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xichilie · 17 hours ago

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Ashes of khaenri'ah (14&15)

The day had slipped by faster than she’d realized.

But Misha hadn’t returned.

Y/N stood by her window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching as the sky darkened and the outpost dimmed into quiet. Snowflakes drifted lazily past the glass, catching in the flicker of distant torches. Everything had gone still.

Except for her.

She paced restlessly, her footsteps nearly silent against the floor. The others had gone to sleep hours ago. Childe had offered her comfort earlier, but even that hadn’t settled the knot of unease curling in her gut.

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Misha had disappeared before, sure — but he always checked in before leaving for longer periods. A short word, a nod, even just a note. This silence… it wasn’t like him.

Her jaw set. She needed to do something.

A thought hit her, sudden and sharp.

His room.

She slipped out of hers with practiced care, quiet as breath. The hallways were dimly lit, empty except for the soft creak of old wood and the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper in the outpost. She reached Misha’s door and hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.

Empty.

But that wasn’t what she’d come to see.

She crossed the room with a quiet urgency, heading straight for the wooden table tucked beneath the wall-mounted shelves. Her eyes scanned the surface until they found it — exactly where she remembered.

The old Khaenri’ahn spellbook.

Bound in worn midnight-blue leather, the sigil of the royal mages embossed into the cover like a faint constellation. Despite its age, it was well-kept — clearly loved, preserved by spells older than any language spoken aloud now. Misha had guarded this book like a relic… because it was one.

Y/N ran her fingers over the cover, a flicker of emotion tightening her throat. She remembered sitting beside him on quiet nights, watching his gloved hands turn the pages, his voice low as he translated faded runes into lessons just for her.

“Not everything powerful must be violent,” he’d once said. “Some spells protect. Some guide. Some… find.”

That was the one she needed.

She opened the book carefully, the pages whispering with magic as they turned beneath her touch. She found the passage near the middle — a tracking ritual, old and precise. It was delicate magic, meant to connect one bloodline to another through the flow of the ley.

She smiled, determined.

Minutes later, her bag was packed — a spare coat, a flask of water, some dried herbs, a crystal for leyline resonance, and the spellbook, gently wrapped in cloth and placed at the bottom.

No hesitation this time.

She pulled her hood up, tightened the straps, and slipped out into the cold.

The outpost was still asleep, the guards doing their rounds far from the entrance. She moved with purpose, avoiding the usual paths, sticking to shadows childe had shown her in passing. She reached the outer wall and paused only once — glancing back at the place that had become a fragile sort of home.

Then she turned and walked into the snow.

She didn’t know exactly where Misha had gone.

But she would find him.

Because if he thought he had to suffer alone — if he thought she couldn’t help carry the weight he’d been breaking under for centuries — then he had seriously underestimated her.

And this time… she wouldn’t be too late.

After she put some distance between herself and the outpost she opened the old book, and began the spell, she could fell a warmth traveling through her veins to her fingertips and a golden thread appeared before her eyes, it worked. She smiled as she began following it.

Y/N watched the glowing thread disappear at the edge of the ravine, its soft light fading into the snow like a breath exhaled and gone. The cold pressed around her like a heavy blanket, but it was the silence that unsettled her more.

She glanced down at the spellbook in her arms—worn, heavy, ancient. Misha had always handled it with reverence. Now, flipping through the pages with gloved fingers, she retraced the steps of the locator spell. Every line. Every glyph.

She had done it right. So why had it led her here… and nowhere else?

The sudden crunch of snow behind her made her turn sharply, clutching the book instinctively.

A tall figure emerged from the trees, his presence immediate and quiet. She didn’t have to see the mask to know who it was.

Capitano.

Y/N stiffened as he stopped a few paces away, his imposing frame partially backlit by the faint moonlight.

“It’s dangerous to wander this far from the outpost,” he said, his voice calm. “Especially alone. And especially here.”

“I know,” she replied, trying to keep her tone even. “I was… looking for my brother.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment before he asked, “Has he gone missing?”

“He left this morning. He hasn’t come back.” She looked away, worry flickering across her face. “No one’s seen him.”

Capitano tilted his head slightly. “I haven’t either.”

Y/N tightened her grip on the book. Her eyes met his again, a little guarded.

“I used a locator spell,” she admitted after a pause. “From this. It led me here.”

His eyes dropped to the familiar tome in her hands, and after a long, assessing moment, he spoke again.

“May I take a look?”

She hesitated. For all his calm, there was a weight to Capitano’s presence she couldn’t ignore. Still, after a moment, she nodded and carefully handed him the book.

He opened it with careful hands, flipping through until he reached the page she’d used. His gaze scanned the lines of ancient Khaenri’ahn script with practiced ease.

“I might’ve messed it up,” Y/N said quietly. “Or maybe I translated something wrong. It should’ve led me to him.”

“You didn’t do it wrong,” Capitano said, voice low. “But these spells are… limited.”

She frowned slightly. “How?”

“They’re more accurate with close blood relatives. A parent. A Grandparent, A sibling. A child. The bond helps the spell connect across distance.” He closed the book, handing it back. “If the person is more distantly related, the thread can be weaker—or misled.”

Y/N held the book against her chest again, absorbing that.

“…So that’s why,” she murmured. “It led me here.”

Capitano didn’t answer immediately. He looked out across the snow-covered ravine, thoughtful. Y/N followed his gaze, then asked quietly, “Why here though? Why would it lead me all the way out here, if he’s not close?”

Capitano considered this carefully. He glanced toward the broken terrain, the quiet frost hanging heavy in the air.

“It could be residual magic,” he said at last. “He used a large amount of power in this area not long ago. Some spells leave echoes—especially when cast by those with strong Khaenri’ahn blood.”

Y/N looked down at the fading trail in the snow. “So… the thread followed his energy, not him.”

He nodded. “That’s one possibility.”

Silence fell between them again, until she looked up at him—hesitant, curious.

“You knew,?” she aks quietly.

This time Capitano didn’t look away.

“I do,” he confirmed. “I recognized the signs."

Her eyes narrowed faintly in surprise.

“The abyss Herald recognized him, called him old blood, when i asked he didn’t deny it.” His voice was calm but unreadable. “Eventually, he confirmed what I already suspected.”

Y/N’s grip on the book loosened slightly, surprise flickering through her.

Capitano, watching her expression, added, “It’s not something I plan to share. His secrets are his own.”

Y/N nodded slowly, reassured by the honesty in his tone. Then, after a moment:

“You said old blood,” she said. “Do you…?”

“yes, i was there,” he replied simply. “during the fall.”

The weight of that statement settled heavily in the space between them.

Y/N studied him carefully, voice softer now. “So you’re a survivor too.”

“Yes.”

That revelation felt different. Not shocking, but grounding. It connected something unspoken between them—something old, and deep, and still healing.

Y/N held the ancient tome close, her fingers brushing against the worn leather cover as she glanced over at Capitano again, her breath misting in the cold.

“You said… you’re a survivor,” she said softly, then hesitated before continuing, “Did you know Misha back then? In Khaenri’ah?”

Capitano was quiet for a long moment. The wind moved gently through the trees, whispering over the ravine like an old voice, he didn't want to reveal to much, Misha probably wouldn't like that.

“…In a way,” he finally said, his tone even. “I knew of him.”

Y/N looked up at him, sensing his reluctance. He didn’t sound evasive, exactly—just… careful. She didn’t push, only waited.

“He was the son of the royal mage,” Capitano continued eventually, his voice low. “A prodigy, even then.”

He didn’t elaborate further, and Y/N picked up on the unspoken boundary. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“So you two knew each other personally?”

Capitano gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I think he made sure I didn’t recognize him here.”

That surprised her, but not because it felt unbelievable. Misha always had layers she couldn’t quite reach. She looked away again, the ravine stretching before them like a scar carved deep into the snow-covered land.

The silence lingered before she asked quietly, “Have you found anything else? Since… the disturbance?”

Capitano followed her gaze toward the fractured earth. “No. Not yet. Whatever the Abyss tried to open here… Misha destroyed the connection. Completely.”

She slowly nodded, her thoughts shifting. Then something sparked in her memory. She opened the spellbook again, flipping past the locator spell, her brows furrowed with focus.

“There’s one,” she murmured. “A spell that can interact with the leylines. Pull… echoes from the past. Not just memories, but energy traces. It won't give us excat answers, but it might show us what happened before anyone arrived.”

Capitano looked over at her, expression unreadable behind his mask, though his posture shifted with interest.

“I know it’s risky,” Y/N added quickly. “But it might help.”

He didn’t immediately agree, but he didn’t object either.

“That type of spell requires a great deal of focus,” he said. “And control. Do you feel confident in your ability to contain it?”

Y/N looked up at him, eyes steady. “I wouldn’t have brought the book if I didn’t.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to her surprise, Capitano gave a faint nod of approval.

“Then let’s see what the past is willing to show us.”

Y/N knelt slowly in the snow, setting the heavy tome down with reverence. The ravine before her was still, silent, but she could feel it—something had happened here. Something violent. Raw. The residue of power still lingered like smoke clinging to cold stone.

Capitano stood a few paces away, quiet and watchful. He said nothing, letting her concentrate.

She found the page again—fingers brushing the glyphs etched in deep ink. The spell she sought was old, almost ceremonial. Misha had mentioned it once in passing. A way to reach into the leylines, to stir them and draw out what they remembered. Not words or voices, but echoes. Fragments.

And it was dangerous. It required precision, control, and a steady connection to leylines. The kind of spell that could just as easily take from her as it gave.

Y/N exhaled, slow and even.

“I’ll need space,” she murmured.

Capitano gave a small nod, stepping back further without a word.

She began the preparation carefully, drawing the glyphs into the snow again, this time with more detail—sigils anchoring the spell to the leyline beneath her. The wind picked up as she worked, her magic humming faintly with recognition. Snowflakes danced in tight spirals, pulled into the forming circle.

Once the last symbol was complete, she placed both hands flat against the ground. Her breath hitched as the spell flared to life.

It was like stepping into a second heartbeat.

The entire space around her shifted—quietly at first, then all at once.

The world twisted faintly at the edges, the snow catching strange glimmers of light. Colors blurred. The ground pulsed beneath her palms like it was alive. She closed her eyes, focusing—binding the spell to her intent, her magic, her blood.

The magic reached deep—into the leyline, into time.

And then… the ravine changed.

All around them, the cold reality of the present melted into something older, darker. Shapes bled into the edges of the snow. Shadows reformed. The trees took on their former shape, the wind changed its tone. Even the silence wasn’t the same.

Capitano straightened slightly, the air around him tensing. He recognized this type of magic now. It was no illusion—it was memory shaped into space.

The spell had worked.

Y/N stood slowly, her breath uneven, eyes wide with concentration. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. It was like holding her breath under water.

Before them, the ravine now held something else.

Something that had happened before.

Capitano’s eyes narrowed, studying the shapes forming in the magical haze. The past was beginning to replay itself—not with clarity, but with weight. With emotion. With echoes.

Y/N could feel it.

The spell deepened.

And then—just as the past began to take full shape before them—everything froze, caught between one breath and the next.

A flicker of something massive.

Then—black.

The moment the magic surged through the leyline currents, Misha felt it like a blade dragging through his spine.

Not just magic-her magic.

It was ancient, Khaenri'ahn. Potent. Focused.

Panic gripped his chest before his thoughts could catch up. His body moved before his mind did. He tore open a portal without grace or stability, stumbling through it, breath already ragged.

The sun was rising-its light casting long blue shadows across the snow-covered outpost. He hadn't even realized how long he'd been sealed away in that void like space he'd created for himself. How much time had passed. How long she had been alone.

He didn't stop to greet anyone. Didn't look twice at the passing soldiers who gave him startled glances as he stormed into the main wing of the stronghold.

He nearly kicked open the door to the Knights' common room.

And there she was.

Y/N. Safe.

Sleeping.

Nestled against that ginger, of all people. Her head rested against Childe's chest, his arm carefully cradling her as though even in sleep she was fragile. Her breathing was slow and even, fingers lightly curled around the hem of Childe's coat. She looked completely drained-but unharmed.

The sight brought him up short. His heartbeat was still hammering, but something in him sagged.

He wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't prepared himself for this.

Childe blinked at him, clearly exhausted but calm. His voice was quiet, so he wouldn't wake her.

"You're back."

Misha's voice came low, tense. "What the hell is going on here?"

Childe glanced down at Y/N briefly, then back up. "She fell asleep on me. Don't worry, I didn't plan it."

Misha's scowl deepened. "That's not the part I'm asking about."

Childe raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Capitano brought her back. She was out cold before she even made it to the stairs. We were talking about what she and Capitano saw before she knocked out on me."

Misha blinked. His jaw set.

Capitano.

"what" he growled, stepping into the room, "what the hell do you mean Capitano brought her back?"

He barely kept his voice down.

Before Childe could respond, another voice interjected.

"Easy, Misha."

Varka stepped into the room behind him, arms folded, expression serious but calm.

"We need to talk."

Misha clenched his jaw, looked down at Y/N one more time and glared at childe, then turned and followed Varka into the war room. The door shut quietly behind them, leaving only the thick silence of old wood and stone.

The moment it closed, Misha turned.

"Don't dodge me, Varka. What the hell happened? Why did that ginger say Capitano brought her back?"

Varka sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked older than usual. Weary.

"She got worried," he said, voice low and calm. "You were gone for too long. No one had seen you. She waited, but then she... went into your room."

Misha tensed.

"She found your spellbook."

Of course she did. she knew where it was.

"And then?"

"She used one of the spells," Varka continued. "A tracking spell. It was supposed to help her find you."

Misha's mouth opened slightly-but no sound came out.

"She followed a golden thread," Varka said. "She told me that's how the spell worked. But it didn't lead her to you. It led her to the ravine."

Misha sat down slowly on the edge of the table, his face unreadable. "She really used that spell?"

Varka nodded.

"She found Capitano there," he added. "He was checking the area again. She thought the spell had failed. Capitano told her maybe it locked onto the magic you used there."

Silence.

Long. Heavy.

Misha didn't look up. His fingers dug into the edge of the table.

Varka watched him quietly.

"...That's not it," Misha finally murmured, so quietly Varka almost didn't catch it.

"What do you mean?"

Misha closed his eyes, exhaled slowly. It didn't help. "The spell works by blood. The closer the relative, the stronger the thread. Siblings. Parents. Grandparents. That's where the magic is precise."

He opened his eyes again.

"She didn't find me," he said. "Because I'm too distant. Five hundred years separate us. As a distant uncle I'm barely a shadow in the bloodline."

Varka frowned, catching the tone in his voice. "But..."

Misha's gaze lifted slowly, his expression hard to read.

"She followed it to Capitano."

Varka's brow furrowed. "Are you saying..."

"She didn't find me," Misha said again, quietly. "She found him."

Varka didn't speak. He was piecing it together. Slowly.

Misha sat back, staring at the far wall.

That damn thread... of course it led her to him. Not because of his magic, not because of the ravine-

Because even if 500 years separate them he's still her direct bloodline. He's her great great great ....grandfather.

And he didn't even know.

Y/N didn't know.

Neither of them realized what that spell had just revealed.

And if Capitano figured it out-if he even suspected-

The Fatui wouldn't hesitate.

Neither would the Abyss.

Both would come for her.

She carried the royal mages bloodline-his and Elyra's. And if word of that spread beyond these walls, there'd be no safe corner in the world for her to hide in.

Misha leaned forward and pressed a hand to his face, shielding the quiet flicker of dread blooming in his eyes.

Varka finally spoke, voice low. "Does she know?"

"No," Misha muttered.

"And Capitano?" varka asked.

"...Doesn't know about the pregnancy. Elyra never had the chance to tell him." He exhaled. "For all their years apart, that secret died with her."

The silence between them stretched on, colder now.

Finally, Misha stood. There was steel in his eyes again-but his shoulders were heavier than before.

"She can't know. Not yet. Neither of them can."

"What about the other spell?" Misha asked

Varka leaned forward, bracing his arms on the edge of the table. "The spell she used... it wasn't something ordinary."

Misha's brow rose. "Obviously. I could feel it tear through the leyline currents like it was screaming."

Varka nodded slowly. "She used. Old Khaenri'ahn spell echo magic thing tied to the leylines. She called it a Leyline memory-Reconstruction. Said it was buried deep in your spellbook."

Misha blinked at that. His expression shifted-flickering between stunned, proud, and increasingly worried. "She found that spell?"

"She didn't just find it," Varka said. "She cast it. It worked."

Misha's lips parted, but no words came immediately.

That spell was never meant for first attempts. Not alone. Not without anchors. It wasn't just delicate it was dangerous. Leyline-based memory reconstruction could ripple into present time if handled poorly, warp surroundings, burn out the user's consciousness completely.

But...

"She pulled it off," Misha repeated under his breath. "Perfectly?"

Varka gave a slight smile. "I'd say close. I watched the tail end of it before it collapsed. Looked damn close to flawless."

Misha looked away, jaw tightening as he exhaled slowly. There was pride in his chest, but it was tangled tight with something heavier. Something colder.

"If I felt it," he muttered, "then others could've felt it, too."

Varka's eyes narrowed. "The Fatui?"

"The Abyss," Misha corrected quietly. "Or worse."

Varka exhaled slowly. "They saw what happened in the ravine. But not just what happened to you-they saw what the Herald was doing."

Misha's eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't just corrupting the leylines," Varka continued. "It was a ritual. Structured. Intentional. The Herald wasn't trying to kill you outright. He was baiting you. Waiting for something."

Misha didn't speak, but his jaw flexed.

"They saw the moment you used your power," Varka said. "And they saw how the Herald reacted-how he moved with it. Like he was waiting for it."

Misha's expression darkened. "Anchoring."

Varka nodded slowly. "That's what Capitano called it. Said it looked like the Herald was trying to tether something. To you."

"He was," Misha muttered, voice low. "The bastard didn't need to beat me. He just needed a crack."

Varka frowned. "A crack?"

Misha didn't answer directly. His stare dropped to the floor. "If he anchored during the surge... He could've piggybacked on the power. Hitched a path into my power. Accessed what's tied to it."

Varka's brow furrowed. "That spaces of yours."

Misha looked up sharply.

Varka held up a hand. "I don't know what it is exactly. You've never explained it. But I felt it the day you vanished. The way the air turned hollow. Like you pulled the world inside out."

Misha didn't deny it.

Varka stepped closer, voice lower. "Whatever it is... that Herald wanted in. That ritual was designed to provoke you. Push you into using that power-so he could mark it. Track it."

Silence stretched again.

Then Varka added, "Y/N saw all of it. Through the spell. Through your echo."

Misha's hand curled into a fist at his side. "Damn it."

"And now they both know too much," Misha muttered.

Varka's gaze stayed steady. "They're not stupid. And they're already involved. This isn't something you can walk around anymore."

Misha's expression tightened.

"They were after you," Varka said quietly. "Not exactly. They were after the door you keep locked. And now they have its shape."

Misha stared off at nothing, dread pooling under his sternum like ink.

"They can't be allowed to use it," he said.

"Then you better start thinking fast," Varka said. "Because the abyss set the trap once. They'll do it again."

Misha's jaw clenched. "So they tried to reach one of the deeper sealed spaces."

Varka's eyes narrowed. "Which one?"

A long silence passed before Misha replied, his voice stripped of all pretense.

"Surata, god of rebirth and flames"

Varka exhaled quietly.

"She's still sealed," Misha said. "The ritual didn't reach her... yet..."

Varka's expression was grim. "They're still trying to get to her, then."

"They always will," Misha said. "She was supposed to be their answer."

Varka folded his arms, his tone cautious. "You never told me the full story."

Misha straightened slightly. His gaze turned distant-far away, and soft in a way that didn't match the rest of him.

"She wasn't a weapon," he began. "She was kind. Gentle. Her flames weren't meant to burn-they were meant to warm. Cleanse. Bring new life from ash. She refused to let her domain be used for war. Even when the other gods did. Even when humanity begged her to rise against them, she wouldn't turn her fire into a sword."

"She adored mortals," Misha went on. "Their imperfections, their hope. She walked among them, healed them, lit hearths with her own hands. Her people worshiped her, yes-but she gave just as much back. She never wanted to be feared. She just wanted to nurture."

"And the Abyss corrupted that," Varka said softly.

"They saw her as a tool," Misha said, anger coiling beneath the quiet of his voice. "A counter to the curse Ronova laid on Khaenri'ah. The Curse of the Wilderness and immortality. They believed if they could harness Surata's flame-turn her into a purifying force-they could reverse it. Burn out the corruption in the cursed."

Varka's brows drew together. "A false rebirth."

"A brutal one," Misha muttered. "They thought if she could burn away the monstrous forms, she could restore the souls underneath. But they didn't understand her. They didn't want to. They just forced her flame to do what she refused."

Varka's voice was low. "And it turned on her."

Misha nodded. "She held out for a while. Fought it. But the Abyssal influence warped her slowly. Not in body-at first-but in soul. Her mind started fraying. Her flame lost its warmth. Her hands scorched when she touched the world she once loved."

"And when she fell," Varka said quietly, "you sealed her."

"I had no other choice," Misha replied. "They would've used her as a vessel. Not just to reverse the curse-but to corrupt the idea of rebirth itself. She would've become a mockery of her own name."

Varka was quiet for a long moment. "You said you separated her."

"I did," Misha confirmed. "Her body-what's left of it-is frozen in voidspace. Completely inert. Locked away. No output, no growth, no decay. The Abyss can't find her without me."

"And her mind?" Varka asked.

"I pulled it free before the corruption took it completely. What was left of her thoughts, her self... I sealed it in a separate space. No pain. No influence. Just stillness. She sleeps, mostly. But when I visit, she stirrs. She's lucid, in there."

Varka met his eyes. "Does she know what happened?"

Misha hesitated. "Only pieces. I try not to say much. She doesn't need to carry that weight."

"And if the Abyss gets her body back?"

"They won't," Misha said, voice flint-hard. "But if they did-if they forced her to wake in that state again-there'd be no soul left to temper the flame. Only rage. Corrupted flame without a god's mercy behind it."

Varka nodded solemnly. "Then they still see her as a weapon. One to rival death itself."

"She was never meant for that," Misha whispered.

A heavy silence settled over them.

Finally, Varka said, "They poked you, hoping you'd open the door yourself."

"And I almost did," Misha admitted.

Varka looked at him with quiet understanding. "But you didn't open it."

"No," Misha said, standing straighter. "I reinforced it. She's still safe. As long as I'm alive, she stays that way."

Varka gave a faint nod. "Then we'll keep you alive."

Misha didn't smile. But for the first time since the conversation began, his eyes sharpened with resolve.