greet too, silently stepping under the umbrella with him. The two of you begin the somewhat small walk back home in silence.

He was a man of silence, too. But maybe there was nothing to speak of right now, nothing except, "You should've checked the weather app."

"Only you do that."

The rain was really harsh. It beat down on the umbrella loudly. It was a good thing Alhaitham had his soundproof ear pieces on, otherwise, he'd be overwhelmed.

The splatter of the rain against the sidewalk hit your shoe and wet your socks, giving you the uncomfortable feeling of wet socks. The tiniest part of your hoodie sleeve was exposed to the rain, too, which meant you would have to shed it's warmth comfort once you were back home. Ah, what trouble.

Alhaitham notices, probably; you deduce as much when he brings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side and further under the umbrella.

"Thanks."

Your gratitude goes uncommented as you continue walking through the street. Alhaitham hardly saw that as an act in need of thanks, a after all.

He stops, suddenly, and you're not fast enough in your reaction, and neither are his words. "Puddle." He says, as your shoe strikes the water.

It splashes up fiercely, making the both of you slightly wet up to the knee.

"I'm sorry."

The two of you hop over the puddle simultaneously, without the need of verbal cooperation.

"It's okay." Alhaitham assures once you cross the water. He reassures you further by squeezing your shoulder and, surprisingly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was the subtleties that made Alhaitham. You had long since realized that, but it was still a daily thought. The small things, like being your knight in shining armor against the rain, showed that he cared; these small things, you had come to love.

"I love you."

Alhaitham didn't question the spontaneity of it. He didn't need to. All he needed to know, to be reassured of, was that you loved him. It warmed his "cold" heart.

"I love you too."

He's smiling. You know it's there without needing to see it, but you do anyway, because you cherish the way it looks on his face.

...even if it might mean not watching your step and running into another puddle.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #🎟 // genshin impact #🎟 // genshin #🎫 // alhaitham #🌸 // success!

141 notes · View notes

fabricated-misslieness · 1 year

Text

pairing: Alhaitham x gn reader

req: no | wc: 124

summary: Alhaitham fulfills your physical touch needs.

warnings: "little kitten" nickname

a/n: dont judge me

Alhaitham's nails scratch at your scalp, pushing past your hair. He seems to know the exact spots that'll have you purring—that would have you purring. The scratching sends ticklish tingles of pleasure through your nerves. You bury your cheek further into the haven of his thighs.

A finger traces the skin of your neck, starting from your collarbone. Its warmth is distracting. It stops right below your chin, where its nail begins to scratch. You tilt your head up instinctively at his touch, allowing him more access to the bottom of your chin.

He found it funny how a single finger could coerce you to do such mindless things.

He chuckles, the laugh like a deep rumble, "Look at you, my little kitten."

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #🌸 // success!#🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // alhaitham

179 notes · View notes

fabricated-misslieness · 2 years

Text

𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 Chapter 11: Bygone Memories

Hero Kaeya x Villain male reader

Summary: What you do in your teenage years shapes what will happen later on in life. This notion was true for you especially.

Word Count: 14,470

Warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of violence, a cut, kissing, suggestiveness, death, death sentence,

Mayb’s notes: Germany's drinking age is 16, so Mondstadt's shall be too. I got over 10 images so I had to resort to using "<✦>" sometimes.

12 years ago...

Everyone in Mondstadt knew Master Crepus's sons, the Ragnvindr boys, and though the same thing cannot be said the other way around, it certainly felt like it.

The Ragnvindrs were charmers, as if trained to be so. Kaeya was most charismatic, having convinced half an entire market to buy him sweets at the ripe age of ten.

They were also quite skillful, with Diluc becoming the youngest Captain amongst the Knights of Favonius and Kaeya, having joined the year prior, surely following in his footsteps.

Together in a crowded plaza, they stood out effortlessly. Oftentimes it led to staring.

You'd always been raised with 'staring is rude' but when everyone else is also staring, it was fine, right? Plus, this was... subconcious. You hadn't meant to stare, really.

Although, what were they doing that was so special? They were walking—walking, like normal people, like you had been just moments before. Then, you could argue that everything they did was special, because the Ragnvindrs were special.

Anyway, they'd never notice the staring. They were having a conversation on the go.

Seems you were wrong about that.

As the conversation lulled for a moment, Kaeya allowed his gaze to drift off. There were many people in the plaza. It was hardly easy to avoid eye contact, especially when everyone was staring at you. Kaeya was used to it, had been used to it for ages. Each time his eye met another's accidentally, he gave a short, respectful nod and continue on; because that's how he was, respectful.

But for you... he held your gaze.

You look away from him, as if discovered, and hear him snicker towards your vague direction. This was embarrasing.

"What is it?" Diluc asks.

"Oh, nothing, brother." He replies.

He had caught your gaze a couple more times after that, whenever you passed by each other. Mondstadt was a big city, but somehow you always found each other. This was something he hadn't noticed before. In a crowd, each face was new, a passing stranger going about their way. You, though, he recognized each time.

Kaeya stood by his brother's side as he recited a written, assigned speech. In every other segment of the city, another Captain was reciting the very same speech. A festival, which one wasn't important, was coming along.

In the crowd of citizens, all who recognized him but he didn't, citizens who paid uninterrupted attention to Diluc, he saw you.

For the first time, he had noticed you first. Finally, now that you weren't staring either, he got to see you, to analyze you. You were mighty interesting to him.

And then another first. You caught his gaze.

Kaeya clears his throat, though you may not hear it, and turns back to surverying the rest of the crowd. A warmth rises to his cheeks. He felt... embarrased.

After that, it wasn't just he who caught your gaze, but you who caught his as well.

You had always been easy to spot amongst a crowd. Kaeya, too, for his dark blue hair, eyepatch, Knight of Favonius patch or armor.

But, when he was alone, it was a little harder; because sometimes he was trying not to be spotted.

"Yuck! That is– eugh, that is weird." You stuck out your tongue, at which your friends laughed.

Today was your sixteenth birthday. After the blowing of the candles and cutting of the cake, the adults had left you and your friends alone for what was the most important part of a sixteen year old (in Mondstadt)'s life: liquor tasting.

You had just drank your first beer. "The foam is disgusting."

"I don't think you're supposed to be drinking the foam." One of your friends remarks.

"You're wrong, actually." Another one says, their head propped up against their hand. "My dad says it's the good part."

"How would you know if he's right?!"

You were, amongst your friends, the oldest one and the first to turn sixteen. It almost seemed as though the rest only yearned to be sixteen for the drinking. "I don't want to inherit the bar if all the alcohol is this bad."

"You know, I heard Diluc say the same thing."

"Ragnvindr?" You snicker, "Isn't he set to inherit the winery, too? How awful would that be? Someone who dislikes alcohol running the liquor industry."

"The foam looks good to me..." Another friend says randomly.

"No it doesn't."

"Oh come on, it's got to be good!"

Your friends begin to bicker (in a theoretic manner), which you don't partake in despite being the only one who's drank enough of it to have an opinion. Oftentimes you liked to watch them instead of join in; because, oftentimes, your friends were quite entertaining.

Then, in the background, you spot him. He was watching.

Perhaps he let you find him. He himself didn't quite know and when you began to walk towards him, taking advantage of your distracted friends, he didn't have the time to think about it.

You muster up all the courage you had from the high of your sixteenth birthday and finally, after so long, greeted him. "Hey."

"Hello." He replied simply. "I'm–"

"I know you! You're Kaeya Ragnvindr... right?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "Alberich, too."

"Right, yeah." You bite your lip and resist the urge to smack yourself on the forehead, "Of course, uh, everyone knows you." Before he can ease your worries, you continue, "I'm–"

"I know your name too, (y/n)."

"Ah, right, your dad and mine are competitors. Angel's Share and all?"

"No, no. It's not that. I'm not in a habit of scouting out my father's competition." He waves his hand dismissively, "I heard them sing your name earlier."

"Oh. Right," Yeah, that made sense. "you're– you're not here to spy on me—us."

"Happy birthday, by the way." He grins, and you notice that it's... the prettiest thing you've seen.

You nod, hoping the admiration doesn't show on your face. "Thanks."

Silence follows for a while, Kaeya's grin dissipates and your gaze falls to the ground. You don't know what to say, you don't have much to say at all. Except, 'Why are you here?' but you figured that was a little rude. Leaving him alone would be rude too. So...

"You know, I've noticed your staring–"

He cuts you off to mention, "And I've noticed yours."

You fight the shame from lighting up your face, "I was just wondering, do you want to um, hang out with me?" That sounded too intimate. "And my friends too!" Good save, idiot.

"Sure." He replies before the doubts can devour your mind.

"Good! Uh, we can share a beer or some–?"

"I'm not sixteen yet."

"You're not?" You blurt out without thinking. "I mean, with the knight stuff and all... I expected you to be older."

He chuckles, "Well, Diluc was named Captain a year ago, and he was fourteen. I think being a fifteen year old knight is just fine."

"Wow."

As time passed, you discovered that there was actually a lot you had in common. Whereas when you first met, you didn't have much to talk about (whether for awkwardness or the not knowing), nowadays you had a whole lot to discuss.

Out of all things to talk about, Kaeya was fond of talking to you about the knights. After all, you were one of his only friends outside the Knights of Favonius.

Diluc and Jean were his best friends, and they were both sticklers for the rules. Kaeya wasn't, at least not to a tee. He enjoyed finding loop holes and, when his and the knights' morality did not meet, breaking them entirely. When he got in trouble for it, Jean and Diluc scolded him.

When he talked to you about it, though, you were often on his side. He was glad for it.

After knightly duties each day, he hung out with you in the evening; although that meant it'd be too late for the walk home. Kaeya didn't like it, walking home after tiring work, especially because the Ragnvindr home was so far away from the city. If only his family was like Jean's; the Gunnhildrs lived in the heart of the city.

So he asked Crepus if he could stay with you at times, and he allowed him. Except, in almost no time, 'at times' turned it to 'many nights at a time'.

"He was just a kid. Probably seven, no older than nine, he didn't know any better." Kaeya sighs. "His father got fined."

"Just for a lollipop?"

"You bet."

You try to not let the thought of it put you down, instead thinking of something else. "Didn't you once convince half the market for a bunch of sweets?"

"Ooh, yeah, I did." He laughs, remembering it. "Well, that's the difference. I convinced them, didn't take it outright."

"Tell me more about it. That happened before I came to Mondstadt. I've only heard about it, and well, it's probably all hyperbole, no story by now."

Kaeya resists the urge to ask about your 'coming to Mondstadt' to answer your question first. "Well... I was a kid. Kids love sweets a lot. And, since I ask my father and he gives me sweets, so long as I haven't had many, I figured that the adults always had sweets ready to hand out."

You snicker, "Really?"

"Yeah." He laughs, "I really did. So I asked one merchant. My father had dealings with him often, so he knew me well. He didn't have any sweets on him, much to my surprise, but he handed me mora."

"No way! Mora? Straight mora?"

"Yeah. Who gives a child mora? I was a charming child, so I was told, so I assume that must be why. Anyway, many merchants didn't have any candy on them. Those that did, like the street food stalls, handed me some after I argued," He begins in a high-pitched voice, terrible impression of a child, "I haven't had any, I promise!' or 'You don't have to give them to any other kids. They would come crawling back like– like a pack of strays. I'm not like that!"

"Did you seriously compare kids to strays?"

"Yes–er, no, not directly. At least I hope." Though, he didn't doubt it. Kids could be viciously frank. "People only say half the market because there's a candy store in the center of the market, the one by Angel's Share, and by the time I'd come to it I had over a handful of mora. I spent it all on that stall."

"I mean, did you at least share with Diluc? That's like, your redeeming point."

"Yeah, and it was my downfall." He puts on the face of a sour kid, which makes you laugh. "He snitched on me."

"Damn. So much for being brothers."

"Right?!" He exclaims, even if he didn't hold a grudge for it anymore.

You laugh even harder at that. He takes advantage of the distraction to admire you, if for a moment, before you're coming down from the breathless laughter and his curiosities dig at him.

"What did you mean by 'before I came to Mondstadt'?"

Immediately, your face turns serious and the evidence of laughter disappears, even in the corners of your eyes. He feels like he's done something wrong, like he's overstepped your boundaries, but you respond before he can apologize. "I, uh, wasn't born in Mondstadt. I moved here five years ago and yet... I don't know why."

"Where were you raised then?" He can't help but ask.

"Um, I think a village built on land not quite claimed by either Sumeru or Mondstadt... I remember my childhood clearly, or as clear as possible, but I don't remember much from the year before I moved." You scratch your neck, trying to remember, but just like always, you can't.

"Something kind of similar happened to me too. My memories really only go down until I was like seven, and by then I had already been adopted by the Ragnvindrs."

"You were adopted?"

"The resemblance isn't exactly uncanny."

You shrug, "Yeah, but I figured I never met Mrs. Ragnvindr."

"There isn't one."

"Oh."

He brushes it off like nothing, "Anyway, I hardly remember what my father looks like, but I do remember a specific few words, the last thing he told me: You'll be safe with them." Kaeya looks down at his hands, which were fidgeting subconsciously.

Silence fills the room. Conversation goes empty, much like both your missing memories.

"So we're similar, then." You speak up. Curiously, he looks back up and catches your gaze. "Two people not quite from Mondstadt."

Kaeya laughs at both that and what he's about to say, "And with apparently shit memory."

"Like fate brought us together!" You grin.

Getting to know Kaeya meant getting to know his friends too, the other half of the famous Ragnvindr boys, Diluc, and Jean Gunnhildr.

You'd gotten about a minute into talking to Diluc until he started seeming uncomfortable, so you turned to Jean instead, hoping you didn't mess up already. Jean had taken notice of it and assured you that you were fine and definitely not on Diluc's 'avoid list'. He merely disliked small talk.

But what kind of talk were you suppose to talk if not small talk? You'd just met the guy. And, considering the fact that you and him seemed to disagree on things like Knights of Favonius morals, it was the only talk you'd be able to go through.

Maybe he'll form a better opinion of you by overhearing your conversation with Jean. It goes much the same like Diluc's: introductions, names and the like.

Then, she says, "Kaeya talks a lot about you."

You spare him a glance and see him trying to sneak away from you discreetly, "Does he now?" Though you're no fool and notice he's joking. If he really wanted to leave in secret, he'd be able to do it much more efficiently.

You see him take a deep breath before turning, wide grin on his face. "Guilty."

You roll your eyes at him, something else the observant Jean also notices. "You must be close." She remarks.

This prompts you to actually think of your relationship, and yeah, you are close. It's no guess or assumption either. "We are."

Kaeya notices the smile that acompanies those words.

Meeting your friend's friends tends to be awkward, so instead of trying to come up with conversations on your own, everyone tries to talk about something based off of the environment.

There's the merchants and their prices, Crepus's menu vs. your father's, liquor (somehow, with Diluc and Jean not being the biggest fans), dogs and cats, favorite foods, until eventually you'd somehow ended up on the topic of knighthood and protection. Did knights protect the city or the citizens?

After some debate, the answer had come down to the citizens, something both the Ragnvindrs had easily chosen. It was something they were compassionate about, protecting the people. However, Jean had argued that the knights also protected the city. There was no debating whether or not the citizens were protected by the knights, so that answer came easy. Then it came to whether it was both or just the citizens.

You posed the question, "If something came to destroy the city, only its buildings, would you protect it or evacuate the citizens and build anew?"

That really narrowed it down to the citizens. The city had a rich history, if it were to be destroyed, many important libraries and intricately built churches would have to come down with it. However, what had become clear was that the people were what really made up Mondstadt.

"Good question." Diluc says.

"Thank you."

"You know, you'd make a good knight." Jean remarks.

Both Kaeya's and your eyebrows shoot up high into your hairlines. "No." Kaeya denies it immediately, "I mean, look at him, he's weaker than a pickle."

"Kaeya, you have boasted about his strength before." Jean points out, not that you'd know.

Kaeya continues to deny, even if his brother can also back up Jean's statement. "I didn't say that. Must've been... someone else. You heard it from someone else, yeah. Must've been from Albert or something."

"Have you ever met Albert, (y/n)?" Diluc asks you.

"No." You reply with a laugh.

He laughs along with you, "Do tell us why he wouldn't be a good knight, dear brother."

Kaeya has nothing to say. He's known, for a long time, that you'd make a good knight. You loved Mondstadt as if you were raised here, even if you weren't. There were so many other reasons that he couldn't deny either.

"You've got nothing?"

He shakes his head with a sigh.

"Then I'll say why he would be a good one." Jean turns to you, "You've got the duty, responsibility, and ambition for it. But most of all, you have a love for the people. Why have we only just met? I'd have recommended you to Varka already!"

"I know why." Diluc speaks up. Being his brother, he knew him best.

Kaeya puts a hand over his mouth to shut him up, but Diluc just bites it. "Ow, Diluc!" He whines, "THE youngest Captain here, folks."

Diluc chooses to ignore him, "He wanted to keep (y/n) all for himself."

"What?" You blurt out.

Kaeya, on the other hand, covers his face in shame.

"Admit it, Kaeya." Diluc laughs, propping his chin up on his hand. "Your big brother knows you best! You can't deny it."

Instead of replying with words, Kaeya replies with actions. He knocks Diluc's elbow off the table, taking his head down with it.

The captain groans, but his pain is soon covered up by anger. "Oh, you little–!"

The Ragnvindr brothers bicker back and forth, leaving you and Jean to watch in amusement. You'd heard of this famous fighting before, but to see it in person was a different thing.

Kaeya was a charmer, but he was also annoying when he wanted to be. He baited his big brother into trying to get at him; then, as he predicted, he'd dodge whatever Diluc threw at him and as the red head recovered, he'd jab back.

"Alright, alright, that's enough you two." Jean stops them, as entertained as she is from their fighting.

Regardless, Diluc doesn't release his deathly grip from Kaeya's ponytail.

"Okay, fine, I admit it." Kaeya finally says, which causes Diluc to let go triumphantly.

"Was that so hard?" Diluc teases, despite being the one with the messy hair and clearly more pain.

"Maybe. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. I bet that's something 'big brother' doesn't know, huh?"

Against your best friend's wishes, you'd joined the Knights of Favonius.

But before patrol, and all the boring stuff, came training. And even before that, there was a test that narrowed down your strengths and your weaknesses, what came to you as natural as breathing and what was beyond your inexperienced reach.

Your results had been similar to Kaeya's and, though odd, it meant you were taught by him. He was an exceptional knight, which delegated him the task of training recruits.

That also meant that he was your higher-up, and boy did he love to rub it in your face. He took every chance he had to do so. But, you suppose you should be grateful for this, he also gave you special treatment.

Even so, it didn't mean he'd hold back. There was an odd number of recruits, so when one on one sparring came around, he was your partner.

The amount of times he had his sword at your neck, or somewhere even more delicate, was too great for you to get back at him for. So there's that competition you'll never be able to beat him at.

"Stop trying to dance around me."

"Oh?" You snicker, "Or what?"

"I guess I'll start danncing too!"

Kaeya was fond of dancing around his opponents, it was his preferred fighting style. It didn't require as much work, or so he thought. When his opponent was tired out from all the failed strikes and lunges, he'd retaliate. As it turned out, you liked it too, even though you didn't know it was an entirely different style than the one you were being taught.

Kaeya would've liked to teach you, but this was the basics training and you weren't the only one trying to learn.

"That's it, I'm–"

Kaeya's 'heat of the moment' shout was promptly cut off by the man behind him. He had been so caught up in the sparring that he hadn't noticed the grandmaster himself approach him. "Mr. Ragnvindr?"

Kaeya whips around the entire one-eighty turn in a split second. "Grandmaster Varka!" He greets with a flourished bow, acting innocently to cover up his boisterous shout. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Varka simply laughs, "May I have some space?" He guides Kaeya off to the side with his arm so that he may not cover the recruit behind him; who was, well, you.

"You're (y/n)?" He asks.

"Yes, sir." You answer politely. This was the very grandmaster in front of you. If you weren't intimidated by his title already, his powerful figure would take the cake.

"Recommended by Jean and Diluc."

You press your lips together nervously as he continues.

"I can see why." He clears his throat and turns to Kaeya, "May I take him off your hands?"

"What?" Kaeya blurts out.

"What?" You find yourself doing the same.

<✦>

Grandmaster Varka was a busy man, not that the average citizen seemed to think so. For them, life was hardly, well, hard. There weren't any 'professional' bandits around, treasure hoarders infiltrating the city or danger in general.

For the grandmaster, however, danger was around every corner. The reconnaissance department told him of it every day, and so he appropriately assigned the other departments to take care of it. Then came some minor disputes not worthy of the King or a tribunal that he took upon himself to mediate. And finally came paperwork. Oh, paperwork. The pile was never empty.

At any rate, even he knew the importance of breaks. It was rather unfortunate that these breaks would still be filled with work, or at least that which was related. It never seemed to bother him anyway.

He liked to watch new recruits as they were trained. Each time there was a new group, he loved watching them grow from fledgeling to eagle. But this particular day, in this particular training group, there was a bird amongst the fledgelings, and he was most noticeable.

You.

"You know, for having the grandmaster as a trainer, I thought training would be more fun."

He rolls his eye, "Training is hardly fun."

He had you repeating the same three movements one after another, straight after each other. It was utterly boring; and you knew it, by the end of the day, you would end up sore and stiff as wood.

Granted, he was repeating them with you, like moral support; but it didn't help at all.

To top it off, there was more to his training than training. There was also speeches, lectures, lessons to be learned—what you would do just to crawl back to Kaeya's classes!

"Put your back into it."

"Your lunges are weak."

"Your footwork's all wrong."

"Are you actually trying?"

"What if I'm not?" You huff, leaving your sword arm by your side. Your arm was already swore after all that, then again after all these days, it was sore all the time.

He shakes his head and sighs disappointedly at you, but you don't pick up the work again. "Training is important, and–"

"And I'm not even sure if this is actually training! What progress is there to make?" If it weren't for exhaustion, you'd be throwing your arms up in the air to make a point. "All there is just ha! Hu! Ah!" You repeat the motions he'd taught you, "Rinse and repeat!"

"You don't think it important?" He remains calm, as if laughing at your frustration.

"No." You snap without hesitation.

"Alright then. Spar me."

That catches you off guard, "What?"

"You heard me, recruit. Spar me. That's training, right?" You couldn't disagree with that, and Varka knew that. You'd be too weak for him, he'd win the fight easily, and you'd return to the training he'd set out for you. It was an easy plan.

Varka readies his sword, you ready yours. There is no whistle, no call to signify the start of the spar, just movement.

The grandmaster takes the offense, which inevitably makes you take the defense.

You try, as hard as you can, to turn the tides of the fight; to take the offense and win the fight. But each opportunity you take, Varka parries, counterattacks, and moves on.

He makes it look so easy.

You imitate the way he parries, blocks and deflects. It makes your defense stronger; but you can't win the fight without taking offense.

When you find the final opportunity, your back hits a wall.

Varka takes a lunge which you block, but in a swift movement, the tip of his blade snags under your handguard and twists the hilt out of your grasp.

You can't lose like this.

Magic. It calls your name. After six years, it finally returned to you.

"You see, (y/n)–" Varka blinks, and suddenly, you've got your sword to his neck.

You snicker, "You were saying?"

He blinks again and again, rapidly, as he tries to figure out what just happened. He can't come up with a conclusion on his own, not when he saw the sword begin to fall to the ground just a second ago. "What happened?"

"I called my sword to my hand." You say, simply, drunk on the joy of victory. It was no easy task, using magic after so long, but it came naturally.

"Fascinating." Varka grins. He doesn't let the defeat get to him, he'd felt defeat so many times already in his lifetime. "You– I underestimated you. Yes, yes, you were right. From now on, we train from dawn to dusk."

"What?"

"I'll bring a battle mage. They'll train you on that, and I'll train your swordfighting. I'll teach you everything I know!" He rambles on, a sparkle in his eye.

You got far more than you bargained for.

After those six months of training, you had made yourself a reputation. At first, it was the Knight that Varka trained, then it became Mage Swordsman, and Undefeated.

You had everything that Diluc and Jean expected from you.

But, after so little time, it became clear to the Knights that Kaeya was influencing you. To prevent that, they put the two of you in different departments. Kaeya remained under his dear brother's command while you were put in reconnaissance, under another young Captain, Eula.

Quickly, however, the actual truth came out. You were simply similar, it wasn't Kaeya influencing you. And the switch in departments? It didn't stop the two of you from meeting up with each other, whether during work hours or no.

Speaking of, most Knight meetings were quite honestly boring, and sometimes so was patrol. So when you both knew there was nothing to lose, you would skip your duties.

By the time you were seventeen, you had mastered the way of avoiding the rest of the knights, which was impressive because you'd only spent about a third of your year as a sixteen year old as a knight.

You had to admit, knight work was much harder than you thought, and you sort of understood why Kaeya wanted to keep you far from it. Regardless, the benefits outweighed the exhaustion. Keeping the citizens safe was a wonderful reward. There was no quitting now.

The harder part of skipping was avoiding other knights so that they wouldn't discover you, and like Diluc, snitch on you.

Oftentimes it meant you had to hide in... cramped places.

"For the love of– move the other way!"

"I have no more space!"

"Yes you do! I can clearly see some space right there!"

"No I don—Oh," He chuckles, "I do."

"Then move already!"

"Shh, shh! They're coming this way–"

Silence... Did you also mention you'd gotten extremely good at staying still in uncomfortable positions and holding your breath?

One thing new about today, though, was that the hiding spot was different. It was cramped, yes, and so were many others, but the space was distributed differently. You'd hidden in mostly sort of tube-y spaces that had you alongside each other, not something like this.

"Are they gone?"

"Yeah, I think so."

You turn back to each other with grins, then realize. He notices first, moving his eye the other way as if something was wrong. "What's up, another one coming?"

"No." He replies with a gulp.

"What is it, then?" You notice it now. "Oh."

If either of you so much as moved your head to the side, it'd force the corner of your lips to meet.

"Ahem," You clear your throat, trying to diffuse the awkward... tension and silence. "how about you turn this way and I'll turn that way?"

"Sounds good." He mutters.

"Alright." You don't nod, afraid it'd force something.

You turn towards the inside of the crevice while Kaeya turns the other way and manages to stumble out. You follow suit.

"That was–"

"I'm sorry for suggesting that spot."

"I thought I did?"

"No, I did."

"No, it was definitely me."

"Then I'm sorry for following along." Kaeya presses his lips into a thin line, "I mean, it was a small space. I was a fool to even accept."

"No, no, you can't blame yourself like that. Going along, after I convinced you? You're not the one to blame. I–"

Before you can continue, Kaeya grabs a hold of your collar. Then he brings you forward, towards him, and kisses you. It doesn't take you long to reciprocate—you'd be lying if you said you weren't thinking about it.

"Then let's say neither of us is the one to blame." Kaeya says, charming smile on his face. Excitement almost leads it to break out into a grin.

The kiss was short, much too short for your liking. Instead of replying, you cup his cheeks and bring him back to you. Kaeya laughs into the kiss, not even trying to flinch away from shock.

You part from him only for a moment so that you may speak. "If it means we get to kiss then, whew," Kaeya laughs and you, for the love of Favonius, love it. "gladly."

Your parents told you that Kaeya and you were in your honeymoon phase, which was weird because you weren't even married. If it implied something bad, the words 'honeymoon phrase' hardly meant anything to you, anyway. Maybe they would later, but at the moment you couldn't think of anything except him.

It seemed that thinking went both ways.

"Hey." Kaeya greets breathlessly, as if he's been running.

"Kaeya? Hey." You greet with a laugh as you stare him up and down. He's dripping wet from head to toe, hair slick and clothes soaked in water. Clearly, he's not got an umbrella on him. "What are you doing here? It's storming outside!"

"I wanted to see you." He says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

"During a thunderstorm? Couldn't have waited 'till it was over?"

"Nuh-uh!" He says childishly. "I mean, what if the rain lasted the entire day? I'd have to wait until tomorrow. Besides," He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it, "I really wanted to kiss you. Still do."

"That badly, huh?" Not that you're complaining.

"Mhm."

Kaeya brings you in close for a kiss, pressing his soaking wet clothes against your dry ones. You were far too into it to really care, though. When you part to let Kaeya further into your home, he bursts out laughing.

With a raised brow, you stare where he's staring, straight at yourself.

Everywhere that Kaeya had pressed against you, along with his arms that had wrapped around your back, was marked by water. "Look at what you've done." You chuckle, "I'm gonna have to change now."

"I'd like to see that."

"Kaeya!"

<✦>

Of course, you couldn't let your boyfriend (Gods, you loved that. Your boyfriend) hang around with wet clothes. He could catch a cold! You didn't want that. Otherwise, you might get sick from kissing him.

When you emerge from your closet in a fresh change of clothes, you catch Kaeya staring down at himself. He pulls the collar of your shirt away from his chest, and you're not sure if he's staring at the clothing or his body. His emotions are indiscernible, which in itself is worriesome.

"Are you alright, darling?"

Kaeya purses his lips, eye darting between you and the clothes, back and forth as if he's deciding something. "Yeah." He says at first. "Just..."

"Are my clothes too big?" You ask, "Too small?"

"No, no, none of that. Just..." He trails off when he begins to explain himself again. His eye settle on the clothing.

Ah.

"Is it cause it's mine?"

Kaeya seemes to shrink in on himself, "No!" He shouts, letting go of the shirt collar and covering his face. If he's trying to deny it, he's doing a terrible job. "Err... yeah." He admits.

You smile smugly, taking advantage of his covered eye to crawl behind him on the bed.

"Well, you are my boyfriend." Kaeya yelps at your sudden proximity and flinches back, straight into your arms as planned. "What better way to show everyone than by having you wear things that are also mine?"

"Oh, for Barbatos's sake..." You hear Kaeya mutter under his breath.

You snicker, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pulling his back against your chest as you sink down against the bed. Kaeya ends up in your embrace, shuffling so he can lay his head next to yours. "You're infuriating, you are." He says.

"Oh, am I?"

He can't help but laugh, "Yes you are."

"Infuriating enough for a kiss?" You ask, leaning closer to him.

"I think that'd mean the opposite but," He stares into your eyes, and admires your face; your lovely, kissable face. "how could I resist?"

He leans in to kiss you.

<✦>

The next day, you both get up early for knight duties. Unfortunately while you were distracted, your parents had taken Kaeya's clothes to be cleaned. Of course, in their eyes, it was an act of service. Little did they know it meant that not only did he have to borrow sleeping clothes from you the day before, but also a Knight's uniform today.

Knights' uniforms were labeled with names so as to not cause confusion, so not only was Kaeya wearing your clothes, he was also technically labeled as yours.

The quartermaster waits by the front door yet again waiting for you. He looked much the same as yesterday, flustered as he stares down at himself.

"Well, well, well. I thought wearing my clothes was enough." You stand at the top of the stairs, smug look on your face he wants to wipe away. "But this? This takes the cake."

"Oh, shut up." Kaeya groans, but even he can't keep the grin off his face. When you make it down to him, he pulls you in for a kiss.

"The quartermaster, labeled as mine." You say triumphantly as you part. "You can keep these, by the way."

Kaeya would be lying if he said his heart didn't flutter.

<✦>

On the eve of Kaeya's seventeenth birthday, you and him had gone on a night out in town, far from both your parents' bars and to the others. Tomorrow was for family celebration: balloons, candles, confetti, and giant hugs. Today was for just the two of you: dim lights, satisfying delights, and a personal blight—even if it meant he'd start his birthday morning sour and hungover.

Spoiling him came easy to you. You had earned plenty from the knight work, which naturally meant that he had too, but the lack of income difference didn't divert your objective of the night.

Speaking of, it had been spent well. The rush of excitement and fun felt like a waterfall, permanently ongoing and always gushing. The cats at the Cat's Tail had begun your evening with serene cuteness, then the drinks fueled the rest of your night.

With bottles to go, you began exploring the city. Living here for over five years, and having the time from skipping work, you had known it almost like the back of your hand; that was, your district of the city. You hadn't explored much of the rest of it.

You had hoped to find a hidden gem, somewhere nice and secluded with a good view of the night sky and an even better lounge.

As luck would have it, your goal was accomplished, and you spent much of the night there basking in each other's presence.

But, like a waterfall, the fun had to fall somewhere.

Although you don't recall when you had changed your name to 'fun'.

"Ah, shit!"

You thought you had mastered what was the physical activity of going down the steps of staircase well enough by the age of three. At the very least well enough to not fall.

You had thought wrong.

You fall on your back, half on the stairs, half on the landing. The edges are rough in places you definitely didn't want. At first, as you were drunk both in love and in liquor, you had laugh the whole ordeal off.

Kaeya came to you quick, a giggle upon his lips. He had pulled you off the floor unceremoniously, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "Prince charming to the rescue."

You glance down at your shoes, "Last time I checked, Cinderella lost her shoe."

"Maybe you will, at the end of the night." It almost sounds like he was hoping for it. "There's still another bit of stairs up ahead."

You had laughed at that again, then continued on your journey back home. But, as you take your first unassisted step, you nearly fall over again.

Had the pain in your voice not been so clear so quick, Kaeya would've joked about that coming sooner than he thought.

"You alright, love?" He asks, squatting down beside you and propping your torso up on his lap.

"Mmmf, no–no," You wince, finally feeling the excrutiating pain. "I don't think so."

"Well shit." He says.

The moment had sobered you up. Like a real damsel in distress and his prince charming, Kaeya needed to bring you up like a bride in his arms and take you to the nearest Knight's Headquarters. They'd be the only people awake this time of the night.

So there you were that dawn, far from the last destination of your plan. Whereas you'd planned to be sharing a sweet–whether dessert or kiss–on your balcony back at home, you were here at a foreign Knight of Favonius HQ, being treated by foreign knights on a foreign district.

Not to mention you had indeed lost your shoe, somewhat.

Here you were, one shoe on the good leg, cast on the bad leg, and lost shoe on the floor beside your (foreign) bed.

Worst of all, Kaeya was sent back home. This was not how you wanted to spend your sunrise.

<✦>

The next day, the foreign HQ had sent you back to your home province. However, they had sent you not home to your parents or their bar, but to the district's HQ. The worst part about it was the humiliation that had come from the Knight friends.

That was something you did not wish to remember, and in fact, it was also something you wish you could erase from your memory.

Kaeya's birthday celebration had gone well, or as well as it could've gone with your broken ankle. He had eased you as best he could, stating that the ankle didn't change things and that you were still his boyfriend (which you knew, and the fact he felt the need to say it was offending).

Regardless of the injury, the day was actually one you would cherish in your memories for a long time. But that day was not what led you on this path; it was the weeks following.

Since you had been rendered immobile, you had been assigned the lowly job of assisstant librarian whilst you recovered. The new librarian, Lisa, had to get accomodated to the new books and such that had been added whilst she was gone.

With you being bored, you had chatted with her a lot. She was fond of relaxation and breaks but, at the end of the day, there was still work to do. Mostly book collection. In the absence of a dedicated librarian, many books had been borrowed and never returned. The list had grown long in the years that Lisa was away at the Academia, and she had made up her mind to shorten it.

So finally, you were alone in the library. Lisa had done much of the organizing duties you were both assigned to, so you were left with nothing to do but sit and await her return so you could continue talking.

Though, as she left, she gave you a piece of advice: "Books contain much wisdom, and if it is not that that you are seeking," She pauses with a chuckle, "they can also entertain you."

You decided to take her advice.

Many books with titles or covers that had interested you ended up being lengthy novels. You didn't think you had the time to finish them by the time your ankle was healed. So, regrettably, you left them on the shelf and continued searching.

A lot of books had caught your eye. However, it was not until you had unknowingly wandered into the restricted section that you found a book that you'd commit yourself to.

The Extinct Magics of Teyvat. That was the one.

Lisa was gone for the rest of the afternoon, which meant she wasn't here to scold you and lock the book away somewhere safe.

You had read through the introduction, noticing that it was not a story book and an actual book on learning these 'magics'. So you had decided to put the book away. However, when you found the place you had gotten it from, you realized its true nature. It was a forbidden book. That had piqued your interest even more.

Upon reading past the introdcution, you found the reason why these practices were extinct. They were extremely taboo and clashed with your morality. However, after reading about them, you had discovered their use. Most were far more than useful, they made so many things much better.

Telepathy! It could reveal the master plans of thieves, their patrols and future goals. Sanguimancy could elongate lives.

Necromancy was far from what you thought it was. It wasn't (only) summoning the dead to your malicious command. It was also a healing magic.

This magic could make the world better.

You were going to learn one of these, if not all. You were determined to do so.

Over the weeks as your ankle healed and Lisa left the library, the book had become your teacher. Its techniques became your techniques, its morals seeping into yours.

And, once you had finally healed, you practiced even more. To mask your sudden interest in magic books, you had taken up illusion magic as well. It could be used well on the battlefield and it was the perfect magic for distraction, the perfect mask.

When the mask had been perfected, you were able to take the book (disguised as another) and practice in your spare time, even if it meant it had to be in hiding.

<✦>

"To protect the citizens of Mondstadt," A steel, ceremonious sword engraved with ancient writing meets the top of your head, "under Favonius's watchful eye," your left shoulder, "and with permission from the King," and your right shoulder, "I declare you 'Illusionary Knight'."

Varka had always kept a serious face in these crownings. But, what you'd never notice if you weren't kneeling at his feet, is his subtle smile. He smiles down softly at you, knowing you as the culmination of his teachings.

You smile back up, letting your grin be shown to the world.

<✦>

When you were given the title 'Illusionary Knight', you knew the world would be better for as long as you helped it.

You think your ten year old self would be proud of you.

The little boy had always been good at magic. He had little else to do, as he was new to Mondstadt, terribly shy and had a lot of spare time on his hands. You had always known he had an affinity for magic, but he knew it most. Finally having access to a library and books to learn from, he had borrowed a book from the library, one that another young magic user had recommended.

They were basic spells, but still, they would be hard for beginners. He, however, had not found them hard.

In only a month, he had learnt the summoning of the four basic elements decently. Then, he had learnt the other elements: electo, cryo, and dendro.

But, as he grew older, he needed to help his parents. He was a growing boy, and he needed to grow his sense of responsibility. He had begun to stray away from magic in favor of helping his family grow into Mondstadters.

Then, finally, came the day where he returned the book.

The ten your old you would be glad to have magic back. It was the thing that interested him most. It was his passion.

Only seven years later, it has become your passion again. You were doing him justice.

The first magic you had learned from the book, as well as the first you had perfected, was Necromancy. It was the farthest from what you thought it was, a healing magic, a fighting magic, and always a magic that benefited the world in the right hands.

You thought your hands were the ones fit for the job.

When the regular healers had worked themselves to the bone, burnt out and energyless, a necromancer could take over. When the army needed numbers, one necromancer could work the same as hundreds of men.

Most of all, necromancers needed a sense of responsibility. To be able to give and take away any and all life force, one needed to know a life's value, and well at that. Learning the magic, practicing it to its extents, it gave you that, the right judgement, and much more.

You knew Necromancy was a great magic, but you also knew many people thought otherwise. You couldn't convince an entire kingdom, especially its stubborn king, to think of Necromancy in a different light.

So, you practiced in secret, then executed the magic in secret.

Once the people's faith in you had been secured, you would convince those close to you that Necromancy wasn't what people thought it was. You would show them.

For some reason, you thought everyone would understand.

<✦>

Necromancy was a hard magic to practice. For one, you had to do it in secret. For two, you needed something alive to test it. Most of the magics in the book did, anyway. For the moment, you had only practiced using your own life force. Today you were going to try something new.

You knew you were only going to do good with Necromancy, but it was scary to manipulate another's life force. Not to mention the ethics of it.

Animals would help you, you thought. After practicing on them, you'd treat them to a meal. If they didn't run away.

Phew. Here goes nothing.

"Hey, darling–"

"AH!" You turn quickly, hand forward and fingers splayed, ready to use some kind of spell to knock whoever found you out. You didn't even know such a spell.

"Relax." Kaeya puts his hands up in the air in surrender, "It's just me."

"Oh," You breathe out a sigh of relief, your offensive stance entirely deflating. You sink down to the floor. "good. Barbatos's breath... oof, you gave me a scare."

"Sorry about that." He smiles cheekily. "What were you practicing?" He raises a brow, staring at the bird trapped in a cage. As far as he knew, you didn't own a pet bird.

"Necromancy."

"Ah."

The exchange was simple, as he already knew. He'd helped you with the Amber and book fiasco a week ago.

"And you've chosen a bird to be your test subject?" He grimaces, "Cruel."

He was just joking, you knew that. Regardless, it frightened you deeply. You didn't want to use Necromancy to hurt anybody! He notices your troubled look. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

You stare down with a frown. "Yeah, I know."

"Hey," His hand meets your chin and he uses that to make you look up at him. "If it makes you feel better, you can practice on me."

"What?" You blurt out, flinching away from his hold, "No way."

"I'll understand!" He assures. "That little bird over there? It won't know."

You sigh as you think about it. He was right. Of course he was. But Kaeya? You didn't want to hurt him! You couldn't hurt him. You didn't even know if you had it in you.

"Trust me, darling." He comes closer to you again, slower this time. "I won't mind."

"Gods, Gods." You repeat, "Fuck, okay."

Kaeya grins, hopping in place excitedly. "You can do it, (y/n)."

"Yeah." You nod. He was right. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, remembering everything that you'd learned so far from the book. The healing spells using your own life force and the new lesson on using other's life force. Here goes nothing.

"Wow." He groans, and your eyes immediately snap open, only to see that he was stretching. "I feel," He yawns, "tired. Was that it?"

"Just tired?" You ask.

"Yup. Oh, oh wait, ow..."

"What? What is it?" You perk up, immediately rushing over to his side. "Were you injured already?"

"Yeah, I didn't think anything of it though. I cut myself entering this little bush clearing of yours." He shows you his thumb which has a little cut on it. "Oh." He says, finally seeing the wound again.

Traces of magic wave in the wind above the cut. They're black in color and move like smoke. "Shit! I'm sorry." You move quick to fix your mistakes.

"Nah, it's alright." He assures, giving you the best smile he can muster. He was under a lot of pain that he didn't want you to know about. "I told you to practice on me."

Using the life force you had taken from him, you heal him. The cut on his thumb closes over like nothing, and the skin looks normal. Most importantly, all his pain ceases. "Wow." Kaeya says again. There's a sparkle in his eye. "That was cool."

"Yeah, I think it's pretty cool." You agree, your eyes still on his thumb.

When you stare up at him again, his eye is already on yours. The shock causes you to shy away a bit.

"Aw, c'mere." He beckons, though he doesn't wait for you to do it on your own. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, letting you rest your nose against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, love."

"I know I did..." You sigh into his shoulder, "don't hide it from me."

"Alright." He admits, "You did well, though. The spell worked as intended, and you healed me as well."

That, you couldn't deny. "Yeah."

"You're going to do great things."

<✦>

"You remind me of a peacock."

Kaeya snickers, "Do I, now? Out of all animals, a peacock. Silliest name in the animal kingdom."

"Oh, shut up. It's not about the name." But you laugh too. It's a laugh that rumbles out of your chest and Kaeya can feel its vibration as he lays his head on you.

"Then what is it about?" He asks, drawing circles on your arm.

"Peacocks spread their wings to win the girl's heart, yeah? But they're not spread all day, every day, otherwise they'd be too eye-catching and fall prey to predators." He hums in affirmation. "Well you're a charming guy when you need to be."

"Is that how I won your heart? I spread my wings?"

You roll your eyes, "I'm not done yet. You're pretty much resident interrogator when we manage to find a treasure hoarder in the midst of their plan. You're not threatening them or anything like Diluc, you're coercing the information out of them. So basically, you spread your wings."

"So what I said earlier was correct."

"Suppose so.." You grumble. "Anyway, sometimes you try to go at things unnoticed. Like when we're skipping meetings together? You've retracted your wings."

"Still a little weird. I mean," He laughs at what he's about to say, "you can't just go around calling me peacock."

"Who says I was going to? I'm just thinking out loud over here! Although, I could find nicknames that derive off of it. How about, hmm," You hum as you think, "sweet pea?"

"Awfully corny."

"You liked it though."

<✦>

Kaeya hums to himself as he works away. It's a tune you hardly recognize, but it's nice to listen to all the same. You find your thoughts drifting away from the constant snip of scissors and to the melody's possible origins.

It wasn't of Monstadt-make. It didn't sound like anything a tavern bard or Mondstadt's classical musicians had made before.

Then, if it was foreign, where could Kaeya have heard it from? He was too young or low rank for Knight expeditions. Perhaps it came from a traveler, but then why would it stick with him?

Snip.

"Sweet pea?" The nickname had stuck.

"Yeah?"

"What're you humming?"

Sniiip. He pauses in his movements. You sat in front of him as he cut away at your hair, so you couldn't see his expression. Maybe he hadn't even realized he was humming a tune and was busy recalling it, but why had he paused for so long? "Kaeya?"

He clears his throat, "Sorry, um," Snip. "I don't really know. I only know it came from my childhood."

"Ah." No wonder he had stopped so abruptly. "It seems a lullaby."

Kaeya hums it to confirm it himself. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe my mother sung it to me." He trails off with a sigh.

His mother. In every waking moment of his life, Kaeya had never had a mother. He didn't remember his life without the Ragnvindrs, and there was no Mrs. Ragnvindr. No mother figure... except the maids of Dawn Winery.

"What's it like to have a mother?"

"Uhm.." You bite your lip. You'd always had one. The concept wasn't exactly easy to explain. "It's like she knows everything about you, even if you haven't told her. She can sense when you're not feeling your best, and she's always there whenever that's the case. She cares for you deeply. When you're younger, she's there, at your bedside, reading you stories; and when you're growing older, she's explaining growth to you."

"Crepus did a lot of those things." Kaeya notes.

"I suppose Crepus had to juggle both roles... She cuts your hair for you, too."

"Does she?" He laughs. It lightens up the mood.

"Well... there's that. I'm done." He declares, spinning your chair around to face him and handing you a hand mirror. "There goes a year's worth of hair. Why'd you want to grow it, anyway?"

"Wanted to see how long it'd get in a year." You say, staring at the new haircut. "I'm a bit surprised it didn't reach your length."

"This is over ten years of growth, (y/n)." He snickers, "Dunno what you were expecting."

"I mean, at least you gave me a new style." You remark. "I like it."

<✦>

Days out in the market, when work was slow and you were allowed more breaks, were a fun time. Today, though, Kaeya was still working and you weren't. You had to admit it was a bit boring. Every moment without him was dull.

The merchants advertised their wares with calls and shouts, "Fresh bread available!"

"Dessert for your sweet tooths! Everyone's got one!"

Among these, a child shouts as loud as the adults. "New flowers for sale! Limited time only! Flowers from out Mondstadt! Sweet peas, laven–"

Sweet peas?

Without a thought, your feet carried you to the stall. "Flora?"

The kid smiles at you, waving a hand over her flower pots. "That's me, and these are my flora! Refrain from touching, but don't refrain from buying."

You chuckle, "Damn, already in the business, ey?"

"You betcha!" She giggles innocently, a contrast from her next words. "Don't stand still and clog up the line."

You can't disobey the kid's orders, but you knew what you came for anyway. "Could I get a bouquet of sweet peas?"

<✦>

Kaeya was clearly tired. He rested his head against Jean's desk, his head propped up on his arms. He wasn't sleeping, as exhausted as he was. He still had work to do, a fresh pile of paperwork. Was this the life of a captain? Suddenly he wasn't looking forward to being one anymore.

"Are you okay, sweet pea?"

He lifts his head up with a sigh, "As okay as can be. I thought captain work would be more fun but," He gestures towards the desk, which is covered in papers. "clearly not."

"Hm." You hum as you glance over it. "Varka just had to leave, didn't he?"

"And Jean just had to be acting grand master and she just had to choose me to take over her work." He groans, covering his face with his hands nad rubbing at his temples.

"You are the quartermaster."

"I regret accepting." The words come out muffled. Then, he remembers your work day. "How was the break?" He says, somewhat scornfully.

"Productive." You reply cheerfully. It's as if you have a hop in your step.

"Oh yeah? How?" It's only then that Kaeya notices you've got your hands behind your back. "What're you hiding from me?" He asks, suspicion in his tone.

"Oh, nothing." You declare, grin only widening.

"Love, I don't have the time for this." He gives you a pointed look. "The thread of patience I have left is about to snap and you don't want to see what happens."

"Okay, okay." You raise a hand in surrender. The other one stays behind your back but for a moment. The next second, you're brandishing the bouquet of flowers. "I got you these."

For the first time since he was given captain duties, Kaeya smiles. "What are they?"

You hand them over and Kaeya inspects them, but neither of you are really gardeners. "Sweet peas." You say.

He shakes his head with a huffed laugh. "Sweet peas for your sweet pea?"

"Yeah." You affirm as you round the desk. "You callin' yourself mine?"

"I thought we'd established this." He replies, glancing up at you from the flowers. His eye is forming that happy crescents. You feel accomplished.

"Oh, yeah, maybe." You rub your chin, like you had a long wizard beard, as you feign thinking about it. "Think it was in the heat of the moment though. Did it count?"

"Yeah, it did." He reaches forward for you, but you skirt around his touch.

"I mean," You scoff, "really?"

"Look, darling, we're not drinking tea like Jean and Eula do. C'mere." He beckons.

"Truly?" You persist, feigning consideration, humming like you're meditating and rubbing at your chin.

"Fucking hell." Kaeya mutters. He stands from his seat, basically chasing down the small couple of steps there are between you and taking you in his arms. He abandons the flowers at his desk. "Do you have to be so difficult?"

"Yes." You answer cheekily.

He rolls his eye, "You hardly deserve the kiss I'm 'bout to give you."

"Oh, yea–?" You're cut off as he kisses you, like he promised.

A year later, after spending your eighteenth mastering Necromancy and your ninteenth beginning to make the world a better place, disaster struck.

One day, a Fatui hideout near Mondstadt was exposed to the Knights. Along with its location, information of its malicious plans and doings were also spread. The Fatui themselves didn't know that they had been exposed, so the Knights planned to infiltrate the hideout and cease its operations forcefully before anyone could be harmed.

What none of you knew was that the Fatui had let the information of its existence spread deliberately. They were not planning to infiltrate Mondstadt at all.

They waited in ambush.

The knights were outnumbered. What was to be a silent infiltration became a loud, violent bloodshed.

Reinforcement party after reinforcement party was called in. One by one, only some soldiers came back battered and bruised and broken, but still they proclaimed that the fight was not over.

In the end, it was the knights with hard-earned titles that saved the day, though that you would not know.

The latest reinforcement party had been sent. You were to be sent in the next.

All around you, in the makeshift medic's tent, lives were ending. Valiant warriors struggled to not succumb to their end. Those of which had been sent on the mission initially, or at least those that had made it back, could barely keep their eyes open. It was a graveyard.

However, thanks to your Necromancy, you knew who would make it. Even if their life force drained right in front of your eyes, you knew they'd pull through.

So you assured them, you assured each of them that they could rest, that the knights would win and that they'd continue their lives peacefully.

But there were two people that had come back from the battle that concerned you the most. One of them, you knew, was on the brink of death. The other would soon join them.

One of their life forces was draining rapidly... the other had some hope.

Perhaps you could save one of them if you just used your magic.

That's what you should've asked yourself. You should've considered the consequences, thought your predictions out fully. But you weren't thinking.

The least amount of people had to die, and if it meant one instead of an almost impossible two, so be it.

With the wave of your hand, someone drew their last breath and someone else regained theirs.

You were foolish. Oh so foolish.

<✦>

You had been found out, of course. Medics were still working away trying to save them and sorcerers could sense the magical death, especially when it left behind traces of Necromancy.

At the time, you had thought you made the correct decision.

Even as you laid your back against the harsh stone of your so called cot, staring up at the brick ceiling and the sparse overgrowth of your cell, you thought you were in the right.

Even if you barely knew if you'd ever see someone else again.

Varka had visited you first, accompanied by two royal guards. It was as if all his trust for you was gone, as if you'd attack him outright if it weren't for the cuffs around you wrists. He reprimanded you on your choices, berated you on your thoughts. He said you weren't in your right mind. And that book of yours? He'd discovered it.

You thought the grand master had always been fond of you, you knew it. He had always had faith in you and your abilities, believing that you could tackle anything in your path. There was reason he taught you all of that.

While you weren't wrong, his faith and reputation in you had been shattered instantly once he had learned of your wrongdoings.

You had tried to convince him, then, that you had done the right thing. And you had tried again–only then, instead on Necromancy's benefits–the many other times he visited you.

You could sense he believed you in some way, even if he did not show it.

But that would come later. The second man to visit you was the king himself. He was accompanied not only by the same two royal guards Varka was with earlier, but by many more as well; as if he had brought his entire arsenal. His lack of trust in you was evident.

He did a lot of things, a lot of unkingly things; but you've never really considered him a king anyway.

He calls you names, a disappointment to the Knights and your parents, a low life... but more importantly, he orders your execution right in your face.

The days ahead of you were numbered.

In three months time, your head would be severed by guillotine.

And within those months, the wounded knights would recover and new knights would be recruited. The Knights of Favonius would stabilize again.

As for your death? It would be posed as a lesson. Don't be a fool. Don't learn magick.

At first, you couldn't believe it. The king had a history of not following his own word. Most of all, he was a coward. He had never sentenced someone to death before— not personally. He didn't send out these orders on his own. He had someone else, someone more competent like a prison warden, decided the fates of the wrongdoers.

But he showed up to you and practically spat in your face. You had no doubt he was awful. Awful enough to order a death sentence? It was possible.

Should you break out the shiv? Take the fork from your meals and start a tally mark on the wall?

You ponder this as you stare at the ceiling. You ponder a lot of things staring at the ceiling, some other times you stare at the plant sprouting from the barred window at the very top of the wall.

Life finds a way, even in a place of this. A place of your misery.

Maybe you were in the wrong. Maybe that knight had hope after all.

You killed them.

You didn't even know their name, nor the name of the one you saved. You'd never be able to learn it.

Varka visits you for the second time a week into your imprisonment, still with the same two guards. You notice him eyeing them up and realize that he doesn't trust them. The royal guards and the Knights never mixed well.

"You think you were right?"

You scoff, "No greeting?"

"You're lucky I'm not spitting in your face." The grand master says unleadery things too. You've always liked that about him. He was a stickler for the rules indeed, but he also believed that they could be bended if needed. He knew that knighthood wasn't all seriousness either. He knew how to had fun.

"Am I even worthy of your spit?"

He coughs. You can tell he was hiding his laugh in front of the royal guards. "Just answer the question, (y/n)."

"I'm not sure anymore. But you know? I'm not sure of many things anymore. Spend enough time here and you won't know what to think anymore. How long have I been here, anyway?"

"A week." He replies simply. "I'm not getting anywhere with you."

"You're telling me!"

The third time he visits, he visits alone. You have a feeling he pulled some strings to be able to get in here without royal guards. Judging by the sky outside your window, he probably thought to deliberately visit at night as well. Did he sneak in?

"Why did you do it?"

"You woke me up." You say, despite the fact you weren't even sleeping.

"I didn't." He says in a matter of fact way.

"Yeah." You clear your throat, "There were two knights. One was closer to death than the other. I could tell, a kind of Necromancy thing." Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him flinch, as if he was still refusing to believe you were meddling in magicks. "So I saved one of them using the other's life force."

"That wasn't for you to decide." He crosses his arms.

"I know that now, but one death over two? The answer was clear to me."

After a pause–perhaps he was thinking–he says, "I understand. But... are you really a necromancer?"

"Mondstadt's very own."

"My Illusionary Knight..." He mutters under his breath, but you can hear it anyway, "Why–Why Necromancy? Out of all magics you could've learned. Were illusions not enough?"

You tell him everything you know about Necromancy and all it can possibly do. You're sure he only thinks it to be your mad musings. But you try the your best to convince him, to see your way.

"In the right hands, Necromancy can do a lot of things."

"The same thing can be said about everything." He argues, "Sanguimancy, telepathy, everything bad can be good."

He pauses. You hold your breath. "But I'm not sure you're the right one anymore."

He visits regularly. You can tell he's trying to understand. He's trying to believe you. You're just not sure if his attempts are going anywhere.

You try your best to convince him. If necromancy was a religion, you'd be its priest. And if it turned out to be a cult? You'd stay in its church.

You're not sure if you're convincing only him now. You're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself as well.

Finally, Kaeya visits.

Whereas Varka only seemed to be sneaking in by not telling the rest of the Knights about his visits, Kaeya's secretive entirely.

"Hey!" Someone whisper-shouts and it wakes you up.

"What? Kaeya?" You gasp, standing up from your cot faster than lightning. "Holy shit–"

If there weren't bars separating the both of you, you'd have kissed him with the passion of a thousand stars' collision. Hell, if the handcuffs didn't have a magic-canceling ward, you'd have melted the bars and taken him in a needed embrace.

Though you suppose that would make you a fugitive.

The bars were wide enough for both your arms to go through, but a kiss would be pushing it.

"Are you okay?" Kaeya rushes forward, taking your hands in his. "Did they hurt you? Did they do anything to you?" As quick as his hands come to your hands, they come up to your cheeks, turning your head this way and that to see if there was an injury on your face.

"No, no, I'm fine." You assure with huffed laugh, "Just smelly."

"Ooh, yeah, I can tell." He chuckles, but you can tell there is little amusement to it. He was truly concerned, and only you knew what they'd been doing to you down here—nothing.

"Love, I promise," You take one of the hands he had on your cheek and bring it to your lips, claiming it with a kiss. "I'm alright."

Kaeya's eyebrows furrow. He looks you up and down again, examines your worn clothes and unwashed but unblemished, uninjured skin, and comes to the conclusion that you were indeed fine; although he wasn't very convinced. He huffs, "You better be."

"I am! I wouldn't lie to you."

He raises a brow.

"OK. That was one time. But Maxus the cactus is alright now, isn't he?"

"By the very thing that got you here." He reminds you.

"Yeah, you're right." Necromancy had been so normal to you, you'd almost forgotten. "About that..." Concern reappears on his features, and you hate the way it looks on him. "my execution has been ordered."

"Shit. Shit!" He exclaims, pulling away from you and bringing his hands up. "Tell me," He wipes the hairs away from his face, "tell me you're lying."

"Sweet pea–"

"Tell me," He says before you can answer, "that you're poking fun at me."

You answer him with an honest look, knowing words would only convince him that your fate was sealed. It was sealed, in a way, but you–neither of you–wanted to face that fear.

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry!" He comes to you, gritted teeth going to open in an outburst any moment now, and takes your hands, guiding them up to his cheeks.

You accept your new job eagerly; rubbing your thumb across his cheekbones to soothe him and making sure his eye is looking into yours so as to ground him into reality.

"You shouldn't be apologizing," He mumbles, "like you're the director for the funeral we wouldn't even be allowed to have. Like you're a fucking coworker who knew how much we meant to each other—because clearly, you don't."

"You mean so much to me."

"That's not it!" His voice breaks in frustration, "You don't know how much you mean to me. You should be asking me if I already have a plan. You should be asking me when you're getting out here, because you know I'm not letting you go off and die."

"And then what, Kaeya? You'll be a criminal."

"If it means we'll both be alive, then I'll take it over not having you! If we have to run from nation to nation, I'll do it. I'll–"

"That's not a way to live."

He ignores you, "If it means we'll be together, I'll renounce my life in Mondstadt."

"My love–"

"I'd do anything for you!"

"Kaeya, that's not the life I want you to have."

"Stop talking like you're fucking dead!" He pulls back from you entirely, jumping from the bars to the wall of the corridor, and finally allowing himself to shout out his anger. He sinks to a crouch against the dirty stone walls. The remains of his pent up emotions slide down his face in the form of tears. The rest of his words come out rushed like a flood. "Because you're not dead, you're here, and we still have a chance."

He's trying his best to keep himself together. You can tell. But he's already failed at that. "How are you so calm?" He hides the lower half of his face in his palm, "You're the one whose head could be severed off."

You don't have an answer for that, but you do know something. You're not as good a person as you'd thought. "I think I was wrong."

You crouch down to meet his line of sight and Kaeya's eye focuses on you once again, "But Necromancy is good in the right hands and–" He starts, but you cut him off.

"And I'm not sure my hands are the right ones anymore."

"No," He shakes his head, "you've already done so many good things with it."

"Varka's a good man, better than I'll better be, he's responsible and he has a sound judgement. He doesn't think I'm–"

"He doesn't know you like I do."

You purse your lips. If he was going to risk it all for you, you had to stop him. All of this was your fault, these were consequences of your decisions. You had to face them on your own. If it meant having to... "Maybe I'm not who you think I am."

"What do you mean?"

"I keep a lot of things secret from you. I kept the knowledge of my Necromancy from you for a year. Hell, I told you about it when I knew you wouldn't think about it deeply enough. You were tired and sleepy, then."

"No," He denies it. "you saw a chance and you took it."

"Sweet pea, I knew that the next morning you would hardly remember enough to criticize."

"No, no, no, no." He repeats. The no's become muffled as he covers his face with his hands. "No. I know you, I know you're a good guy. You're no–"

"Villain?" You ask, head tilted in a mocking way. "My, you are naive."

He looks broken.

You fucking hate this.

Without another word, he stands and leaves.

Kaeya would do anything for you, so you have to do everything you can do for him as well. If it meant lying to him, putting on a facade and acting just like how the nation thought you to be now, a Villain, you would do it; and you'd just done it.

If it meant dragging yourself down just so that he wouldn't follow, so be it.

<✦>

Varka starts his last visit–not that you know–with the words, "Kaeya's been down in the dumps lately."

"Did they announce the execution yet?"

He shakes his head no, "The announcement is supposed to be tomorrow."

"I've no idea then." You reply innocently. You'd been preaching the truth about Necromancy to the grandmaster, you couldn't have your notions befuddled by the words you'd given to Kaeya.

"You do know why." He starts. "For one, you're in love. He missed a meeting a week ago, and I know–"

You never told him. Fuck. You never told him you loved him. "When's the execution?" You interrupt his reasoning.

Varka's lips press into a fine line. "In a week."

"I never told him I loved him." You admit. "A week of my life left and I never told him."

Silence ensues and it allows you to simmer in your regrets. Varka doesn't have the heart to break it as he considers it himself, but suddenly he gets an idea. "I can pass along the message."

"What?"

"That you love him."

"No." You reply immediately.

It's his turn to be confused. "What?" He blurts out, losing all his formality. He had come to terms with his student, the culmination of his teachings, learning magick for some sick righteousness. But this? "Did he do anything? Did you do anything?"

"I did a lot of things." You laugh. He doesn't know how you can laugh right now. "I don't want him to be any sadder when I go."

"Right."

The shock of it—was he really alright with your execution? Was he really alright with losing his best student? He had taught you everything he knew, not just in fighting, but in morals too. And you'd taught him everything you knew about Necromancy, all the good that was packed in with the bad.

Was he really alright with you just leaving the world like this? Your plans to better the world, all thrown in the guillotine just because of one mistake?

He turns on his heel.

"Varka?"

He doesn't give your calls any attention.

"Varka, where are you going?"

He was going to do something about this. You deserved a second chance.

<✦>

The day had finally come. Three months of your life had come and gone and they were both the shortest and longest part of it.

What was the phenomenon?

The moments of your life as you are dying go faster. But, you suppose that'd be the moment right before death. When your head is laid upon the wood of the guillotine and you stare into the box your head will fall into.

Time was certainly a concept that you most definitely can't decypher it in the few hours you have left.

The few hours you have left.

You were going to die soon. You weren't going to be alive anymore. Your existence would be finished after a short nineteen years, and then you'd experience whatever came after.

So why are you so calm? Why aren't you crying? Why aren't you begging the Gods for another chance?

You didn't have the answers to those questions and you suppose it won't matter anymore. You won't be needing answers when you're six feet under, if you even deserved that. If you were to be honest with yourself, they'd probably burn you after separating your head from your body.

Hours turn into minutes, and soon there is a royal guard at your prison door. He's got a deep frown on his features–then again which one of them doesn't?–but also something else in his hands: a bag.

You can't get your hopes up.

"Hey big guy." You greet as enthusiastically as you can. You'd come to terms with your death about a month ago.

He doesn't reply. Instead, he unlocks the door and gestures at you to get out.

"Oh come on, I can't twist your words into incantations. I'm not that advanced at magic, both you and I know you didn't let me get to that point."

Even as you poke and prod at him for him to let go of his silence, he doesn't speak. Not that you have to think about it for long.

He guides you out of the cell and out of the catacombs, or wherever you were kept, with a firm grip on your shoulder. With the big, silent guard at your side, you breathe in your first breath of fresh air and feel the sun's rays on your skin for a final time. What a bonding experience! But even that doesn't get to last long.

Next thing you know, you're shoved in a carriage. It's not the prison cage you were expecting. You were expecting wide, black bars with spaces big enough so that it wasn't hard to throw a tomato in. The people of Mondstadt enjoyed their tomato throwing a lot of the time.

The downside of not having one of those cages was not being able to look outside and see where you were going. Although, the good thing about that was that you wouldn't be able to see a loved one. Otherwise, you might actually start crying.

The carriage stops without warning, a sudden thing that almost sends you from one side of the seating to the other.

"This isn't what I was expecting." You say once you step foot outside.

Perhaps they were rubbing freedom in your face or allowing you a final sight of the nature that Favonius had terraformed before you were taken to the guillotine. This was the southern gate of the city of Mondstadt, after all. This couldn't be your stop.

The driver, another royal guard, smiles. The same silent man beside her steps down from the bench.

"Have you got a guillotine and crowd out there?" You ask.

He doesn't answer, of course. Why were you expecting an answer? Instead... instead, he unlocks your cuffs and takes them off your wrists.

"You're exiled." The driver announces.

"No." You blurt out in disbelief.

The man grunts as if affirming her statement. He hands you the bag he's been steadily holding and, before you can check whatever's packed inside, he pushes you outside the gate. He stays, right in front of it, protectively.

You stand there, right outside the city of Mondstadt, trying to register what's happening, for only Barbatos knows how long.

Were you free?

"Bye." The silent guard finally says. He's trying to nudge you away.

Barbatos's grace!

Back to the present...

What a fucking nightmare. You awaken from your slumber, sitting up and rubbing at your groggy eyes. All of that in one night? Whatever, you'd probably forget later, even if those were memories you could recall at any moment. They were in the past anyway.

That was all over now. Yet... and overwhelming sense of mithenness runs over you. Mondstadt had carried on without you. The disaster that it had suffered through was over eight years ago now! They had recovered from it well.

The city was still the city, flawed as it may be. It was still good and it hardly needed improvement.

You were so naive.

Necromancy comes in handy though. A lot of the time.

"Morning, sweet pea." You greet Kaeya good morning, followed by a kiss on the cheek.

He grumbles "Sweet pea?" as if confused, then turns away from you to catch some more winks. He never really enjoyed mornings, anyway.

"We gotta get up soon." You remind him, standing up from the bed. You groan as you stretch. Sleeping on a bed, after those days traveling and sleeping on the hard ground, felt like bliss.

You glance over at the items you'd scattered over the desk in a tired haze. Your bag had tipped over sometime over the night, spilling some of its contents over the table. Kaeya's bag was still orderly. Hmph, just like him. Then, at the end of the table, sat the horse stall reminder for Nyx and Raph.

The stable boy better let you get a refund for the days you hadn't spent here. The plan hadn't gone as you expected.

A knock comes from the door.

"What is it?" Kaeya calls from your side. So he doesn't care to answer you but he will answer someone else.

"Madame Chamberlain asked me to remind you that you should be exiting the city in under an hour!" A servant calls from behind the door. "She said there will be consequences if you don't!" They yelp, "H-Her orders! N-Not my words, I swear!"

"Alright." Kaeya groans just loud enough for them to hear. He sits up and wipes his eye, then turns to you. "Is that a habit you picked up again?"

You furrow your eyebrows, "Is what?"

"Kiss me on the cheek and call me sweet pea."

"Oh. Did I?" You press your lips into a fine line and try to pretend like you're not embarrased by the idea.

"Yeah." He says, "I remember it clearly."

"Despite being half-asleep?"

"Yup."

You groan, "Maybe it was subconscious."

"Yeah," He laughs, "sure. If that makes you feel better. I mean, if it's subconscious, surely that means something."

He had a point. What did it mean if it was subconscious? You ponder it as you get ready for the day.

Were you previously thinking about it? That, you couldn't answer. There were a lot of bygone thoughts you had forgotten throughout your traveling. You wouldn't doubt it if you had, but you also doubted if you really did have them.

Subconscious; not fully aware. Did your subconscious think you were still in the past? You were just dreaming about it.

Then again, you sleep next to each other each night. Would it really be that bad if you had kissed him?

"Are you still thinking about it?" Kaeya asks, his bag slung around his shoulder.

It snaps you out of your thoughts. "No." You lie without second thought. Not that it was very convincing. Kaeya saw through many lies easily, and yours especially.

"Sure." He says, unconvinced, for a second time that morning.

You elect to ignore the kiss and continue your day.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x male reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #🌸 // success!#blurred lines #blurred lines series #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // kaeya #🎫 // kaeya alberich #🌂 // failure

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fabricated-misslieness · 1 year

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𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 Chapter 20: a Hero Never Rests, and Neither Does a Villain

Hero Kaeya x Villain male reader

Summary: Every story comes to an end, no matter how sad or happy.

Word Count: 3,629

Mayb’s notes: blurred lines is supposed to not make sense sometimes btw

The King holds another ball under your name. It is a celebration for the cure, your dangerous journey (that which could've ended in sacrifice), and life. Specifically, the life of a party. He loved a good party. He simply needed a reason to hold one. You could sense that you would become a reason more than this one time.

While the first celebration was more of a formal dinner than a ball, as he catered to your needs and kept you "entertained", this one was a real ball; one that he loved to engage in.

So he did. And he beckoned you to do so as well.

Who were you to refuse, if it was just an excuse to dance with Kaeya again?

Yours was an old love, renewed again. Any excuse was a valid one when it came to him. Kaeya could say the same thing.

He stares into your eyes, through the windows into a lovesick soul that mirrors his. The action is rather intimate for such a precarious dance, one prone to leading to several bruises.

Try as you might to dance with elegant charm, your feet did not agree with your intentions.

With each stumble, each fall onto the hard floor, he'd only laugh, and so would you. Kaeya had come to love you, come to look past your flaws and your two left feet.

On your end, there was nothing to look past.

<✦>

After a night of fun, work always followed.

Kaeya hooked a finger under your jaw. His remaining fingers pressed against your lips. You pushed an eager kiss into his skin.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the Knights again?" He tilts your head up, clearly pleased with how you let him do so so easily. "We could sure use you."

"The scorn they hold may be hidden, but still clear as day."

He watches intently with his good eye as you drag a finger down his other arm and hook it around its wrist. His fingers follow his own hand as you bring it up to your lips and press a kiss to it too.

"Perhaps, just like Eula, you and I can make that change."

"There are a lot of things even you can't change, my love."

<✦⋆✦>

Without his touch, his guidance or his presence, there were many things you forgot. The palace, for one, seemed like nothing you or anyone deserved. Some days you roamed its halls, unaware of their luxury or their tiles so clean you could use them as a mirror. There was hardly anything for you to do. So you roamed aimlessly.

Some days you thought yourself to be in a forest, though your mind could never recreate one so perfectly. You were curious as to why this forest lacked life. It was absent of birdsong and leaf dance, or simple ant trails along the dirt. Curiosity sparked a search, as it always seemed to.

Footsteps, you hear. They're sharp, much too sharp for the soft, grassy floor and or paths laid into dirt.

Their source comes closer faster than you can react.

A man around the corner approaches. He wears a full set of armor. A knight turned bounty hunter? Or perhaps a knight sent after you for someone you killed in his Kingdom. You couldn't keep count of your victims anymore.

You raise a hand, incantation on your tongue.

"Woah, hey!"

Steel turns to velvet and armor to robes; mud and bark to tile and marble. The man before you is no knight. He thinks himself to be hundreds of thousands more than a little knight. He's the King himself, and you roam his palace. How you managed to get yourself in such a spot of trouble was a question to be answered later. For now, killing a King wasn't beneath you.

"Something get on your nerves today, big guy?" The King asks. "Your hero time finished, now?"

No King could speak so informally like that. Not only that, but he also seemed to know you. What King knew you? None other than Hanz. He was scared, of course, but he'd learnt well to hide it. You shift your stance back to normal and he breaths again.

You wonder how much longer Hanz could keep you his dog. Tamed, and living off of his merits.

<✦⋆✦⋆✦>

You didn't know what to call it. Hallucination was a good word, but you couldn't accept it. You were healthy, you ate well, you rested well, now more than ever. So why were you so delusional? It had no reasons.

Either way, if you were dreaming of the forest, a trip into the wilds would probably be a good remedy. In fact, it proved a better breather than the simplicity of a cure such as Kaeya's presence.

While he was away, his righteous heart leading him into his knightly duties, you mounted a horse and began a descent into the woods.

The wind felt like Gaia's call, a welcome back. It carried with it the melodious chirping of birds and the rush of a water's fall you'd missed so dearly. Her wind flowed past your face, brushing your cheeks with loving touch and pushing your hair in an unorganized way.

You had missed this, missed her embrace. How could you allow yourself abandon her for more than a moment? The effects separation had on you were already so daunting.

Breaking through the sounds she carried to you and the peace of her being were those of the animals around you. From a distance came steps to your experienced ear: animals, a deer probably, from afar.

You could imagine it, lifting its feet off the sticky mud of the floor. The mud on its hooves would wash off as it stepped on the river bed, and then the deer would drink. It was lonely, though. No mate, no family. Much like you, once. But were you lonely? Hadn't you thrived off of solitude?

The deer was a reminder that animals could live and flourish alone. Humans could do the same. You had once done the same.

It was tempting to leave Mondstadt. The idea of never coming back wasn't far from your reach. Much as you'd slipped from the palace grounds unnoticed, you could disappear just the same.

It was a cruel departure, though. You were ill-prepared for journey. And, even if you tried not to think about it as hard as you could, how could you leave without a goodbye?

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

It was always wrong time with him. But, unequivocally, he was the right person; which is what makes saying goodbye so difficult.

Kaeya is the man you love with all your heart. In your eyes, he possesses all the beauty in the world. His smile lights up your view and his laugh raises your spirits. The more you sung his praises, the more you loved him.

But the things he wanted, the goal he'd set for the rest of his life, they didn't line up with yours. He wanted to stay in Mondstadt, protect it from all evil, die within its walls. The City of Freedom had grown to be his home. It couldn't have been farther from the truth, eight years ago. After his fight with his brother, his departure from the Winery for forever, the people gossiped. They named him foreign. But he'd gained their trust again, and through his years of duty, he'd come to love the city again.

So, if you were to think of him, Mondstadt, and home, you were simply missing a sense of patience.

Mondstadt's freedom, however, was more of a prison to you. After spending such clear moments of your life travelling the world, freedom came to you in Gaia's hold. Mondstadt's cold stone walls were so far from what she gave you, what she could give you. You wanted her to hold you forever.

Out there, though, you were still wanted. Your crimes were only pardoned in Mondstadt. It was a hard point to push past, but it was fragile. You knew it would one day become so weak that the sight of your true home would break it.

You loved Kaeya more than most things. But, harsh as the thought may be, you loved some things more.

Perhaps you would never get your happy ending.

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

Agreeance came after all you needed to do within the day was done. It was made over a meeting table of dark, stable wood. It was made with a calm demeanor and a mindset screwed on that everything one said was possible.

Agreeance came from mutual benefit.

But, right now, the day continued.

"I... don't want to stay in Mondstadt."

There wasn't anything to hold you back. Not an arm's length between you to give either of you time to process a set of words.

And here, it was emotional.

Though you could only be certain of his curiosity as he speaks a "Why?", you're sure he's entirely adverse to the idea.

How could you put this lightly? "The city is not my preferred environment, so to speak."

"So to speak." He deadpans. "There's something more, I know it." He had always been good at reading you. "So tell me."

"It's about Mondstadt." You begin hesitantly, "The city is your home, I don't want to speak ill of it."

""Your home?" Is that how you think of it?" In asking for his permission to speak truly, you had already given away your thoughts. "Is Mondstadt no longer your home?"

"I–" There was no other way to say it. You knew that immediately. Searching for a way was unnecessary. "Kaeya, it hasn't been my home for eight years. Nieblina was hardly a substitute, even."

"So what is home, then?" Though he poses a question, he doesn't let you answer. "Is it the wilds? A secret home in Fontaine? (y/n), what could your home be? The–"

"You are." You interrupt him. The words render him speechless. "That's why I ask."

There's always one thing people can say–well, two–when they are speechless, and that is a word even crueler when its precedent isn't even considered. "No."

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

The second ball this month held under your name is more bitter than the last.

The King danced, mingled with his high-standing nobles in homewrecking dances. He beckoned for you to join the dancefloor.

Who were you to refuse, if it was just an excuse to dance with him again?

Though it was old, though you fought, though you found something to look past, yours was a love renewed with a fierce fire. This excuse was as valid as any to bring him into your embrace.

He stares into your eyes, through the misty windows into a restless soul. The action is rather intimate for such a bruising dance. His hold on your shoulder was gentle, and yours on his waist just the same, but your tendency of tripping over the smallest of things during the most delicate of moments kept the injuries coming.

Try as you might to dance with a purposeful charm, your feet did not agree with your need to keep the night serene.

With each stumble that led onto the cold, hard floor, he'd only laugh, and so would you. Kaeya had come to love you, and tonight he would look past the day before, just as you would.

Ignorance could only last for so long. Love could only hide so much.

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

You were the love of his life. He could do anything for you. There was one thing he'd shout into the world, even if all may hear, and that is that he would do anything for you.

But if Kaeya was anything, it wasn't truthful; and some things in life, he loved more. He didn't dare acknowledge it.

And if this kept on, tender mornings of hesitant departure would eventually lead to wordless goodbyes, affection shared would turn to nothing. You were absent from his side, today. You were already well on your way to undiscussed silence.

He sought you out, then, in hopes of mending things.

When he finds you, you've pressed yourself into the corner of a window seat, staring sidewards into the horizon. The sun has long made way for the night and sequentially, abandoned the skyline, but you still kept your eyes to the horizon. Now, the moon rose high above the other side of the palace, accompanied by thousands of stars you pay no mind to.

It seems you notice him before he can announce his presence. "When Mondstadt wanted me to be their villain, I did as they wished. Now that they want me to be their hero… I can’t stand it."

Kaeya takes a seat beside you. "You are a hero, you know. We put an end to a plague together." He cups your cheek with a comforting hand and brings your eyes to stare into his.

"A hero's not what I want to be." You draw back. Kaeya thinks it looks like you're shrinking in on yourself.

"What you want doesn't shape who you are." He says, a desperate attempt at matching your pace of speech. His words are wise regardless, but your stance remains unchanged.

"My past shapes who I am." You move away from him, pushing his hand away from you for what is probably the first time in your life. "I've done so many terrible things—a retribution such as this hardly helps it."

"You've killed many." He moves to reach out, then realizes it's probably best not to. You can see it in his lips pressed together, regardless of the distance, that the truth is hard to swallow. "But the cure will save more."

"What I have done will never outweigh what will happen." You'd long since known it, but saying it out loud was not pleasing. "None of the countless people whose lives I've taken will care for what I've done. If I were one of them, given the chance to be reborn as a vengeful spirit that only lives to kill me... I'd probably take it."

"You're too harsh on yourself–"

"You're not harsh enough."

Kaeya thinks, as you leave, that maybe you two weren't meant to be happy after all.

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

Such depressing thoughts can only last for so long. He said it himself, that he would do anything for you, and though where some things he wouldn't, those weren't in question at the moment.

He already hated how you slept so far from him on the other side of the bed. He hated how the "I love you"s returned didn't feel so genuine and energetic as they'd once been. He hated how you looked sickly pale. Most of all, he loved making you happy, and he was failing at that recently.

He knows, the night you don't come to bed, that he has to act. So he sets up a little plan.

The next time he sees you is at that window seat. It had come to be your favorite. The day was over and stars had allowed themselves to be seen in the sky. Each star formed a constellation—they were simply unnamed. He knew that that was happening between you two. He couldn't name it, what was going on in your relationship right now. He didn't need to know, not yet. He just had to mend it.

He sits down next to you. At the very least, you don't move to stand.

"I'm sorry." He starts. He had it all planned out, a little picnic, a little speech, but most things didn't usually go as planned when they came to you.

"For?" You say without even sparing him a glance.

For? "Making you mad." He says, because it's the only thing he can think of.

"I'm not–well, maybe," You groan. Your gaze leaves the horizon, just for a moment. "I'm not mad. Not at you."

"Then, why–?"

"I'm trying to come to terms with it, I guess." You shake your head, probably at yourself. "That I have to stay here? Whatever's outside, any other nation, is dangerous. It makes sense."

"Or," Kaeya leaves the basket aside to scoot closer to you. "you can handle yourself, and..."

"And?" He can't see, but you finally look over at him.

He'd thought it out, but now that he was saying it, he was having a bit of a hard time. "You can leave Mondstadt."

"I–really?" You had a million questions, each with a million answers he could give, but you were too busy with ecstasy.

"Yes," He snickers, "really."

You practically throw yourself at him. He relishes in the feeling of your lips, even if rough, against his own. His fingers trace the side of your torso thoughtlessly, as returning to your touch left him thoughtless. He missed you so dearly.

"Are you coming with?" That was hardly a question.

"Of course." He grins, "Who would I be if I wasn't?"

And he wouldn't have to miss you ever again.

<✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦⋆✦>

There were some things you loved more than each other, some things that affected you even more than your love. Mondstadt was the City that reigned over Kaeya's heart and years of travel had given you a sense of freedom unachievable by settling down. Who was Kaeya to deny you your freedom? And who were you, to drag him through the ends of Teyvat?

In the weeks prior to your set departure, the both of you had come to learn that if you loved someone, you would let them go.

An earlier form of that, from when you were younger, was when you tricked him into thinking you a villain (whilst you weren't one yet). It was, to you, the only way to keep him safe.

Though Kaeya had promised he would leave with you, you couldn't separate him from the place he loved, the same way he couldn't either.

But Kaeya couldn't help but watch with abstained want, watch as you strapped up Raph (it was the least you could do to leave Nyx behind) with luggage and rations. The bare minimum, they were, and though he did not doubt you could live off of nature's goodwill, it still felt wrong.

He stayed silent, anyway, giving way to the sound of straps and leather and grains and spell materials.

Then, when all's done, you mount up. A feeling begins to rise in his chest, it bubbles up like a volcano ready to burst, like it'll boil up and spill over. "You comin'?"

"What?" He blurts, unprepared.

"You're not walking alongside me." Even then, he doesn't understand. The feelings collect and boggle his mind. "Take Nyx and come along. We've got a ways to go before the City Gates."

"Right."

The ride is silent because all's been said and discussed. The weeks leading up to today gave you enough time to speak, and speak you did. You thought you knew everything about him, but apparently not.

You take the opportunity to admire Mondstadt one last time. It wasn't the city of your dreams, and the people didn't understand you, but Mondstadt had its beauty. You wouldn't miss it though.

Kaeya follows suit in your admiration, but he doesn't find much to look at. These are the streets he will look at today and tomorrow and the years following.

The further you go, the less there is to look at. There is only one thing to see, and that is the gates up ahead. Your excitement was brimming, he could see it.

This was the very gate he'd first brought you to Mondstadt in, months ago. Up ahead, not so far away, was the tavern he met you in. To think none of it would've happened if he hadn't sought you out.

The both of you dismount halfway between the City and the wilds.

"I'll see you again, right?" Kaeya asks, hopefully. He knew the answer, of course, he just wanted to make sure. He wanted to hear it from your lips.

"Yes." You take one of his hands in yours reassuringly. "As many times as can be afforded," His lips open, move to voice his concerns, but you already know what he's going to ask. "which, I can assure you, is more than six times a year."

Six wasn't a lot, but a number was comforting. "Okay." He says.

"Okay." You say with a grin. You bring his hand to your lips and place upon its knuckles a kiss before mounting Raph again. Kaeya's gaze follows your every movement.

Was that all?

"Oh, one last thing." You lean over the side of your horse, dragging a hand along the side of his face. It traces an outline down his cheek, soothing in its touch, before finding its destination on his jaw. You lift his head up even higher and kiss him.

A kiss wasn't enough, even if it was just the thing he was waiting for. He pushes roughly against you, wanting never to let go. His hands move to hold your neck thoughtlessly so as to keep you from leaving.

A kiss wasn't enough, though it would have to do.

You pull away, much to his dismay, but you don't let the moment diminish. "I love you." You say, filling in his desire for more.

Kaeya can't help but to smile, even as sadness engulfs him full. "I love you too."

When you part from him completely, back upright on your horse and ready to leave, he doesn't feel so bad anymore. When you leave, galloping away on your horse towards an undetermined future, his smile turns to sorrow.

He continues to watch, watch as your figure turns smaller and smaller until it disappears into the horizon.

"To the ends of Teyvat."

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fabricated-misslieness · 2 years

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𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 Chapter 13: Stories of the Dearly Departed

Hero Kaeya x Villain male reader

Summary: Stories were what made up civilizations. They served as fairy tales and bedtime stories for children and legends that invoked inspiration as one grew older. But, Kaeya comes to find out, the true stories are always tragic.

Word Count: 9,200

Warnings: death, gore, murder, blood

Mayb’s notes: I had Covid while writing this

Everything reeked of death. He did. You did. It was everywhere. For a necromancer, perhaps that would be good, likeable in a way. It was far from the truth for you. You got out of there fast, and even faster, you found yourself a river to clean off the odor.

It wasn't the first time you'd bathed in the wild. While it certainly wasn't cleaner than baths in civilized country, it felt a bit more relaxing.

The sound of its cascades was riveting. You closed your eyes, sitting cross-legged in a shallower part of the river. The original purpose of that was to wash your face, to scrub it clean from the laps of drying blood splattered across your skin; but you found yourself enjoying a moment afterward.

Nevertheless, you opened your eyes. The cascades moved down slopes and past rocks like a draping velvet. The grass bordering the river was dewy, as if from fresh from a rain. Its blades were a cool green, effervescent in its darkness.

To feel connected to nature, it was something you loved. Even if the very magic you mastered took the life from it.

A groan to your right catches your attention. You shift your gaze to your partner. At this, Kaeya lowers himself to a squat to... hide.

You chuckle to yourself. "Sorry."

He waves you off. You turn away.

The water around you pools in red. You grimace. The sound of water being cupped in your hands and draped over your body was different from that of nature's, but it was welcome all the same. It was a nice sound. Somehow it felt even nicer accompanied by another.

<★>

Kaeya dried his hair with a towel. It was the smallest of things, the biggest you could pack with every other necessity. It was rather clear he was struggling.

Regardless, he starts conversation. "I don't get you."

"How so?" You ask, though you have a feeling you know what the answer is.

"One moment we're all... buddy-buddy–"

"To put it lightly?"

"To put it lightly." He agrees, "The next, we're all far apart. You're leaving me behind all of a sudden. And," He sees you begin to speak, so he stops you before you can, "don't try to lie to me. It clearly wasn't your plan to come back. What even brought you back? Wise old lady in the woods?"

"No," You hug your knees, "Nyx did."

"The horse?"

"I think that's enough to tell you how I teetered from decision to decision, to be persuaded by a horse."

He rolls his eye, "What matters is that you chose to leave me first."

"But I came back for you." You argue.

"A redeeming quality, maybe," He points a finger at you, "but leaving your partners behind is not a right decision, even if you fix it later."

"You're right." You sigh.

The kettle over the campfire begins to whistle for your attention. The conversation pauses as you make the both of you cups of coffee, and it stays silent as you take your much needed sips of coffee.

Kaeya abandons the task of drying his hair in the meantime. That brings up an idea.

"Hey," He shifts his gaze to you from his cup, "face me."

He furrows his eyebrows; nevertheless, he obeys, thinking the command harmless. You circle around him and kneel there. "Let me take over this for you."

If Kaeya agrees, he does not say a thing, and if he disagrees, he doesn't vocalize it either. He likes it, anyway. You can tell by the way he leans into your touch. "How was life in Mondstadt?"

"Without you?"

You stifle the rudeness of 'obviously' and say, "Yes."

"Well," He bites his lip, not that you can see, "it was... hardly anything remarkable, to put it into words." What Kaeya would never tell you, not right now, was that you were the part of his life that changed the most; you were the man who kept his life interesting.

"Did you miss me, then?"

"I mean," You were really putting him on the spot here. "yeah. You?"

"Of course, Kaeya." The response comes without a thought. "I loved you."

You freeze in disbelief of yourself after you register what you said, just for a second. You couldn't show him you didn't mean to say that out loud.

"I loved you too." He says.

You both leave it at that.

The moment was rather domestic, if not awkward. The campfire's heat nips at your skin. Its dim light is the warmth of the forest in the midst of the stars and the moonlight, the dull brown trees and evergreen leaves. In the middle of it all–the plants and animals–is the two of you.

What a weird thing it was, to dry your hair in the middle of the forest, to prefer its landscape over the fireplace of your home.

"How about you?" Kaeya asks. "Tell me of your travels."

You grimace, "The searching?"

"No—well, yes." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "Tell me the beauty of it. Tell me of the people you've met, the ones that I haven't."

You take a moment to think, but the answers are all clear. "Nature... muddles together. In time, every forest looks like the other. It doesn't undermine its beauty, the peaceful coherence of its sounds or its thriving flora; but after so long, you've seen it all." As for the people...

Just a second later, or that's what it feels like to you, Kaeya prods. "Mhm?"

"Well, the people..." You sigh, "they're unique. Everyone is."

"Tell me who you've learned from, then." He offers an idea, "A mentor is hard to find, right?"

"A mentor is not the only person you learn from." You remind him with a tap on the head. "As we both know... so I'll go with that instead. Someone I learned from."

He nods.

"Throughout my journey..." You begin slowly, recounting stories in your mind. "a handful of people have really changed my life. The first year, I met a woman. She was a general during the Inazuman Civil War–"

"Who's side was she on?"

"The shogunate's." You respond, "Her fighting prowess was strong, and so was her taste and resistance for liquor." He laughs at that. "I didn't let that get to me though. She lived like the war hadn't come to an end. She continued to train, even when the shogunate let her go.

"When she wasn't fighting, she was drinking. Truly, she was sorrowful. Her pride welled up inside her like it threatened to burst. She couldn't believe she had lost, certainly not because her Shogun gave up the fight over a pitiful traveler. But I didn't quite know that about her.

"I only knew she was ex-Shogunate."

Standing straight ahead of the new Shogunate guards were two.

A woman, six feet tall, clothed in the Shogunate armor of a bygone era; and a man with death following him at his every trail.

They didn't know each other, but to the Shogun's guards, they must've been accomplices. Why would two fugitives mingle with one another?

So they fought. The woman took the first step. She was quick with her feet and quicker with her blade. She took down several men on her own, using her expertise of their fighting style to her advantage. There was once a time she was trained under the very same sword art.

From behind her, the man took offense in distance. He launched spell after spell at stragglers or the backline. He didn't much care who was in the way, especially this woman.

"Hey!" She seethes, only able to spare a glance behind her.

The mage only shrugged. To him they were not allies. They only had a common enemy for the moment. If the alliance didn't last after the battle, so be it.

They both had managed to live as fugitives for a reason. They knew how to fight, when fleeing wasn't enough.

The woman breathes hard, leaning against her sword. She wasn't used to this magic, it felt new. It wasn't the resistance's magic, that which was based off of the elements. This was something different.

With the fight over, the man turns heel to leave.

"Mage."

Curiously, he stop in his tracks.

"What magic was that?"

She considered herself to be an expert in magic. It was all she fought to prevent. Only the Shogunate's worthy wizards were supposed to wield it. Anyone else was a criminal. It's funny, most criminals clung onto their innocence; but it was clear you had grown used to being wanted.

So the fact she didn't know what it was she was feeling was surprising.

"Necromancy."

"Hm." She considers it. "The last necromancer was executed–"

"A millennia ago." He says simply, "I know the story.... and so do you."

The realization gets him to turn fully. She smirks, "Yes, I do indeed." She takes long strides towards the mage. His eyes are cool and calm, they watch as she comes. Good, he wasn't afraid. She takes note of it. "What's your name?"

"(y/n)." You reply.

"(y/n)." She tests the name on her tongue. "Yes. I know it."

You quirk a brow, but she doesn't try to explain herself. "(y/n). Do you want to have a drink with me?"

"She was a charismatic, happy woman." Kaeya can hear the happiness in your own tone as you reminisce. "It seemed that everything she wanted in life was already fulfilled, and clearing her name wasn't exactly something she wanted. She thrived in the battlefield and she loved it.

"I was jealous of that. She found something she loved." He knew you had too, but he wasn't about to say anything of it. "And her ambitions were dealt with. If death came knocking at the door, she wouldn't mind. All she would ask for was one last swig from her tokkuri.

"I used to be jealous of her. And now… well, she’s gone, and I’m not."

Inazuman culture was new to you. Before the Inazuman Civil War concluded, the Sakoku decree prevented it, of course. Aside from that, it was an island far off from the mainland. The nations were intertwined by export and import, traveler and festival. The journey on boat took its time; and for the traveler, A journey at sea was far more monotonous than a journey on land.

The former Shogunate soldier took you to a bar. It was lively, as if in celebration. Whatever it was celebrating, she didn't much care.

Inazuman music was played by instruments you've never seen before and so much different than anything you'd ever hear in Mondstadt. It was so lively.

The woman allowed herself to be carried away by the music.

She swayed and danced to its every beat and rhythm, enjoying a duo with other Inazumans sometimes; and being the center of attention other times. Between songs or at the beginning of them, without fail, she sat at the bar, took a swig of sake, and continued.

She was a sight to behold on the dancefloor.

This wasn't what you imagined when she asked you out for a drink, but you welcomed it all the same. This particular dance, you weren't familiar with, so you stayed back at the bar.

Many times, as she took her swig, she tried to coerce you to join the dance floor. All those times, you denied.

This time, though, she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Perhaps you allowed yourself to be pulled.

She smiles as she pulls you along with her dancing, fixing your rhythm every once in a while. The music on the dancefloor seems louder than it is at the bar and you find yourself absorbed in it.

It only occurs to you now that you don't know her name. It takes a couple tries for her to hear you. "What's your name?"

"Ume!"

"The war was as much a part of her as she was of it. Her life, without it, felt meaningless to her. It was something she hated about the home nation she so loved. When the war ended, the people moved on. They accepted defeat.

"She didn't. She was willing to do what the world was so afraid to. It was her self-sworn duty. That was..." You sigh to yourself, "to kill every last unworthy mage by herself."

You had found it weird that she always claimed the mage to herself. The moment her eyes landed on a single unfamiliar spell, she shouted with a laugh. "The mage is mine!"

It was all the same, really. In the end, everyone who opposed you would be dead. You didn't much care.

It was just odd.

Perhaps it was issue of inferiority, you reasoned. A regular soldier was always valued lower than a wizard. In this way, the butchering of a magic-user, she proved to both herself and her former army that it wasn't true. She was everything an army could ever need.

"I never did get your cloaks." You peacefully sip at your drink from the stool beside her. She was a talker, and you were the opposite. "They don't do much of anything, especially when the new bounty posters incorporate it into the witness drawing." She rants away, and you ignore her. The conversation wasn't very important.

Whilst you weren't taking note of what she was saying, you were aware of her constant speech. She stops talking and the bar stool scrapes against the floor. "I'll be right back." She says, her voice devoid of emotion.

You elected to ignore it.

Soon enough, though, 'right back' turns into something else. Her lack of presence was very much present to you.

So you go check on her. The bathroom is the most likely place she's in, of course. Why else would she excuse herself? Well, you checked that, and there was no one there.

Then, you look outside. The snow crunches under your steps. The constant fall of it hinders your sight, as well as the fog the storm provides.

"Ume?" You call into the night, "Where are you?"

No one answers.

You continue to walk under the darkness, following a trail of footsteps in the snow. There's a pattern of two footsteps, left and right, leading forward. Right beside them, as if following, is a drag through the snow that doesn't lift.

The howling of the snow storm is loud in your ear. You wonder if Ume responded, only for the sound to be drowned out in the wind.

"What the hell?" You stop as your eyes catch onto red in the snow. It melts the snow below it. This was not good.

The storm doesn't hold you back anymore. You hurry through and follow the trail. From the beginning droplets, the dragged trail is pooled with increasing amounts of blood and melting snow.

You run and run, the crunch of snow doesn't stop, until...

Ume. She leans over a body, and if it weren't for her evident panting, you'da thought her dead. "Ume?"

She turns her upper half entirely towards you. Her chin is dripping with blood. Her hair is slicked back with drying crimson and the snow that falls atop it melts.

The person below Ume is long gone and her sword remains in their chest. Their layers of clothing tear apart and you can see the path the blade took through their chest.

"(y/n)!" She greets pleasantly, "Really didn't have to worry for me."

She stands up, taking her sword with her like it was nothing. She wipes at the blood on her chin, but it remains insistent on her skin. "We should get me to a shower..." She says, more to herself.

When you don't reply, she finally takes in your face. "Are you alright?"

"No." It was almost a question. Of course you weren't 'alright'. She had just murdered someone—and for what? They weren't trying to kill her, it was evident in the way she remained unscathed, 'side from the blood splashed on her.

"Just a mage, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about."

Just a mage. Like a life didn't have value.

"I was never an exception."

Ume had always known it in her heart that she'd, someday, have to put an end to you as well. You were unworthy of your magic, especially because you had mastered Necromancy. That kind of thing in the wrong hands would reek havoc across Teyvat. She didn't want that for the world.

At the very least, for a mage, you were likeable. Even in your stubbornness, quiet attitude and contrary beliefs.

But you were beginning to suspect her of being "bad". She wouldn't let you stop her from doing her duty.

She would miss travelling with you.

Ume stands beside your bed. Her hand rests on the handle of her blade, sheathed still.

You stir, and she hesitates.

"Ume?" You call groggily.

She brandishes her sword too late; because, as she brings it down, you dodge. It's shoddy though.

You roll off the bed, clutching at your cheek. A nasty cut runs along the skin, spewing blood like a waterfall.

Ume hesitated once, and it cost her a clean kill. She wouldn't let it happen again. You were quite the opposite. "What are you doing?" You question.

She doesn't reply.

You continue to dodge her every attack, but as you know, she's quick with her sword and quicker on her feet. There's only so much you can avoid.

You throw her off her feet with a spell. The groan she gives as she lands on the floor is the only sound that you've heard from her. "Ume–"

"Enough." She says, "Stop trying to reason. Just fight."

It's as if that makes you realize your fate, or at the very least, that she was seriously trying to kill you.

The fight that ensues, its a blur you wished to forget. The wish was mostly granted throughout the years. You didn't want to think about it, what you did to her.

The process was a blur, but you'd never be able to forget the result.

Her own sword goes straight through her chest, nailing her to the ground. One of her hands grasps the blade. It cuts through her fingers, but in her last moment, she tried desperately to get the metal out of her flesh. Her other hand had grasped at your ankle, but you had torn her hold from it. The various cuts and wounds littered across her body smoke black in whisps that wrap around her and everything close to it.

And her eyes... remained open. You never had the guts to close them.

A long silence follows after you finish the story. Kaeya knows that you won't break it on your own, all too filled with guilt or regret or anything. "So what did you learn from her?"

You don't have a response, not yet anyway. The towel scrubbing his hair dry stops. Kaeya grabs a hold of your hand, and the towel, and brings each away. He turns to you, offering his eye.

He's alive. He's blinking on his own. He's not Ume.

"Don't give out your trust so easily."

Kaeya wasn't pleased with that. He turns to you fully, body and all, and takes your hands in his own. "Trust is something earned. It's not something you think to give out consciously."

Your lips press into a line, "I should've known. I should've known after that instance, finding her out in the snow leaning over an innocent mage."

"If," Kaeya begins, dipping his head forward towards you, "she never tried... that, she would've continued to do as she pleased with other mages. She would spill their blood over her hands with no remorse."

You turn your head away from him, but Kaeya prods you with a hand on your cheek to face him again. "If you hadn't done what you did, she would've never stopped."

You nod. He was right.

When Kaeya wakes up the next morning, you're already up. The smell of coffee fills his nose and he takes a deep breath. Ah. Not a bad smell to wake up to.

"Good morning." You greet.

"Good morning." He greets too.

He was still waking up. He half registers the world as he runs his morning routine mindlessly on muscle memory.

The coffee was good. Its taste was too strong for him to think of it being too bitter, dull or sweet. The breakfast you make is fine, but he has no intention on commenting on its undertones and bases and outstanding accents. The heat of the fire is hardly anything on his skin. The sun isn't too harsh on his eye.

To him, the world was at peace.

To you, though, it was a bit different.

You had made coffee in the morning with the purpose of wakinh yourself up, but as the water boiled, you found that you were already awake enough. The story from last night was stuck in your head. It was nothing more than that, a story from the past; a memory—and yet, she was still here.

The first sip of your coffee made your body move on its own. Subconsciously, you threw the metal cup across camp with no thought of its clanging. The coffee was bitter–a product of your lack of sugar–and it was everything like you remembered it.

It didn't taste like coffee. It tasted like an Inazuman alcohol you never bothered to ask the name of. Bitter. Her favorite.

It used to be the nectar of the Gods, a second victory after your successful battle.

Now it was just a phantom that haunted you.

When the coffee finally awakens Kaeya, he's finished his food. It was clear that you had too, so he began to speak. "Do you have any plans as to where we're going next?"

You don't reply. His gaze remains on you, anyhow. He doesn't prod again as he examines your look. Your eyes were distant, far away. You looked down, at the campfire. He could see its constantly changing waves in your irises. Your shoulders were hunched and you supported yourself with your forearms on your knees.

Before he could move on from that, you spoke up on your own. "Was Mondstadt truly unremarkable?"

He huffs and takes a seat beside you, "Yes."

"Really?"

Kaeya looks to the side, debating whether or not he should tell you. Ultimately, he decides it won't do any harm. "...I got another boyfriend, or two. Tried a girlfriend once. Found both to be satisfying."

"You're not dating someone right now, are you?"

"No, no! Gods, no." He laughs, leaning against his elbow. This really wasn't as bad as he thought it out to be. "Wrong time, right person most of the time..."

Kaeya sulks, so you decide to change the subject. "I do have a plan."

It was a bit of a pity leaving the forest, but the scenery stayed ever changing. The day's travel had brought you the remainder of the way through the forest, and through the beginnings of a flowering valley.

Nyx and Raph were still recovering from their injuries. You didn't want to give them any more pain than they already had.

"Any more stories?" He gives you a hopeful look. Seeing your raised brow, he continues, "You're a good storyteller."

You huff, "Alright." The sun's setting behind Raph, to your right. "Let's set up camp first."

The setting sun was a beautiful backdrop while you set up, if a bit tedious as the light was getting dimmer. Kaeya, on his part, seemed to be in a bit of a rush. He was happy to get another story, as tragic as it may be.

He set up his tent quick, but took frequent little breaks every now and then. Walking all that way was taking a toll on him.

"Shall we go with the same theme?"

"How about," Kaeya taps his knees with open palms as he thinks, "a past lover?"

...

"Seriously?"

"It's got to be a raunchy relationship if you dated someone as a villain. Another villain? Hero and villain? Some regular civilian?" He spits more suggestions out, not gaging a reaction from you once. This doesn't seem to affect him outwardly, until he gasps loudly and says, "Don't tell me–"

"Kaeya."

"–you haven't dated anybody since!"

That had brought out an unintentional reaction from you, a hefty sigh. Kaeya knows he's struck the truth (and gold, for that matter). "Oh, you poor soul."

You roll your eyes, "I've come close."

"Then tell me the story." He grins, "The closest you've ever gotten."

You had agreed to give him a story, and if you chose a different topic instead of this one, no matter how much of an epic it was, it wouldn't be as satisfying. And maybe it was nice to vent, for once.

"Fine." With one last look at the sunset, you begin. "His name was Émile.

"Émile was from Fontaine. In the City of Justice, there was no way past rigid rules. That's why he decided to run away. He was very ambitious. With the money he stole from the most timid of farmers, he would make a million. He would con the most desperate Sumeru researcher, Mondstadt's wealthiest alcoholic, and the Inazuman soldier that wished for power.

"Obviously, his dreams were never accomplished, at least not so easily. It was like this that I found him, thrown out a pub on his ass."

Afraid of ruining his facade, Émile stood up as quick as possible. He looked around first–straight through the man in a cloak–then wiped the dust off his bruised hands. "Fuck." He muttered.

Unfortunately for other bystanders, Émile hadn't moved away from the door. It wasn't entirely on purpose for him, but it opened up opportunities.

Once a stranger came close to squeeze past him into the bar, Émile tapped their shoulder. The man sighed but politely turned to him. "Yes?"

He reaches behind him, "Give me all your–"

Before he can finish his sentence, the small knife behind his back clanged as it hit the floor. Two seconds later, he was on the dirty floor too, for the second time that night.

"Ow.." From the impact, all his mora spills from his pocket. There was not more than a dozen.

The cloaked man clicks his tongue, "Do me a favor, find yourself a better way of life."

Émile just barely manages to dodge as a pouch of mora falls right where his head used to be. He bites his bottom lip, "H-Hey, I don't need this–!"

Without replying, the man turns heel and heads inside.

"I didn't think much of him the first time. He was nothing more than an amateur and a petty thief. His speed was lackluster, and I could tell he had no technique merely from a glance. I was right about him. He was an amateur, he was petty, and he lacked skill.

"However, in a year, most of those things changed. Apart from the fact he was petty."

Ever since Émile had met that stranger, he had made it his goal to never need another man's penny. The mora he gave him was enough for the inn, and he gratefully used it; but the next morning, he had made it up in his mind. That was the last of a stranger's money–that he hadn't stolen and claimed for himself–that he would spend.

Though, he had quickly learned that it would be hard. With every successful crime, Émile was handed his ass back to him by the local knighthood or police or mercenary group.

That's when Émile realized he needed more skill than anything. For six months, he lived the worst he ever had (even worse than how he did in Fontaine!) to train under the Knights of Favonius. For one, they squeezed him dry of all the energy he had in the day; and two, he had to behave.

Either way, the means were justified by the end. The sword he was given was cool too.

After that, by Queen Esmée's name, he was going to find him. He was going to rob him. And he was going to show him just how little he needed the money he got from him. He would throw it back in his face. Maybe spit if he wanted to. And he would turn heel and leave. This was his life goal.

Well, for a year, the "life goal" was on the back of his mind. Primarily, it was running away from guards now that he was deemed something more than a petty thief.

Until one day, he finally sees you.

He doesn't waste time spitting commands. He had learned the hard way last time, and many times after that, that it was just a waste of time that could ruin his opportunity. Instead, he brings his blade forth to press against the back of your neck and then speaks.

"One year. It's been one year. Do you remember me? Of course you do. I'm that man you took pity on. Shame we meet like this. For you, at least. I am enjoying this. I don't need a coin of your mora. But am I still taking it? Yes! Why?" He was monologuing, big mistake.

Émile lies on his back on the dirty stone floor. His own sword is pointed at his neck. "Fu–"

The hood of your cloak is off your shoulders, allowing him to see your face, and... damn. You're more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, all combined and he's been fucking everywhere. Was that really you? The guy who insulted him with pity? As much as he hated it–not so much really–this really was you. You had the same skills as a year ago.

"–uck..."

Émile liked to think he was a well put-together handsome. He put effort into his outfits, instead of throwing something together. He did his hair each morning and he made sure his skin was clear.

Right now, though, he was a raggedy handsome, a messy handsome from getting his face smashed into the dirty ground. Not everybody was into that—he hoped you were.

"Maybe you haven't been a "bad guy" for so long, but monologuing is usually not a good tactic." The blade of his sword swings side to side as it gets stuck in the cracks of the stone floor. "I'd take you under my wing, but–"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

"What?"

"Straight forward like that, huh?" Kaeya leans back, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You couldn't quite tell his emotions right now. He was clearly impressed, but there was something more than that. You had a hunch, though.

"You're jealous."

"No." He denies it outright. "No, no. Absolutely not." You try to speak, but his yammering doesn't pause for you to do so. "For a guy you used to like, what, two years ago? No. He's in the past. I, I'm in the present."

You shake your head at him, but continue on with the story. "Days with Émile were... mixed. He thought himself my rival. He would greet me with a knife to my throat and generally inconvenience me. It was like he saw me coming and stuck his foot out. Obviously, he failed at really harming me or my search."

"So–"

In two or so seconds, Émile is unarmed, but not on the floor. That was a nice change. He clears his throat and continues as if nothing. "Anyway, as I was saying, you should fight me sometime."

You raise a brow, but Émile doesn't explain himself. You keep silent, and he takes the hint. "Without disarming me, you know, cause I think that's like, cheating."

You continue on your not so merry way. Émile sticks close next to you. His hands move erratically as he pitches his point. "Let me have a chance! I know you're like, super powerful or something– at least that's what all the bounty posters warn you about–but I think I can genuinely stand a chance. You're not so tough—just look at you!"

You come to an abrupt stop, forcing him to do so too. He digs his boots into the dirt ground and spins around to face you.

You hold your hand out, his eyes follow it. Your fingers snap.

Suddenly, Émile is swept off his feet; but he's not on his back like always. This time, he's upside down in the air.

With that done, you continue your trek forward.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Hey, you–you're not just gonna leave me here, are you?!"

There is no response.

"Sometimes, he behaved like anyone else, like a friend. Well, most friends don't flirt, but that's besides the point. On these days, he had the best of intentions, of course. He greeted me with flowers on the occasion. He was an inconvenience anyway, but on the nicer end."

"I was, um, wondering–" Your silent stare was on him as always. Usually he took it like a champ, smiling at you while you kept up the poker face. Right now, however, he was far from chill. He gulps and looks down, rubbing at his neck. Sweat is forming on his forehead. "Are you doing anything... villan-y this weekend?"

Émile says it was the rush of adrenaline or the ecstasy of catching sight of your face for the first time that allowed him to ask you out blatantly. The times following, he's not been able to be so straightforward.

Your lips draw back as you debate on whether to say something. He was harmless, anyway, it was whatever. "No?"

"That's... good. So," He leans forward, arms behind his back and head inclined forward. His eyes are pleading. "would you, I don't know, want to do anything with me thi–this weekend?"

You bite your lip. Émile was a nice guy... most of the time. But he was an amateur. His sense of danger, it wasn't exactly coherent. If anything, he was lucky to have made it this far—he was luckier than you, anyway. You liked him, sure. Sometimes he made you laugh. You sort of needed that to mix up things. You just didn't want to drag him into the mess of your life.

He seemed very insistent, still, and he would probably never stop until you said yes. "...sure."

"Yes!" Émile exclaims. He takes a few steps back and jumps in the air, fists raised up high. He does a few excited spins. Then, once he turns back to you, he freezes. He clears his throat, "I mean, cool."

"Some other times, he was both."

Émile was harmless, but after Ume, you couldn't trust anyone. If he... was just pulling a facade, warm and friendly just like she was, you wouldn't forgive yourself for killing another friend.

But as time went on, and more and more often he asked you to do something throughout the week, you grew... closer and more comfortable around him.

Émile was like that. He was so happy-go-lucky, you could never assume he had something going on below the surface. He was an open book you could maybe even write in. He was everything you needed after your last relationship.

Émile greets you with another bouquet of flowers. The last ones didn't last long, having no vase to inhabit; yet he gives you more anyway. "Hello." He greets, a smirk on his face that you should've minded.

Your hand covers his as you take the bouquet from him, and at that moment, a knife protrudes from out of the bouquet. It nicks you on the chin.

"Ow! You ass." You groan, wiping at the blood.

Émile merely laughs in return.

If that's how he was gonna be, you were going to be worse. Rapidly, as if a week had gone by, the flowers begin to wilt. The cut on your chin heals just as quick and the blood on your fingers dissipates.

"Wow," Émile's smirk turns into a grin. "that was cool! What was that?"

"Something," You pluck his sword from the bouquet of wilting flowers, "you will never have the capacity to learn." With those happily spoken yet insulting words, you tap the bulb of his nose with the flat of the blade.

He purses his lips in return and snatches the sword out of your hands. "You sure? I've got a lot tricks up my sleeve, clearly."

"I don't imagine you've got years of magic experience hidden behind your ear."

He raises his finger with a nod forward, his lips pressed into a line. "You... would be right."

"I thought so." You take a wilted flower from the bouquet. It's brittle, practically breaking apart under the light hold between your fingers. Still, in some kind of sick romance, you tuck it behind Émile's ear. "You better get training."

He smiles.

"So what happened to him?"

You bite your lip and look down. "He..." You can't bring yourself to say it. Kaeya brings a hand to your shoulder. He shows you his sympathy. His hand's warm, its heat spreads comfortably throughout your body. "He died. I was the cause, and I couldn't prevent it."

There were so many things you wished to forget, so many things you regret. The list will always pile up.

Émile knew of this early on in your relationship. You hadn't explicitly told him anything, he just... sort of knew. It was evident in the way you carried yourself. You wanted to be unseen. Your cloaks riveting fabric kept you hidden from the world. You stayed silent. You frowned often. You were always stuck in your head.

If you wouldn't tell him of your past, that was fine. He just wanted to be there for you. You've always been a solemn kind of man. He liked cheering you up, making you laugh. But what would you have when he wasn't around?

Word on the block was that there was a new artefact in the Museum of the People. The museum housed a collection of items and strange machines from the antecedents of Natlan's immigrants from five hundred years ago.

This one seemed to be a child's plaything, a nightlight or mechanical torch or so. It could be turned on and off. When it was on, it painted a sea of images out of light that spun around in a circle. It was a magnificent thing.

Émile had made it up in his mind that he would get it for you. When he wasn't with you, this would remind you of him. It would be a wonderful gift.

His mission hadn't quite gone as planned. The museum, it turned out, had a dozen skilled and armed guards. Émile hadn't accounted for those. He hadn't scouted out the area either, being wanted and all.

Émile was always reckless, but he was brave and brazen. If he faced danger, he could fight it and survive no problem. That hadn't been the occasion this time.

You only managed to catch him as he collapsed in an alleyway, already spewing his last breaths.

"I love you." Were his last words.

He wasn't able to hear it back from you before inhale became exhale and no more air came in.

His eyes, you would have the courage to close; shutting his beautiful blues and hiding them from the universe for the last time.

His body you would bury on your own. You buried him in a plain covered in flowers, by a river that draped over its rocks like velvet, facing the sunset.

...and his revenge, you would enact.

"He taught me," You begin without Kaeya's prodding, "that I should not get so attached to others. In a way, it was almost the same lesson Ume gave me. They both prevent the same thing, anyway."

Kaeya frowns. He could see it in you, the sorrow, without having to look you in the eye. Silently, he brings you into a hug.

You sigh, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Of course he knew. He knew you best out of all people, even after so long apart. Many things had changed about you, but a semblance of the (y/n) Kaeya remembers will always be in you.

"His death wasn't your fault."

"If we hadn't been so close–"

"You would've lived the loneliest life." He brings a hand up to your hair to comfort you, "(y/n), people will never stop caring for you. Zero, Lorelai, and Morden are proof of that."

He takes a deep breath and says, "...and so am I."

The next morning, when Kaeya wakes, the sun's in his eye, shining bright through the tent. He lays still there for a moment, covering his eye from the sun's bright rays.

He's not trying to sleep again. Instead, he's thinking.

He's thinking about Émile.

Émile had done everything for you. He lived to seek you out. He lived to love you.

In many ways, Kaeya had been the same. When he was still young, a boy in naivety, he lived for you... and you had lived for him. As the days went by, you grew more and more attached to each other again. The lessons you'd learned, he'd undone unintentionally. If he was to die, what would become of you?

He sits up quick after that thought, clutching his head with one hand and his stomach in the other. He couldn't think of that possibility. He wouldn't allow it to be a possibility.

He struggles to stand and part the flaps of his tent, but when he does, his eye catch your figure.

You sit atop a makeshift seat, stoking the dying embers of last night's fire. The uncooked rations of breakfast lay next to you.

Your eyes flicker down his body briefly, then back up at him. "Good morning." You greet.

"Good morning." He greets too.

Breakfast was not ready, and neither was coffee. It was alright. He was already awake. Although, there was not much to do. He resorts to sitting around aimlessly.

After the pan for breakfast is laid atop the fire and the rations are cooking, you turn to him. "There was a sort of game Émile and I used to play."

Kaeya sits up attentively, "What is it?"

You hold a finger in the air, "Hold that thought." Where were those cards you'd taken from the bandit camp? You'd packed up your things in a hurry then, and—there they are!

You return and sit closer to him, cards in hand. "Let me tell you what he used to say." You clear your throat, "Play a game of cards with me. If I win, you travel with me for a while. If I lose… well, we’ll find out afterwards."

Kaeya smiles, "We'll have to figure out different rewards. You're already stuck with me."

"I'd say," You begin, picking out fourteen cards from the pile and dividing them for the two of you, "you're stuck with me actually. But anyway, I guess you can hand me something that you took from the bandit camp."

He nods his head. Not a bad prospect. "Then I'll say, after all this is over," He likes to remain positive, because you aren't, "you'll stay with me for a while." Your eyebrows furrow at that proposal. "What? I'm still fond of you."

"Fond of me." You chuckle, as if the idea is outlandish.

"The idea is not so far-fetched, believe you me." Kaeya spreads the seven cards out in his hand, showing himself each letter and number. "What's the game, anyway?"

"Ah, right. Go Fish."

"Go Fish!" Kaeya exclaims, "That simple of a game?"

"Émile was a simple man." You laugh. The mention of him again, with such a dopey laugh, gets Kaeya a little jealous, but he doesn't mention it. "Do you remember, as kids, Go Fish was that one game that was so easy, we children thought it was too childish? Then, as teens you and I, we were too busy to even play cards. Émile thought it good to go back to your "inner child" or something like that."

Kaeya shakes his head with a laugh but continues on with the game regardless. Then, one of the cards in his hand catches his eye. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Do you have a... King?"

"No." It wasn't "Go fish." like the proper game, rather a "no". Something was up with your hand too. "Do you have a... Queen?"

"No." He replies. Breaking all the rules in the game, Kaeya plucks his King from his hand and shows it to you. You do the same with your Queen.

Your cards are the very same as other Kings and Queens in the deck, yet their symbols and colors are so much different.

Instead of a landscape of reds, blues and blacks in harmony, the Queen was entirely light blue. Her symbol wasn't ace, heart, clover or diamond. Instead, it was a drop shape, like a droplet. It was a tear drop, clearly, by the similar tear drop depicted on her cheek. Her eyes were also closed, instead of open, and she wasn't smiling, rather frowning.

The King was much the same way, except he was entirely made up of red. Instead of a simple smile, his lips were open in a grin. The shape of his symbol was the same as the Queen's, a droplet. This wasn't a tear drop, definitely not, because many drops of the same shape were scattered atop the depiction of the King's blade. This was a drop of blood.

The Queen of Tears and the King of Blood. How... "Ominous." Kaeya remarks.

You bring up the card's packet. It looks like every other pack of cards you've ever seen before. Except, its manufacturing details read: "Made in Life." You read out loud, "Have you ever heard of such a place?"

"No, I can't say I have. Perhaps it's more metaphysical, rather than a place?" He suggests.

You nod, "Can't rule out the idea."

Those two monarchs... they seemed familiar.

A ghostly white carriage, accented in blue and a blood red carriage, accented in gold... Yes, that's it! The monarchs, they'd visited your town. The memories were coming back to you now.

The disease. It couldn't be... was that the Blood Parade?

"The withering."

The village ahead of you was nothing more than a ghost town. The grass in and around it for meters around the town was a dying yellow. There were no green, healthy plants around, and any and all tree bark was old and dead.

"Fuck!" You groan out in frustration, "This was supposed to be it."

Kaeya hated to see you like this.

You remembered this town, it was where many of the kids you were friends with came from. You shared festivals sometimes and you still remembered the way there. It was called Prosperity, the Town of Prosperity, yet here it stands today.

Your own town and its name, you couldn't remember, like a part of your memory was locked. You were hoping you'd be able to ask around for it here.

The withering slowly sucks at your magic reserve, but it allows you to be here long enough to search.

"Could your town be affected by the withering too?" Kaeya asks.

You bite your lip, "It's a possibility." You swear, though, that wasn't what took it off the maps. It was a disease, a plague, something that wracked your town mercilessly. It wasn't the withering.

You search around buildings, leaving your horses by the outskirts.

The first place you go into is a house by the outskirts. A simple try at the front door reveals that it's unlocked. You head inside, Kaeya close behind you.

It seemed like an empty house, as if vacant for new tenants. You trace your hand along the back of a couch. Layers of dust and grime litter its fabric. Just with basic sight, you can tell that the rest of the house is also dusty.

The next house looks about the same. Things that can't be moved so easy, like furniture, remain here; but the smaller things, the memorabilia, it's all gone. The villagers must've left in a hurry.

The place is empty, deserted. As much as you search, you can't find neither hide nor hair of where they must've gone.

"There's nothing here." Kaeya touches your shoulder.

"No," You disagree verbally, though you know he was right. "there's got to be something here."

He shakes his head, "(y/n)–"

"There's still a couple buildings we haven't checked–"

"(y/n)."

"–and one of them has to be the village leader's house. They have to have left something. I think... I remember their name. It was–"

"(y/n)." He moves you, forcefully, to spin around and face him. "There is nothing here." His eye digs into yours.

Fucking hell... there was nothing here. You had to come to accept it.

He couldn't stay here for long, not when he was weak like this; and you wouldn't be able to withstand the withering for long either. You had to go.

You sit in camp, back hunched and pondering. Kaeya knew that you were certainly not in the mood for anything at all that wasn't work, so he took up to making dinner on his own.

You had felt this emotion in your search before. It was like the feeling of a crushing defeat. But this time, it was far more than just that. You had spent long summers, long festival days, there. If the Town of Prosperity was abandoned, only so much less could've happened to yours.

Fuck.

"Stop fiddling with that knife."

"Hm?" You look down at your hands. Your dagger is in your right hand, the middle of the handle teetering from left to right between your thumb and pointer fingers. The point of it lay against the inside of your left thumb, already piercing the first layer of skin. When you finally see the wound, the pain comes to you. You hiss at its sting, lapping at the finger with your tongue for momentary relief.

If... if the Town of Prosperity was gone, what could have become of yours?

The withering was merciless and indiscriminative in its attack. If the Town of Prosperity, a place only so much farther from your village, fell under its crutches, yours could have very well suffered too.

But, when you dig far into your memories, you know it wasn't the withering. It was a disease, you're set on it.

"I said stop, you know."

"What?" Your thumb is still bleeding. The tip of your knife, this time, lays against the middle of your ring finger. It threatens to pierce.

"You could hurt yourself further." Kaeya takes a break from cooking, stealing the knife from your grasp.

"Sorry." You look down in shame.

He sighs, "No, don't apologize to me for it." He brings a hand to your cheek, slowly coercing you to look up at him. "Why were you even doing that?"

"You got me thinking of Ume and Émile the night before." Kaeya bites his lip. He regrets asking you for stories now. "And they remind me of someone else."

He curses his curiosity. "Who?"

"His name was Huanghun. He was even more roguish than I. Huanghun was a man always caught up in his brooding. His past, he never told me, but I had a feeling it shaped the way he behaved. He was always fiddling with that knife of his. It was engraved with something in the native tongue of Liyue, so I don't know what it meant. He... also taught me something. Would you like to hear the story?"

If Ume and Émile reminded you of Huanghun, he most certainly didn't want to ask. He supposes the notion is visible on his face, as you say the following: "Don't worry. It's not tragic or anything."

Kaeya purses his lips but nods, taking a seat next to you.

"Huanghun and I were alike. Though, whereas I tried to socialize, he didn't even want to try. But he and I mingled in the same area at the time and we were both wanted men. The first time we met each other, Huanghun sized me up and left. It was clear to me that he was powerful. The sword at his waist wasn't like any other and I could sense he was a magician of some kind.

"Many times, Huanghun and I met. That's why I proposed a sort of alliance. At first, he scoffed at it, but after some thinking, he ended up agreeing. I think he knew that if we were to fight, one of us would fall and the other would soon after.

"He reminded me much of myself when I first began my journey. I was bitter then, and he was still bitter. I was brooding, sulking, and so was he. Anyway, Huanghun was a sort of guide throughout my search. He pointed me in the way of many areas that I asked to know of. They were often dangerous places, though. He might've tried to set me up once or twice." You chuckle at the memory. "He eventually warmed up to me, or at least as warm as Huanghun could get. His scowl stayed and so did his silence about his past, but he spoke to me. He was actually humorous in the way that some idioms flew over his head or some things he said meant other things that he didn't know of."

"What happened to him?" Kaeya asks. Even through your assurance, he hopes that it's not something tragic like the couple of few times he's asked.

"We parted ways eventually." You sigh, "The search in Liyue had turned out empty. He's probably still alive today, powerful as he is. Don't know if he learned the same lesson as I did, though."

"And that is?"

"What is there to life, if I'm brooding and solitary? It almost completely unmade the past two lessons, the ones from Ume and Émile. In the end, though," You grimace, "it probably just led to a personality change. Some lesson, you know?"

"Ah, I dunno." Kaeya begins playfully, "I think brooding folk are handsome sometimes."

You raise a brow, "Over who I am today?"

"No," He smiles, "no, definitely not."

With that story and conversation done, Kaeya stands up to continue dinner. It appears he does it too fast or something, because he stumbles and holds onto his stomach.

You stand too, and steady him by the shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He nods his head, "I'm alright. I probably just need some rest. The withering took its toll on me."

You purse your lips and nod, "Okay. Go get your rest. I'll take over dinner."

"But–"

He protests, but you flick at his shoulder lightly. "Nuh-uh. The withering, like you said, was harsh on you. You need to get your rest."

He nods and smiles. "Okay."

You smile, "Good."

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fabricated-misslieness · 1 year

Text

𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 Chapter 19: Celebration of the Blinded

Hero Kaeya x Villain male reader

Summary: Every hero's journey had to have a happy end.

Word Count: 3,874

Warnings: swearing, light-hearted insults, light mention of murder dw about it

Mayb’s notes: everything said here is on purpose (probably, if i didn't make mistakes)

The line between heroes and villains is more blurred than one would think.

Some might say the difference is in intent. But when has intent ever helped to solve the consequences? You had learnt Necromancy and it'd gotten you exiled. The subsequent bounty placed on your head caused the many lives you'd taken afterwards. While there were exceptions, you always had the intent of self-defense. Still, you were deemed a villain.

Maybe it was exactly who was killed. But then the amount of lives squashed under one's heel was negated. If a hero severed a million threads of fate, a million men who were all inherently bad, how could that not be regarded as bad? That hero would've taken and taken and taken forever—until their own death came to be.

That wasn't a philosophy that should be followed, right?

The halls of this castle were endless and empty–Was that a constant trait for every one of these needlessly luxurious palaces?–something you should get used to now, or soon. At the very least, during sunset, hallways facing the courtyard offered a wonderful view.

Kaeya and you had meandered the hallways many a time, discovering them empty and monotonous, never changing, always.

For now they only seemed like an escape; away from the viciously loyal Royal Guard and the countless meetings with the King. He had shown his true colors since you met him, with his countless manipulative strategies you'd seen through. You should be grateful, you owe me one for leaving you exiled, I tried my best for the citizens—right now, he was trying to get on your good side by showering you with endless gifts.

But what use of them did you have now?

The path ahead of you was set. The King would take care of your needs for the rest of your life. What was there to strive for now?

That question was left unanswered, but you now there was something to anticipate.

"Nervous?"

"Quite the understatement, that."

Kaeya sits next to you on the cold, tile window seat. He scoots close and takes one of your hands. For the moment, he doesn't beg for your eyes. The sun sets far in the horizon, the same as the day before yet still a sight to behold. "So tell me what bothers you." He says.

"Well," Where to start? "the biggest news the citizens of Mondstadt had heard of me, and probably the last thing for most of them, is that I had done an act of treason and I had learned the most taboo of magicks."

"All of your acts will be cleared. I can see why they would be opposed. But the King has your back," He scoffs, "for once."

"Don't get me started on him." You roll your eyes, to which he snickers.

"I know the troubles with the King. On that, we share frustration." He ponders but for a moment, "When do you think he'll give up on us?"

"He wouldn't dare strip us of our titles. He knows I'm a threat, and now you've dug yourself a trench of caution he won't cross. So... we'll become one of the things he tolerates."

"Right. So, then, anything else?"

"Jean, Lisa, Amber—they don't know we're here."

"Back home." Home. "Nobody knows we're here. I'll bet Diluc will storm through the gates of the palace himself just to scold me. Maybe that's something I deserve."

You turn, catching him mid laugh. As you suspected, he was only looking at you and not the landscape. Oh, that love you shared would kill you one day.

"What about you?" You ask, bringing his hand up to kiss it.

His smile grows and he looks away bashfully. For all the flirting you'd done leading before that night, and the rambunctious love of your past, he seemed all too bashful when you showed him any kind of uncalled for loving. Not that you were any better.

"Oh, well," He sighs. It comes off dreamy and joyful. "I've prepared myself for it. Or at least, that's what I'd like. It still hasn't fully registered in my mind that this is how the rest of our lives will go."

"Awfully boring, don't you think?" You snicker, "If surviving and work are no longer worries, what have we to do?"

"That's right. With all twenty-four hours of my day readily available, what is there left to suffer through?" He snickers. "Though in all seriousness, I think I will return to my Captain work. It fills the day."

"You still have a sense of duty to Mondstadt?"

"Of course." He says, as though it is the clearest of answers. "Maybe I wasn't born here, maybe the people will never stop thinking about me as something higher than them after tomorrow, but it is still the place I call home."

Home. Would Mondstadt ever be home to you anymore?

"It is my greatest pleasure to announce to you all," The King's voice boomed. His hands rose wide as he regarded the crowd. Both his smile and medallions gleamed under the bright sun, blinding the crowd even more as they stared up. "that we, Mondstadt, have beaten the plague!"

The citizens of Mondstadt cheered. They didn't know of the cure, didn't know how it would be administered, didn't know if it would have a price. But beating something, especially the plague, was a good thing to be celebrated.

An assistant brings the vile to the King. It is clear white, not special at all. The King had his suspicions about it at first, there certainly wasn't a method of which to verify it safely, and had brought one of his greatest mages. They too, held their scorn for you and suspicion for the liquid, but they confirmed its validity.

He shows it off in his palm and the crowd ooh's and ah's. "Our very troubles will be over, my dear people. But I alone did not discover this."

Oh good, you were half sure he would skip over giving credit in the first place. He had certainly put himself into the equation without hesitation, anyway. He gestures towards the back of the stage, at the two of you. Hardly a second had passed before his little guards pushed you forward.

The crowd gasped and screeched terribly. You know they wish to throw tomatoes, jeer and heckle, but none are more scared of the King than the citizens themselves.

The King puts a hand on each of your shoulders. Its warmth is sickening.

"As an act of gratitude, compensation for their harsh journey, and a reward for bringing the reward to our Kingdom, I shall grant them an exalted knighthood. From this day onwards, they shall be regarded as Royal Guards."

With his hand on your shoulder, he brings you in front of him. He exchanges the cure for a sword, leaving you to figure out what you're doing.

It wasn't the first time you would gain a title, anyway.

But this wasn't the man who'd crowned you Knight, nor the man who granted you the title of Illusionary Knight. This wasn't the man who surely vouched for your life, nor the man who trained you from the ground up. Varka and the Royal Guards weren't one in the same, they were hardly allies. You could only imagine what he had to say.

You kneel down before him, an awful movement you wish you didn't have to do. The King smiles down at you. You, in turn, look down at the ground. His shoes are spotless.

"With the power vested in me, I hereby crown you a Royal Guard. May your days under servitude bring me success and may the light of your eye never dull."

The flat of the ceremonial blade is laid upon your head. Then, its steel weighs heavy as it taps each of your shoulder.

For a moment, you think he just might kill you.

Not only were you both crowned Royal Guards, which meant a life of luxury almost equal to that of a Prince (as the King had no children), you were also given a feast.

The nobles themselves were also given a party in the palace, but they were just nobles. While they partied the night away in the ballroom and while "regular peasants" snuck their way into the palace, the royals were enjoying a dinner.

It was the first time that the King dined with you.

He sat, naturally, at the end of the table. Kaeya was sat in front of you, the comfort of his hand far from yours. Filling the rest of the long table were the remainder of the Royal Guards.

You were both sore, blistered thumbs in a pair of perfectly uniform hands.

There were so many forks, spoons, and knives. Each Guard seemed to have gotten their lesson in royal cutlery, but the King himself hadn't. He didn't much care for fish knives and salad forks, a rather surprising and begrudging comfort because of your inexistent knowledge of royal dinner etiquette.

At the very least, the King knew to wipe his mouth. The Guards' conversations pause when he speaks up. "What do you think of the feast?" He asks, as though you haven't been having fancy food over the past few weeks because you hadn't dined with him.

"It's certainly... new." You say, forgetting to bluff to ease his feelings but still making sure not to say anything bad.

Kaeya, on the other hand, picks up your slack. "It's great. I've never had something like, gosh, the butter crabs? Oh and," He takes a sip of his drink and laughs, "A hundred year aged wine."

"Not even at Dawn Winery?" The King asks.

Kaeya winces for hardly a second before masking the unvoluntary expression with a gracious smile. "No, father would never have let me. Master Diluc, even more so."

"Well, we have to break out the specialty for celebration, don't we?" The King laughs. It's the sort of laugh that ends a conversation.

"Of course."

The food, as lavish as it was, lacked the taste of familiarity. It wasn't personal. It wasn't a meal made for a people you knew personally, it was one made for stuck up folk with special and expensive tastes. It didn't taste nearly as good when it wasn't a meal made at home.

You suppose, then, that this is something else you'll have to get used to.

You weren't prisoners. The King made that clear when he offered you a place in his "home".

Except, now that everything was said and done, where else could you possibly go? You were exiled, and now all of your crimes were pardoned, but the people still knew what you did. They feared you, that much was always going to be a fact, and going into the streets was merely an unnecessary testament.

You were hardly even approachable anymore. Being one of the King's filthy Royal Guards did not give you a favorable reputation, added on top of your haunting past.

But there were people that were willing to look past that.

"Lisa Lisa?" You call into the Knights of Favonius library. She was uncharacteristically missing from her chair at the entrance to the library.

"Down here!"

Jean would be mad at your for a reasonable amount of time, and it that anger would only decrease after you see her again. Amber, on the other hand, was a wild card. She was your little sister, and she loved you a lot. You could only imagine how she would react, and never was the thought the same in your mind.

Lisa understood you. She was once your best friend. She'd be mad, then she'd accept your apology, and then she'd tease you. Such were her predictable ways.

"Tell me, what do you need the Librarian's help for?" She asks without looking up from the bookshelf where she's putting books back in their place.

"You're actually doing work for once?"

At your voice, second only to Jean's in familiarity, her head snaps to you. "(y/n)? For Favonius, you could've sent me a letter in advance!" She clutches her chest, as though you've just given her a heart attack. "And, I'll have you know I do a lot of work around here!"

"Not when I knew you." You close some distance between you two, cautiously.

She doesn't seem to care. She closes more distance and takes your cheeks in her hand, turning your head this way and that to examine you. "Did anyone tell you you have dirt on your cheek?"

"No, it must be recent. Besides, no knight nor citizen will talk to me."

She huffs, "That's no way to treat a hero."

A hero? Is that what you were deemed to be now? "Lisa, I wouldn't–"

"Nonsense. You brought us a cure, didn't you?" She clicks her tongue, parting from you to give you an up and down look for even more injuries. "Tell me you didn't put yourself in unnecessary danger or get yourself fatally wounded."

"Well..." She scowls at you, so you continue before she can assume anything. "I wanted Kaeya to go home, he refused, we got ambushed by bandits because we were arguing, and he got captured. I escaped because they were afraid of my status as a big Villain. I had to go back though, couldn't leave him of course, and we fought our way out."

"Didn't I teach you a thing or two about the benefits of stealth?" She tuts.

"Yeah, I mean, maybe." She groans at that so you scramble for an excuse. "But it wasn't an option, I assure you!"

"That's what you always say." She sighs, then laughs. "I was just teasing you."

The way she greeted you, the way she treated you now, it wasn't anything at all as you'd expected. You had changed much over your eight years gone. Of course she had changed too.

"Lisa!" For the love of Favonius, Jean.

Lisa doesn't reply, either already knows Jean's anger or can deduce that you and her won't mix so soon after your new Knighthood, but that doesn't stop Jean from finding her.

When the Captain's eyes land on you, her eyebrows furrow deeply. "You." Is all she says.

"Me." You reply.

Jean looks like she's rearing back for many things. For one, a breath; two, an entire argument, all within the span of a couple of seconds. Before she can, however, you interrupt her.

"Jean. I know you have a lot of things to say–"

"A lot," Her voice is stern, intimidating, she won't be having any of your shit today or perhaps even ever. "is an understatement."

"And I know that! I know that. But, let's just, um," What could you say to avoid the wrath of Jean Gunnhildr? "discuss over a cup of tea?"

"A cup of tea." She enunciates slowly because she cannot believe you.

"Yes, and I know just the place." Lisa interrupts. She adds another person, one who is accepting of your presence (along with being someone Jean loves), in order to coerce her further. "My personal collection, and apologetically yours too, is not enough for this kind of baggage."

Lisa was always great at clearing or lightening the mood, but even she couldn't be a hard obstacle against Jean's ambitious path. For the moment, the Captain was preserving the–her Knighthood's integrity by appearing calm. She would not have an argument in such an open space like this, and even when you'd found yourself seated in a secluded corner at a tea shop or wherever Lisa was taking you, she would speak in hushed shouts.

Jean Gunnhildr was a disciplined woman. For many years, she was your big sister and your leader. She was responsible enough to be Acting Grandmaster for several years as Varka went on his expeditions. But today, today she would let all of her frustrations out.

Now was simply not the moment. Wrong place, wrong time. That would change soon.

"Excuse me?" The three of you come to a stop and turn your heads towards the person behind you. She greets you with a shyness unrivaled. "I..." She stares down at the ground, her hands clasped in front of her. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"What?" At the surprised blurt, she jumps in place and accidentally snaps her gaze right at yours.

"I wanted to say thank you!" She exclaims louder with a newfound courage. "For bringing a cure to Mondstadt. My father died to the plague a month ago. Now that I... now that you brought the cure, no one will ever suffer through what I have again!"

"I–" What was there to say? "It's no problem?"

"I wanted to say thank you as well!" Someone speaks up. You can hardly track their voice as even more and more people shout their gratitude.

"My son won't have to live in a world of plague anymore!"

"My brother, in the quarantine zone, he'll make it through!"

"You've saved us!"

"I've saved you?" You couldn't possibly fathom what they were saying. They were treating you like a hero, thanking you as if you had done something that deserved high praise. You–you weren't a hero. You were far from it.

These people, they were blind to your past, to everything you've ever done. They should boo and heckle, not do whatever this is!

A crowd forms around you, so big and intruding that Lisa and Jean are separated from you.

"Excuse me–" Pushing through the crowd, comes your savior. It's Jean. "Sir, please, let me through." The space she creates for herself is quickly filled by another person. "Everyone, please, go back to what you were doing."

As she reaches the center, she grabs hold of your hand. It's not a harsh hold, in fact, it's the opposite. It's gentle. "As a Captain of the Knights, I implore you all, please move on!"

You clear your throat with a gained courage from Jean's care for you, "I do thank you all for your gratitude. But please, as a Royal Guard, continue on."

The crowd finally obeys.

"You know, for a Royal Guard, that was good handling of a crowd." Jean remarks. Her hold on your arm remains. What once served as a way of not losing you now becomes a little gesture of affection between friends.

"Lady Gunnhildr, is that an insult I just heard? From you?"

"Trust me, you're going to hear plenty more of those soon."

While your reunion with Lisa had gone smoothly and Jean's rocky at best, you could only wonder what Amber's would be like. At most, it would be a landslide, but a landslide could still swallow you whole.

There were many ways it could go. She'd scream at you and be angry, she'd look at you with a face ridden with betrayal and leave, or she'd cry. Many scenarios ended with the words "We'll never be the same again." But, as with Lisa, it had been eight years since your friendship was at its peak. Surely she'd changed. Beside, the last time you spoke, you had promised that you would get to know each other again. It was only right.

And if she didn't want anything to do with you anymore you would have to deal with your consequences.

"Were chocolates not enough?"

"(y/n)..." Kaeya sighs.

"Or were they too much?"

"(y/n)." Lisa groans.

"What will she say? What will she do? Oh Gods, what will I do?"

"(y/n)." Jean speaks up. Her voice is stronger, more stern than the others. It catches your attention. "It'll be fine. You'll know what to do. And, by the way, I would've liked chocolates for our reunion."

"I hate to break Jean's teasing mood but," Kaeya leans against the window's frame, "Amber's coming."

You take a deep breath and ready yourself. Amber loved you. You loved her. You were siblings in spirit. If there was another world where the two of you existed, you would be siblings. What was that comparison?

The next deep breath you take is interrupted by Amber's entrance.

"(y/n)?" The first syllable of your name is spoken in shock. The next is almost choked, broken, falling. "You're here!"

You did not know what to do.

But you didn't have to. Amber runs over to you instead, wrapping her arms around your middle. In naught but a second, she's crying.

The last time you were hugging each other so tenderly, she was merely fourteen. And now she's twenty-two! You made a promise for her last you saw her. Because of it, she hoped for another chance to hug, love, and care for you, and you'd ripped it away when you left in your leadless search.

This scenario wasn't unexpected, but it was more than welcome. Of course she still loved you, and you her.

"I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, she can't. She's got her face in your shirt, staining it with salty warm tears, and she's sobbing so much she can't possibly articulate words.

"I brought chocolates?"

"You stupid oaf."

Was the Queen a hero? And then, the King a villain?

You ponder this on a restless knight. The sheets of your bed were of silk. The pillow was even and large, comfortable, and Kaeya's chest even more comfortable. Still, none of these helped lull you to sleep.

Even the ceiling was decorated, framed in gold and painted with the winds of Lord Barbatos. Said winds howled outside your window.

How could the Queen had been a hero? She clearly held some sort of resentment for her King. When his plague rot the streets of her city, she treated her citizens. In her art, it was her who coerced her husband into creating their Kingdom from the ashes of an old one. She sheltered refugees and immigrants of other nations, though still allowed her husband's wars. Was she against them in the first place? That much, you didn't know. She was supportive enough so as to let her son march into battle and die.

The King, on the other hand, was very clearly a bad guy. You didn't know why he would start a plague. The man before you that night was filled with regrets, and he was begging for death. He learnt what it felt like to suffer his own plague for years on end, but it was only because of that, surely, that he wanted it to end. He had brought about many wars and gave many people to Lady Death.

So he was, obviously, a villain.

The Queen was the King's counterpart; the mercy to his ruthlessness and the care to his indifference. Naturally, when it came to aligning with Villains and Heroes, she was a hero. She had been nothing but sweet to you. Even so... there was something about her that was so, so wrong.

The Queen of Tears was the woman that handed you the cure to a plague so easily. She was the woman who had shown you kindness, who offered to give you everything, the woman who ensured your safe journey back home.

How could you doubt her like this?

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