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thecinderninja · 19 days ago

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The Walk Before the Run

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

Furina stands at the gates of Mondstadt. Warm sun kisses her skin, a light breeze in her short hair. She clutches a letter between her hands, her tight grip creasing and crumpling the paper the only evidence of the tension coiling in her chest.

An invitation, one she accepted on impulse without entirely thinking it through. She has been riding the high of new experiences lately. So long as she is busy, busy, busy, she cannot be stressed, anxious, scared.

She finds humanity has itself been hitting her like somewhat of a flood. An unstoppable tide of emotions, highs and lows, fear and freedom and unsurety and exhilaration that come one after another. Her chosen method to survive the deluge has been to sail headlong into the waves to avoid capsizing.

That, at least, is the long and short of how she has ended up standing here, at the gates of a city in full bloom at the advent of a foreign festival, clutching an invitation from a highly suspicious stranger, caught in the liminal space between intention and action.

The city sprawling beyond the threshold is nothing like home. It is quaint and rustic, the air thick with the scent of cider and fresh bread. Banners of soft blues and greens sway in the breeze, which stirs up an endless ribbon of flower petals to dust the streets. She is familiar with the phrase ‘spring is in the air’, but here it is quite literal.

It is a welcome sight.

A welcome sight that she has been standing and staring at for a good fifteen or so minutes now.

Neuvillette stands silently by her side, his hands resting neatly in front of him. She can feel his eyes on her. And besides that, she can feel the Knights’ by the gates eyes on both of them.

She huffs. They can stare as much as they like, she will go inside when she is good and ready.

“...So, this friend of yours.” Neuvillette begins slowly. It isn’t an accusation, per say , nor an interrogation. Just… “Was he meant to meet you at the port? Or perhaps the city gate?”

“He- he didn’t say, exactly.” Furina grumbles, resting her hands on her hips. Of course, he didn’t say. And she hadn’t thought to ask. And now she realizes she doesn’t even know what he looks like.

“You’ve been rather evasive about him.” He pauses, frowning slightly. “Remind me, how exactly did you meet?”

Furina’s grip on the letter tightens. “I- well, we haven’t met.” She says, defensively. “But I haven’t exactly had much of a chance to yet, have I? We’ve been exchanging letters, that’s all. But, the Traveller did say he was trustworthy.”

“Hm.” Neuvillette doesn’t say more on the matter, but she can tell he’s already judging her supposed friend. Still, he does not press her. “It is inconsiderate to invite someone to your home only to leave them searching.”

On one hand, she can breathe a sigh of relief that he isn’t more demanding of answers about her mysterious foreign friend. On the other hand, there is a sting that comes with knowing why he has been more mindful of such things lately. Allowing her space where he once would have pressed for answers.

Well. This is going splendidly so far. Her already low hopes of making them get along are disappearing slowly down the drain. “Look, I never even told him what day I would arrive, so it's hardly his fault for not meeting me! Let’s just go inside! The two of us can get a head start on the festivities.” She insists, grabbing Neuvillette’s hand. She straightens her back and drags him through the gates, pausing only to enthusiastically shake the Knights’ hands on her way past.

Furina and Neuvillette have a lovely first day of Windblume.

They check in to their hotel, whereupon they are greeted by a Knight and asked if this is their first Windblume, and offered a guide.

And while Furina’s stomach twists and her eyes burn as she tours the godless city, realizing that this was all, of course, a joke, a mean, cruel-hearted prank at her expense, because what else should she have expected? She still finds herself grateful that she did not ignore that ridiculous invitation.

Because the letter had said Mondstadt was lovely this time of year. It had said she could use the change of pace, that she would love the pastoral fields and the clear glacial waters of Cider Lake. And… all of this is true.

Mondstadt is lovely, and she is glad she came.

And there is nobody laughing at her for believing the supposed Anemo Archon wanted to meet her, so perhaps the prank wasn’t so cruel-hearted after all. In fact, the Traveller had vouched for him, so perhaps this was… another plot of theirs. Maybe an attempt to make up for the previous one.

She still resents the deception, but supposes, in some resigned way, it was warranted. She had deceived everyone for so long, after all, despite her good intentions. So perhaps she can accept being on the receiving end of some ‘well-intentioned’ deception.

She lets herself relax, she stops trying to spot a stranger in the crowd of strangers, and delights in the realization that Neuvillette buys her any pretty things she points at.

Mondstadt feels safe. Quiet, quaint. Which perhaps lends itself to her vigilant Iudex, arms filled with the spoils of war (read; her shopping trip) break line of sight. In the four seconds his vision is filled with floral prints and lace trim -

A hand grabs her wrist.

Her heart leaps into her throat as she jerks, tries to yank away, but the grip is firm, dragging her away. Panic surges through her chest. Is she being abducted? Here? In broad daylight? Well, far be it from her to scream like a hapless maiden, she is half a second away from whipping out a lead pipe to beat the fiend with when she finally, actually, looks at him.

And okay, he’s awfully strong for his size, but she’s still fairly sure that’s a child. (Or child adjacent? Furina is by her own admission, downright terrible at telling age from look alone. But still, he may be an inch shorter than she is in heels, his face is round with baby fat, and he’s certainly dressed like a child). She supposes she probably shouldn’t beat a child with a lead pipe.

He laughs as if he can read her thoughts, turning back to look at her, and his eyes are burning a green so bright it makes her skin crawl as he calls her name. “Furina!”

She digs her heels into the cobbles, staring.

“... Venti?” She ventures, guessing this must, surely, be her elusive penpal.

His grin stretches wider. "The one and only!"

She scowls as he pulls her further and further away, weaving through bodies like water. “Where have you been!” She demands. “I think Neuvillete believes I have been catfished!”

“Ehe! Well, I would have come to find you sooner, but he was practically glued to your side!”

She narrows her eyes at the implication that he has been intentionally avoiding him. “You know this isn’t going to end well for you when he catches up with us. I think introducing yourself would have made a far better impression than showing us up, and abducting me.”

Venti shrugs, unconcerned. “That’s future Venti’s problem. Besides, he’ll have to find us first. I’ll send a Knight to let him know you’re safe, don’t worry about it!”

She does feel inexplicably safe around him, but more than that, she knows that if anything untoward does happen, he will be the one in danger.

She takes the opportunity to size him up as he leads her.

She isn’t sure what she has been expecting, honestly, but certainly something a bit… grander, surely. Someone a touch more impressive. Not some tiny, baby-faced bard who looks more human than she does.

Although, she knows full well that her idea of what an Archon must be is meaningless. For in her mind, it had all come down to spectacle, hadn’t it? And while she does not know the Anemo Archon by his looks, she is very well aware that he is not as absent as Mondstadt believes him to be. Between the knowledge left to her by Focalors and the Traveller’s own confirmations, she truly has no choice but to believe this small human is, in fact, what a real Archon looks like.

The irony that only in becoming human does she finally resemble an Archon is not lost on her.

"Come on, let me show you Mondstadt!"

She exhales sharply, stealing one last glance over her shoulder. Then, reluctantly, she lets him pull her along.

The festival is in full swing around them, and Furina is tired. Not exhausted, just... pleasantly spent. The kind of tired that comes after a long, enjoyable day. She isn’t used to the warm feeling settling comfortably in her chest. She stretches her legs out, heels clicking against the brick wall where she sits, and looks out over the crowd.

Children weave between people’s legs, laughing, unsupervised. No one seems to mind. They run free, small and quick, darting through the city like little silver fish upstream.

Young couples sit together in every available space, cheeks red in the lantern light. Some hold hands. Some kiss. The restaurants spill into the streets, tables full, families eating together. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread drifts through the air, mixing with cider and something sweet she can’t place.

She glances to her side.

Venti is sprawled beside her. Shoulders hunched, back rounded, legs stretched out. He certainly slouches like a teenager. His seventeenth - or eighteenth? - bottle of wine dangles loosely in one hand. With the other, he gestures wildly at every passing Mondstadter, grinning.

"That’s Marthe," he says, pointing to a woman balancing a basket on her hip. "She bakes the best apple tarts in the city, but only for her grandchildren. And that’s Edric - he’s trying to grow grapes but keeps forgetting to water them. And Bernard over there? He tells everyone he’s a traveling merchant, but he hasn’t left Mondstadt in twenty years."

He does this for every person who walks by. A name, a story, a small piece of their life. Furina listens, half skeptical, half amused. His face is flushed a soft red, his voice warm and easy. He waves at each person as if greeting an old friend, and they - mostly - wave back.

Furina watches him take another long sip of wine.

"Should you be drinking like that in public?" she asks, frowning. "Isn't public intoxication illegal?"

Venti turns to her, scandalized. "First of all, of course it’s not illegal! Imagine drinking being illegal. What kind of city would Mondstadt be? A sad one, that’s what."

Furina opens her mouth to argue, but he steamrolls ahead.

"And second of all... so what if it is? Who’s going to stop me?"

She blinks at him "The... police?"

Venti bursts out laughing, tipping his head back, kicking his heels against the brick. "Furina. Darling. Dearest. Furina."

A flick of his fingers, a touch of Anemo, and the nearest vendor’s hat lifts straight off his head, caught in a sudden gust of wind. It sails ten feet up, then lands perfectly on the head of a passing dog. The vendor startles. The dog stands very still, as if deeply considering its new role in society.

Furina chokes on a laugh, covering her mouth with both hands.

The vendor scowls, looking around suspiciously. Venti is already looking away, all exaggerated innocence, sipping his wine.

Venti turns to her, grinning. "Now, using your Vision within city walls on religious holidays, that is illegal. Though, technically, I don’t have a Vision." He winks, tapping the gemstone on his hip.

Furina shakes her head, biting her lip.

Mondstadt is nothing like Fontaine.

Venti waves a hand dismissively, still grinning. "It's fine, really. Mondstadt doesn't even have prisons. It's not like anything bad will happen to me as long as I don't do anything bad to anyone else."

Furina twitches. "No. Prisons? But - what about all the criminals?"

Venti turns to her sharply, sensing the spike in her tension. He holds his hands up, palms forward, in a placating gesture. "Ah - no, no, not like that! I just mean there aren't really consequences for harmless things. Like feeding the pigeons inside the city!"

Furina pauses, eyes narrowing in thought. "Feeding pigeons is... illegal inside the city?"

"Yeah!" Venti laughs, as if it's the funniest thing in the world. "Can you believe that?"

She nods firmly. "A perfectly sensible law."

Venti stares at her, face frozen in mild disbelief. "You can't be serious..."

"Why yes, of course!" Furina crosses her arms, smirking. "Too many pigeons can quickly become a nuisance. And just look at that magnificent statue of the Anemo Archon! I can only imagine how difficult and dangerous it must be for someone to have to climb up and clean it if some ridiculous, foolish citizen decided to start attracting pigeons to perch all over it!"

Venti blinks at her, processing her words. Then very slowly, very intentionally, reaches into his pocket, rummaging around for something. When he doesn't find it immediately, he pushes his hand deeper, until he's bent over, nearly up to his elbow in a pocket that shouldn't possibly be that deep. After a moment, he pulls out a handful of birdseed and tosses it to the ground at the feet of the statue.

"Venti!"

He laughs, watching the pigeons immediately flutter in to peck at the seeds. "What? If it does cause a problem, they'll just make me clean the statue myself."

Furina stares at him. She falls into thought, her brow furrowed as he casually scatters more seed. Before she can say anything, a Knight finally notices the commotion and calls out, exasperated.

"Hey! Venti! Stop that!"

The bard straightens, looking over his shoulder as the Knight stomps toward him. They don’t look angry, just... tired, like they've dealt with this too many times before. "Get out of here, kid! And, at least try not to cause problems during the festival... One week, Venti, is that too much to ask?"

Venti grins, tossing the last of the birdseed over his shoulder as he turns to leave. "Alright, alright, I’m going!"

Mondstadt is nothing like Fontaine.

Furina turns that thought over in her mind for the rest of the day.

Her and Venti have done an awful lot of wandering, and - she wonders what kind of message the bard must have sent with the Knights to have possibly assuaged Neuvillete, but she does spot him at one across the plaza with a young lady in a Knights uniform. The two pairs stare at each other for a moment. Venti gives a cheeky wave, the woman looks exhausted, Neuvillette twitches. But in the end, he simply narrows his eyes at the bard before turning to Furina, giving her a look, a short nod, and turning away.

And oh, oh, it seems it has nothing to do with the bard at all, and everything to do with her. He is choosing to trust her.

She feels a touch bad for running away from him, though she will have no trouble blaming that entirely on Venti later, seeing as it was entirely his fault.

They’ve been walking together for most of the day, and the sky is shifting to pink and orange now. She is missing Neuvillette, and knows she’ll want to get back to him before much longer, but she is not regretting her day spent with the strange little bard. His enthusiasm to show her his city has been… nice. It’s very obvious how much he loves it, and each person in it. He truly knows each and every one of them by name.

Furina reminds herself that she was never truly a god, and that Fontaine is much, much larger, and it isn’t her fault for not having the emotional energy left over to… care about people so personally.

Because she did care! Truly! On the whole.

But… maybe she is a touch jealous, a touch sad, and a touch bitter.

She doesn’t love her home as much as Venti loves his. She can’t look at Fontaine with the same adoration and pride, when it has hurt her so much. And what kind of Archon does that make her?

Well. She isn’t one, so it shouldn’t matter. But she’s spent so long asking herself that question, it’s a difficult habit to kick.

Across the street, a flower shop displays lavender, cecilias, windwheel asters. A child tugs at their mother’s sleeve, pointing at the bouquets. The mother laughs, kneeling down to listen.

Beside her, Venti leans back with a lazy sprawl, one knee propped up on the planter they have chosen as their seat, the other leg dangling freely. Between them, a small pile of birdseed sits on the wood, and he tosses a handful into the street. Pigeons flutter down, weaving between hurried footsteps to peck at the scattered seeds. He doesn’t even look, just tosses another pinch with the air of a man doing something instinctive.

Furina watches the birds for a moment, then exhales. “Mondstadt is so backwards.”

Venti hums, amused. “Oh?”

“It’s so - so rural. And ridiculous. And silly. And yet…”

He tilts his head, waiting. “And yet?”

She watches a pair of boys leaning against a shopfront, shoulders bumping, laughing together. A little girl clutches a too-large loaf of bread, running ahead of her father with a bright grin. There are no Gardes - or Knights- patrolling. The few she has seen stationed around the city don’t seem to be taking their jobs very seriously. No one is watchful for danger. Just people, alive and unafraid.

“It’s so happy here,” she murmurs.

Venti doesn’t reply right away. He rolls a sunflower seed absently between his fingers. “I like to think so.”

“Parents let their children wander wherever they please. There’s no fear… Bards don’t need thirteen separate permits to sing in the streets.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Somehow, despite all logic, your lack of strict law enforcement hasn’t left the city drowning in crime.”

Venti grins, flicking the seed into the crowd. A pigeon snatches it up. “Well, now, I wouldn’t say lack of law enforcement. The Knights do enforce the law. Sometimes. When it’s necessary.”

Furina eyes him. “Sometimes?"

Venti waggles his hand in a ‘so-so’ motion. “Mondstadt isn’t lawless. There are rules. But…” He glances at her sidelong, his expression shifting. “I also wouldn’t say Mondstadt is perfectly safe, or that bad things never happen here.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he does fall silent, looking off into the distance for a long moment. “I do my best,” he says softly, tossing another handful of seed. “But I can’t always hold their hands. I aim them. I nudge. I hope they build a society that takes care of each other, so I don’t have to. But there will always be people willing to do bad things for selfish reasons."

Furina stares at him, something twisting deep in her chest. “Your best,” she murmurs. “Your best is still better than mine.”

Venti’s head snaps around, “Furina.”

She forces a wry smile. “No, it’s true.”

“Furina, we are very different people, with very different Nations. It’s best not to compare ourselves. But please understand, you had a much bigger task. I can’t imagine having to do what you did. Really, it… I can’t imagine it.”

She scoffs, looking away. “I played a role for a few hundred years, that’s all. I didn’t do anything to improve Fontaine in all that time. Just… turned people’s suffering into entertainment.”

Venti frowns. “That’s not all. You managed to fool-” he shakes his head like a dog clearing water from its ears. “You had to think about their survival, Furina. Your entire nation was at risk, every day, and you were the only one who even knew. You were completely alone, and so afraid. But you never slipped once. The resolve that takes…” He trails off, looking truly awed. Him, a real Archon, with his own Church and monument and prospering Nation, looking awed.

She exhales slowly, fingers tightening in her lap. “I was meant to be the Archon of Justice. But I was so preoccupied with maintaining that lie, I never actually was what Fontaine needed. I let so much fester beneath my rule. So much harm. So much cruelty.” Her voice drops. “How am I supposed to live with that?”

Venti is quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, he says, “I’m the Archon of Freedom. And Mondstadt… isn’t free.”

She looks at him, startled.

“I don’t keep them free,” he speaks softly, voice thoughtful, distant. “I keep them blind. I shape their freedom into something that won’t put them in danger. I make choices for them, decide what’s best. And I know… I know it's the wrong choice. I know…” I know he would never approve of what’s become of this Nation. He lets out a quiet laugh, equal parts bitter and fond. “But I choose to do it anyway. I choose their safety over their freedom. Because I’m their Archon, and I have to. Freedom… it has to be secondary.” He grimaces, looking away.

Furina stares down at her hands. “I kept my people safe. But at what cost?”

He studies her for a moment, then nudges her shoulder lightly. “But you’re not an Archon anymore.”

She blinks at him.

“You’re free from all that pressure now, right?” His voice is warm. The longing in his voice is not disguised.

“Furina, you’re human now. You aren’t bound by an ideal, or by any Principles but your own. You saved them. And now you’re free to live as one of them. You can love Fontaine, or you can hate it. You can stay or leave. You can choose what you want to be. You don’t have to be the God of Justice anymore.” He leans in slightly. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t choose for yourself.”

She stares at him, breath caught in her throat.

His gaze flicks to the little pile of birdseed between them. “Speaking of choices…” He grins, eyes glowing with mischief. “Care to commit a crime with me?”

Furina snorts. “I beg your pardon?”

Venti wiggles his fingers at the seed. “Go on. Break a law.”

She hesitates. Then, slowly, she pinches a few seeds between her fingers. “It is a… rather silly law, I suppose.”

Venti watches, grinning.

Furina purses her lips. She lifts her hand. And then, carefully, deliberately-

She flicks the seeds toward the pigeons.

They flutter down, pecking at the street.

There is no great change in the world, but her heart feels just a touch lighter.

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#genshin impact #furina #venti #thecinderninja #original post #original post date feb 7 2025 #background neuvifuri if you're looking for it #furiven if you choose #hoyohearts gift exchange #venti not so subtly longs to be human

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thecinderninja · 2 months ago

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One and Three Hundred Days

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

Albedo wakes to a tight hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake with a grip hard enough to bruise.

This is unusual for a great many reasons. For one, he is sleeping outside of Mondstadt, in his lab in the mountains. He should be very much alone out here.

The touch is unfamiliar. No one ever wakes him like this.

His eyes slide open smoothly.

The cold of Dragonspine, the smell of dying embers. His warm breath ghosting in the air. The scent of wax and paper.

The cold eyes of Rosaria staring down at him.

“Get up.” Her voice is hard-edged and colder than the mountain air. Something about it rings dull, like the edge of a dagger dulled by too much use.

Her presence is an anomaly. He sits up slowly, eyeing her as he does so. Her hands are empty, she does not hold a weapon, but her eyes burn into him with intensity. “You are going to destroy Mondstadt.”

This wakes him fully.

He does not move. His mind catalogues every possible reason for this accusation. She should not know the thing that slumbers in his bones, or the instability of his creation.

He swings his legs off the cot, tilting his head in measured inquiry. “I have no intention of harming Mondstadt,” he speaks carefully.

“I know.” The thin morning light carves hollows into her face. She looks exhausted. And… something else. Something he cannot place, though it sets him on edge. “I know. It’s the last thing you want. But you bring the gods down upon us anyway.”

He frowns. The certainty in her voice leaves no room for contradiction. “Explain.”

“You are a homunculus. An artificial being created by the alchemist Gold. Her creations have a long history of destroying things. Today, you open the gateway to Celestia, and everything ends. I know because I have seen it happen. It keeps happening. Now get out of bed and help me.”

There is no disbelief in him, only the slow crawl of ice up his spine.

He stares at her. He swallows dryly. His brows furrow slightly. “If that is true, then the solution is simple. Kill me.” If what she says is true, she should not have compunctions about killing him. He knows this about her.

“I have. You won’t stay dead.” She is rummaging through journals on his desk, looking for something specific. He stares at her. She is going through his things, back turned to him. Somehow, it is the least guarded he has ever seen her around him. “We’ve burned you, drowned you, used every possible elemental reaction. Impaled your heart, your head. The Traveller tried to unmake you. Your body pulls itself back together faster than we can tear it apart.”

He presses a palm to his forehead, feeling faintly sick. "Solutions," he murmurs. "If death is not an option, then containment-"

"No," Rosaria says. "We've tried it."

"Binding sigils, cryostasis-"

"No."

He glances up at her. She has seen all of these failures before.

He exhales slowly. He pushes himself to his feet and joins her at his desk. He does not stop her from looking through his notes. He finds himself believing her, which places him in the uncomfortable position of playing catch up. She holds an immense amount of knowledge and experience that he does not, and he is left rapidly trying to piece everything he knows together into a clearer picture.

"What… of Venti?” he asks carefully.

Rosaria’s face hardly shifts, only darkens by minute shades while she pulls all of his journals from his shelf, discarding books to the side as useless without even opening them. “He is controlled as surely as you are.” Voice grim. “When it begins, he kneels. He does not move again.”

Albedo’s hands tighten on the edge of his desk.

“Okay. What are you looking for?” He asks. He supposes she would not be looking for something she had already tried. She is not stupid. If she is here, telling him all of this, it must be because she has another plan, an idea. He would like to believe he can help.

“Your mother.”

He frowns. “You won’t find an answer in any of my notes. I don’t know where she is.”

“I know that.” Rosaria snaps, before rearranging her face back into something collected. “I know. We’ve tried to find her before. You… I don’t know why, but you’re convinced she isn’t behind this. And I believe you. You’ve told me she might have a way to stop you though, if we can find her. We only started looking a few cycles ago, so I don’t have many leads. We start here.” She jabs a finger into one of his journals.

“We can spend this entire cycle reading through these, or if you have letters? Anything. We look for anything that stands out. We pursue it. We follow this lead to its completion. Until we find her and she saves you or destroys you, until we find her and she makes things a million times worse. I don’t know. We haven’t found her yet. But this is our only lead, and we only have so much time. One day. So please, tell me anything you know. I can only carry what I remember into the next cycle. The more I know, the faster I convince you, and the more time we have to work.”

It is at this point that Albedo realizes there is very little she does not already know about him. He went to sleep last night unknown. And he has woken up to a Rosaria who knows him far too well. He might as well assume he has no secrets left. It is jarring. And yet she is telling him all of this, not lurching to violence. She is trying to work with him, not against him. So for now, he must cling to that. By the sounds of things, he will be exposed by the end of the day, regardless.

“You’re right. I do believe you,” he murmurs, opening a false bottom in the drawer of his desk, and pulling out a stack of papers. “We can start with these. This is… my journal from when I was travelling with her. I have not shown this to anyone else. It is very old. Please be careful with it. I also have some correspondence between her and Aunt Alice. Alice let me keep them, presumably because she thought they would hold some sentimental value to me. But perhaps something in there may hold a clue as to where she is.” He hums at that thought. “In fact, Alice herself may know. I could write to her.”

“There’s no need.” Rosaria murmurs as she takes the journal and opens it with utmost care. “She will arrive later today. When the winds rise and the sky breaks open, she’ll be here. I can ask her then.”

“... Won’t it already be too late?”

“For this cycle, yes. But everything I learn here will hold value in the next.”

Albedo frowns. “That is—that seems a dangerous way of thinking. What if there is no next cycle?”

“There will be.”

He watches her face. “... How many times have you lived this day?”

“Hm, I stopped counting after three hundred.”

He has no reply for that as he stares down at scattered pages. His own careful handwriting, his mother’s pristine cursive, and the nearly illegible scrawl of Alice. For a long time, there is only silence. The sound of wind howling through the mountain spires of his brother’s bones, the dusty scrape of old curling paper, and the quiet sound of Rosaria breathing. She is incredibly calm for someone who knows the world will end today, though he supposes she has had a great deal of time to come to terms with this.

What he doesn’t understand at all is why the woman who has always distrusted him the most is suddenly so unguarded around him. All of her misgivings have been proven true, there is a foundation for her distrust, and he should be, by all counts, her enemy.

So why is she sitting across from him, eyes glued to the page, without a single sideways glance to keep track of him?

Softly, he asks, "Why are you telling me all of this?"

A simpler question might have been - why are you trusting me?

Silence. He cannot tell if she is ignoring him, or if she is so focused she has not heard him. She flips a page in the journal, her brows furrow lower on her face. Reminiscent of a scowl, but not quite. She frowns.

Her voice breaks the silence, grim. “I could never distrust you again.” Her eyes are shadowed and she does not look up. “For a year, I have watched you fight. To the bitter end, you do not give up. I have seen you kill those I love, and I have seen your face while you do it. I have seen you killed by them as well. I have lost count of the ways I’ve seen you die. Mondstadt is the nation of the free, and you are not free when you bring the end down on us.

“I’ve seen you choose Mondstadt over yourself a hundred times. I’ve watched you tear yourself apart for the smallest chance to change things.” Her expression, for a single moment, flickers to something haunted. “I promised you that I would find a way to save you, too.”

A promise made that he himself did not remember, and would never have held her to.

Silence is a heart beating between them, and Albedo thinks to himself, what a lonely existence this must be for her.

“I am glad you don’t remember,” she says softly.

Every time, they have lost.

Every time, the city has burned.

Every time, he has been the one to light the match.

Albedo feels something stirring beneath his skin.

Outside, the wind rises.

#albedo #rosaria #genshinrng #genshinrngzine #genshin impact #genshin #tempest #original post #original post date may 9 2025

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