Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You found my decaying body on a hot Sumeru night. The stars. In all their facetious glory, hung in the sky next to a waxing moon. The air was almost as humid as the day, punctuated by the occasional cool wind. Cicadas, the pests that they are, made their hideous songs known. The rainforest was fairly still otherwise, well, except for you of course.

Apparently, you often snuck into abandoned Fatui camps for more…experimental supplies. You’d tell me later that you were looking for the insulators from a cryo legionnaire’s massive gun, claiming that you were supposed to be making a motorized fan for your dormhouse. Why you wouldn’t simply fix your air conditioning unit, I don’t know. Back to the topic at hand.

You happened upon an abandoned Fatui caravan in your midnight misadventure. You noticed how the wagons were splintered to near shreds and that the rich blue fabric that enveloped them were caked with grime and sobbed with open gashes. Grass had begun to creep in around the wheels. However, the darkness was of no issue for you, as you had your own makeshift pair of night vision goggles. You navigated around obstacles like water around a rock. Firstly, you parsed through the refuse that exploded out of the wagon train. Hardtack (gross.), letters home, research papers. Blast it, you couldn’t read Schneznayan. Perhaps you could bring the scripts to a Haravatat student on campus once classes resumed. You stowed it away in one of the many pockets of your beat up messenger bag. Nothing was truly sticking out to you on the outside, so you continued your investigation.

The first wagon housed artillery. Oh, how you longed to get your hands on a fully functional Fatui gun! You loathed to admit the fine craftsmanship they had. You sifted through general artillery, ammunition, and swept gunpowder from your coat about fifteen times before you closed in on your objective: the elusive, glorified snowblower! You disassembled the damned thing in record time. At least, that’s what your stopwatch told you. You whooped and hollered and did a frankly embarrassing dance upon finding what you needed. But the night wasn’t over, was it? You still had time to investigate the other wagons before you’d return to your dorm. Why not look at the next car?

You gingerly brushed the ripped fabric aside with the back of your hand. You held a small pocket knife there in case of any trouble. You gazed inside, and the knife fell from your hand and ricocheted off the hardened ground. The wind picked up, soft and slow. Breathing like the ocean and her waves.

My corpse was softly bathed in the night’s moonlight. At first glance, you thought maybe I was simply an unconscious boy, left to rot in this wretched place. The visible ball joints around my elbows and knees would soon convince you otherwise. You lifted your goggles from your face to gape at me with shameless wonder. You observed the way my inky hair haloed out around me. You noted that my left arm was only hanging together by lone wires and sinews of synthetic skin, and would likely snap off if moved too hastily. You parsed that there was damage on my head and neck, shown through where my skin flaked off and my metal casings were dented and cracked. My clothes had begun to feel the weight of time, and part of my yukata was torn right over my chest casing. The hole in my heart gaped openly, entirely empty. My eyes remained closed to you, as if I’d merely peacefully been at sleep.

And you thought I was just about the most beautiful thing in all of creation, for some reason.

You didn’t go much into town as a kid, nor as an adult. Mondstadt was large and you were simply too small and too scared. Though, for major holidays, your father would take you into the main city for church services. The first time you felt religion was in that church, among the high, gothic arches, stained glass windows, and the fervent choir. You let your soul be lost in the sea of song, and you understood why mortals believed in the good of the Archons.

You had a similar religious experience upon your first expedition into Dragonspine. You braved the cold and the trapped ruins of Wyrmrest valley until you happened upon a cave that was suspiciously warm. You paused your theories about the skeletal ribs that caged this area in to explore it. You were immediately bathed in warm, red light. And there was a heart at the, well, heart of the cave. You felt the warmth radiate to you in waves, almost as if the heart was beating only for you. You reverently recorded your findings on a tape recorder you had made.

You claimed to have had a similar reaction upon seeing me. Tossing your head up to the inky darkness to crow and caw your thanks to the divine beings that be that such a find was yours and yours alone. Your goggles slipped off your head in the process, but you didn’t mind. You could feel that heartbeat once more, feel the ocean of voices in the choir. This was religion! This was divine! The Archons and Celestia made this meeting so! This was the inspiration you were looking for, a project you could dedicate your time fully to! Something that could kickstart your school of thought’s love for progress once more! Your final thesis, your magnum opus!

Without a second thought, you lifted me from my bed of damp wooden planks and carried me bridal style. You gingerly placed my damaged arm against your chest, assuring me that it wouldn’t snap off. You lifted me without issue or struggle, and set off into the night with my bashed in cranium against your collarbones. Around you, homes stood quietly still, asleep. And you were alive at the fresh hour of two in the morning, buzzing with a scientific filled zeal similar to adrenaline. You damned scientists, always worked up about the most idiotic of things. I could say that goes for most mortals, though.

You arrived at your living quarters with the waxing moon still high in the sky. You lived in an off-campus rental a few miles out from the bustling cityscape. Rent was cheap and it was far enough from more urban areas for you. Plus, everyone else on the block was sensibly asleep at this hour. Unlike you. You prayed no one was experiencing a sleepless night tonight as you nudged the door open. You placed me gingerly on your work table, and then my corpse became your cadaver. And in the days to come, you’d study me as such.

Chapter Text

You fell asleep in your workshop shortly after the adrenaline wore off. You didn’t stir until the sun was far up in the sky. On a normal day, you would have panicked and at least tried to rush to your afternoon classes, but that wouldn’t be necessary for you. About a week and some change ago, the Akademia experienced a rather cordial insurrection in which the Grand Sages of each Darshan were revealed to be neck deep in government corruption. Some asshole was currently the Acting Grand Sage. Being a Mondstadtian, the idea of government in general confused you. You didn’t really need to understand it thankfully, because all it meant is that classes would be out for the immediate future.

Oh well, this impromptu break was wonderful! It gave you time to work on your cadaver! Once you had the money, finished your remaining projects, and completed the commissions you promised to work on. I would have to go on your backburner for some time, it seemed. You ran a hand over your face and sighed, Barbatos give you the patience you never seemed to possess. Begrudgingly, you trudged up to your nest to procure some blankets for the cadaver. I may have been dead, but you still had a timely sense of hospitality.

You let me lie where the sun reached one of the wide shop windows. Reluctantly, you did your job. Most jobs for you on the market involved those Akasha Terminals lately. You never thought to wear one, it would leave a very unpleasant feedback that made your ears ache. Apparently, on the day of the insurrection, every terminal seemed to simply shut off. It could have been a whole variety of reasons, sure. You liked to believe it had to do with the country’s reemergence of their abandoned Archon. The God of Wisdom wants you to do your own research, fool.

As amusing as that was, the terminal was not. You’ve tuned and repaired hearing aids before, and the structure was incredibly similar, but there was simply Nothing Inside. You checked the receiver, the hook, the casing. Nothing! Were the people of Sumeru simply just hallucinating?! There wasn’t even a battery for Barbatos’s sake! You let your body slump against the table in defeat. You were so not getting paid for this. Hopefully an apologetic note could lessen the inevitable blow.

But all hope wasn’t lost, you could still examine your cadaver before you braved the great unknown that was the outside of the house.

You examined the arm first. The metal endoskeleton was completely shredded in the area between elbow and forearm, it was a miracle that the synthetic skin (was it a rubber or resin base?) was tough enough to keep in place. The hydraulics that moved it were…suboptimal as well. The torso seemed relatively unharmed from the front, but you noted how grotesquely the cavity that housed a power core looked like something was forcefully ripped from it. That would take at least a week.

You had to open a window when you rolled me onto my side and saw the damage on my back. The fresh air did not clear the sight from your mind. It was shredded from the skull down, all of it. Bits of cranium poked through the scalp. Skin was torn like holes in your favorite coat, and wire and hydraulic tubing poked out like ribbons. There were supposed to be six indentations in the back under the shoulder blades, but the purple metal had shattered on impact and had pierced all the way through my body. You fought back the bile that rose in your throat, diligently noting every inch of harm that had come to your cadaver.

Your father used to hunt. It was how he put food on the table most nights. He showed you the anatomy of certain game, like rabbit or elk. Your father taught you how to properly gut animals and fish alike, to your dismay. You thought about the calculated way he’d explain cuts of meat to you, how you found yourself thinking in the same tone of voice about your cadaver.

“What happened to you?” you wondered aloud, your voice so small.

I could not answer, of course.

The estimate you assessed from the damage was atrocious though. 100,000 mora! That’s six months worth of rent on your own! Half of it was for three components! Oh, Morax, what was the economy coming to? You put your head in your hands and cursed yourself for going to university in the first place. You could have scraped by as a mechanic back home, but no, you just had to have an insatiable love for technology. Your father was looking at you from the great beyond and urging you to make better financial decisions.

This meant you had to go to work.

And work you did, for three agonizingly long weeks. You weren’t about to let something as material and fake stop you from your ambitions, so you took every job ever in the meantime. During this time, you survived only on the leftovers and ready made meals in the icebox.

The commissions office recorded that you managed to complete roughly forty-seven requests in this amount of time. They ranged from simple repairs to everyday options to submitting new code because someone in your Darshan couldn’t be assed to do it themself. That commission took up a whole twelve hours consecutively. You subsisted off a brand of Natlanese coffee the entire all-nighter. You made roughly 20,000 mora in total from these. Normally, you’d be overjoyed at that amount of money, but that only put a drop in your funding bucket.

The next thing you tried was doing shifts with the local rainforest watchers. Hours were long and your hair was in a constant state of unruly frizz. You decided to start braiding it back so it’d be out of your face. The job would have been quite pleasant for you, if you weren’t sweltering under the unforgiving rainforest sun. The shifts usually lasted about eight hours, and sometimes you would do doubles just for fun. Most of it entailed basic horticultural and ecological upkeep, which you were more than happy to attend to. You nearly considered going into the Amurta Darshan, but alas, Sumeru’s schooling seemed to be rather rigid about enrolling into multiple Darshans. You made roughly 70,000 mora from this, apparently the Sumeran government still paid them very well despite the overhaul.

The last place you looked for a job was the Adventurer’s Guild. Usually, you wouldn’t consider this option, despite possessing an anemo vision and a basic knowledge of combat. You were simply wary of it being a Scheznayan organization. After the Stormterror incident, could you really be blamed?

However, when you passed the kiosk on your way into town, right after that frankly amazing restaurant, you weren’t immune to the cute girl behind the desk. She had dark, wavy hair that reached her chin, pale skin, and icy blue eyes. Her stare was blank and unsettling. It was love at first sight. Without any prior thought about the commissions you’d already taken from the Ksharewar IT department, you waltzed on over.

“Ad Astra Abyssosque, welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild.” Her voice, flat and monotonous, sung in your ears like spring wind. “Are you here to place a commission?”

You wondered if you could blame your flushed features on the humidity. “Actually, I’d like to sign up, if that’s okay.”

And that’s the story of how you sold out your country for a pretty girl. How idiotic. The work was easy though, as you usually handled Fetch quests and got rid of stray fungi. They paid almost as well as shifts with the forest watchers, which you usually were coming back from when you stopped at the desk. You’d complete about four to five commissions before going home to work on your other commissions. In total, you managed to snag about 15,000 mora from this gig, but seeing that cutie Katheryne would have been enough for you (lying).

You came out with an extra 5,000 in the end! You would for once, be early on rent. You could eat for two weeks! In celebration, you slept for three straight days. Good thing you did, those eye bags were beginning to outgrow your orbital. They were almost as dark as your hair too. Rest came easy and you were admittedly exhausted, but a great part of you couldn’t wait for Shopping Day this week, so that you could finally start work!

Chapter Text

Shopping Day rolled in like a summer storm. Usually, you’d drift aimlessly around Sumeru City, failing to haggle with local vendors and becoming thoroughly overwhelmed within an hour. However, YOU were on a mission today, a holy pilgrimage for an ungodly amount of parts (and perhaps a shawarma with extra tahini)! Today, you strode through the paved streets with purpose, determined to find every single thing you needed on your list. Failure was not an option, nor was any of your suppliers being out of a particular part.

The heart of Sumeru city was built around a grand, ancient tree. It was possibly your favorite feat of architecture, hell, it was your favorite concept in general. A place so technologically adept that it coexisted alongside nature! It brought tears to your eyes, technology and the elements working together hand in loving hand. Not even the midmorning swelter could dissuade you! You navigated the winding streets, which snaked and swerved and sometimes led you practically nowhere. You hardly gave a second glance to places like the Eremite’s hangout or the Adventurer Guild desk. As much as you would love to make eyes at your beloved Katheryne right now, you had other matters to attend to.

If anyone was meant to acknowledge the tunnel that bore into the tree’s trunk, they never did. You’ve come to think of this particular area of the city as your own personal oasis, away from the throes of everyday life and all its calamities. You pretended to not feel small among the tunnel’s high ceiling, but when you pushed the heavy wooden doors aside, you reveled in your own insignificance. You simply referred to it as The Market, and it was actively the only place you would do business in. Music hung heavy in the air among the vines and decor, and the lively chatter felt as if Celestia itself was reached by it. Perhaps it was because it reminded you of the heart of your great mountain that you were not afraid of this place. Was this too not a heart?

Enough waxing poetic, you had a job to do. You waltzed languidly between stalls and near the center stage, opting to head for the back. Among the stalls and message boards in the left ventricle was one that stood out like a purpled bruise. It was more scrap metal than building, with odd ends of forgotten parts and half planned projects strewn about like props. It encroached on the other stalls like a drunk sitting in a stranger’s lap, and you were certain that if you hadn’t have gone to university when you did, your home back in Mondstadt would look like this. A lone boy, no older than you, manned the stand. He had his bottle-thick glasses up on his forehead, perusing a copy of Mechanic’s Monthly.

You bounded up to him, practically slamming down your arm onto his table just to lean on it. Some of his trinkets jostled around, and he let out a frankly pathetic squeak.

“Ishaan, my man!” You cheered. “It’s that day of the week!”

He flinched momentarily at your volume, but recovered quickly. “Hello, Finch, what brings you to the shop today?”

You smiled so brightly that your eyes became slivers. You slid a folded piece of paper to Ishaan, who eyed it with contemplative disinterest. “I gotcha a little list of things I need for a project, you mind telling me what you have in stock?”

His narrow, calf brown eyes narrowed further as he inspected your shopping list, occasionally thumbing the heavy tome that laid open on his desk. Ishaan mumbled about something or another and nothing at all. And with his spindly hand, he calculated the stock and pricings. At once, he peered back at you, head half cocked. His thick eyebrows knit into a dense crease. “Processing chips, resin based insulation, steel rods? It’s never a dull moment with you, huh Argent?”

You shook your head violently, animatedly. “I guess not! What can you get me and for how much?”

A breathy hiss blew from his teeth. “I have about half of this in stock, and the rest I can get to you by the end of the month. You sure you can pay up though?”

You nodded. “It won’t be a problem for me.”

Doubt was etched into every crevice of Ishaan’s face. “You sure? This equals out to about a hu–”

You slammed your coin purse onto the countertop with a hefty Thud! “One hundred thousand mora, right up front!”

Ishaan nearly tipped out of his chair, his fingers splaying in every direction like an elk’s antlers. “Hey! Keep it down a little.”

Your face became so very warm, and you were aware of how much attention you had just placed on yourself the moment those words left your mouth. Nobody would win against you if they mugged you, sure, but you would be so thoroughly mortified. “Right. Sorry. There’s your payment.”

“It’s okay, thank you Finch.” He assured you, tapping an index finger to his chin. You noticed how his hands were similar to yours: calloused and scarred. “But if I may ask, what do you need all this stuff for? These are hardly parts you come in to buy.”

You leaned in dangerously close. Close enough to see his short, straight eyelashes and smile lines. Your voice dimmed to a conspiratorial whisper. You were about to lie your ass off. “I actually got this as a commission, I’m gonna charge ‘em out the ears for all this. I’ll never have to worry about my student debt again, Celestia willing, I might just be able to pull my Darshan out the red.”

This captivated Ishaan. His eyes widened to the size of hubcaps, before settling into that smug, conspiratorial smirk you had. “Then by all means, we’ll deliver your stock to you soon.”

You pushed off the table and sung his praises, and then you left. You had a spring in your step now, considering you were far lighter on coin. You practically skipped out of Market, all the way up the winding tunnel and back into the dappled daylight. Oh, today was good! You were going to get a little treat to go with it! The smell of cooking meats and spices was enough to bring you to your knees. Mondstadt wasn’t really known for its well seasoned dishes, but one thing you loved about Sumeru was its variety of spices. It was a pungent smell that you became enamored with overtime, a sensory overload without the horrors. You got yourself a beef shawarma with extra tahini and some apple slices and sat comfortably outside the restaurant’s venue.

The view from there was simply exquisite in your eyes. It overlooked the city’s outskirts and stretched far into the rainforest estuaries. You let yourself become lost in watching passing riverboats and hearing the sailors shout from the docks below your feet. You idly observed the various types of tropical birds as well, perched on the tree’s roots or lily pads that had the diameter of your height. Your eyes traced over the mountains as well, drawing the lines where the landform ended and where the clouds hung. You took another bite of your Shawarma. Today was good.

After your brief lunch break, you ambled back over to the Adventurer’s Guild desk. The sun was nearly at its midpoint now, and you’d feel your skin become unbearably sticky. You’d have to get this done quickly. You let your forearm rest on the counter, letting your upper body bask in the partial shade. You unabashedly kept eye contact with Katheryne, gazing into those pretty, snowcapped blue eyes with unashamed awe. She was as impassive as always, and Archons, did you swoon.

“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild, how may I help you today?” She said

You batted your eyelashes. Disgusting. “I need to post a commission, if you don’t mind.”

Her lips, set in a polite, customer service-y smile, ticked up slightly at your response. “Of course not, allow me to procure a form for you.”

You fondly waited, tapping your fingers against the wonderfully varnished wood. She slid the form over to you, and in return you grabbed a pen from behind your ear and eagerly wrote. For a moment, the only sounds between you were pen on paper and midday clamor.

“If I might be so forward,” she said, and you’d later recount to me, and I quote, ‘oh! My heart soared!’ You disgust me. “What exactly are you commissioning?”

You straightened up instantaneously. “Oh! Well, uh, I’m kinda running an experiment on power banks right now, and I wanted to test it with a Regisvine Core! I’m just one person though, can’t get it myself…” Archons, you were rambling. Way to fumble.

Katheryne just nodded in understanding. “I think I have the perfect adventurer in mind for that. Though, I will take your fee now.”

You slid her 1,000 mora and bid your crush adieu. Your heart hammered in your chest at the interaction. It was the first time she had ever asked about you! That meant you were making progress, right? Perhaps I should brush up on my Mondstadtian poetry, you thought, perhaps that could woo her. You are quite possibly the most clueless and hopeless person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. By the abyss below, you were skipping down the stairs. I’m embarrassed to have known you.

You hardly paid attention to the surroundings as you, grey walls and dirt roads blurred into one under your rose tinted vision. You only stopped your demeaning display when you noticed a cluster of posters pinned to a supplementary sign. One advertised a gig job out in the desert, another was about an ecology seminar hosted by that cute fox boy from Ghandarva Ville. What really caught your eye was a wanted poster though.

The portrait displayed some asshole with a shit eating smirk and a bowl cut. His eyeliner looked uneven. The text read “AT LARGE: Fatui Harbinger, The Balladeer, has remained at large since the coup. DO NOT ENGAGE if sighted, immediately contact the General Mahamatra or the Traveler for assistance.” You gave the poster a once over and continued on without a thought. You ambled on back to your house, mind swimming with preparations that you needed to start immediately on. The afternoon sun beat at your back, and part of you sighed. You could have brought the mobile version of your fan out for a field test…..

Chapter Text

The parts started arriving in the fashion you expected. Some here, some there, usually on even days of the week. As promised, a hefty sum of them arrived on your porch by the end of the month as well. Each time a package came, your dopamine levels would unreasonably spike. You had everything you could possibly need for this project!

The steel rods and resin came first. You set me in a metal box and welded my endoskeleton back together. It was slow going, and your hands were admittedly trembling with excitement, but you got the job done. You also took the liberties of hotwiring most of me back together that day. When you were finished with that, you began the arduous process of mixing and curing the bonding agent for the skin. You’d only worked with resin once previous, and made the mistake of not performing that in a more ventilated area. Probably have a spot on your lung. You patched areas like my knees and the scraped skin of my palms, chastising me all the while.

You later told me that your father used to do the same thing, bandaging you up after you fell out of trees or ventured too far off a cliff.

In your words, the fun stuff came later. You rolled me onto my stomach, body bare. You ran your gentle fingers through my hair, and your thumb came to rest on the electro symbol on the nape of my neck. Just about everywhere else in this area was shredded or caved in, I must have fallen from some great height. There were six gaping, circular ports on the back as well, but they were about shattered beyond repair. You ran a hand over your face and prayed you had enough resin to seal these holes. You pressed the electro sigil firmly and my skull hissed. You had to use a flathead screwdriver and both your hands in order to pry it off. Before you could even chance a look inside, you grabbed your tape recorder and started chirping.

“Day four of Project Pandora, and oh baby, did I just crack open this box. Whoever created this beauty certainly studied up on their anatomy, because the cranial door sits right where an occipital bone on a human skull would be. Inside is absolutely shredded, of course, but Archons, what this looked like fully functional was probably divine. The main problem I have right now is most of the wiring is shredded. The processing chip is….completely shattered. It lays before me like a broken shard of stained glass. It occupies all…corners? Of the cavity.”

A pause.

“My Archons above, it’s still glowing. The subject must still be living.”

You leaned back, running the calculations and success rates in your head. You knew there was almost no way to fully recover the memory and processing chips, but perhaps if you grafted it on to the existing ones you just bought… It could work, but you wouldn’t know how it would affect your cadaver at all. Whatever stone you just cracked open revealed gems you as a mortal could not even begin to comprehend. But damn it all, you had to try.

The shattered remains pulsed still, and if you closed your eyes, you were once again a little kid in the maw of a big, red, eldritch cave.

You spent the entire next two days working with a graft you thought had the best shot of success. You slept perhaps four hours in that amount of time, and none of those hours were consecutive. You couldn’t help it though! You were just so enthused! You had spent hours surgically removing the larger shards, grafting them onto your processors, and inputting new code to account for it. You spent far longer than you cared to admit bug testing, but that was simply part of the journey! After you mildly perfected the chip, it was ready to be installed.

You lifted my skull up for a better angle. The recorder rolled.

“Alright, time for probably the most low-stakes brain surgery yet. Rejection of this graft is entirely possible, but to monitor this, I’ve attached a light that should flash and maintain a steady signal if successful. Lord Barbatos, Lady Kusanali, anyone, lend me steady enough hands to see this through.”

You exhaled sharply through your teeth and began the operation. With a steady pair of tweezers, you methodically removed the remaining shards that you could not graft onto your chip. It felt horrifically wrong, somehow. A bead of sweat gathered at your brow. You prayed to your gods, you prayed to your machine, your cadaver. The port was thankfully unharmed, and with shaking, careful hands, you inserted the new processing chip. Ch-clck! Your breath became too short as you watch the small light blink, blink, blink….and stabilize!

You threw your head back and shot your hands in the air. The glasses you wore tumbled off your head, but you didn’t mind! It worked! First try! A laugh tore from your lungs and tumbled out your throat, and you nearly fell out of the chair.

“It worked! Papa, it worked the first try!” You cried, before straightening back up and observing the cavity once more. It was hypnotizing to see the light, obnoxious and eye watering, stable without so much as a flicker. “Okokokokok so…I’ll hook it up to one of my computers now, that way it can run an analysis for me while I sleep. Archons above, I haven’t slept a full eight hours in a week..”

You glanced back at your cadaver, now a little more alive than you thought. You grinned with unrestrained joy. “It’s okay, my friend, the hard part is over now.”

I was not yet awake, of course, but I was beginning to recover my senses in patchwork, fuzzy ways.The way you might be aware of your senses while asleep. But I felt your hands glide against the skin of my arm, and I felt something soft grace the back of my hand. You would never acknowledge this action, and neither did I. You shut the tape recorder off, and killed the lights in your workroom. It was late in the evening now, the moon was a quarter of the way though its ministrations. You trudged through your home and to your bedroom. You didn’t bother to ditch your operating clothes, and opted to curl into your nest of blankets without a second thought. You slept for nearly a solid day. You weren’t around to notice how my hand had begun to twitch.

Chapter Text

Fortunately, you were quite pleased with your 20 hour nap and the computer’s diagnostics. Unfortunately, classes would resume in a day or two. Apparently the Akademia had finally got their shit together enough to begin holding classes again. Admittedly, your particular Darshan was about as broke as you were. Due to the lack of funds, this meant that you had fewer classes than one in Amurta or Rtawahist. Classes were shorter and covered more broad topics than they did individualized lessons, and they were so painfully against everything you stood for. You half thought about submitting your notes on your cadaver as a final thesis and happily marching back to Mondstadt, but you had already paid this year’s tuition.

And so, after some simple repairs and calibrations to the cranial cavity, you bid me adieu. You slung your work bag over your shoulder, threw on your least disgusting uniform, clipped your vision to your bicep and left. The Trek to class was about half an hour in total on a good day, and you preferred to leave as early as possible to beat the heat. In no time flat, you had circumnavigated the cities with practiced ease and slipped into School Mode.

It was a bit different from the architectural sector that Ksharewar. The building was erected out of stone rather than the standard wooden commercial buildings. It would be a fire hazard otherwise… It was relatively simple in design, domed roof, Sumeru’s trademark flow of round and angular forms, but you only listened in on the architecture classes when you were incredibly, insufferably bored. Then you’d go home and disassemble a clock or something.

You hesitated upon seeing the meager flow of people inside. As if you had not previously dealt with them. They flooded through the doors like stray sand in an empty hourglass, and you were the last person to walk inside. The interior was divided between a small lecture hall and workstations generally reserved for welding and repairs. You squeezed yourself into a steadily dry-rotting wooden bench in the middle row and fervently adjusted your ridiculous beret. There were perhaps ten students. Including you. A hardened middle aged woman, with crow’s feet around the eyes and a sage green hijab, stood at the podium.

“Archons, everyone showed up today.” The woman, professor Misra, remarked. “Everyone but my blasted TA.”

The jab brought a small ripple of laughter from your class. You leaned your face into your palm and watched her idly. She was a wonderful woman, really. She worked with whatever learning material dealt to her well. It was just that nobody was too keen on pushing that learning material further beyond.

Her voice reverberated on the stone walls easily, in another life, she would have probably killed it as an actress. Instead she used her natural projecting voice on kids in their early twenties and You. “Regardless! Despite Mister Patil’s absence today, we will march on without him. As you may not remember those many weeks ago, we were beginning our unit on Looms and Clothing manufacturing….”

Honest, you loved hearing her talk, and you understood the material to the best of your ability, but it simply was Boring. You opted to turn to a random page in your notebook and scribble nonsensically. It was simply an amalgamation of shapes and lines, but it kept you somewhat occupied throughout her two hour lecture. It also meant you could let your mind wander, and it would always be thoughts of me.

“-And that’s why we as Sumerans take so much pride in our textile industry. The loom was first dated to our deserts, so it is only fair we keep our traditions alive and beating. That concludes our introductory history on this topic.” Professor Misra announced. “I do hope that this lecture wasn’t too boring on your first day back, but it must be done. Please review the assigned reading I gave out almost two months ago for your studies tonight.” A pause, her thin lips quirked up into a beam. “Be safe getting home today, kids.”

There was a voice among you that carried, despite only being ten students. And all of them were kind enough to say “Thank you professor!” Before dissolving into a perfect Babel and making their exit. You slumped up from your seat, not too eager to leave the sunbeam you were lounging in for the past half hour, but there were other things. You shambled towards the door, right behind the particularly lanky guy that sat behind you.

You were perhaps just about to be off campus when a voice beckoned you from behind. “Hey! Finch!”

You pivoted around to see a girl in her late twenties who had dark curls with shocks of pastel pink through them. You thought you knew her name…it was either Anita or Anisa. She usually sat in front of you in class.. She kept her hand raised and simply beamed at you. Her eyes were a friendly shade of green, but you could not meet them. Instead you gave her a watery smile and focused on a stray curl on her brow. Your voice felt foreign in your throat when you answered her.

“Oh, what’s up?”

She rested a fist on her hip and gestured with the other. The sleeves of her Akademia uniform flopped around with her movements. “I’m looking for a guy, bit on the short side, kinda olive-y skin and brown hair? Looks like a kicked puppy. You haven’t seen anyone like that today, have ya?”

You could think of at least five guys on campus that looked like that. You shook your head. She sighed. You weren’t really sure how to continue the conversation. Were you supposed to apologize? For not seeing a person? That didn’t seem right. Still, she looked a little upset. Your hand twitched.

“That’s okay.” She hummed. “I’m sorry, haven’t even asked you how you were.How was your break? I slept the whole month through.”

You laughed, it felt forced. You gave a casual shrug and made a so-so gesture with your hands. You weren’t lying to her if you omitted several important details, right? “Oh you know, I mostly just worked. Have to keep up with rent and tuition fees and all that.”

The woman nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m gonna keep looking for my friend, go home and take it easy, alright?”

You nodded “Hope you find him, have a nice day.”

You parted ways from your classmate, sunken under the heat and the way you acted during that interaction. It was fine, she didn’t seem to mind, but you still couldn’t help like you had missed something from that. You hoped she found her friend.

And for three days out of the week, it was a staggered song and dance between sleep, classes, and devoting your time to your cadaver. It irked you that you were away from me for long bursts of time, because what if an anomaly was detected when you weren’t there? What if you were too late to fix the bugs in my programming? No such thing happened, of course. I was still blissfully asleep, and your hands mended me with utmost care. It took maybe two weeks into this new way of life, but soon the only thing left for you to do was wake me up.

It was late evening when you flipped your tape recorder on once more. The lamp light illuminated the metal-lined operating table. You had the decency to at least tuck a sheet around my lower half, you had clothes I could wear in the meantime as well. Whether they would fit me was a separate story. My chest was bare to you, the cavity over my heart open only to your eyes.

“Had to pay a helluva lot for this Regisvine core, but that traveler that handled it for me got it to me without any damage to it. It rests in my palms right now. Even through the well-insulated gloves, I can feel its pulse, hear the electricity from it. I can’t imagine what was meant to power this thing originally..”

You stole a glance at my sleeping form and worried your lip between your sharp teeth.

“I almost don’t want you to wake up…What if you wake up and there’s life in those eyes? Can I bear that?”

Another glance to the hunk of purple, pulsing energy in your hands. It held life still, or the potential for it. Basically the same thing. You took a deep breath in and out. You let your clamoring heart fade into the background as you leaned closer and closer to the pit in my chest. The cavity was carved in the shape of a human heart, and near the apex was carved something you could not read. It was in Inazuman, which you could not speak. The glow from the core reflected in the cool, tactless metal. You let it slip from your fingers and click into place. Click! Click! Click!

You continued chatting to your auditory audience. I stirred in my slumber. At once, I was aware of the cool metal against my back. The sensations that once felt soft and blurred sharpened almost instantaneously. My eyes snapped open, the world above me a blur. I do not feel the need to breathe, but you insisted that I gasped when I sat up with a shock. Colors and shapes bled through my vision like watercolor on a paint palette. I collided with something hard against my forehead, and for a moment I thought I was knocked back into the ether.

Above me, you swore liberally in your native tongue. “Ow, owowowowow! Shiße! Barbatos above!”

My vision began to stabilize, and you were above me, clutching a hand to your forehead. With a sharp hiss, you lowered your hand and gazed upon whatever hit you square in your frontal lobe. Your face was aghast, your mouth hung partially open. Your eyes were as wide as the goggles that rested on your forehead. Those eyes of yours were a shocking bright red, and something about the way you held my gaze felt…inhuman.

“Archons,” you breathed. “You’re awake.”

Chapter Text

Once you picked your jaw off the ground, your eyes disappeared under your cheeks in a blinding smile. Your face was flushed a dark color, and it even extended to your long, pointed ears. In a flash, you stripped a hand of your glove and thrust it in front of me. “Welcome back to the land of the living! I’m Finch, I managed to get you back up and running again.”

I eyed your hand with disinterest and said nothing. I still couldn’t parse out who I was, it felt like someone had shoved their nasty fingers into my brain and wiggled them around. Any memories I had remaining were scrambled and blurry, but I wasn’t too keen to place all my trust in you just because you woke me up. If you took offense to my choice, you showed no sign of it. You hand retracted behind your back, and you tore your gaze away from me to something to my right.

“Okay, you seem to be stabilizing just fine, but it might take a minute to fully regain your motor functions and such.” You muttered more to yourself than to me before glancing back. “Do you remember your name?”

My head felt foggy with that question. I had a name, I had to have had one. There were multiple names, perhaps, but all of them felt like ill-fitting clothes to me. My face wrinkled up at the thought. I gave a noncommittal shrug, refusing to meet your eye. It wasn’t lost on me how consuming that act was. I felt like I was an insect under that cardinal gaze of yours. This didn’t bother you at all though.

“That’s alright, I know this is probably a lot for you to take in.” Your voice was infuriatingly calm for someone who had just raised a man from the dead. “When you’re ready, can you tell me the last thing you can remember?”

Flashes of fragmented memories drifted across my consciousness. A beach. A furnace. Somewhere cold. Windmills. A man with pointed teeth and cold, unfeeling eyes. A heart. None of them made a terrible amount of sense, and it was a real pain in the RAM. Focusing on them too hard earned me a sharp pain in the temporal lobe. I spoke, but couldn’t recognize the voice in my throat. “That’s classified information, you’d have to die after I told you.”

For whatever insane, asinine reason, you seemed to light up at that response. You scribbled something into a notebook you recovered before turning your attention to me once more. You tapped at my arms expectantly. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to run a few motor tests on you. Could you move your arms around and make a fist for me?”

This felt incredibly demeaning, and I was frankly beginning to lose my patience. I knew about three things currently. Firstly, you were insufferable. Secondly, I could not trust my scrambled mess of a brain currently. My current senses were fine, but I could not decipher what any of my past lives could mean. It felt as if everything was too sharp and too dull simultaneously. Lastly. The universe deemed me dead. I was meant to repose in squalor forever, and I somehow knew I deserved it then. You had gone and fucked that up for me, Argent. You woke up something that should have stayed asleep.

I rose quickly, arms outstretched to try and reach for that infuriatingly unbuttoned shirt you wore and shake you until you were in my position. Only, my weight dropped immediately to my feet, and I crumpled to the floor like a newborn kitten. I braced myself, waiting and expecting a sudden and violent collision with the floor.

Only that never came, either. Your frustratingly strong arms wrapped around my form and lifted me onto my feet as if I weighed nothing. Your face was compassionate, and the organic warmth seeped from every part of you. Some lonely, animalistic part of me craved and clawed for more, anything more. And you let me lean against you, supporting me like I was some pitiful drunkard that couldn’t walk home by himself. Given your nation of origin, I wouldn’t doubt your experience in that department.

Your voice was so kind that I wanted to scream. “Hey, woah! Watch your step, okay? You haven’t been awake for months at least, this might take some getting used to. I’ll help you if you need anything, though.”

I cared not to tear my eyes away from your concrete flooring. Littered with bolts and scrap metal and a concerning amount of unsafe shop objects. I was also entirely bare to you now, and I supposed I would have mustered up enough embarrassment if I hadn’t known that you had already seen me inside and out. That you treated me like a cadaver then, a body at a morgue. Instead, I dumbly asked, “do you have any spare clothes?”

You nodded vigorously above me. “Yes, a’course. Here, let’s get you on something that isn’t that table, huh? You’ve spent plenty of time there already.”

You lead me through your workshop, which your professor would have probably severely deducted points from if ever inspected. My gait was staggering, unreliable. Loathe as I am to admit it, I did need your assistance in this matter. The door shoved open with a yawn without issue, and the rest of your rental was beholden to my eyes. It was quite unimpressive. You led me through your assorted piles of clothes, a precarious stack of Mechanic’s Monthly, and at least five opened packages I am not at liberty to describe in this manner. Your couch was low, sad, and a melancholy shade of blue. If it was possible for a piece of furniture to cry, this one would. You picked me up bridal style and set me on it, and I did not have the energy to fight this motion off. You disappeared into one of the open rooms, hastily shouting that you’d be back shortly.

I did not enjoy taking stock of the rest of your abode. Your clothes hung everywhere but your coat stand, there were several cardboard boxes being used as tables, and a hefty crossbow imposed as your only wall decor. I’d rather you leave me in that pigsty of a caravan than bring me to this wretched home. The only redeeming object in this entire house was a lone phonograph, which had a small wooden crate filled with vinyl discs leaning on its shins.

You returned, clothes in hand, and wasted no time in letting them flow into mine. I studied what you brought me, it appeared to only be a simple sleep shirt and pants. “I meant to grab you some more fitting clothes for you, but I also didn’t want you to wake up and hate them…Perhaps you can come shop with me for clothes in a few days, if you’re up for it.”

“I have no preferences for such things.” I said matter-of-factly. You only gave a half-hearted shrug.

“If you so insist. Just call out to me if you need help, okay?” You pressed, I waved you off.

To my chagrin, this act was more laborious than I cared to admit. Exerting any amount of energy was draining, my body screaming after months of disuse. I would not know what the mortal equivalent would be, but you went on comparing it to sleeping on a part of your body wrong. Alas, it seemed as if you woke up the wrong body to begin with. A long silence permeated the air. A question hung on my tongue like the gallows. I let it hang openly in the air.

“Why did you wake me up?”

You sat up on your knees and took my hand in your rough, scarred ones. You held it as if I was porcelain. Like a fox with an egg in its teeth. Your eyes shone with a fervor, a reverence. I could almost not bear to meet them. “I found you abandoned in a Fatui caravan. You looked like a two week old carcass, and I couldn't bring myself to leave you to rot. My dear automaton, I had never seen anything like you. I simply had to see you wake up.”

You were laying it on real thick. “You should have let me lie.”

You only shook your head. “Someone would have eventually found you regardless. Maybe they would have woken you up then as well. I just had to be the one though.”

I tilted my head and let my brows furrow. “But why did it have to be you?”

Was it a false sense of duty? Scientific curiosity? Zeal? Perhaps you only meant to study me like an insect or the innards of a ruin guard. You answered with none of these, instead you ran a thumb across my hand and haplessly twittered. “I just wanted to see those pretty little eyes of yours.”
I yanked my hand away from yours at that, and you dissolved into a girlish, giggling fit. I did not know who to be embarrassed for in this situation, honestly. That was possibly the worst and only time I should have allowed you to flirt with me like that. Your face was nearly an entirely different color from your amber-toned skin, and apparently you found my reaction so funny that tears dotted the corners of your eyes. You wiped them away carelessly with the back of your hand. “Sorry, sorry. Low hanging fruit.”

I was not amused. You stood up to your full height, and if I had to guess, you were about a head or so taller than me. You peered down at me with those eyes and managed a polite smile. “I just want you to know that you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, my friend. I’d prefer if you’d at least stay a week so I can make sure you’re functioning properly now that you’re awake, but I’d understand if that isn’t in the cards for you right now.”

I weighed my options. Being away from you sounded like a blessing from above, so I immediately ruled it out. I was still unsure of who I was, and until I could grasp those hazy past lives of mine, I couldn’t make a properly informed decision on where to go or what to do next. Loathe as I was to admit it, this was possibly my best route to take right now. I told you that I would stay that week for your peace of mind, and you looked as if you wanted to sweep me off my feet and sing praises forever. You didn’t, blessed be. After a barrage of incessant, unnecessary questions, you retired for the night at a reasonable four in the morning. I do not require sleep or rest organically, so I was left to ponder my condition, situation, and the likes.

It was utterly meaningless, attempting to recall anything before I woke up while you were gone. It simply just hurt, but at least it made the sun come up a little faster. I was loathe to accept this new reality of mine, but as of writing, I am no longer with you there. I look around at this prison cell and find myself missing your idiotic house, the sense of safety that you made certain I felt. I wouldn’t say I miss you, though. Not that sentimental yet. Not for you.

Chapter Text

Living with you was an egregious, laborious task. Unless you had a class, you would not wake until midday. Even then you always made a fool of yourself when prepping to go to class. Abyss below, you once got stuck in a shirt the way a cat would a milk container. Your diet subsisted off takeout and readymade meals most days, You made a dish once. Damn my creator for giving me olfactory sensors, what you cooked smelled disgusting. Most days you’d forget to eat too, too wrapped up in me and your commissions and your classwork. You persisted with those unnecessary questions like where I came from and if I found my stay satisfactory. Was it not enough that I had to deal with you during diagnostic tests? More frustratingly, I could never seem to make you angry.

Every snide comment or uncooperative action from me either made you smile or was brushed off entirely. Why? Did you let people like me walk over you like this all the time? It still puzzles me to this day.

As much as I despised your presence, being alone in your home was far worse. I’d have all this empty space to think to myself. It was torturous. My memories hurt less to recall, but their details were still weathered and fuzzy like an old photograph or impressionist painting. I didn’t need a damn art gallery, I needed answers, and the lack thereof was agonizing. There was little to occupy myself outside of that, all of your vinyl albums were either Mondstadtian drinking songs or those unbearable folk songs about being depressed about not being near a mountain. Machines bore me, however eternal you mortals claim them to be. I grew tired of people watching through your rounded windows within days.

Upon the first full week at your house, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and that started by cleaning up the garbage pile you chose to live in. By some unknown grace, there were cleaning supplies in your closet. I started by clearing the floor of near everything on it. The only thing left standing was a low wooden table I’d get to in due time. It took at least three passes with the broom for me to see the hardwood instead of dirt, and two hours of mopping to get the shine back. Don’t get me started on the random expanses sticky from motor oil or other unmentionables, you know what you did.

When you didn’t come home in the early afternoon, I continued on my cleaning crusade. I kicked up a fruit crate found in your workshop and set it overturned to act as another table, placing all your pervert magazines there. It astounded me how I had the strength to not only lift your table, but also take the rug underneath it and roll it outside. I set it on the clothesline between your porch post and a tree and beat the ever-loving daylights out of it. I don’t even think the Desert had experienced a dust storm quite like what came out of your ugly patterned rug. It sagged there in defeat while I went to do everything else.

You came home shortly after, arms carrying five tote bags on each arm. Paired with your crooked beret and frumpy uniform, you looked like the world’s most pathetic scarecrow. Your mouth formed a little ‘o’ when you stepped inside. You quickly placed your bags onto the table and rounded on me.

“You cleaned all this while I was gone?” Your voice sounded somewhat shocked and amazed, but I was still pissed off that you let it become this bad to begin with.

“I figured since you certainly weren’t, I might as well.”

You just smiled at me. I hate when you do that. “That’s so sweet of you, Thanks! I’ll be sure to return the favor.”

You let me simmer in my cleaning-fueled rage while you put up…groceries? You went grocery shopping? News to me. I was unimpressed by the bare minimum, sure, but I didn’t know you had it in you. “What’s in the bags?”

“Oh!” You exclaimed while unpacking an entire bag of oranges. “Once every two weeks, the Amurta kids host a farmer’s market on campus! It’s awful sweet of them, I usually get my groceries then.”

As you unpacked fresh items like cabbage and stowed meats into your ice box, I couldn't help but think that you’d bought enough for two people to share. I could eat, of course, but I didn’t require it the way you did. Not many foods were to my liking anyways. I remembered how disgustingly sweet dango was, and how most foods I ate tasted Too Much, but that wasn’t entirely useful in helping me with who I was. At one point, you pulled out a small notepad, it had recipes scribbled on it in that unreadable handwriting of yours.

You must have noticed my gaze, because you turned to me sheepishly. “I know you’re not the most forthcoming about your past, but I do know that you probably came from Inazuma, at least. I thought I could maybe cook some dishes from your home country.”

There was something so depressingly hopeful in your tone, like you meant it more to yourself than anything. You turned to the final bag and fished a sizable cardboard box from it. You looked at it like an old friend.

I scanned it with narrowed eyes and resolved to bring the rug back inside before you started crying on my perfectly clean hardwood floors. It was sunset now, and the small village you lived in was winding down for the day. No one paid me any mind as they went about their evenings, thankfully. I returned inside, hefting a rug the size of me through. You were still in the kitchen, awestruck at the box when I fixed the rug back into its spot. You looked on the verge of tears.

“Sorry,” you started, “I should have helped with that, wouldn’t want you to exert yourself too hard.”

I brushed it off with a wave of my hand. “Nonsense. I simply was finishing what I started.”

You hummed lowly and leaned against the kitchen doorway. “Either way, I want to do something for you in return.”

I of course was hesitant, because so far the only two gifts you gave me (life and staying in your home), weren’t really that great. You just clapped me on the shoulder and grinned at my soured face. You disappeared into your room after that, it was the first time I saw you retire before two in the morning. For your sake, I opted to ignore the sound of you sobbing that night, however distracting it was. I gave your kitchen a once over before retiring myself, wondering if you would behave any differently in the morning.

--------------------------------------------------------

You were frustratingly energetic the next day. At some point, you had tacked on a letter and pictures of that stupid haunted mountain you loved so much onto the corkboard in your workshop. I didn’t care enough to ask then. You disappeared into the kitchen shortly after waking and bidding me a good morning. The smell of eggs and meats permeated the air, and a half hour later you returned with two plates of pork, braised red cabbage, and potato dumplings. You gingerly placed a plate in front of me and took your place on the floor.

I, of course, protested. “I don’t require sustenance like you.”

You leered at me like how a cat looks at a plump bird. “Eat it or not, it’s company to me all the same.”

But what you really meant by that was “I miss cooking for two,” I think. Either way, we were silent for the most part. You ate with a gusto and passion for life, and I felt somewhat obligated to at least try the potatoes. They were decent, a bit on the bland side, but they paired okay with a bite of pork. I’m not one for Mondstadtian foods, or eating in general, but I do appreciate how utterly flavorless it can be.

“My old man used to cook for me, yknow.” You said suddenly. Your voice was like wind through a cave. “I could never get the pork right, though.”

Silence festered between us like an old wound. You pushed yourself off of the floor and scooped up the plates without a second thought. You raised your free hand in the air and waved it, as if dispelling your grief like it was a bug. You smiled at me, but the light didn’t fully reach your eyes.

“But nevermind all that, would you like me to cut your hair?”

I wanted to scoff and recoil at the request. You? Cut my hair? Ridiculous. Sure, it still grew uncomfortably long while I was asleep, my bangs now uneven the back of my neck now covered in it. Didn’t mean I wasn’t perfectly capable of doing it myself. Though, I thought back to your incessant sobbing the previous night. While I’m not an expert on the human condition, I thought perhaps this might put you at ease. I don’t know why I cared in that moment, I still don’t. I just did. Foolish am I.

You sat me up on your workroom stool and propped a small mirror against the wall on the table. I never truly registered my face until now but it was frustratingly blank. In your own words, those “pretty little eyes” of mine were ringed with dark circles and obscured my my uneven hair. I looked like shit. You tied a curtain around my neck and smiled at me through the mirror.

“So, how do you want your hair done? It was kind of in a bowl cut last time, but new life, new you, right?”

I had no preference, and I voiced such to you.

“Oh okay,” you replied easily. “I’ll just shave you bald then, how about that?”

“What?! No-!” I sputtered, but you only tipped your head back and laughed.

“See?” You hummed “You do have a preference after all.”

I wanted to slap that shit eating smirk of yours clear off your face, but you leaned in and twirled a lock of my hair between your fingers. I didn’t need to breathe, but I felt something in my chest hitch.

“I’m usually more accustomed to working with textured hair, but I think I have an idea for this. How often do you feel like styling your hair?”

In truth, I didn’t want to put forth any effort. I made this known to you and you nodded.

“Feel you there. I’ll get to work then.”

You began work by sectioning off my hair and trimming the back up. I let myself observe your hair, which was currently tucked back into two braids on either side. Licks of coal black curls spiraled at your hairline, and I couldn’t help but notice that when the light caught your curls that it seemed oddly…colorful. Like a rainbow you’d see in an oil spill. The ends of your hair also puzzled me, for they were a stark red color. It looked as if you’d been dipped headfirst into someone’s paint well.

You hummed at your work, mumbling lyrics in Mondstadtian and Common every now and again. You had procured an electric razor at some point, it made a pleasant buzz against my scalp. You started singing in a language I couldn’t recognize, but it sounded old and clumsy on your tongue. Against my better judgment, I asked about it.

You didn’t answer initially. A potent bear of silence passed before you spoke. “Oh yknow, my mother used to sing to me in her native tongue. She was pretty ancient though, being an elf and all. You probably wouldn’t recognize where she’s from.”

You were so clearly lying through your teeth. I supposed it was only fair, given how I refused to answer personal questions as well. But it bugged me. Did it annoy you that I wasn’t forthcoming? Would you ever tell me? You shifted from one foot to another. I couldn’t bear your ashamed silence, so for the worst, I requested you to translate the song. You smiled pitifully, but obliged.

Your voice was unlike anything I had ever heard, even with my memory functioning with the capacity of a scrambled egg. It wasn’t soft or melodic. It held a fervor you may expect from your years at church service. Song was meant to be soothing and gentle, but you were never those things. Your voice was rough and animated, and Archons, it shook me. Coarse and desperate and full of passion, you offered no niceties. Your hands were as tender as ever against my skull.

“You with the dark curls, you with the watercolored eyes.”
Snip! Snip! Snip!
“You who bears your teeth in every smile,”
Snip!
“Says I can always hear you sing,”
Snip Snip!
“I want to hear you speak to me!”

The song was horrifically tragic. It was about a mother and a daughter and being unable to love each other. Your voice cracked, but you carried on without a hitch. Your mother really sang this to you? Was she always this morbid?

“As my love for you dies, as my love for you dies!”
You guided a comb through the synthetic strands.
“As my love for you is steadily dying.”
Your fingers nosed through my hair, hovering hesitantly.
“Darling, child, true love of mine. Darling, child, true love of mine.”

A poisonous beat of silence. Were you embarrassed then? Against my artificial rib cage, I felt my huskless heart twinge. For some reason, I felt a kinship in you then. A pleasant breeze blew against my face and tussled my hair slightly, and you swept the clippings out your open shop window with an effortless breeze. You utter bitch, I thought, you could have cleaned your home this entire time. But you only ever did what you wanted, didn’t you? I chanced a look in the mirror, at the cropped and spiky hair you gave me. I felt a little more like myself then, whatever that meant.

“It’s passable.” I commented, and you threw your arms around me in joy. Abyss, you lifted me clear off the stool. I clawed at you like a feral cat, but you paid me no mind.

…My hair is getting a little long on the top now, I’ve noticed. It tickles against my brows and nose bridge. I’d almost wish you were here to do it for me.

Chapter Text

Remember how I said that sleeping wasn’t something I naturally required? It’s true, but I found it to be a way to pass the time when you were working or away. I didn’t dream often, and when I did, it was always the same story. A beach outlooking a lavender sky. The smell of smoke. A wooden box. I think I was crying in it, which I found quite pathetic. There would always be an influx of thoughts and words before I would crack my eyes open, but most would slip away before I could begin to comprehend them. One remained, caught in my throat like a cough.

It happened again when you shook my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to find you crouched over me. You tilted your head, your beret becoming eskew. You looked at me with the intensity of an unblinking rooster. Hate those damned things.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” You teased “Slept the whole day?”

I rose up on my elbow and pushed your face away from me with your hand. “Oh, quiet you. I know you were probably snoring through your classes too.”

To my horror, you leaned into my hand. Your laugh rang low in your chest. “Yeah, I can’t say that a two month unit on weaving was what I signed up for, y’know?”

But resurrecting me was? You sat back a bit and dug through one of your various pouches and bags, finding purchase in one. You looked back at me and grinned widely. When you smiled like that I was almost certain there was something more than elvish or human in your blood. “Oh, by the way! I know I usually shop at the end of the week, but I got you something that you might like.”

You pulled a folded wad of fabric from the bag and placed it in my lap. I sat up fully to look at it. I carefully picked at the folds, something inside me cringed at the way it was folded. Not that you would know or care about that sort of thing, of course. It was a simple white kimono and deep violet hakama. The hems of the kimono were a sort of sky blue, and upon further inspection it had an ocean pattern embroidered on its sleeves. My lip twitched.

“I figured you could use clothes that weren’t mine,” you joked, “And I thought these colors would really suit you.”

I didn’t thank you. I probably should have. My mouth couldn’t form words, and my throat constricted. You simply beamed at me before rummaging through your ice box for an afternoon snack. The world kept spinning for you as it always did. My hands bunched at the silken fabric and my head swam. Your kindness was beyond my comprehension. I so selfishly wanted more.

“About the end of the week..” I started, “Could I perhaps accompany you? I wanted to pick some books up from the library.”

Your head poked out from behind the kitchen wall, eyes as round and wide as a blood moon. Your mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before you nodded feverishly, fervently.

“Of course! I’d love nothing more.” You answered in a rush. “You can use my library card, since you don’t have one. You have to help me with the bags though.”

Agreeable terms. I nodded. I then gestured to the…general decor of your house. “As long as you don’t purchase any more of those Abyss-awful ceramic birds.”

You stood against the doorway with your arms crossed. It would have looked more imposing if you hadn’t donned a flowery apron or had tied your hair back that day. “Excuse me? I find them rather charming, I’ll have you know.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you bring another one home, so help me, I will weld you to the ceiling with those stupid harnesses you wear.”

“I think I make them work for me.” You deflated and conceded.

The evening passed in a blur, and the week crawled on like molasses. Those days prior didn’t mean much, they were mainly you and I bickering and prepping for Shopping Day. You threatened to kick me out over those idiotic birds, but I knew you couldn’t let me go like that.

I woke up shortly before sunrise and put on the hakama you gave me. I shouldn’t be surprised that it fit me so well, as you certainly had my measurements, but just how much did this cost you? On an unrelated note, you were late on rent that month. I smoothed out the pleats on my pants and looked at my reflection in the full length mirror you kept in the entry hall. Perhaps who I was wouldn’t have recognized me, but that was likely a good thing. You didn’t stir before eight, and then rushed to make us both hashbrowns before I reminded you that I didn’t need to eat. You made me some anyway.

You certainly dressed for the occasion, with your sleeveless black turtleneck and a scarlet waistcoat. You clipped your vision to your waistcoat by a series of wooden beads. Honestly, are you sure you weren’t just burning up from the layers you insisted on wearing? I’ve never seen you in anything that hasn’t visibly been mended or ripped to shreds, either. I did slick back and braid your hair though, I didn’t feel like owing you anything for my clothes.

I kept on your left as we departed. Admittedly, this was my first time being fully outside since I had woken up, and I was in no particular rush. You droned on about everything on our hike into the city, a loose hold on my hand. I could have done without that, you know. I looked like some child being shepherded by his mother. You lead me through the Yazdaha estuary, pointing to different areas that you helped manage during your time as a forest watcher. I couldn’t stop myself from gawking openly at the bridge over the waterfall, which was entirely made from tree roots. Perhaps made wasn’t the right wordage. The roots grew together to form that bridge.

You graced over it like it was just another trek into the city for you. It was just another trek into the city for you. In the back of my mind, I knew this wasn’t the first time I had seen these streets, but it was the first time seeing them with fresh eyes. You guided me past herds of people, gestured out to the breathtaking view that overlooked the bay, and showed me your favorite restaurant in town.

But you got all shy when we reached the Adventurer’s Guild desk. That Machine called out to you. By name. Your hand flinched against mine, and your other one subconsciously hugged your form. I didn’t need to see your face to know that you were grinning like the idiot you are. You let go of my hand to wave at her, and I felt a white hot jolt of…something against my spine. It simmered beneath my skin as you made your way to talk to her.

I paid you two no mind as you blathered away. I think you were catching up about life or something, doesn’t matter. What did interest me was the array of wanted posters hastily tacked onto the building’s side. Couple of rogue mercenaries, some ginger twink with dead fish eyes, a blonde man wanted for sixty million mora. I didn’t pay those extras any mind, because my eyes landed on a face I saw in the mirror each morning. Or, at least it was similar to how I must have looked before I bit the blade. I scrutinized every minute detail of the poster, ripped it off the wall, and stuffed it into the tote bag you gave me to carry. Looks like I’d have to study up on the Balladeer as well…

“-- but anyways, I should be going, yknow, farmer’s market today and all that.” Your laugh sounded forced and far removed from your voice.

“Of course,” she said, her voice far removed from life, “have a splendid day.”

When we walked together, you held your face between your hands like some sort of lovesick schoolgirl. I’m sure if I had one, my boyish little heart would hurt. Alas, I have no such thing. At least your drivel allowed me a clue about my identity. You led me down through the various market stalls, I fell in step behind you due to the influx of mortals. Any ill feelings I had experienced were washed away and replaced with different negative emotions. I was reminded of how much I hated having to mingle with mortals in such ways.

You took a shortcut through the Grand Bazaar, which was Too Much frankly. Too many smells, too many sights, far too many mortals. And don’t think I failed to notice the wide berth you were given, or the bitter stares from passers by. You held yourself high and poised, I don’t even know if you bothered or noticed at all. I was thankful to leave that Thing behind.

The other side emptied out into what appeared to be a residential neighborhood. It was on the outskirts of the grand city, far removed from those faux intellectuals of the Akademia. Here there were just people, milling about their small, insignificant lives like ants with their pheromone trails. I suppose you were no different like that. You excitedly grabbed at my hand and gestured towards about thirty or so stalls that lined the cobbled streets. The ground dipped and the stalls flanked either side of the outer wall, but it was functional. Residents and students alike mingled in the late morning heat. You exhaled greatly, for dramatic effect, I assume.

“Nothing like a little stroll through the town, eh?” You remarked as if your hand wasn’t trembling in my grip.

“I wouldn’t say accompanying you anywhere is pleasant.” I responded.

You must have paid me no mind. You strolled through each vendor’s wares languidly. Some fresh fruits here, a clutch of eggs there, you were certainly scammed on the meat prices. 900 mora for a small chicken breast, were these people insane? That must have made you deranged for agreeing to that price. For a while, I simply acted as your arm candy. I didn’t care, it saved me on talking.

There was something domestic about this whole thing, really. I’d hold the full bags for you and you’d throw around your tattered mora pouch like it was nothing. When you talked to other people, your speech was stilted and your accent was far more noticeable. Few questioned my presence beside you, but when asked, you’d eek out a watery excuse. After an hour and 5,000 mora in the hole, we departed and began the climb towards the House of Daena.

I wish I could relay to you how the Akademia looked through my newborn eyes. It felt incomprehensible as we neared the House of Daena, it was so massive and I was so small. The House of Daena, your library, compiled almost all recorded mortal knowledge. Perhaps at one point I would have scoffed at these dusty old books, but your eyes had life in them when we entered. The rafters stretched towards the heavens, and the vast room was bathed softly in the afternoon sun’s light.

You led me from the sweeping bridge to the library below, scooping your tote bags off of my arms. Your voice was a respectable murmur when you spoke. “Well, here we are. What kind of books are you looking for?”

I rubbed at my wrist and gazed upon the sheer volume of volumes. “I wanted to read up on Tatarasuna, thought it could satiate my boredom.”

You nodded sagely and dropped your voice to a scheming whisper. “So, do you think Tatarasuna is…connected to you?”

I merely shrugged and made a vague hand gesture. You nodded like you understood, but you didn’t, not really. You grabbed my hand and waded through the various alcoves that contained everything a mortal could ever care to know. You spoke again. “So when you say you wanna read up on it, do you mean geographically or more historically?”

“..Both.” I replied. You pulled me to an alcove and began poring over the spines. The way these books were organized was lost on me, but you searched through them with ease. I struggle to keep up with your finger as it traced the titles.

You pulled at least three hefty tomes from that bookshelf alone. You grinned like you had caught a prize winning fish. “These should be good fits then, any other books you wanna check out?”

I blinked once. Twice. “That was..rather abrupt.”

You only shrugged and held the books out to me, I accepted them graciously. “I got good at finding books ‘round here. ‘Specially because I didn’t use those Akasha Terminals.”

That made sense, you complained about them at length whenever the opportunity arose. You strode with pride between alcoves, careful to not disturb the scholars who occupied the tables. I stumbled dumbly after you like a newborn deer. You led me to an insultingly small fiction section and plucked a children’s book from it.

“Wow, Argent, I wasn’t aware that you have the reading level of a seven year old.”

“I need a change of pace from writing academic papers, you know?” You laughed lowly.

I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed you warily. You paid me no mind and checked the tomes out with your chin raised high. The sheepishness you carried dissipated at the librarian, a woman with wrinkles as deep as canyons. You were the naive, loud fooll you were around me. Archons, you even stood up straight. I eyed you further as we left.

“You seemed awfully close with that librarian.” I noted as we began our descent

You hummed and nosed through a book about Inazuman customs. “We got to know each other pretty well this past year, I go there pretty often to expand my knowledge on technology.”

“Is that not the whole reason you chose Ksharewar as your Darshan?” I questioned. “If you’re just going to teach yourself everything, why bother wasting all of your time and money here?”

You had this far off look in your eye, your voice croaked. “I promised someone I’d go here, and I take things like that pretty seriously.”

For whatever reason, I felt myself become dismissive at the thought of promises. The conversation dropped as we navigated the ramps. You took me the long way so I could see the gardens. They were alright. You thought they were just about the halls of Celestia. You’d point to the odd flower or vine and tell me all about them with a childlike glee. The late afternoon sun illuminated you, and Your skin turned nearly molten gold where the light met it. I guess I understood your joy then.

The sun, inconsiderate for us walking in its direction, shone in our faces without mercy. Curse that star and all other stars. You fanned yourself, tugged at your turtleneck collar, and cursed in that order. I was perfectly content, despite the layers I wore. Your village was alive with people that evening, elders and children and fellow scholars alike. A woman well into her life approached me with curious eyes, and I regarded her warmly.

“Why, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, boy.” Her voice was like a fireplace, homely and welcoming. “Where are you from?”

I lied. “Why, I’m Finch’s new roommate. I was due to start courses in the Vahumana Darshan next semester. I look forward to seeing you around, ma’am.”

She laughed, it sounded like logs crackling. “What a pleasant young man you are! Perhaps now Young Argent here will finally be on time with their rent!”

I shared her laughter as her worn hand clapped me on the back and left. I looked to you and you gaped at me like I had woken up all over again. I smirked and sauntered my way into your house. The barrage of questions and teasing followed at my heels.

“Sooooo~” your voice grated my ears, “does this mean you’re officially my roommate now?”

I rolled my eyes and began putting away our groceries. No. Obviously not. I’m just living with you until further notice. “Don’t let a comment like that get to your empty little head, Argent.”

You put a hand over your heart, as if I had ripped yours out. “So mean! How come you respect your elders and not me!”

I gave you a sidelong glare. “You are hardly old enough for me to respect you.”

You seemed genuinely offended at this, actually. “I’m like over half a century old, man. You’re like an infant compared to me.”

Against my better judgment, I let this slide. As I’d come to learn, you were hardly a blink compared to how long I have endured. It feels idiotic to hold onto a comment like that months after it was said, but you’re gone. I win this argument I guess, but I almost wish you had talked me out of our final altercation. This is my fate though, my repentance, I am sorry.

Chapter Text

I became more acquainted with the landlady after that. When you were away, most days I would accompany her around the village. She refused to let me call her by any honorifics, and insisted I only call her Auntie. Days with Auntie were simple, I’d carry her groceries and sit on her porch. Occasionally, I would carry her on my back so that she could cross one of the various rope bridges that connected the village. She’d gossip with other elders in the village. Their petty drama didn’t interest me much, but I was happy to pretend to listen. Sometimes the little kids would come by, and I’d indulge in playing with them.

When I wasn’t busy tending to her, I was slogging my way through those heavy books. Academic writing is never enjoyable. They weren’t yielding much for me thus far, it had taken me a week to claw through the pre-Cataclysm sludge. Still, I made some notes about the Shogun’s involvement in it just in case. I felt oddly annoyed at her role thus far in the nation’s history.

It was late one night while you slaved away over your workbench, working on some way to communicate across great distances. Recently, you had become fascinated with radio signals. Apparently they were all the rage with their fancy radio sets and all. I sat against the workroom wall, propped on an overturned apple crate. My eyes scanned over the pages listlessly. I found myself reading the same sentence over and over. I hadn’t powered off or slept in a few days, so the exhaustion was catching up with me, I suppose. How weak I still was. You droned on about communications and transmitters, and your tiresome talk lured me into a rest somehow.

My eyes began to close for longer amounts of time between blinking, and soon I had drifted off. I don’t require sleep, mind you, you were just putting me to sleep with the wall of text falling from your mouth.

…

I found myself on a beach. The skies above were violently lavender, and the waves were dark as obsidian. I don’t need to breathe while awake, yet I found myself gasping and profusely coughing into my hand. It smelled too thick, like halfway between electricity and wildfire smoke. A man loomed above me, his eyes bore out of his head like fog lights. They were red, almost like your red. His maw brimmed with pointed teeth. His hand outstretched in a way I could not comprehend, and gripped between his gloved claws was a simple wooden box. I grasped it in my hands and felt an overwhelming miasma permeate my being.

There was a human heart inside of it. A note, tinged with fresh blood. I let the box fall into the sand as I grasped the paper between my fingers. You don’t know Inazuman, so I’ll translate what it said for you.

You know what happened, Kabukimono.

I looked up and found myself in a Pavilion. Parts of my vision were scratched over in a plain and unassuming white. It had begun to be overtaken with outside vegetation. Angry red light poured through a break in the ceiling, and black ash fell like snow. All I could hear was a child coughing. I didn’t have the time to process any of this before I stepped through a stray hole in the wooden floor. I tried my damndest to claw at the stray boards on my way down, but I fell.

I screamed a word, about two syllables, but my mind would not allow me to understand what it meant or who it was. The wind beat at my back for Archons know how long, and I screamed for longer. My hand desperately, frantically tried to grasp the shrinking pinhole of red light. I must have started crying at one point, because tears flew from my face and stuck to my cheeks. I felt nothing but animalistic disgust. And then I felt absolutely nothing at all. I was nearing the end of my fall, I could feel it. I stilled and allowed myself to collide with the hard ground, my skull exploded with pain.

My eyes flew open. The world bled like wax from a candle. When it all came into view, you were above me, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Did you know your eyes have pinpoint ink black splotches in the iris? My sense of touch sharpened next, and I felt your strong hands on either side of my tear-damp face. I felt something static when your thumb brushed at my cheekbones. I sagged against you pathetically.

You spoke like a gentle thunder. “Bad dream?”

I could not meet your caring gaze. I opened my mouth to speak, but a whistle eeked out of my throat. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die then. One of your hands snaked against the small of my back and effortlessly lifted me. I found my footing thanks to you, and you responded by putting a few feet of distance from me. You held a hand out to me. “Want to go for a little walk? You know, to clear your head and all that?”

I did not want to think about what had just happened at all. I took your hand and begged you wouldn’t notice how I trembled. You likely did, because your thumb soothed over my knuckles. You led me through the living room and only let go so that I could throw on some shoes. I chanced a look out of the window, but it was just black. I heard the unmistakable snap that indicated that your vision was at your hip. You nudged the door open gingerly and threw an arm around my shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me about what happened,” you said, guiding me through the trodden path, “You don’t have to talk at all, actually.”

I didn’t. You led me along the water’s edge, the only thing illuminating us being the fireflies and waxing moon. It may have been my eyes deceiving me, of course, but your eyes seemed oddly incandescent, like some sort of nocturnal predator. Dirt and mixed rock crunched below us, and your silence was lost in a melody of crickets and cicadas. You never let me free from your grip, but I don’t know if I could have walked without you anyhow. We were just shy of Gandharva Ville when you stopped in your tracks. On your side was a sizable hill that jutted out before a massive tree. It was lit softly by hanging lanterns, casting the vicinity in amber. You peered down at me, mischief on your lips.

“Hey,” you asked, “you trust me, right?”

“Hardly.”

“But that means you trust me a little.” You glowed. “Hold on tight.”

I hardly had time to do so when you violently leapt into the air. I let out a rather unbecoming squeak and gripped hard around your shoulders, chancing a look down. We were at least ten feet off the ground and steadily rising. The wind around you beat rhythmically like a bird’s wings as you ascended. Your arms rested around my waist as you flew to the top of the hill. Your laugh spilled from your throat like honey, and I momentarily forgot about the nightmare I had. Your hair whipped around in a frenzy as gravity caught back up with you, your boots dug into the plush grass with a formidable thud.

I tore my head from your shoulder to scowl at you, but your gaze was… I don’t know. Compassionate, maybe loving? Forget it. You were looking at me weird is what I’m getting at. I disentangled my limbs for yours and peered around the grassy knoll you flew us up towards. It was nice, a mixture of wildflowers and grass swayed like ocean waves. When I turned, I was awed at the sight. The entirety of Sumeru City, framed by the waterfall and bridge. I turned back to you, but you were already starfished out on the ground. I sat beside you.

“How did you find this place?” I asked.

You shrugged with your hands behind your head. “When I first moved out here, I came through this exact path and boom! New hangout spot. I’ll probably be out here a lot next few weeks, this place is a great way to de-stress.”

I tilted my head. “What’s going on these next few weeks?”

“Finals.”

“Oh, damn.”
“Yeah.”

A comfortable silence followed. You could hear the waterfall from here too. For a long time, we breathed in the scene and were content by each other’s side. It was lovely, I appreciate the gesture and all, but I could not rid myself from the smell of smoke. I didn’t want to know what that dream was about, and one detail about it was just a hydra of questions. Who was the man with the fog light eyes and why did he have a human heart? Why were parts of the scenery simply missing? Why was it all burning? Another more childish, insecure question sat on my tongue, but it’s one I could get an answer for. I turned to you again, and those glowing eyes of yours were fixated upon the stars.

“What if you resurrected someone who may have been a horrible person in their past life?” I despised how small my voice was, and how empathetically you looked at me.

“Did I ever tell you about my dear old dad?” You began. “He was the man that taught me just about everything I know.”

You were silent for a moment, carefully picking your words before beginning again.

“Well, originally, he was from Sneznaya. You ever hear of the Morozov Rifle Company? Well, that was his kin. They made the rifles and munitions that Fatui soldiers use in combat all the time. I think he was, like, supposed to be the heir to it. Anyways, tradition stated that every Morozov kid had to serve in the Fatui for a few years, so when he was about eighteen, he started out in the ranks.”

You ran a hand across your face and pondered what to say next. I waited as patiently as I could.

“He– He never told me about what happened to him while he was in the infantry. War is Hell like that. I only know parts of what he went through, and Archons, he was frail at the ripe age of thirty, it’s a wonder how he lived for so long. He’d have these burn scars, man, they were everywhere because of the shit they gave him. He wouldn’t even let me see the full extent of it when he…

“Anyways, he got jaded and angry real fast. Morozov warehouses started getting raided. His old man died under mysterious circumstances, he got the company, gave out the money to his siblings, closed the thing down for good. Fled to Mondstadt after that. He did something hard that could have gotten him killed or worse, but he did it. I always looked up to Pops for that, he was my hero, you know?”

I opted not to comment on how you were on the verge of tears. Your hand held mine as if any pressure there would break me beyond repair. I squeezed your palm and ran a thumb across your knuckles. You did cry then, freely and openly letting the tears stream down your face. We were quiet for a while before your collected yourself. You sat up and bore those haunting red eyes into my soul. Our faces were mere breadths from each other.

“Everyone deserves a second chance, a second life, and I wanted to give that to you. I don’t know if you were a horrible person before you woke up, but even if you have the demeanor of a wet cat, you’re not a bad person now. Even if you were, it’s about the good you can still give the world, right?”

And fuck, I believed you then. I did. I nodded, not trusting my voice to answer. Your smile wasn’t face splitting or had an unnerving amount of sharp teeth, instead it was small. Just the corners of your lips, slightly upturned. Your voice was minute. It reverberated against my ears.

“Here’s to living our best second lives, then.”

I had no time to question your use of ‘our,’ because you laid down once again. This time, you decided that my lap was a suitable pillow. My face soured as you looked at me from below.

“Get off.” I said.

“No.” You replied, and shut your eyes.

You laid there, unmoving for hours. I kept watch over you, you’re welcome for that. Let the defenseless one be on guard duty all night. I observed how the night sky was chased away by the sun, how the grass began to turn a golden color under the star’s light. I looked on at the City, how its leaves and branches were not immune to the gentle winds. I watched your chest rise and fall. At one foolish point, I hovered a hand over your chest, just to feel your heartbeat. You nearly didn’t wake until midday, but you were unbothered when your eyes slowly blinked open.

I think about how you looked at me then sometimes

We departed soon after, and I no longer felt uneasy about the nightmare I had.

Chapter Text

My weekly routine was unshaken by any unpleasant brain salad I may have experienced that night. I still spent most of my days caring for Auntie, keeping the village kids busy, tending to the domestic side of things. That week, even when you had days off, you were cooped up in your home. The only real time I ever saw you interact with other people besides me was when rent was due. Occasionally you would stroll around for fresh air, but that was mostly something you did after class. Most people seemed to give you a wide berth, even the little ones.

One day, I bothered listening to the old crones when they started whispering about you. It was around the table at another elder’s home, the pungent smell of spice and needless drivel permeated the air. Auntie and I sat near shoulder-to-shoulder around the rounded table. She nursed a hefty bowl of biryani, I nibbled on some of the naan out of convention. It was okay.

“They could stand to be a more active member of the community, in my opinion.” an old man with more eye bags than eyes said. “I know the life of a young scholar can be all astir, but it’d be nice if they spent less time skulking about and more time getting to know us.”

“Maybe less skulking would be nice, but do you hear how they talk?” Another woman said, languidly pointing her half-eaten naan at Eye Bags. “Either they’re far too loud and it scares the kids, or they sound annoyed with everything in the world. The disrespect!”

I found myself opening my mouth to object, they weren’t wrong, I guess, but something about it made me pissed off. A firm, weathered hand gripped at my bicep. I turned to Auntie, ready to go on the defensive against her too. She shook her head and spoke first.

“Cut the kid some slack, they’re out in the world for the first time. They’re plenty young and still learning how to live. Finch probably doesn’t get out much because they’re aware of just how much we chirp behind their backs, anyhow.” She responded, and her words rendered the conversation to shreds.

There were a few mild grumblings and jabs before the talk around you petered out and shifted to complaining about the government. I’m usually quite fond of older people, but it wasn’t lost on me how some of them were as prone to being as narrow minded as any other mortal. I walked Auntie home that night, gave her my regards, and crossed the swinging rope bridges back to our digs.

It took me a while to find you, but you were already passed out. You were face first in a textbook, the pages more notes than text. You hadn’t even managed to pass out on a table or something, you were right in the middle of the floor. You were still in your uniform too, not one of those ratty sleep shirts or whatever. I nudged you with my foot, but nothing happened.

“Mortal,” I called, “get up. You’re in my way.”

You did not stir. I nudged you again.

“Come on, now is not the time for you to develop a sensible sleep schedule.”

Nothing again. I groaned loudly.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Are you aware of how stupidly built you are? Not only are you fairly tall, but your brawny frame wasn’t doing me any favor trying to move you. You’re heavy and your limbs are too long, but I managed, after many attempts, to grip you and drag your pathetic ass over to the couch. You had the audacity to snore at me. You’re lucky I threw a blanket over your form.

I folded your notes into the page before closing your textbook and setting it on the coffee table. You didn’t stir the rest of the night. You probably needed the rest.

I occupied myself with my own studies. I was now in Post-Cataclysm Inazuma, roughly four to five hundred years in the past. I had taken note of a few important events, such as how the cultural landscape and actions from the Shogun changed to reflect the fall of the Godless Nation. Some of it seemed important, and I could faintly recall the customs mentioned, but it wasn’t necessary. The Raiden Shogun though..a loathsome twinge in my temporal lobe. For some reason, I made note of whenever she was mentioned, in case it was actually relevant. This chapter finally started talking about what I needed.

“The Mikage Furnace incident of roughly four hundred years ago also occurred in this period of unrest. At this time, the Armory Officer was Hasahide Niwa, who we now know was a distant relative of the Kaedehara clan. His Vice Armory Officer, Miyazaki Kaneo, who is known for his personal account on Nagamasa Mikoshi, inspector and supervisor, and his crimes."

A white hot bolt of pain shot up just behind my eyes, I shut them in pain. I hissed, careful to bookmark my place before slamming it shut with a booming Thud! Hastily, I wrote the names and their importance down. Another jolt of pain. I doubled over at that. I think you once described the sensation of hitting your head on a metal floor to be akin to that. How you’re not severely concussed from that…beyond me. It was the kind of pain that took center stage, where you could forget what you were even thinking about before.

So yeah, research was slow going. I shoved all the shit back into a filing box I used to organize this. I think it should still be in your house, It’s under that loose floorboard in your kitchen that squeaks. Do take it out and dispose of it before it rots, if you don’t mind. I sagged next to you on the couch, rather defeated.

I didn’t see you much the next morning either, you shut yourself away in your workshop with your sign flipped to KEEP OUT. I decided to listen for now. You also left me a note with some small orange slices around it, it read “Finals are coming up, apologies in advance.” You followed it with a hastily drawn picture of you looking very very sorry. I decided to leave it be for now. You had your own days to prepare for, and I had mine.

“I’m heading out!” I called, slipping my everyday shoes on. I craned my neck backwards to see if you’d respond, but nothing came of it. I left without another word.

A few days passed like this. You’d be home, but you hardly ever came out of that damned workshop. You’d loudly swear, hum, and turn on power tools at unreasonable hours, but I never saw you doing these. I’d drag you to your room when you passed out. Basically, I kept the lights on even if you were the one home all the time. I think I saw you eat once. Mortals aren’t supposed to eat once every three days, you dolt.

On the fourth day, I returned home and you were still working. I only sighed and picked up some of the scattered books you left out. “Honey, I’m home.” I called sarcastically.

There was radio silence for a few hours. The only sounds were the nighttime creatures and your atrocious sounding power tools. Occasionally, I’d hear a record of yours poke through the cacophony, whatever it was involved a lot of fiddles. I was about to continue with my own research when a thick slicing noise and your scream severed the air around me.

I didn’t even think, I instinctively bolted towards the barn door, throwing it aside carelessly. You were clutching your left palm, tears forming around your eyes. I was at your side at once. Blood seeped through everywhere, and Archons, I didn’t think one mortal could have so much blood in one place. You looked over at me and tried to force a smile. Your voice betrayed just how hurt you were.

“Hey, no, don’t look at me like– shitshitshit– that. It’s okay. It’s all going– Ow– to be okay in a minute.” You reassured me, which was supposed to be my job in this situation.

“Mortal, I can’t help you if you won’t let me see how badly you’re hurt. Please, remove your hand and I can tie you a tourniquet.” I countered.

You shook your head. “You-” you hissed through your teeth. “Don’ need a bandaid. Look for a red– owowowowow fuck– kinda quartz looking gemstone. I have ‘em in the kitchen.”

You stifled your bleeding with a very dirty rag. On Barbatos’s fairy ass, you were going to get an infection doing that shit. Still, I obeyed and investigated the kitchen. I found something that matched your description next to your oranges. They were fairly small crystals, but they emanated warmth when touched. I took five and rushed back to you.

“Here, take your stupid–”

“Wanna see a magic trick?” You interrupted.

What?

You raised your bloodied palm, I could see the different layers of flesh that were torn asunder. You still bled profusely, I could not tear my eyes away from the steady trickle down your wrist. You spoke, and your voice was very matter-of-factly, your wincing face betrayed you. “See here my fucked up hand, ripped apart by my dremmel. I now ask you to place one crystal in my other hand, if you would not mind.”

Your right hand laid outstretched, expecting me. I looked to you, wondering about how now, with your hand rended to its muscle, you try and joke. I slammed a crystal into your palm. I try not to think about how you closed your fingers around it and kissed your own knuckles. You held your other hand aloft, close enough for me to see it happening.

“Observe.”

You placed the crystal next to your gross palm, and something more grotesque happened. The crystal glowed with the same eerie light your eyes do in the dark. I watched as it eroded and dissolved, but formed something akin to a halo or a planet’s ring around your wound. I watched as muscle rewired. Layers of skin and flesh knitted itself together, growing like tendrils and reaching towards each other. It took a minute exactly. It felt like a year. You tipped your palm towards me to inspect. I took your hand in mine immediately, looking for any sign of imperfection, any evidence that you had nearly chopped off all of your fingers. I ran my thumb over your palm lines.

There wasn’t even a scar. What the fuck. Why did it not leave a scar, Argent? If you could heal without scarring, why was the skin of your fingertips significantly more greyed than the rest of you? what are you?

I looked up at you, all of those questions clear on my face. You beamed at me with all the kindness in this godforsaken world. I asked a different question instead.

“Does it hurt?”

You nodded “Always hurts, feels like sticking your hand in hot coals.”

I did something stupid and impulsive then. Maybe it was out of curiosity or something else, but I touched your palm to my lips. The skin of your hand was glowing still, I could still feel its divine warmth beneath your skin. Your mouth parted in surprise, unable to speak for some time. I found myself feeling rather sheepish at the action seconds after I kissed where your wound should have been.

You then proceeded to say something equally stupid. “I think you’re a little late to kiss me better, silly.”

I pushed you away and frowned. “Oh, shut up. What’s so important that you’re nearly taking your hand off for it?”

You brightened immediately, pulling me towards your now blood-spattered workbench to view your work. On it was a loom roughly the size of a typewriter, complete with cables and hydraulic tubing. I only recognized them because my systems use something similar for mobility, but you likely stole the idea from there.

“So our final is constructing a loom of our own, right? Well, I thought that maybe since sewing machines are all the rage, I thought I could try and automate it.” You looked elated explaining it to me, I almost forgot that you were covered in viscera. “I was just carving the final arms for it when, well, dremmel ate my glove.”

“Right into your palm?”

“Got spooked and forgot I could literally just turn it off.” You replied. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been worrying you these past few days. I’ve really never had any formal education or anything, so this final is kind of freaking me out.”

I wasn’t angry or worried until you nearly severed all of your fingers. Perhaps I was not paying close enough attention. I looked at you, at your eyes. There were less black speckles in them, as if they’d been swallowed by the deep cardinal. I shudder to think about if those minute ink splotches were devoured completely.

“You still bleed,” I said, “you can still get hurt. I don’t know what’s up with your weird magic rocks bullshit, but you shouldn’t behave so recklessly.”

You considered this. “I understand, but my line of work will always have liabilities. Something’s always bound to blow up.”

I pinched between my brows. Fine, I get it, you don’t pick up on subtlety easy. I just had to be more direct with what I meant. “I’m telling you to take better care of yourself. Your sleep schedule is shit, you always ignore basic safety regulations, and you push yourself way too damn much. I’m not even that mad about you getting your blood all over the damn place, I’m mad that I– you let this boil over. When was the last time you slept?”

You flinched a bit at my scolding. You still considered my words, turning them over in your mind carefully. You raised your left hand to grasp at your chin, but winced still. “I– you have a point. I do need to take care better care of myself. Can I count on you to hold me to it?”

Maybe I was growing soft during my time with you. My mind did not even hesitate with the answer, but I remained quiet. Instead, I let my actions speak for me. I grabbed your uninjured hand and led you to your room. You stumbled behind me. I nudged the door open and simply pointed inside.

“Rest now, I’ll handle cleaning your workstation up.” I said, opting to ignore the hot garbage pile you slept around.

“Awwww, you’re not going to tuck me in?” You pouted. “You did the last time.”

I don’t have blood. I can’t blush the way a person can. Though, my thermal sensors suggested that my face grew warmer. Were you awake for that? You infuriated me more every day.

“You can fall asleep without my help, or are you so utterly dependent on me?” I fired back.

Your face was alight with mischief. “Oh, really? I’m dependent on you? Try and bark all you want, but you love my company.”

I pushed a hand against your chest, but you didn’t stumble back. Damn it all. “You wish. Sleep.”

You shook your head and trudged inside. I sighed and opened the closet door adjacent. My night was busy, scrubbing your blood off of your tools and table and such. I put everything back for you, just the way you liked to organize them. I set a couple of those weird rocks by your desk in case something happened again. I did take one though, I thought I might try and find whatever it was in a geology book or something.

You woke up late in the morning. I made you some rice balls stuffed with some of that red cabbage you’re so fond of. You thanked me profusely for my work. The bags around your eyes were less pronounced and dark, so I took it as a win. You disappeared into your workshop soon after, promising me that you would surface in the afternoon for lunch, else I could yell at you more.

I took my supplies out from under the floorboard, keen to scribble some notes down. It seemed like an infinite number of mysteries encased me in a whirlpool. Who was I? How am I connected to Tatarasuna? Who was the Kabukimono? All were questions that I certainly had a stake in, but my mind still kept coming back to you. Your torn ligaments, how they stitched back together like their own living organism. How your eyes seemingly glow in the dark. How I was certain that your eyes weren’t originally red. I scribbled my observations onto a separate page in the notebook, you still heavy on my mind.

Of every mystery I had to pick at and unravel about myself, unraveling who you were felt almost more exciting.

Chapter Text

To my surprise, you did make an effort after the dremmel incident. You slept at normal person hours. You started taking more safety precautions around your lab. Hell, you even started eating three meals a day instead of your usual one or two combo. You had to be reminded sometimes, but you never complained. Finals week passed and for once, I was thankful to the gods for it.

I had just arrived home from another day of bumming around with Auntie when you, too, threw the door open with zeal. I turned to look at you, and you beamed with me with a smile so wide that I could count your individual teeth. You practically ran at me, scooping my stiff body up and twirling me around. Your stupid beret flew off your head.

“I take it your professor liked your project?” I asked plainly.

You looked up at me, that smile never leaving your lips. You seemed so bright. “She loved it! Misra said that even if it was only a rough prototype, given enough refinements, it could revolutionize Sumeru’s economy!”

“Congratulations.” I said.

You squeezed me tighter, I don’t need to breathe of course, but I did feel something along my spine crack minutely. You muttered thank yous against my chest, but I don’t really know what you were thanking me for then. You let my feet touch the ground once more and pulled away from me. I noticed how all the heat in the room seemed to drain when you let go. You stretched your arms and I heard several concerning cracking noises.

“Well, since I passed with flying colors, we should do something to celebrate!” You exclaimed.

“Like what, throw a party? Do you have friends other than me?” I jabbed.

Your eyes widened. “We’re friends?”

“Don’t overthink it.”

You were still awfully smug about it, but held your hands in mock defeat. “Okay, okay, fine. I’m serious though, let’s go do something nice together. I bet you’re dying to get out of the village at least a little bit.”

It was rare for you to want to go out for anything. I figured I shouldn’t waste an opportunity like that. Perhaps I could gather some more information while out with you. I wonder what you would have done if I had said no then, maybe we could have avoided all of this. Well, no use dwelling on that. What happened can’t be undone now. Not by my hands.

“Sure, I could use some new sights.” I agreed.

You grinned and rocked back and forth on your heels. “Soooooo, I have an idea, it’s totally okay if you say no to it, but we have a week long break before the next quarter begins.” You looked down at me earnestly. “I was thinking….maybe we go spend the week by the port? It’s hardly a day’s worth of travel here and back.”

“Port Ormos?” I questioned. “But I thought you hated the humidity.”

Not to mention how busy it would be on a holiday week.You couldn’t even be normal in the town you were currently living in, what made you think it was a good idea? You shrugged.

“I haven’t seen the ocean though, and I don’t think you’d want to go hiking with me just yet.”

“You’ve never seen the sea before?” I sounded more offended than I care to admit here.

You nodded. “I’m not too familiar with Mondstadt’s coast, and I didn’t stop in Liyue’s harbor on my way here.”

Oh of course, you’re a shut in little hermit. I forget this sometimes. I considered it. I wouldn’t remember if I had ever been down to the Port, of course. It didn’t give me a migraine though, so there was likely no connection I had to it. Though a few cons came to mind, getting out of the house sounded nice. And it would make you happy, and if you were happy I could continue to live here rent free. I nodded.

“The Port sounds fine, how about we leave the day after tomorrow and stay a few days?” I suggested.

You nodded along. “That should give me plenty of time to scrape some coin together and get packed.”

I glared at you flatly. “You’re planning to take on a bunch of commissions and are going to leave the packing up until the last minute, aren’t you?”

To my shock, you shook your head. “Already have some high paying commissions, don’t worry about me.”

I gave you the once over, looking for any sort of tell. You weren’t shifting the weight on your feet, or looking past my eyes, so I guessed you were telling the truth. I crossed my arms over my chest and shot you a look, but you didn’t wither at all.

“Very well. Go and get to work.” I let up.

You beamed and practically skipped your way into your workshop. Sometimes it’s embarrassing knowing you. Once I heard the oh so pleasant droning of your power tools, I gingerly slid my notes out from under the floor and gave them a once-over. The section on the Mikage Furnace disaster was detailed, and as much as I appreciated that, every other word would make my head swim. This had to be part of me, I just knew it. So I read everything I could on it, as much as it physically pained me to. Everything from the individual bladesmithing styles to schematics of the furnace. Three different accounts of Niwa Hisahide’s duplicitous deeds. After nearly a week of sifting through sludge, I finally found something that could have possibly been related to me.

”While most historians nowadays do not consider the Wandering Eccentric to have been a real person, there are still a few firsthand accounts of such a character existing. The excerpts shared here come from a personal journal, which pages were found scattered across the modern day Danger Pit that Tatarasuna has become. Originally found in Sneznayan hands, the Fatui had reportedly left it behind after being chased out of yet another country.

“The author of these excerpts are unknown and fiercely debated today. Though, most importantly, it does give favor to this ‘Kabukimono’ existing, as ‘Sir Kitsuragi discovered a wandering eccentric while patrolling Nazuichi Beach.’”

Another white hot bolt of pain behind the eyes. I hissed out through my teeth and attempted to write it down. It was slow going, of course, and if I tried to take in too much information at once, I became extremely faint. At one point I nearly blacked out. I didn’t care, I had to know more.

”The notes go on to detail much of what we already know about everyday life during this era, including the smelting process and how swords were tested. Notably, a sword dubbed the Daitara Nagamasa was formed at this time. In the following celebration of this blade’s genesis, it is said that the Kabukimono performed a sword dance with one of the men.”

A sharp pain pierced through my eyebrow, as if a piece of shrapnel had exploded into me. I tried chasing the feeling, doing my damndest to imagine the scene described. Sure as shit felt like a blade through the back of my skull, I’ll say that much. As I clutched a hand to my forehead, I could nearly feel the heft of a sword behind it. Despite the blooming agony I was putting myself through, I forced myself to read more.

”Though most of the journal has reposed due to time and conditions on Tatarasuna, the author testifies that after the Furnace meltdown and the slaying of officer Katsuragi that the eccentric was nowhere to be found. No other records during this time nor in this region deta-

I shut my eyes and pressed my hands up against them. The pain was only worsening, but fuck, this was the first time that name was mentioned, I had to keep going. If I stopped every time I had a mild migraine, I would never get anything done. I opened my eyes once more, willing myself to continue despite the mounting internal pressure from inside my cranium. Only the whole world was white, for a moment I fretted that my optical cables had busted somehow. I splayed a hand out to touch something, anything, but was only met with a jolt of hurt.

My head was feeling lighter though, so light, like it was stuffed with cotton. I could feel my body sway underneath it. The world wasn’t white anymore, but incredibly blurry still. I could feel myself falling, the world shifting as I hit the hardwood with a raucous thud. The world went black.

I was unconscious for a while. Experienced the same nightmare again. Woke up in a cold sweat on the couch, under your favorite blanket.

My memory was a bit patchy, but I knew I didn’t pass out on the couch. Hastily I sat up, feeling my vision swim and distort around me. I heard some clatter coming from the kitchen, but I didn’t think much of it. I stared down that ugly wooden bird mobile you keep just above the kitchen doorway. It stared back at me with inanimate indifference. You emerged from your kitchen a minute after, two small bowls in either hand.

“Oh, you’re awake now. You feeling okay?” You questioned.

I skirted the concern. “What’s with the flower apron?”

You looked down at the flowery fabric tied at your waist. The flowers were obscenely pink. “Housewarming gift. Anyways, I made soup.”

You placed the bowl in my hands, I peered at its contents. Green tea broth, leftover rice from a day ago, spinach cooked in sesame oil, thin slices of cooked salmon. I looked back at you with narrowed eyes.

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook Inazuman food.” I accused.

“Oh, I don’t.” You replied, sitting on the other side of the coffee table. “I found a recipe for this in the House of Daena. I think it’s called ‘ochkazuk?’”

I pointed a spoon at you. ”ochazuke, jeez, your pronunciation sucks.”

“Ach was!” You exclaimed. “I don’t insult you when you butcher my language.”

You pointed your spoon at me for emphasis before digging into your own bowl. Usually, ochazuke is made as a sort of end-of-meal-dish, a palate cleanser. Did you make it because you know I only eat smaller portions? I took a hesitant sip of the broth. Somehow you managed to make it perfectly bitter and salty. We ate in silence for a few minutes, content with each other’s company.

“So,” you hummed, “all this talk about how I need to take care of myself better, and you’re just allowed to pass out on the floor?”

I purposefully avoided your joking eyes. “Oh, hush.”

“What, I get to be emotionally and physically vulnerable, but you can’t even be embarrassed?” If I wasn’t so used to your flat voice, I would have assumed you were actually upset about this. You weren’t, right?

More silence. You hold spoons weird, like with your whole fist. What are you, a little kid?

“Hey, I know what I said was kind of a joke, but are you okay? You aren’t feeling faint or anything, are you?”

I bit at a mound of rice. “Better now.”

“Good, Good. I don’t want to push you or anything, I can never understand how hard missing memories could be, how hard that is. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself over it though.”

“I wasn’t hurt–” I protested, but you shook me off.

“Your diagnostics while you were passed out showed that you were extremely distressed.” You deadpanned.

I speared a bit of salmon and shoved it in my mouth. Your head lolled to the side, analyzing every action of mine. With a sigh, you stood and messed with my hair. I grumbled a half-hearted complaint about it looking bad now. “Just..please take it easy. We’ll leave early tomorrow, so rest up.”

With a rueful smile, you took your dishes and disappeared, leaving me to ponder your attempts at caring for me. It only made sense, though we tried to understand each other, that we guarded our own secrets. Despite it all, though, we paused our dance around each other when one was hurt, just to pick them up. We exchanged care and help how brawlers threw punches. I don’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to admit I was hurt then. I didn’t view it as hurt, but did you view getting a cut or scrape as getting hurt? You clearly could easily fix that.

I watched the walls and pondered, all the way through the night. The sun peeked through the windows and began to fill it with rich golden light. With reluctance, I stood to go wake you up.

Chapter Text

Getting up and going was the hard part. While you had your bags packed for the week, you were nowhere near ready. It took you about an hour just to get yourself together, stressing over which pair of horribly mended pants you would wear. As much as I tried to tell you that no one would care about how you looked, you fretted anyways. I eventually dragged you from your wardrobe while you sighed in defeat.

“But what if everyone thinks I look homeless or something?” You whined, stressing the last syllable.

“You’re literally putting crystals wrapped with silver wire hanging off your ears.”

You pouted. “This isn’t silver, it’s a standard titanium alloy. And it’s for emergencies!”

“Whatever. Do you think any of the people we meet are honestly going to remember you and your shitty clothing?”

You looked down at your outfit. You were sporting a simple white button-up with a red skirt atop some dusty black shorts. You spent at least half the hour doing your elaborate bullshit straps. Don’t even get me started on your stupid archery gloves. Why do they only cover the back and your fingertips? “My clothing isn’t that shitty, I got this all like a decade ago.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you done yet?”

You shook your head. Instead, you set some hair treatment shit on the coffee table. “Do you mind doing my hair real quick?”

I groaned audibly and motioned for you to sit on the floor. It was going to be midday before we left at this rate. You sat with your back to me, and I carded my fingers through your curly locks. “How do you want your hair done?”

“I was thinking maybe like something half up half down? Is the hair on the sides long enough to braid?” You questioned.

I got to work silently, using some tea tree oil to slick back the hair from your face. Then I sectioned off your sides and carefully applied some detangler. You’d still go on to complain that I was braiding too roughly. Not my fault you have a tender head and still choose to braid it most of the time. I worked through it easily, having seen you perform this action on yourself countless times. I watched as the reddish tips disappeared and joined with the more inky black of your hair. We did not speak to each other, but the silence wasn’t unwelcome either. I could hear the birds chirp outside still. When the braids met, I tied the loose locks up into one ponytail. You grabbed a mirror off the coffee table to examine my work.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could braid like that, who taught you?” You exclaimed.

“Just picked it up by eye, I suppose.” I responded.

You shot me a look and rose to your feet. “Well, then, let’s get on going then. You all packed and ready?”

“I was when we were supposed to leave. Go put your hair products up.”

You sighed and slinked away in defeat. “Is it impossible for you to be nice to me?

“Yes.”

You laughed.

The route from Vimara Village to Port Ormos was not the most compatible on foot. Thankfully, many of the various rivers and estuaries that were connected to each other were accessible via riverboat. Ferry fees were practically nothing either, with it usually being about 1,000 mora per passenger. As I passed through the village, I said my goodbyes to Auntie and the other elders. Though I was at your hip, the only person that would regard you was Auntie. Everyone parted around you like a large rock in a small stream. While we waited at the lip of the cavernous lip of the village, you skipped rocks rather aggressively.

“I never want to get that old,” You grumbled, “I know it’s centuries off, but I hate the idea of ever becoming as close-minded as those crones.”

“You’ll live for centuries? Not with the kind of lifestyle you live.” I jabbed.

“You know what I mean, I don’t physically age like a normal person does. Yknow, because I’m…” a heavy pause. “Elvish.”

You still bleed though. You’ll die eventually. Whether to disease or blowing yourself up. I watched the river flow south, checking the sun to approximate the time. It was about nine in the morning. It was hardly an hour down the river. I wondered if I shed a bit of my skin and jumped in the water if it would be enough to fry me. Before I could think about executing my plan, the ferry showed up.

It was nothing too big, shallow waters and all. It was structured similar to The Inazuman Yakatabune, a kind of pleasure boat that had a sort of covered exterior for goods or passengers to sit in. It was far more narrow, however, perhaps to better fit the thin rivers? I’m no boat expert or anything, but it was nice to see something vaguely familiar.

“Hello, travelers!” A woman called from the hull, the stuck her oar into the riverbed and waved at us. “Need a lift?”

“Just to the port, please.” You responded, I could feel how your words were practiced.

“The two of you, right? That’ll be about 2,000 mora.”

You waded to the lip of the riverbed, your boots barely skimming water. I followed just after you, my feet still on dry earth. You held out a pouch of mora to the lady, who observed the heft in her hands. She motioned for us to climb aboard. After grabbing our luggage, you scooped me up by the armpits and placed me within. How mortifying.

“I could have stepped in myself, idiot.”

“I know, but what if your little feet got wet?” You spoke to me as if I was some weird cat. I wanted to deck you then.

You elbowed me playfully and rested against your knapsack. It was only us in this boat, thankfully. Lest someone see me punch you square in the shoulder when you attempted to lean against me. Lean on the lean-to or something. The ferryman chuckled like she found us amusing. Wanted to deck her too. I opted to watch the disappearing village instead of dealing with you.
“So, what business do you kids have in the Port?” The woman’s voice cleaved the river in two. There was this boldness to her accent, I believe she was from Natlan?

“Oh, you know, some mild tourism.” You replied, fiddling with your glove straps.

“Aye, plenty’a sights to see there. First time out there?”

You nodded emphatically. “Been here over half a year now, but I’m just now starting to explore.”

“Where you from, kid?”

“Mondstadt.”

“Called it, you definitely have that kind of northern drawl.”

I rolled my eyes at the small talk. Surely you despised it too. I was going to tune it out when the ferryman sidled up to us on the opposite side of me. I eyed her warily.

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving the boat?” I questioned

She tucked a swathe of long, dark and greying hair behind her ear, revealing a hydro vision core. Some earring. Looks heavy as all hell. “We’re going downstream, and I like to cheat a little sometimes.”

You gestured to your vision, pinned to your chest via harness. “Want a little breeze to accompany your waves?”

She barked a laugh. “Be my guest, kid.”

A pleasant, cool breeze manifested, and I couldn’t help but notice how the intensity correlated to the rise and fall of your chest. I wondered for how long you’ve had that thing, considering you used it as easily as you breathed. I tucked my knees to my chest and enjoyed the wind against my scalp. I wondered about being cursed by the gods to have a vision, I wondered about breathing. The waves kept on churning. It left a white foam in its wake.

“--Steering mechanism, if that would make it easier for you. I’d have to adjust it to the dimensions of your boat, of course.” I only partially paid attention to the conversation, but you seemed to be wooing the Ferryman with your technological prowess. Something gnawed at me when she seemed to be keen on the idea.

I decided to just watch the river instead. I noticed how it expanded and contracted, how it molded to fit the valley it ran through. We passed mortals who fished by the banks. Other ferries came into view and passed us. Two kids sat on a floating dock, squealing in delight and trying to topple each other off of it. They waved at me when we blew through. Your wind caressed my face and clothes, it felt alright. It could have been minutes, could have been the entire hour. Either way, you tugged on my sleeve and allowed your voice to raise a few octaves.

“Look! Look! It’s the Port!” You squealed, and I turned to see what you meant.

Like most things in the Sumeran Rainforest, it was built around and inside of a tree. This one was a stump, likely just remaining petrified wood. It was split in two, a massive bridge connecting its halves. It looked almost cage-like. Even from hundreds of meters away, you could feel its scale, how grandiose it was. Your eyes were as wide as the gem over your heart. The wind picked up. The ferryman rose to her feet, retaking her position on the covered bow of the vessel.

“Ain’t she a beauty?” She whistled, pulling her oar to her side. She held it with the elegance of a spear.

Effortlessly, she parked her ferry in the shallows’ docks. Wooden planks and fisherman and other boats were neatly lined up like toy soldiers. She anchored the prow to a wooden post and waved an arm towards land. “And here’s your stop! Feel free to come back anytime, y’two were an absolute pleasure.”

You shouldered your luggage and dropped onto the dock. “Of course, we’ll keep in touch.”

“That’s what I like ta hear! I’m usually docked ‘ere at sunrise and sunset if ya need a ride back.”

You held a hand out to me as I clambered out of the ferry. With the other, you shook the Ferryman’s hand. “Of course. See you around.”

We bid adieu to her then, turning our backs to the sun in favor of the salty sea air. You refused to let go of my hand. We walked in tandem, waltzing through the wooden docks with minor difficulty. Wood transitioned into stone underfoot, and sun slunk into shade. You gawped openly at everything, from the canal to the swathes of fabric that hung overhead. Were it not for my hand in yours, you likely would have walked off a pier. It admittedly was a bit of a struggle to keep up with you. You were like a dog on a leash.

You pulled at me aimlessly until you reached yet another wooden dock, stopping only to take in the harbor. Boats milled about in the distance. The combined scents of seawater, heavy spices, and the pungent fish caught in the canals were enough to overload my sensors. You didn’t care about that, you were gazing upon the watery abyss, and it gaped back.

You watched the waves for a good ten minutes before turning back to me. “Hey, I have a surprise for you. Mind closing your eyes?”

“If you push me into the harbor, they won’t be able to stop finding your body.”

“How poetic, just..close em, okay?” You looked at me like a kicked puppy. Ugh. Fine. I closed my eyes.

Immediately I was aware of your proximity. The heat you constantly radiated, the metallic smell that permeated your being. Unconsciously, I stilled my practiced breaths. I felt your hands grab the front of my yukata, fabric and metal meeting. As quickly as you had invaded my space, you retracted. “Okay, open those eyes up.”

I looked down to my chest, where a gilded feather was pinned over my power source. My RAM twinged. I touched it, feeling the cool metal between my fingers. Wish I threw it into the fucking ocean. “...What is this?”

“I found it on you. It was pretty tarnished and a couple of pieces broke off, but it was nothing to fix. Been trying to find the right time to return it to you..”

I was at a loss for words. You took your hand in mine, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes so joyous. You continued. “Look, I can’t offer you your past, as much as you want it. I don’t have much at all, but what I have is yours too, okay?”

Archons, what was next, you getting down on one knee? “Don’t get too soft on me, Argent. I..appreciate your care.”

“Fine, fine, no more gross, mushy stuff. You’re so good at sweet talking.” Your hands raised in mock surrender. “Wanna go get a bite to eat?”
“How many times do I have to iter-”

You shushed me. “Fine, then I’m hungry. Come on, there’s plenty of daylight and ground to cover.”

Your hand found mine again and whisked me closer and closer to the miasma of spice. Like a kid in a toyshop, you wandered with no direction in mind. I’d be pissed that you chose to come here with no plan in mind, but damn that impish grin you have. The one where all of those pointed teeth are on display. I considered what you said to me on the pier, deciding that perhaps you had what I wanted after all.

Chapter Text

You dragged me damn near everywhere that afternoon. You’re lucky I’m not a weak mortal like you, lest my legs fall off immediately from the amount of damn loops you put me through. Many a time I thought about losing your hand and disappearing into the mass never to be seen again. And yet, in the swell of unfamiliar faces and voices, I took comfort in you. At one point, you stopped at a Nattish food kiosk and insisted on buying me a drink. It was a deep red and was incredibly bitter, I cursed that you knew me so well. We sat near the bridge, nursing our respective food and drink.

“You have to have some sense of restraint. You’d swear it’s your first day in an urban setting.” I scolded you. You didn’t flinch at my words.

“You’re not wrong, I guess. I hadn’t been in a big city for like forty years before coming to Sumeru.” You mused.

I looked at you incredulously. You only looked sheepish at your admission. “I know your capital is quaint and small, but-”

“Oh no, I stopped hanging around there when I was like…fourteen? The years evade me, you know?”

Oh, now I had to press further. “Why is that, couldn’t handle the crowds?”

You took a bite of your shawarma and shrugged. “They were already pretty suspicious of Pops, being who he was and where he came from. Though they started saying some weird stuff about me. The old crones thought I had been spirited away and replaced with some demon. Didn’t bother showing my face after that.”

It was beginning to get dark. Almost to emphasize your point, the street lanterns had begun to flicker on. Your eyes didn’t absorb the glow, rather they refracted it. Like some sort of fox. You laughed lowly, but I could sense the hurt underneath. “I mean, crazy, right? I was just a kid.”

All of that rubbed me the wrong way. How did they come to that conclusion? Was there a sudden change in demeanor you exhibited? A physical change? Were you just fourteen? I didn’t experience adolescence as you might have, of course. But from my understanding, mortals around that time are just young and learning how to make sense of their meaningless existence. I wanted to press, to pry further, to hold you by the shoulders and shake you until all your secrets were knocked loose. You rose from the bench and dusted your overskirt off.

“Anyways, we should probably be finding our way towards a motel, it getting dark and all that.” You swiftly changed the subject.

“Only because someone didn’t think to check into one beforehand.” I deadpanned.

“Don’t even lie, you wanted to explore too.” Your arm slithered across my shoulder when I stood. I thought about pouring the rest of my hibiscus drink atop your head. “Come on, I think that tavern we passed probably has a room.”

I withered a little, recalling that it was exactly opposite of where we were. I don’t think any god fit to worship, but I prayed that you wouldn’t get lost and end up going in a loop for an hour again. We descended back into the more crowded shelf of the tree trunk. The now lost sun didn’t deter anyone from the streets, Sumeru apparently could have a nice nightlife, despite being comprised mostly of nerds. I watched as the Matra, who guarded nearly every street corner, changed shifts.

We descended yet another layer, the sounds of the canal drowned in the sea of voice and song. It looked more lively at night than the day, almost. I noticed that your grip on my hand tightened ever-so-slightly. You turned at the wrong intersection, but you know that. I opened my mouth to correct your path, but you only went further down the tunnel. It was less crowded here, but the tavern was on the higher layer. Did you need a breather? Was that it?

You leaned into my ear, whispering against my neck. I detected a spike of heat on my sensors, whatever that was about. “Hey, don’t freak out or anything, but I think we’re being followed.”

I didn’t dare look your way, but I felt a weight in my hands. I looked down to find three sea green marbles, encased in a silvery metallic frame. I thought I saw a couple of these in your workshop before, but you had hastily said not to touch them. They felt oddly cold. I turned to you as you began pacing again, but a booming voice split the heavens in two. The wind died.

“You there!” The light chatter in the cavern ceased. “You are under suspicion for harboring a fugitive. Come quietly and do not make a scene.”

You turned to face the man, a matra with muscle stretched over his form uncomfortably tight. Like a taut bowstring. Your face was placatingly even. “Pardon? I’ve never committed any crimes before, so my companion couldn’t possibly be harboring a fugitive.”

The man thundered forward, his underlings hung back, waiting for orders. Despite your mildly tall height, he towered over you in every sense of the word. I couldn’t see your face well, but I could see your hand hover towards your hip. “Don’t play dumb with me kid. Surrender yourself and the Balladeer, make my night easier.”

You froze. Balladeer? The guy from those bounty posters? Surely that couldn’t have been me. The Balladeer was a mass murderer, an arrogant fool who thought he could simply become a God. The onlookers began to whisper and gasp horrid rumors to themselves, making assumptions about you that pissed me off beyond all belief. The Matra drew closer to you. I wanted to claw at his chunky hands for even thinking about touching you. Your right hand let loose one of the marbles that I had held, and I think I heard you mutter “Lord Barbatos, forgive me,” before hell broke loose.

The marble hit the stone tile, releasing a gust of arcane wind upon contact. It sent everyone within a twenty foot radius soaring away from you, soldiers and civilians alike. Hell did break loose. Regular people were desperately attempting to escape, but the perimeter around this small section seemed secured. Others jumped into the fray with the soldiers, brandishing their weapons like children. I couldn’t see you, I couldn’t reach you. I tried to claw my way through the sea of bodies and weapons, but I soon found myself restrained. My hands were pinned behind my back and I was shoved roughly onto the stone.

A part of me wanted to bite and thrash like a wild animal. To escape. Another older part of me wanted to lay down and allow myself to die then. I was furious beyond words, seething beyond comprehension. I wanted to kill. Perhaps heeding my command, I felt a surge of energy from my power source to my fingertips. Electricity met flesh, and my captor howled and retracted their hands from around my wrist. I stood quickly, feeling the electricity pool into my palms. It was white hot, it was cold as frost. Another wave of matra and first time mercenaries crowded me, but not for long. I let the tension in my hands release, a kinetic cascade of energy that rendered my foes into nothing. Thunder clapped at my power.

You rushed towards me, sporting blood from your lips and a heavy crossbow in hand. A soldier sought to block your path, charging with a halberd in hand. CRACK! an explosion of red erupted from his shin, and he crumpled to the ground uselessly. I looked at you and saw something monstrous in your eyes, the lantern’s light reflecting against you in an inhuman way. Your smile was sincere as always.

“Found you.”

At once, you covered my back, loading and firing seven more shots into the crowd. None of your bolts missed their intended targets. The mass was thinning, but not enough.

“They have all the exits sealed!” I shouted above the chaos.

“If you clear the path, I’ll guard!” You answered.

I had my back against yours. I felt godlike. Mortals have adrenaline flood their systems when in high stakes situations, I just output pure power. That’s how it felt when I surged forward, lightning in my hands. I don’t bleed. I was going to make everyone else bleed. We crawled our way through the cavernous expanse, finding that only the area from where we came was fully secured. They hadn’t yet called for backup. The smell of iron and electricity hung heavy with humidity. Anyone who dared cross me was rendered into a twitching, convulsing mass.

There’s this Kaenri’an myth. You’d know it. The one about a man who ventures into the Abyss to bring his wife back to the surface. The only contingency was that he couldn’t look back at her until they reached Teyvat once more. I didn’t need to look back at you then. We were getting out of Hell together. All I needed to know you were near was the wind at my back and the consistent CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! from your crossbow. Stone gave way to sky, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Argent!” I called, “Almost there!”

No reply. I turned to see the man, no, construct of muscles and skin limp towards you. Bodies littered the floor, not dead, just hurt. You had seemed to be shooting to stun rather than kill. The man’s face contorted into a grimace, the kind that wolves do before tearing into your throat.

“You DARE to inhibit justice? After this monster nearly rended this nation asunder? After he slaughtered an unknowable amount of men?!” He lumbered forward with every meaningless word from his disgusting mouth. Not even bothering to avoid the injured. I heard a bone or two crack and his own men writhe in pain. Hypocrite.

You stood unmoving. Sixty feet and approaching. Fifty feet. Thirty. Ten. I readied to put a bolt of lightning through his fucking eyes. You spoke.

“You’re mistaken, officer.” Your voice was devoid. “He’s not the monster.”

You closed the gap between him and –what the fuck. You didn’t shoot or pull another bullshit contraption from under your skirt. He swung a fist at you, aiming for your face, and you bit his arm. You dodged out of his throw, grabbed his fist, and lodged your teeth into his basilic vein. Blood erupted from his arm like fireworks. Perhaps in shock of what you’d just done, the Matra froze. You used his hesitancy to your advantage, using the metallic front of your crossbow to slam into his diaphragm. He collapsed with a pitiful grunt.

The wind stopped. You procured a small vial of clear liquid from your straps. How much shit were you hiding under all of that leather? “You’ll only be paralyzed for an hour or so, but I’ll leave this with you just in case.”

You placed the vial at the soldier’s feet, muttering an apology yet again. Everything was so still. When you turned to face me, your bronzed skin was muttered with sweat, splotches of your blood, and rivulets of others. You wiped your bloodied mouth on your dirty white shirt uselessly. You looked at me, your face devoid of its usual impish cunning. I allowed you to step forward, to grab my face and wipe blood off of my cheek with your thumb. There was reverence still, care still.

“Your eyes,” You murmured, “They’re the prettiest shade of lavender I’ve ever seen right now.”

“Save the lip service, we have to get out of here. Can you walk still?”

You nodded. “These guys couldn’t aim for shit. We’ll take stock at the Tavern, yeah?”

I groaned when you leaned your whole body weight against me. “Do you think they’ll let a couple fugitives like us in?”

“There’s this neat thing called lying, you know.”

We shambled towards the city in silence. Somewhere, someone was calling for the General Mahamatra, the Sage of Beur, Anyone, God. None of them heard their cries. I couldn’t even hear the ocean anymore. The metaphorical cogs in my head began to turn, but first, I had to make sure you were safe and away from everything. I knew the adrenaline was weaning from your system, as you began to slump further onto me as we climbed the stairs. I looked up at the stained glass that sat in the building’s gables, and I prayed for the second time that day. The gods didn’t hear me either. I shouldered the door open and felt light spill out. I still felt wrong.

Chapter Text

You were in fact not fit to walk, mostly on account that a sizable portion of your blood was on the outside of your body. You were lucky that the room you practically sobbed and begged for did come with a washroom. The woman at the front desk was nice enough to accommodate a first-aid kit for us, like you needed it. You slumped against the washroom counter, stripped down to your undershirt. In the piss poor lantern light, you took stock of your wounds. They were mostly cuts, but you had some…foreign objects lodged into your right shoulder, above the left knee, and in your left bicep.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just use your bullshit magic rocks.” I grumbled as I sterilized a pair of tweezers.

You shook your head. “Doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh, so like how you aren’t actually poisonous?” I sassed back.

“Venomous. I have venom. When I bite things, they can be paralyzed. Poisonous is when you bite something and you get paralyzed.” You corrected.

Like that fucking explained anything. I rolled my eyes and handed you another towel, you’d stained several red already. I took a strip of cloth and tied it to your lower thigh, as per your instruction. Whatever was in there wasn’t lodged too deep, and I’m not the squeamish type, but I still couldn’t tear myself from this feeling in my system. It was simmering and heavy, like anger or guilt or a secret unknown third thing.

“I’m going to remove the shrapnel now.” I announced. I didn’t bother to gauge your reaction. I plunged the tweezers into the wound, removing it with methodic accuracy. Above me, you screamed into the towel.

Everything felt oh so wrong. Everything was wrong. I let a shard of crimson rest against your thigh, watched as the gross flesh knitted together in frightening ways. Felt you writhe in pain. I wet another cloth with cool water, placing it against your thigh. Mortals can overheat, right?

As I tended your wounds, observed your agony, I could only feel worse. Questions hung on my tongue like a noose. Were you aware of what you had just done? Why hadn’t you turned me over to the authorities? Surely you knew that they’d find you, do far worse to you than they did right then. Would you face incarceration, death? Over me? Why? I could feel the hydraulic fluid within me slowly turn to concrete. One thing was certain, and you were going to hate it.

“Argent,” I began, “I believe it is time we parted ways. I don’t believe that either of us can continue with the other arou–”

“Woah woah woah woah, wait a minute.” You cut me off. “You’re just gonna leave?”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at you. “We both know I can’t stay. The Matra will catch up with me in time, and I don’t want you caught up in it.”

“But that isn’t right! For all we know, they could just have the wrong guy.”

“We still resisted arrest, Abyss, we did more than just resist. Do you honestly think we can just come out the other end unscathed?” I pinched between my brows.

“What if we just– you won’t turn yourself in, right? You’re gonna go on the run by yourself?” You moved to slide off the counter, but winced in pain. I quickly sought to stabilize you.

I remained silent. You were naive, sure, but you weren’t stupid. You ran a hand over your face. I heard a couple of Mondstadtian swears under your breath. “Are you seriously going to turn yourself in? You have a death wish or something? No way are you getting a trial when the Judicial system was all wiped out in the coup!”

“They want the Balladeer, and if that gets them off your back, I can handle that.” I replied, setting you down on an entryway chair.

You looked up at me, tears welling in your eyes. Was it out of frustration? Resignation? Could you ever forgive me for what I’ve done? You gripped my arms, as if I’d flee the very moment your hold slipped. You know that if I could have stayed, I would, right? Part of me wanted to abandon any hopes of turning myself in, I wanted to surrender to you. Why? Why did I let you have this sway over me?

“I– I woke you up, I gave you a second chance. Why do you want to squander my gift?” Your voice was breaking.

Guilt weighed on me in the form of sagged shoulders. In the form of nightmares and migraines and the pained look on your face. I felt like I was drowning in it. I can’t swim. “And if they’re right? If you woke up a genocidal maniac, could you live with that?”

Your eyes leveled with mine. An unknown intensity flared in them. “Is this what this is about? Do you think this is how you repent for sins you don’t even know if you committed? With death? That’s a coward’s way out.”

“And who are you to decide that? We’ve wounded maybe a hundred men today, possibly killed some of them. How will you pay them back? How am I supposed to?” I bit back.

You shrugged. “We were acting in self defense. Besides, I don’t ever shoot to kill.”

Your moral compass should have appalled me. It doesn’t anymore, you’re still probably more morally just than I’ll ever be. I remained silent. If I had nerve endings in my teeth, I would have ground them into dust then.

“You should have let me rot,” I spat, “what’s dead should lay dormant.”

You look genuinely stricken by my comment. I touched a nerve. Crossed a line I didn’t know existed. Your eyes narrowed, for a second I thought you’d bite me too. “Oh, so by that logic, shouldn’t I have stayed dead too?”

Silence. You rose on unsteady feet and shambled towards the singular bed in the room.

“Woah, hold on, what the hell do you mean by that?” I sputtered, hastily following after you.

“Exactly what I said. Figure it out.” You tore off your remaining glove and made a rather obscene gesture. I chose not to focus on the petty insult, but the scars on your fingertips. The skin was physically hardened and lighter than the rest. The very tips were still this coal black. Were they frostbite scars, perhaps?

“Finch, I-“

You rounded on me immediately. “You don’t get to call me by my first name during an argument, not after knowing me for three damn months without calling me that. Now look, I’m only pissed because I don’t want you to go throwing your life away.” You paused, softening your tone. “This is a heavy topic, and we’re both very heated and tired right now. We can talk about this in the morning, okay? You can call me Finch then.”

I knew I’d never get a chance to ask you this question again. I grabbed your ungloved hand, pressing your blackened fingertips to my forehead. Did you know that I thought gods were beneath me? Did you know I prayed to them only for you? I should have apologized, got on my knees and groveled, begged for your forgiveness. Like the fool I am, I only pushed further.

“How’d you die?”

You snatched your hand away, as if it’d been caught in a trap. Your fingers got tucked into a fist, and you refused to meet my eye. “My death wasn’t important. It’s about how I live, right?”

A pause. I considered this. “I suppose. Goodnight, Argent.”

You chanced a glance at me, and I did not know suffering how I knew the pain your eyes held. You were searching for something, anything to ground yourself with. “See you in the morning?”

“Of course,” I lied.

You slept fitfully. You didn’t reach REM until nearly two in the morning. Perhaps you were up pondering, as I was. I laid in the empty bathtub, clad in my still bloody yukata. I was apathetically resolved to turn myself in. The only way I could keep you safe and learn more about my past self was through this. I waited down the hours until sunrise, ruminating on the days, months prior. And in the hour before the sun rose, I donned a plain red kimono and left.

They say it’s darkest before the sun rises. The lantern light didn’t help. Even with the droning noise of the canal’s current, I could not shake the solitary sounds of my footsteps against the stone tile. In the distance I could hear fishermen begin their daily rituals, but I was alone.

I passed the cage-like bridge as the sun began to peek over the horizon. Soon, I reached the docks. Surely, the ferryman’s boat was there. Should I feel guilty about swiping some mora from you? They were meant for vacation funds after all. Mine was simply ending prematurely. She called to me from her bow, cloaked in simple sea-faring garb.

“Hey there kid! Is yer little friend not with ya?”

I lied as easy as you breathe. “Sadly not, I’ve had a family emergency up in Sumeru City, so I have to leave as soon as possible.”

The Ferryman hissed through her teeth. “Oh damn, sorry to hear that kid. I can get you up there no problem, you got the cash?”

I procured the pouch from my obi and tossed it gently into her hand. She considered the weight thoughtfully. “Well, alright then, is your buddy going to be okay here all by themself?”

I nodded. You were capable enough. “They’re alright, but we really should get going.”

She nodded and held a hand out to me. I didn’t accept, rather I clambered into the hollow hull by myself. She didn’t seem to care. We rode in silence for a while, her at the bow while I watched the port shrink under the growing morning light. It bled and sunk under the estuary’s waves. All I could do was look. Hardly anyone was out on the shores at this hour, for now the land was still the domain of the various creatures that inhabited the river. The ferry passed Vimara Village. I gaped at the place, the home you allowed me to have. At the bridges overhead, at the shallow waters that the Ferryman navigated with ease.

We turned the bend and the village disappeared. We walked to Sumeru many a time before, but it was a different experience being on one of the ships you used to watch pass. I let a hand graze the churning white foam the boat left in its wake. It was cold against my skin. I’d felt cold ever since your hands left my arms. You’d understand, right? With time, you’d know why I left. It was the only way I could keep you safe. Would you ever forgive me?

“Hey, kid! Sumeru City ho!” The ferryman called to me.

I turned to look at it. It was just another tree. I soon after departed the ferry, and ascended the first flight of stairs. The Matra would surely have caught wind of the Port Ormos incident by now, so I nicked a wide brimmed, straw hat that covered much of my head. I ascended all hundred grown petrified ramps and found no joy in it. The campus grounds were silent as my footsteps sounded against the rounded stone. You showed me around Razan Garden before, raving about the different flora that inhabited the space.

Didn’t matter, kept walking. I followed its curved path along the tree’s trunk. Stone became wood in certain places, as if sculpted to fit humanity’s form. More ramps. I passed the gazebos that you told me you often read at. The path became entombed with the tree as I ascended. When the light broke, I felt no relief. Another hub, the final ramp. I found myself in a place you dared not to go. The Sanctuary of Surasthana, the alleged house of the dendro Archon.

A searing pain coursed behind my eyebrow. I pushed on. You would have waxed poetic about how pretty the stone tiling was or some bullshit. I ascended what you can hardly call stairs until I was face to face with the Sanctuary’s door. Foolishly, I looked back. You were not there. I caught the last rays of the sunrise before entering the hall.

It is fucking Unsettling in there, I’ll have you know. Paths connect like spider’s webs to gables (rooms?), cast in a sickly green light. In its heart was a cage, illuminated by a teardrop shaped structure. Everything that could be that bottle green stained glass was. I dragged myself towards the cage. I pushed down my unease, my pain, my fear, everything down. This was what I resigned myself towards, the doors could not open for me again.

“Buer!” I shouted, tensing when I was wracked with another wave of agony. “Hear me! I, the Balladeer, am seeking an audience with you.”

The Archon of Dendro materialized before me. I looked down at her, and she gazed up at me. It was hard to take her seriously, having such a concerned face for a toddler. “Balladeer?”

I flinched at the name, but recovered and nodded curtly. She circled around me skeptically, I followed her orbit in annoyance. “Could you quit trying to get a three-sixty view on me?”

She put a chubby little hand up and waved it. “Oh no, I was just checking on you. How curious… the last time I saw you, you didn’t look nearly as personable. Though, you were attempting something no being should.”

Another twinge in my artificial synapses. Lord Kusanali leveled at me with those infuriating, omnipotent gaze. She was not unlike you, staring at me as if I was a puzzle waiting to be solved. “Yes, and there’s that as well. Who’s been digging around your RAM?”

“None of your business.” I spat out. She remained undeterred.

“Very well, keep your secrets. Though, whoever did it must have been quite ingenuitive. You certainly act like the Balladeer, but I can’t say I’m totally convinced of you.”

Oh, now I started to get ticked off. “What do you mean by that?”

Her head tilted. “Well, you see.. You certainly carry yourself like him, but I couldn’t imagine, after months of being in hiding, that the Balladeer would ever turn himself in.”

I stood in silence, mulling this over. She asked me some more dumbass questions like how much I remembered (jackshit) and how I spent the last seven months while an entire nation exhausted resources searching for me (none of her business.) When I was taken into the Dendro Archon’s custody, I expected to either be powered off entirely or kept in custody. Instead, most days are just ceaseless questions and series of diagnostic tests. She says she has to check my memory output, lest I be “completely overwhelmed by my previous life.” I have seen nothing but these split pea soup walls for days.

I’ve written all of this in short bursts, whenever Kusanali is not present. These pages will likely never reach you. I don’t know just what the dendro archon is poking around my memory chips for, maybe it’s about where I was, who I became in the meantime. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter much to me. They got their Balladeer. Yet when I close my eyes, I no longer am on that lavender beach. I’m in that empty bathtub, and you’re asleep in the other room. I still wake up in pain.

There’s no moral to this story, I’ll probably rip it up and throw it into the Sanctuary’s void that it’s built around. What I will say is that you weren’t a total waste of my time, Argent. I am sorry still. I don’t expect you to forgive me. That’s okay. I’ll throw these pages into the expanse far below the compound, the prison of my own making. I’ll count the days in the growing fuzz on the sides of my head. The sun will set and I’ll close my eyes, not to sleep, but to simply waste some hours. I will try and recall your face and watch their hard lines blur with time. May you forget me, for you are mortal and have a short life ahead of you. I won’t forget you, not completely. I have most of your medical data stored somewhere in my soup of a head. I miss you. I hope you don’t hate me. Take care.

Chapter Text

Finch Argent was doing just fine, thanks for asking! Despite the hardships of living alone in an unfamiliar land, they were on top of their studies and were making connections fast! Not only was their automated loom prototype turning heads at the Akademia, but they were also involved locally with the river-faring community. Days were long, and Finch often felt themselves growing tired or achy at the end of them. It didn’t matter much to them though, as long as their hands and mind were busy.

It started off as simply another day for them, waking up at a crisp hour before they had to high-tail it to class while rushing to get ready. Hastily, they slipped on their slightly itchy linens and managed to fit the beret around the sea of curls on their head. They’d grab brunch in town, if the money was right.

Their sturdy work boots echoed against worn wood as they passed from rope bridge to ramp. Hastily shoving their latest schematics into their well-loved messenger bag. They let a hand wave over their head, in hopes of hailing a ferry. Their usual ride responded in turn. At the helm of a larger ferry was the Ferryman, as she was colloquially known. A woman with long, dark braids and features not unlike Finch, save the well-earned lines on her face. Perhaps when they were the ripe age of 300, they would look like her.

“Ah, Finch!” She called, waving a hand to them.

“Morning, ma’am!” They echoed, clambering into the ferry

The Ferryman groaned. “Kid, ya gotta quit calling me that. Makes me feel old.”

“Quit calling me kid then, we’re probably the same age”

She pointed the dull end of her oar to Finch’s chest “Ain’t no way. I’ll believe ya when Celestial falls.”

The ribbing continued, backdropped against the opposing tides. Of course, it was no struggle for the wee boat, not with two vision users aboard. Seated in the stern, Finch let their ungloved hand sink into the ferry’s wake. The water was cool and flowed perfectly against their skin. Like wind through their hair, when it wasn’t 80% humidity..

The walk to the Kresharewar lecture halls was a bit far, being nearly out of Sumeru’s capital. No big deal! All that meant was they could have a little stroll through the market stalls before class. Finch trotted through the aisles, inhaling the pleasant scent of Sumeran spices. Oh, just the thought of some stuffed pakora was enough to get their mouth watering… It couldn’t hurt, they’d been working pretty hard this week, they deserved it.

800 mora was nothing compared to the earthly, buttery fried bread, a worthy choice. Finch nursed their mango-stuffed pakora as they navigated the cobblestone labyrinth. The streets were alive with chatter, lively banter from just about every local. Not just in the streets either, some could call from their front steps to bystanders. Finch had a base understanding of textbook Sumeran, but there were just about 70 dialects from their home to the city alone. They didn’t think there was a holiday or something today, no one was wearing any white.. What could it be?

Didn’t matter, class started in twenty minutes.

They navigated the crowded forum, attempting to make their rather larger frame smaller somehow, lest they elbow someone or something like that.The courtyard was alive with chatter, much more chatter than usual. Between the itchy collar of their uniform and the sea of sense, they couldn’t make heads or tails of what anyone was saying. They flexed their fingers from inside their work gloves, feeling the comforting peeling leather.

The hush hush only continued when inside the Shop. Finch didn’t bother poking their ears into business that wasn’t theirs. They had a motor system to work on. Building it was a cakewalk, of course, but programming it to work in tandem with the other motors in sync was proving to be..difficult. They quickly shook their hands, as if dispelling water from them, and turned to their own cubicle.

The automatic loom draft was coming along fine, using one horizontal and one vertical motor to interweave the different fabrics or threads. It was easy, and honestly quite boring. They’d be glad to ship this thing off and revolutionize the fashion industry if it meant they could work on what they wanted. They were debugging the vertical motor when their professor, a middle aged woman clad in an emerald green hijab. She laid a hand on their worktable, and Finch could only trace the hardened lines on them.

“How’s your prototype coming along, Argent?” Her voice was nearly perfect at projecting, she enunciated every syllable.

“Just working on the code, ma’am.”

“Splendid. I’ve gotten in touch with some Haravatat scholars, they’d be thrilled to save a patent for you.”

Finch tilted their head and brought their eyebrows closer together. “Forgive me professor, but what exactly is a patent?”

The professor adjusted her bifocals and considered her wording. “See, a patent is a way to protect an idea or invention so that other people can’t steal or take credit for it.”

They nodded. “Oh, okay. How does it work?”

“It prevents other people from manufacturing the product.” She said casually.

Finch tire their eyes away from the lines of code embedded onto the computer screen. That didn’t seem right. “Wait, what?”

“It’s to protect your intellectual property, Argent. You understand.”

“No, I don’t.” They said flatly. “The words ‘intellectual property,’ sound like a double negative. I don’t really care about credit all that much anyways.”

Professor Misra pinched between her brows. “I forget you’re from Mondstadt sometimes, kid. You northerners are real weird.”

All they could really respond with was a shrug. “I’m glad you checked, but no thanks, Professor.”

She nodded and sighed. “Very well, wish you well on your code.”

They continued the arduous process of talking to machines for hours. They didn’t stop working when their fellow classmates exited to the courtyard for lunch. Instead, they’d opt to scribble into their notebook whenever they felt particularly upset or discouraged when their code didn’t work how they liked.

It didn’t use to be much, just a way to occupy a hand while they thought. Only lines and shapes. Sometimes they’d become landscapes, the gorgeous mountains they called home. Rarer were figure studies or drawings of people. They could never quite get faces to look the way that they looked like on a person. They let their hand wander with the graphite, hardly paying attention to its dance across the page. The tempo just felt so nice, the natural rhythm that one could draw or write at.

When their classmates returned from their own merry mealtime, they had found that the latest page was covered on profile studies of a particular person. Lovingly, they had outlined his low nose bridge, shaded his dark, shaved hair. There was a small fullbody of him, clad in a beautiful yukata backdropped against a pier. Their eyes scanned the page, running a finger over the paper’s indent from the pencil. They ripped it out of their notebook and let it fall to the floor as a crumpled up ball.

The day went pretty smoothly after that, dismissing during the late afternoon. Thankfully, the motor code seemed to be working well now. Finally, that meant they could almost be done with the damned thing. They carefully slipped their canvas bag over their shoulder and headed for the door. Too soon, a classmate fell in step beside them.

“Hey, Finch.” A girl, Anisa, hummed. She was barely shorter than them, with some of the warmest dark skin Finch had ever seen. Her bottle green eyes bore into their head like floodlights.

“Hello, Anisa.” they replied simply.

Her hands came to intertwine behind her back. If Finch had to guess, they thought she was pleased? “Have you heard?”

Their head pivoted around, but heard nothing. “Heard what?”

Anisa chuckled a little bit, her words came out bright as a bell “They finally caught the Balladeer! You know, the war criminal?”

Oh, they were painfully aware. Best to feign innocence. “Oh, really?”

The girl nodded emphatically, her braid bobbing with her. “Mhm! Man, I dunno about you, but I feel safer knowing that the guy won’t be able to hurt any more people.”

Finch let out a laugh. Felt more like a cough. “Oh, definitely. Well, that’s great news, but I really got–”

“Oh! Wait!” Anisa interjected. “You left something back in the workshop, here.”

In her bare hand was a crumpled up piece of paper, the page from earlier. They hesitantly took it from her. Anisa looked at them expectantly, as if the world and stars weren’t below them.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you draw this guy before during a lecture, you sweet on him or something?”

Finch did not know what that meant, but they thought to deny it. “Oh, not at all. It was just someone I, uh, used to know.”

Anisa’s smile became teasing, she gestured to her ears. “Your ears are flushed. Fine, fine, I won’t tease you more, quit covering your cute little ears. Take care, Finch.”

They nodded and walked a little faster than normal. Archons, why did they have to grow up secluded all their life? Was the cold not punishment enough? They passed by the Adventurer’s Guild, and noted that its stone walls was now shy a wanted poster.

Finch arrived home just before sunset. They were ready to rid themself of their uncomfortable uniform for their more comfortable, worn in clothes. The world felt a little sharper with the right clothes on. In this case, just a simple peasant blouse and loose pants would do. They left the paper in their pocket. Maybe it would simply fall out, since the pockets were so impractical. There was a parcel left by their door when they arrived, they hefted it onto the wooden coffee table (a stump) next to their handheld tape recorder.

Their naked hands fumbled for their tape recorder, a device so old it predated them entirely. Hell, they still had some of their papa’s tapes archived from it. The button pressed play with a satisfying click! Their eyes scanned their calendar, their only method of keeping track of time.

“Personal log. First December, 5-0-4 years post calamity.” They paused, the sudden weight of that date breaking onto their shoulders, cementing their very bones. “Oh, oh my. It’s…my birthday today. Wow. I am fifty six this year..”

They paused their pacing to instead lay on the floor.

“It’s…uh. It was an okay day. Had a nice breakfast, got some work done. Everyone seemed pretty cheery too. They, well, they finally apprehended the Balladeer today, I guess that’s good. It’s real good for these people. He was a war criminal, after all..”

They stared up at the ceiling, recorder on their chest. They watched the last rays of sunlight refract on the wooden rafters. The world was quiet, save for their beating heart, their breath. Though their heart truly was buried under six feet of permafrost, hundreds of miles away from where they were. Their heart was tied up in twine, resting on their coffee table.

“I used to really look forward to my birthday, you know? Pops would tell me all about the constellation I was born under, my namesake. He’d make me Khorvost, he’d sing the songs my mother taught him, when he was still able to use his hands, he’d make these beautiful carvings. Still have ‘em.”

The smile in their voice faded. More silence. Their voice became so small, it teetered on the edge or tears. Their words warped and warbled.

“I.. I thought I wasn’t going to spend my birthday alone this year. Sorry, I know I seem sad, and I– I am sad. I’m used to being alone. Archons, it’s about all I know. I just.. I haven’t felt this bad since– since the first birthday without my mother, I guess. Barbatos, fuck, I was just a kid. And I didn’t know. Had no damn sense. Got me much worse than dead..”

Their breath was starting to hitch. They let an arm come rest over their eyes. In the darkness, they could almost imagine the confession booths from the Favonius Church, where they would tell the sisters about her sins as a baby.

“Do you think he was right? That I should have stayed dead, buried under all that snow? ‘What’s dead should lay dormant,’ his words, not mine. Am I– Was it bad to wake him up, Papa? Would you have looked at him the way those kids looked at me when I was twelve?”

With a heavy breath, they tried to stem the bleeding from their mouth. Instead, they half-heartedly hummed a tune. The one their dad would sing in that thick, heavily accented voice of his. The voice they could sometimes find in their own. He’d chirp it while serving Angel Wings and powder cakes. He’d hum it into their hair as he braided it with ribbons. And during that horrible, dreadful night in the mountains, he had carried them home with that song on his lips.

“I wish my eyes were still black. I see less and less of you and mom in my mirror every day. It scares me. G’night pops, I think I’ll treat myself by going to bed early tonight.”

Click! They let their tears flow freely now, placing their tape recorder on the coffee table. Their world was blurry, and it felt wrong under their touch. They hated that they could still see their hands clearly under the miasma of tears. Finch half-heartedly cast a glance at the package, their birthday gift. Another time, then they could dry more. They let an arm linger against their bedroom door frame. It was cluttered, and seeing through watery eyes offered them no favors. They clambered into bed with much effort, bunching the blankets around them like a cocoon.

They would not find rest for hours, mind filled with snow and heartbeats and songs and a boy with pretty indigo hair. Thoughts bled into memory and dreams, like blood in water. Throughout their unwanted musings, only one question remained, childish as it was.

Was any of this worth it?

Chapter Text

Finch may not have been as fine as they cared to admit. The days were still long and eventful, and yet as they passed, they found fewer and fewer things that stood out in them. They blended together like a slurry or a dream, indistinguishable from each other. Could have been days, a week, two weeks. They wouldn’t know if not for their calendar.

It wouldn’t have been a problem, slow points are a part of life. Not everything can be exciting all the time, especially when you’re over half a century old. But this was different from simply feeling the repetitive weight of their lifestyle, it felt more (less?) than that. Instead of just feeling placid or static, now they just felt frustrated and tired all the time.

Hell, they haven’t even opened their birthday gift. It sat on the table, its twine and parchment exterior untouched. They made the excuse that they were too busy or too tired, but that only got them so far. Eventually it would be just them and the box, staring each other off until Finch dejectedly slunk away.

Even creating felt like a chore. Sure, you can’t always have time for your more creative pursuits, but it felt wrong to do so. An itch that couldn’t be scratched. A muscle not exercised. The automated loom ate into all their time and brain fuel. They didn’t even like working on it! They found no joy in assembling the hydraulic arms or the countless mock ups and tests that ate up days of their time. They never wanted to see a new article of clothing again.

On day nine of feeling miserable, Finch thought to at least try and do something nice for themself on their day off. They probably would never take a boat down south anymore, so a day trip by the sea was out of the question. Besides, they would probably be arrested on sight after the incident down there.. Didn’t really have much energy to do anything too far, like the Palace or that one forest. WIth much chagrin, Finch settled on just hanging around the City for the day. Perhaps staying in the Razan Gardens would do them well?

The city was as always, loud, overwhelming, and a bit dizzying to be in. A sea of fabrics and bodies and skin that could expand and contract in frequency at any moment. Finch did their best to drown the noise out, opting to simply cradle their face with a worn leather glove. Their heavy footsteps struck against the stone paths like a horse’s hoof, but the noise was swallowed by merchants’ calls and a distant sitar. Sometimes they wondered what it would be like to have human ears. It must be nice, not hearing someone sneeze over all this havoc.

The trek up the Akademia ramps were nothing anymore. When they had first arrived, Finch was struggling like how one might struggle to hike up Starsnatch Cliff. Come to think about it, the two were both incredibly steep.. Though Finch had to admire the handiwork, they could never stop marveling at the seamless transition from stone to wood. The stone looked organic, the roots seemed structural. Whenever a fellow scholar passed them, they instinctively would try to make them smaller.

They watched the automated doors open and give way to the gardens. Here, the fusion between architecture and nature was at its best. Gazebos and gables jutted up the sides of the tree’s trunk, seamlessly fitting on its rounded structure. All kinds of flora sculpted the gardens, from imitation padisaras to vines that hung and provided a well needed shaded canopy.

Finch situated themself in a gazebo, feeling guilty about taking up the entire bench. They rifled through their messenger bag for a moment, opting to take out a small sketchbook and the lunch they packed. Today they opted for a taste from home, with some candied apple slices and a tub of kielbasa. Finch bit into the savory sausage, reveling in a small taste of home.

There wasn’t much of a view from the gazebos, as they were nestled in the hull of the tree. Though, the surroundings were just as well. Despite it being midday, it was nearly dark as night. To counteract this, the plants in this area were bioluminescent. Rather than being pitch dark, it was more like when the full moon and stars were out. It felt otherworldly. Perhaps that’s why Finch felt an affection for such a place. In the dim lantern light, they sketched out the various glowing plants in charcoal. Out beside each illustration, they wrote what they knew about the flowers.

Their personal favorite were the wisteria blooms that hung and sagged from the organic ceiling. They were native to Inazuma, actually, and modified in some capacity to emit a faint white glow. Finch thought that they looked like falling stars, like in those poems that their papa used to read to them.

Stories. Finch allowed their hands and mind to wander. When they were but a fledgling, their mother had given them this beautiful book, bound in gold thread. It was a picture book, containing a few different Khaenri’an myths. The art was gorgeous, this beautiful art nouveau style with winding lines and flowering goddesses. Oh, how they missed it, they had left it at home when they moved.. They could picture the words, nearly recite them from memory, and yet the illustrations bled like watercolor on the wrong paper.

They looked down at their page and saw him again, now mimicking that art nouveau style. A boy with hooded, round eyes and a lost expression. Only now he was surrounded by wisteria blooms and flowering geometric shapes. If only they knew that if they ascended a flight of ramps, Finch could have seen the source of their heartache again. They snapped their sketchbook shut, feeling a growing embarrassment heating their face.

Damn it all.

That’s fine, they could still do other things that didn’t involve thinking about some nameless boy. There was daylight yet. They hastily shoved their items back into their bag and staggered back out towards the sun. They blinked heavily for a moment, their eyes finding it difficult to adjust. But once the world stopped spinning, Finch was ready yet again to walk it. They passed through the gardens, trying not to feel the weight in their hands. At least the flowers were still pretty to look at.

The plaza below was as Finch left it: chaos. Still far too much for far too little. Their footsteps were lost in a tumultuous sea of sound. Their only island in this raucous typhoon was the Adventurer’s Guild desk, because that meant they were at least partially leaving the city behind. There was Katherine as well.

Finch found Katherine fascinating. Her deadpan, robotic voice was captivating, her unblinking eyes a clear spring. She was beautiful, maybe not the way a human could be beautiful, but by recognizing parts of yourself in others. Though they never really felt a kinship like that among their fellow man. A machine was beautiful because you could lay bare their mechanisms to see how they ticked.

They let their mechanical musings guide them home, past the stone arches that welcomed them every time. They found themself hanging back by the bridge, the one that grew fresh from the ground and across the expanse of a waterfall. They spent many a night on a knoll, looking at this exact view until the sun rose. They shook a moment, like a duck dislodging water.

And damn, what a view from the other side. Azure skies as far as they eye could see, with sky piercing mountains to match. Subconsciously, they found their feet moving closer and closer to the edge, it wasn’t like the braided roots acted as an effective railing anyway. Oh, to hell, they might as well commit. They turned their body to face the sun, letting their feet fall from the platform.

One of the myths from their picture book was about Icarus, how his father had constructed the two wings of wax in hopes of escaping from their captors. Icarus chased after the sun, unaware of his melting wings. He soon plummeted into the sea, depriving a father of his son. That’s why when a young Finch awoke, clutching an anemo vision to their chest, they decided to learn how to fall before flying. As all good fledglings do.

They were scared once, when they were just learning how to fall. They could still feel the blood pounding in their ears. But years eroded the adrenaline from fear into excitement, an anticipation to come. As they plummeted, they reveled in the silken wind they were cocooned in, the spray from the waterfall lapping at their skin. The world fell around them, and all they could do was smile. Five hundred feet, four hundred feet, three hundred. The canyon floor would soon meet them. Two hundred.

Their vision activated, a familiar hum in tune with their soul. It took shape as the falling leaves, constructing boning for wings. One wing, a solid sheet of air, extended itself, righting Finch onto their stomach. Wow, the canyon was a lot more shallow than they imagined. The other wing unfolded, and they sighed at the familiar feeling. Nothing like a little gliding to clear the head. They coasted along the canyon’s lip, enjoying the sight of wetlands and wildlife. They let a bare hand grace the earth, feeling the soft grass tickle their fingers.

They opted to coast home on their self-made breeze. They allowed their steel-toed boots to grace the earth just shy of the cave they lived in. They shook their head, dislodging their curls from their wind-blown state. Finch strode through the village’s tight platforms, opting to pay no mind to the people who eeked out of their way. They always looked at them weird, today was nothing special.

Two rope bridges and a small flight of stairs later, and they were merely feet from their home. Hell, they were fumbling for their house key when a voice punctuated their air.

“Finch, is that you? Why, I haven’t seen you come out in days!” A voice, warm as a campfire and just as crackly echoed.

Fuck, was it that time of the month? Was rent due today? Couldn’t be, it was only two weeks into December.. They turned around and plastered the fakest smile onto their face.

“Hi, Auntie!” They replied. “I’ve been so busy, those scholars work me into dust.”

Before them was a woman much smaller than her. She had rich skin, the color of a russet sparrow’s wings. Wrinkles were engraved into them like a marble statue. She wore a sort of cotton shawl around her shoulders, they always matched the outfits she wore. “They always do. Any word from that roommate of yours? I miss having such a capable boy helping me out.”

Right, they had told her that he had family business in Inazuma. If Auntie knew that her beloved companion was likely rotting behind bars, she might just die. Finch would have to find a new lease then…

They shook their head. “Sorry, international mail takes a little longer to get here. It’s why my little pen pal back home sends stuff pretty inconsistently.”

This seemed to satisfy her. “I see.. He was a good kid, you could learn a thing or two from him.”

Archons, kill them twice. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Auntie just laughed, Finch wanted to go crawl into a hole and never return. “You can, but I bet you miss him terribly right now. You two being so close and all.”

A pause. Finch answered truthfully. “Yeah, I guess I do miss him.”

Auntie laughed more and smoothed the folds of her shawl out. “Yes, heartache is always hard. Doesn’t get easier, but it does get better.”

Heartache? No, no. They were simply just having conflicting emotions about their friend being a potential war criminal, that was all! “I don’t think I follow?”

“Don’t even lie Finch, you loved him. You can’t take loving someone away that easily.”

Their face glowed, and Finch couldn’t help but try to cover an ear to hide it. Nope. No. They can process this later. Now they just had to leave. “Ah. I see, well, I’ve been out working, may I please be excused?”

Auntie scoffed. “So formal. I’m not going to eat you, bird. Take care, now, alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” Auntie only groaned and waved them off.

Finch Argent had never unlocked a door so fast. They let their back rest against the cool wood and sunk to the floor. Love? The guy who left them alone, to crawl through a Matra-infested city on their own? A person who they had housed for months, who they thought just maybe they had a genuine connection with him, and was quickly proven otherwise? They felt so stupid about the whole thing, really. Khaenri’ans had several different words to describe different forms of love, but none to describe the absence of it.

No. Nope. No wallowing. They were done feeling pitiful about this. He was gone and out of their life, and they had to deal with it. They slid off the floor and opted to dissolve into their couch. Maybe opening their birthday gift would make them feel better.

The parcel was hastily wrapped, with twine and brown paper wrapping it. They peeled a glove off and ripped through its encasings with childlike glee. First came the letter, the writing reminded them of their scribbles as a kid. Only, it was more formatted like a telegram. Their fingers traced the words, fondly remembering the person on the other side of them.

FINCH, IT IS NOW WINTER. I HEAR THAT SUMERU ONLY HAS WET ND DRY SEASONS, SOUNDS HORRIBLE. CAN HARDLY MAKE IT DOWN TH MOUNTAIN WITHOUT DYING. THANX FOR TH FAN, LIFESAVER. IF I AM RIGHT, THIS SHOULD REACH YOU AROUND YOUR BIRTHDAY. I HAVE LEFT YOU SOME GIFTS, I HOPE THEY ARE TO YOUR LIKING.

I MISS YOU. YOU LITTLE SHIT. I KNOW IT IS ONLY FOUR YEARS ND NOTHING TO US, BUT WITHOUT YOU, MY LIFE IS VERY BORING. TH BIRDS DO NOT SING TH SAME SONGS WITHOUT YOU.. I FIND MYSELF BY TH CAVERN MORE OFTEN IN THESE COLDER TIMES. IT SETS ME AT EASE, KNOWING THAT HUNDREDS OF MILES AWAY, YOUR HEART BEATS IN TIME WITH TH HEART IN WYRMREST VALLEY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ND SEND ME MORE OF THOSE FUNNY ROCKS YOU SENT LAST TIME.

(RE: YOUR SHITTY ROOMMATE. I DONT KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU. YOU GIVE A GUY LIFE ND HE DECIDES HE’S TOO GOOD FOR THAT. FUCK HIM. IT WAS A VERY LOVELY GESTURE. DONT LET A GUY GET YOU DOWN, HE DIDNT DESERVE SOMEONE AS NICE AS YOU ANYWAYS.)

YOUR PAL, FLINT OF TH ENTOMBED CITY.

A silent snort escaped their nostrils. Oh, how they missed their pal. They set the lovely letter aside, deciding it could join its siblings up on the workshop’s corkboard. The box itself contained several unrefined hunks of crimson agate, perfect, they had run out a few weeks ago during The Incident. Among the blood dark crystals were several cleaned animal skull fragments, ranging from a boar’s jaw to the orbital of a snowy owl. Aw, how thoughtful. Other ornamental items like jewelry or fabric scraps were wrapped around the bits of bone. Man, Flint really knew how to spoil a guy.

There was a final object in the box as they cleared the other trinkets away. It seemed about the size of their fist, wrapped up in a dusty red cloth. They gingerly picked at its encasings, revealing a wooden, fully articulated bird. They’d recognize this kind of craftsmanship anywhere. A small tag was tied to the neck in a bow.

FOUDN IT IN MY BABY STUFF, THOUGHT I SHOULD GIVE IT BACK :]

Tears welled and pooled at the corners of their eyes. Their hands swiped over the sanded and stained wood, thumbing the unmistakable insignia. Finch had known Flint for practically forever. Admittedly, their papa was a little concerned about befriending him, but soon enough, Flint had wormed his way into more than a few family portraits. They could almost picture him now, that looming, towering frame, his beautifully decorated locs, massive ram horns that adorned the side of his head. Archons, what they’d give to see him. There wasn’t a day where they hadn’t stared longingly at his shaky photographs and wished they were home.

They were crying again, but it was fine. At least now it was a good cry. They were alone, now more than ever. Someone that they did love left them basically for dead. Their father recently dead, their mother probably dead for far longer. But there was love still. Love in the wooden bird they cradled oh so gently, finally able to reunite it with the matching ram. Love hundreds of miles away, where someone could still feel their heartbeat. Love in the lunch they packed for themself this morning. Maybe Auntie was right, you couldn’t take being loved away, distance and time be damned.

Chapter Text

It was well into December when life would throw another curveball into their face. It started off as a quiet morning, indistinguishable from the last. Working on commissions, listening to the same old records, a well lived part of their daily routines. They were about elbow-deep in someone’s rather busted phonograph when a knock at their door sounded.

Finch tilted their head. Was it Auntie? She never really made house calls.. Hastily, they retracted their arms and shambled out from their workshop. They absently tried to brush the grease from their gloves, futile as it was. Another knock, they opened the door with urgency.

On the other side of the doorway was one of the prettiest boys Finch had ever seen. He wasn’t very tall, but he had a lithe, acrobatic build. He looked like the sun. Light seemed to emanate from his presence. Everything from his long marigold hair to his golden, unseeing eyes. He carried himself with a radiance they weren’t sure a normal person could have. A..creature? Toddler? Was next to him. She seemed to be a normal girl, albeit she was floating close to his shoulder. Was she some sort of fae?

“Hello!” The little girl called. “We’re looking for a Finch Argent?”

They nodded slowly. “Ah yes, that’s me. What business do you have?”

“Oh, we’re here on behalf of Lord Kusanali, she wants to commission you.”

Their face tightened. What? What? The Dendro Archon? Wanted their help? The god of wisdom wanted them? We’re they supposed to be flattered? Scared? Because they were absolutely freaked out of their mind. All they could muster was an “Ah. I see.”

The little girl raised a small white brow. “Well, okay. If you’d like, we can take you to her for an estimate.”

They nodded a little too soon. “Right! Uh, could you give me a moment? I don’t want to show up before an Archon in these dirty ol’ rags of mine.”

“Suuuure.” the fae’s eyes narrowed.

They flashed a tight smile and disappeared into their home. Fuck, fuck fuck FUCK! What were they supposed to wear?! Would work pants be too casual, but was wearing a waistcoat too formal? Archons, Finch didn’t know. They wanted to melt into their pile of clothes and never come out. What if that pretty boy thought they were weird?

They smoothed out a pleated white skirt and tied a dust red over-skirt to it. There was this cool jacket they had bought, but never got the chance to wear. It was reminiscent of rugs sold by Desert dwellers, and honestly was quite flattering with the look. Oh, fuck it, why not? They hastily shrugged it on over a sleeveless shirt and bolted towards the door. The door opened again, and the boy put his hand over his face in a circular motion before closing his fist. The girl slapped his hand. “Paimon isn’t translating that.”

Finch threw on another rather forced smile. They looked a bit like a grimacing cat. “Alright then, lead the way.”

Finch tailed behind the duo, observing how in tune with each other they seemed. The little girl– Paimon seemed to act as a sort of seeing eye fairy for the pretty boy. The boy only seemed to communicate using a form of sign language, damn. They knew they should have attended some Haravatat lectures on language. It was almost endearing watching the pair’s conversation. Like they were just siblings, and they were an intruding watcher. In all fairness, this was how they usually felt around people.

Paimon turned to them once they were over the bridge. “Say, Finch. Your file says you’re from Mondstadt, right? Must have been a journey and a half to get from there to here.”

Oh Archons, strike them down. Small talk. “Oh, it wasn’t much, I live in south Mondstadt, so passing through Liyue is nothing, really. Wish they would have prepared me for the climate, though.”

Did they say too much? Too little? Did they sound ungrateful?

Paimon only nodded, gently guiding the boy over a rather tricky root. “I hear ya. It’s more humid than in Inazuma.”

Oh, now they were curious. Their hands slithered and clasped behind their back. “Inazuma? That’s far. You two vagabonds or something?”

The pair shared a look. Paimon placed an index finger to her chin before pointing at him. The boy responded by putting his hands over his eyes. Finch wasn’t good reading tone, but they think it was supposed to be deadpan?

“..Do you not know who we are?”

Finch shrugged. “I don’t get out much, so no.”

The little girl’s face scrunched up. “Right. Well, Paimon’s Paimon, and this thing right here is The Traveler.”

Finch still did not know who they were. Their silence spoke volumes. The Traveler, whoever that was, put a hand close to his mouth and wiggled his fingers. Paimon seemed to light up at it.

“You’re from Mondstadt, surely you’ve heard of the Outlander that faced off against Stormterror! You’re looking right at him!”

That…did seem familiar. “Really? You fought one of the Four Winds?”

The boy nodded eagerly. They passed the grand stone arch into the city. As they reached the more populous city, Finch noted that people would part around the pair like a stone in a river. Finch was only in their orbit, the tail to their comet. Some called out to the duo, cheering their names. Were they a celebrity or something? Outside of healing a Dragon, of course. They wouldn’t know. In a desperate chance to not be separated in the crowd, they gripped onto the Traveler’s cape. They felt ashamed, literally riding his coattails.

Alas, the boy noticed. His gloved hand slipped from Paimon’s small one, and to their embarrassment, held it out to them. Finch felt their face grow a little hotter, totally because of the heat. The fabrics of their gloves clashed, but Archons, it had been nearly a month since they had any form of physical contact with a person. They held his hand like a fox holds an egg between their teeth. Tentatively, they guided him while Paimon lead them.

It was odd, having a crowd part this way. They were used to being ogled at back home, hearing whispers about their unnaturally sharp teeth and scarred hands. Now, when out in public, Finch consciously made sure they always wore gloves, always smiled with their mouth closed. But when walking with the Traveler, the boy who became the sun, it felt different. Like a creature like them could stand next to someone so pretty.

They were lead through the gardens once more, admiring the lotus ponds and the luminescent vines. The Traveler glowed too, it was faint, but noticeable. Perhaps he wasn’t as human as he appeared. For some reason, their heart sped up at the thought. The fae led them higher through the Gardens, higher than they ever dared to go. When they passed a forum, the matra even greeted them? Who were these people? Were they getting arrested?

As they pondered this very real possibility, The trio came face to face with the Sanctuary of Surasthana. This Sanctuary, which once imprisoned the nation’s god, looked just like any other building. Finch could feel their bones slowly cure, like a hard epoxy. Maybe they were holding on too tight, because the traveler pointed to them and spelled out an O-K to them.

“Just a little nervous, I guess. Not every day you meet a god, am I right?”

The boy gave a noncommittal shrug. Fuck was that supposed to mean? Paimon piped up. “Meeting your first god can be nerve wracking, take all the time you need.”

That made them feel so much better.

With reluctance, their hand slipped from the warmth of the stranger’s glowing gloves. They rapped on the door, a pattern that their father used on their own doors. To their surprise, someone on the other end completed the pattern. The maw opened with elegance, revealing a girl, no older than Paimon. She too had white hair. Only she was dressed more for Sumeran weather, and something about her posture felt older, greater.

“Ah! Traveler, Paimon, is this the mechanic I sent you for?”

Did that mean this was the Archon of Dendro? But she hardly looked ten years old. Well, out of anyone, they should know not to guess someone’s age based on their appearance..

Their posture stiffened. “Yes, your grace. That would be me. I’m Finch Argent, artificer.”

Her bottle green eyes peered into theirs. They felt ancient. Finch averted their gaze to an intricate clip in her hair. “Please, there’s no need for honorifics. You may call me Nahida.”

No. Too casual. Change the subject instead. “If I might so enquire, what do you need my assistance with?”

Lord Kusana– Nahida motioned them inside. “Yes, come. Looking at your file, I think you’re outfitted for this problem perfectly.”

Oh, wow. They were genuinely flattered. They stepped forward with confidence, into a place that went against their very idea of religion. Mondstadt’s religion was stained glass and song; wind and freefalling. Their religion was tucked away in ribs and beat in time with their heart. It was guarded by their closest friend and confidant, thousands of miles away. The Sanctuary was not that.

Surasthana was sterile, hardly any air movement. It was bright as day, but a verdant green color permeated the air. It was cold. Their skin desperately searched for fabric, soothing into gloves and burying into their jacket. They’d never freeze, never feel cold again. God led them further into the mouth of Hell.

“Might I ask what this job entails?” Finch’s voice felt so small, so insignificant against the echoing walls.

“Ah, right. I’ve heard you’re quite proficient in coding and computer science. I’m having some trouble backing up memory. I was hoping you would help me fix it.”

Their ears perked up at that. Not only was God complimenting their coding skills, but before the job was even done! Nothing like receiving a rare compliment to put them at ease. Only, the Traveler and Paimon seemed so used to this creepy old place. How anyone could be relaxed here was beyond them. They trudged behind God, keeping an ample amount of distance from her.

She lead them around the lip of the void, on a bridge as thick as spider’s thread. Finch opted to ignore the structure in the middle– the cathedral’s heart. The structure lay empty. It looked like a cage. They didn’t want to think about whatever it was supposed to house. Nahida stopped in front of another door, adorned with glass above it. They tried to find comfort in the secondhand rays of sun. Their unease only grew as the door opened.

It slid aside to reveal something between an operating theater and a server room. Several computers dotted it, the wires that jutted from the machines reminded them of vines. Most of the room’s light filtered in naturally. It haloed around the figure on the table.

He haunted Finch’s dreams like a banshee. That stupid, boyish face that used to scowl at them at every bad joke they made. Those pretty indigo eyes that always seemed to search for something. His pale, lifeless skin that they had sewn together by hand. He wore a plain red kimono and refused to meet their eyes.

They froze. “Y-your Grace, when you said you were having trouble with a computer’s hard drive, did you mean–” They couldn’t manage to complete their sentence.

God looked up to them, holding out her impossibly small hand. “You do not have to do this, if you don’t want to. You may have immunity for your crimes regardless. I only figured that since you have experience working on him, that you might want to assist me.”

They swallowed hard. Of course she knew, she was wisdom. God was offering the chance to prove their worth, and yet Finch could not take their eyes off of the boy. It’s not like they would refuse, they weren’t that stupid. But Archons, this was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. For all of their yearning, it was almost shameful to stand before the boy who lied, no, betrayed their feelings altogether. Perhaps they could just power him off and not think about it…

Their fists bunched against leather. “No, your Grace. I’ll do my best.”

She nodded. “Very well, let’s begin.”

Chapter Text

“I must admit, your restoration effort was quite innovative.” Lord Kusanali praised. “Grafting a shattered memory chip is no easy feat. Though, it’s proved… difficult trying to restore your friend’s memory.”

Finch folded their arms together. Like hell they’d consider him a friend after what he pulled. But it’s okay, it’s fine. Easy mistake to make. God motioned toward the Traveler and Paimon.

“These two will be..assisting from the inside, if you will. Pardon me for not being very forthcoming with the memory retrieval part. The process is incredibly complicated.”

Finch motioned to the various screens that littered the operating room. “So, what I’m hearing is that I just need to do backend?”

Lord Kusanali nodded “Essentially. We’d prefer to have you hear to monitor his vitals, in case anything happens during this.”

Okay, easy enough. They did something similar when first installing the memory drive graft. They could simply monitor his computing outputs and go home, never think about this again. Finch could continue living their life, working through the sludge that academics were, alone but unhurt.

They shifted their weight between their feet. “Alright, before I begin, just want to make sure we have..” they gestured to the boy vaguely. “His informed consent?”

“I consent.” He replied simply

“Oh, so your voice box does work.” They replied, a half-hearted jab.

He only rolled his eyes, as if they weren’t worth dignifying with a response. The Traveler placed a middle finger on his palm and slid it away from his body. Paimon nodded intently. God cleared her throat.

“With that out of the way, I’ll leave it to you to set up. I must go retrieve something integral to this. Traveler, try to be nice to him while I’m gone, okay?”

The Traveler responded by closing their index and middle finger around their thumb, and then put an index finger to his lips before his palm met his fist. Paimon gleefully translated that he made no promises. Finch silently prayed that this wouldn’t take long. They locked eyes with the traitor, and for a moment they saw the same listless boy that they had sheltered without thought. They stared between his eyebrows instead.

“Alright, you heard the Archon. Lay on your stomach, if you’d please.”

To their surprise, he was oddly compliant. Every step towards the table further filled their hollow bones with lead. Their gloves traced the electro sigil on the nape of his neck, feeling oddly nostalgic at the action. Though, this time, the subject was awake. His fans were making a noticeably louder whirr under their gloves. They pushed a little too hard on it, and yet the skull plating that served as the parietal area of the skull came clean off. Huh, his hair was getting longer..

The inner workings were as beautiful as the day Finch had first laid eyes on him. It was alight with the prettiest lavender glow, a jungle of wire and processors and optical cables and the prize itself: the memory graft. Pieces of divine technology shoddily slapped on standard dri-

“Quit gawking and get this over with, pervert.” The subject’s voice cut through their musings. If it were a month prior, Finch would have laughed it off, now it only made them felt worse.

“I spent an asinine amount of money fixing your head, I’ll stare as much as I please.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Their ears flicked back. “I liked you better when you didn’t speak.”

There wasn’t any time for petty arguments, they had a job to do. With haste, they procured a cable from the nearest computer and thumbed the port just above where the occipital would be. Perfect match, thank the gods. It went in with a satisfying click! Now they could make some distance between them.

“Soooo..” Paimon’s voice breached the incredibly awkward silence. “You two know each other? That’s crazy.”

Finch gave a noncommittal shrug. “We were roommates. Nothing special.”

Apparently, Paimon found this very special. “Really, with him? Yeesh, I’m sorry about that.”

A small laugh escaped them, but they quickly refocused on the task at hand. They needed to boot up the recovery software and actually get the show on the road. Their finger’s graced the blocky keys with practiced speed.

“Oh, please.” The thorn in Finch’s side spoke up. “If we want to talk about a sorry excuse for a roommate, this wannabe mad scientist exceeds anything I could have done.”

“You literally left me bleeding out in a hotel room.” They deadpanned

“Incorrect, your wounds were fine. We both know you can’t die that easy.”

It it weren’t true, they’d be assed enough to be offended. Instead, they decided to try and make light of it. Maybe if they joked, the Traveler wouldn’t think about the implications of the other boy’s words. They placed a hand to their chest and threw their head back. “Oh, but you wounded my heart so!”

Paimon shared a rather concerned look with the Traveler. “You two come with a lot of history…”

Finch turned back to the computer, listlessly poking through programs and clients and wizards. It’s stuff they’d seen already, information they’d monitored during their ex-roommate’s stay. Everything from data collection to basic mechanical functions. The inorganic light burned into their retinas as they thumbed through the newer records. Archons, where was the Dendro Archon? “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

The silence dragged on like dead weight. Like a limb lost to frost.

Finch kept shifting on their feet, completing the setup without issue. Should they look busy? Surely they don’t want the Dendro Archon thinking that they’re a slacker, but they also wanted to be as far from the traitor as possible. They threw a glance towards the door, surely no one would notice or care if they became a desert hermit. The climate was supposed to be nicer than the rainforest, at least..

Unfortunately for that half-baked plan, the door hissed and sighed before rolling away. It revealed God, in all her little glory. She held a shape Finch had only seen in renders on screens. It was kind of a cube, kind of a tesseract, just bigger than Lord Kusanali’s head. It had…edges? Kind of? It emitted a strange light, sometimes white and sometimes yellow. Finch never really felt connected with the word “human,” but whatever God was holding was beyond human comprehension.

They wondered how easy it would be to stuff it in their bag and book it..

“Wow,” they could not hide their awe, “do I have enough clearance to ask about that thing you’re holding, your grace?”

Lord Kusanali hummed thoughtfully. “How much do you know about The Divine Tree?”

“Nothing.”

Out of the corner of Finch’s eye, they could see Paimon cringing. Were they too blunt?

“I see. In layman’s terms, there exists this tree called Irminsul. All you need to know is that this tree is capable of storing all kinds of information, even memories, from all across Teyvat.” She motioned to the tesseract. “What you see is essentially an encrypted and preserved memory.”

A tree that could store the memories of an entire planet.. It sounded fantastical, sure, something out of a fairy tale. And yet they couldn’t help but want it to be true. If this tree truly existed, that meant the world would still remember their family, and the limited time they all had together. Something else had to carry that weight, too..

“Fascinating.” Was all Finch could manage to say.

“Enough stalling, let’s get this show on the road. I’m sure the mighty Traveler and this pitiful excuse for an artificer have places they want to be right now.” The boy on the operating table bit out. Finch was half tempted to remove a glove and stuff it in his mouth.

God remained nonplussed by this asshole. Instead, she looked at him rather expectantly. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to say to Mx. Argent here?”

“No.”

“You sure? Well, Finch, is there anything you’d like to say to him before we begin?”

They cast a look at the boy’s back. The first week in his absence, all they could do was formulate monologues chewing him out for abandoning them. They were flowery and practiced and showed every ounce of hurt that their fangs could bare. In an instant, they had forgotten all of their words, hell, forgotten how to speak. How could you convey to someone you once loved that they had thrown your heart away? Silence held their tongue in a frostbitten prison.

“You hurt me, you know.” They said finally. “At least you’re not dead in a ditch again, I guess.”

“Wow, you’re so verbose, you should have studied under Haravatat with how impactful your words are.” He mocked.

If it weren’t for the fact they had spent an equivalent of a small house on repairing this guy, Finch would have found a way to pour some hot tea on his circuits. The Traveler narrowed his eyes, placed the back of his hand under his jaw, and flipped his palm out. Paimon’s eyes lit up, looking to Lord Kusanali to translate what he said. She floated a little lower when God responded with a firm headshake.

“If that’s all you two really have to say..” Lord Kusanali sounded nearly disappointed at the exchange. Did Finch say something wrong? “Very well, let’s get this metaphorical show on the road. Paimon, I assume you’re going in with the Traveler?”

The fae nodded intently. “Of course! He’d be lost without me.”

The golden boy nodded and placed the side of his hand against his nose before pushing it outwards. Paimon giggled. Finch would have to brush up on their signage, they wanted to know what was so funny..

God cleared her throat and held the tesseract between the Traveler and the boy on the table. Paimon clung to one of her companion’s fingers, it was kind of cute. The boy turned his head to face the glowing mass, its light reflecting in his artificial irises. He was the first to touch it, with shaking hands. The Traveler could have touched it too, but they wouldn’t know. A rather annoying, all encompassing light flooded the room and Finch’s senses. They couldn’t even begin to think through the light.

And when it faded, everyone was still there.The Traveler was still as stone, Paimon suspended in the sterile air. Their eyes were no longer open, and part of Finch felt as if they weren’t truly in the room at all. They attempted to snap a finger in front of their faces, but nothing came of it.

It was just them and God now, alone again. They locked their hands together and let some of their joints pop before returning to the screen. Curious. The areas within the hippocampus and temporal lobe were active. They chanced a glance at the memory chip, only slightly hypnotized by its divine glow. God strode to their side, and Finch had half the mind to pick her up. Was that weird?

“Thank you.” Said God.

“I haven’t done anything yet?” Finch answered.
Lord Kusanali shook her head. At once she was an ancient woman and an impish, wee thing. “The fact you agreed to this, despite how you currently feel about the former Balladeer, is more than enough. I am sure things will go smoothly now that you are here.”

They lapped at the praise like a starved dog. “Thank you, your grace. If I may ask, how long will..” Finch motioned to the trance-like state the latter half of the room was in. “This last?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “No longer than it takes for a person to dream, I suppose. Though your old friend has lived for quite some time, so we have some time.”

They nodded and gave another once-over to the screen. Same areas were active and working well, different ones would light up occasionally. There were other physical cues that could also hint to the subject’s state, small tells they’d picked up during their time together. His fans were whirring rather quickly, not to mention how his limp hand would twitch and stretch occasionally. His hands were always pristine, never a blemish on them. For some reason, Finch always felt worse about their own when they looked at them.

..The twitching was becoming more frequent. Another look to the obnoxiously lit screen. The synthetic thalamus and hippocampus were experiencing some rather high traffic. However, paired with the mechanical frontal cortex.. Finch had seen brain patterns like this from him before, the night they found him passed out, face down on the floor. It was almost li–

“Are you okay? You seem rather worried.” Lord Kusanali piped up beside them, shaking Finch from the observation.

They motioned to the screen, aware that God was just a little too short to see all the information. “Well, I just can’t help but notice that his sensors seem to be lighting up in areas that are generally associated with high amounts of stress.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I see, that makes sense. See, before meeting you, he had a…troubled sort of life.”

“Troubled enough to become a war criminal?” They deadpanned.

“No.” God replied plainly. “Without forgiving or condemning his actions though, I understand how he became the monster he was.”

Finch paused and considered her words thoughtfully. But would that make all that led them to splitting void? His betrayal was sourced from facing punishment, but if the highest authority in the land didn’t seem too keen on punishing him, was there a point?

“You still seem bothered.” God pointed out. They were.

“Your grace,” They hesitated, calculating the phonics. “I just.. Can’t seem to wrap my mind around any of this. I thought catching the Balladeer meant eternal life imprisoned or death or something worse. Why this?”

“Finch, please come here.”

God kneeled on the floor, held out her impossibly small hands to theirs. Finch obliged. They hesitated before removing the gloves, baring themself in front of a divine being, a person they had only just met. And God took their hands in hers, their big, clumsy, ugly hands in hers. Ones so small and unstained and pure. Her skin was soft. God rubbed circles into the back of their hands. Life spilled from her thumbs, divinity.

Finch found they could not look God in the eyes.

“When someone commits a crime, why is it they deserve punishment?” Lord Kusanali questioned.

They tried to formulate a response, but each iteration felt rather childish. “To make an example of them? To make sure they don’t do it again?”

God held their hands with all the patience of a parent to a child. “Interesting, but oftentimes, punishments are only used to inflict suffering on others, regardless of if the person deserves it.”

Finch considered this. “Yeah.. but like, the Balladeer committed unspeakable acts against your people, your grace. Do you not feel even a little bit of animosity against him?”

“Of course I do, he hurt, endangered, and killed many people.”

Was this how other people felt when they replied with short answers and didn’t elaborate? Their brows knit together in confusion.

“So what changed then? Do you think he isn’t deserving of punishment or something?”

“Well, that’s just it. The Balladeer, haggard and a little bloody, winds up in my palace after months on the run. He calls out to me, begs my audience, and the first question I ask him is why? After all this time, why show up now? Because The Balladeer I knew was too proud to beg, too egotistical to ever admit defeat. So what happened to him in those months?”

Their joined hands pointed to Finch now. Their head was swimming, like it was stuffed with cotton and put on a clamp at the same time. They hung on every word that left the Archon’s mouth, hoping, waiting, for an answer.

“Without his memories, the burden of who he was, he sought to protect you. Even if he came under the guise of wanting to know about his former life, the fact remains that he only left when you got hurt.”

Silence. It festered like an unattended wound, split like skin.

“I believe reform to be the best option here, because with you he was a better person. Now, you don’t need to be fearful of me, I won’t smite you for caring about someone. I may not understand your reasonings for why either of you might deserve judgment, but if you do not mind me asking, why?”

Because I deserved to be punished, a small voice in their head answered. It was the way of the world, stupid moves get you dead or worse. You try to give someone a second chance at life, a life with you, and they spit it back out at you. You decide to become a little ambitious with your final exam, you’re stuck with something you never wanted to work on in the first place. You try and stop someone from disappearing through your fingers, beg them to stay, chase after them. You ignore your father’s warnings about the mountain to the south, the one with eternal snow. You freeze to death, lost and al–

Hot tears dotted their lash lines. Finch could not raise their head to see God. And yet as the tears began to pool around the apples of their cheeks, her divine mercy never slipped from their vile, sinful hands. Lord Kusanali continued her ministrations on the back of their palms. It almost felt like God could understand them, share in the weight they carried. It could have been minutes, could have been years, but it had been a minute since Finch had cried like this in front of someone.

The kindness was almost suffocating. It was just what they needed.

And God was there, and she waited with all the patience in the world. After some time, Finch dried their eyes and face on their skirt. They could have stood to cry more, but there was still work to be done. Lord Kusanali gave their hand a final squeeze before allowing them to return to the screen.

…Still extremely distressed, apparently. Lot of power output too, despite being statuary. Just what was going on in there? They searched the subject’s face for any sign of distress, only to find a familiar sight. Oh. Oh, he was crying too. His eyes screwed shut, brows pinched together, and tear stains dotting his porcelain skin like lightning strikes. Despite insisting that he didn’t require sleep, their old roommate would have frequent, distressing nightmares.

Instinctually, their hand reached for his face. Was this still okay? Still something they could do? With a ghost’s touch, Finch attempted to wipe at the tears that spilled from his eyes.

His diagnostics were different this time, parts of his programming that laid dormant during this odd dream-like state was running again. He was waking up. Quickly, Finch snatched their hands away from his face. And before they could coherently inform Lord Kusanali, the subject awoke suddenly with a start. His eyes snapped open, scrambling to sit up despite the cable connected to his brain. Instinctively, Finch sought to reach out and stabilize him, but stopped halfway through.

A vision. He was holding a vision in his hand. Sculpted and encased in silver, wrapped around his palm, was an anemo vision. Finch could not help but openly gawk at it. When their eyes met with the patient, He held himself like when he first woke up, unfocused and shaking. Only this time they weren’t sure if they were allowed to hold him.

There were any number of things they thought about saying once he woke up. Some sardonic, some genuine. Once again, they found their throat dry of words. Finch pointed at their own vision, clipped to their chest via a harness and a string of wooden beads, and said the stupidest possible outcome.

“Oh my gods, we’re matching right now. That’s so embarrassing. One of us should go home and change.”

Chapter Text

Darkness. A senseless void between inanimate and mortality. An ether that was almost dreamlike. But the puppet was animate, not even mortal.

The world around him bled like blood in water, blooming and revealing an impressive pavilion. Pristine architecture, natural lighting, this place was the works. To the doll’s left was the Traveler and his twittering pigeon, recovering from the rather abrupt transition between minds, though he couldn’t bring himself to care about the stragglers. This was the pavilion, the home from his nightmares. Instead of blood red skies, only the rays of pale moonlight graced this damnable home.

And clad in this moonlight was a body, sprawled across the floor. The body was not unlike his own, decorated in milky white and adorned with a deep purple veil. The body was pristine, collecting dust on the floor of this wretched place. The puppet leered closer to the body’s face, finding it to resemble his own. He could never recall looking that serene.

“Woah! Is this you? You looked kinda cute as a kid, what happened?” That annoying fae fuck blathered.

The puppet pushed off the ground and curled a lip at her. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be doing thi–”

The traveler snapped his fingers insistently. With reluctance, the puppet deigned him with his gaze. He was signing rather hastily. His hands laid flat on top of each other, taking the bottom one and placing it on top. It was a rather crude way of saying footsteps. The moment he stopped signing, the puppet really did hear footsteps, wood on wood, rather heavy. A voice cut through the rhythm.

“This place is huge..! Can’t believe the landslide didn’t fill it in.” The voice floated from one of the halls, it would continue musing about the surrounding environment until the person sauntered on in through the corridor.

He was rather tall, with a stocky build, likely from some form of physical exertion. His dark hair was in a standard topknot, the man’s clothes rather plain and unassuming. The puppet watched as the man approached what was supposed to be his body. He seemed…kind.

Katsuragi, the name filled in the blank instantly, finally putting the name at home with its face. Yes, him and Katsuragi were confidants, friends even. He had first woken him up. Gave him life. The name fell from his lips, a whisper.

“You recognize him? Awesome, you’re beginning to remember!” Pigeon cheered.

The puppet’s eyes remained trained on the scene before him. How the body, his body was now awake and bleary, like a newborn deer. Katsuragi was helping him to his feet. The puppet’s hands felt oddly..empty. “Yes, I think I am.. Katsuragi was a good man, looked out for me. It’s a shame things turned out this way for him.”

Because misery was always left in the Puppet’s wake. It was apparent in the stance the Traveler carried, obvious in the way that Argent could not bear to meet the eyes they had once been fond of. Katsuragi was no different, felled by the hands he had sworn fealty to after the Tatarasuna disaster.

The world shifted, foggy like a dream. There was Tatarasuna, there were the people he had only previously known through academic text. And there his former self was, and he was cared for by Tatarasuna’s people. The tender moment could not last though, the stench of electricity and death stained the air. The scene shifted, as if a dark cloud had thundered in and stolen the golden light.

It resembled the beach from his nightmares. The recurring dream that always left him shaking and oh so vulnerable. Upsetting lavender skies, the waves dark as wine. Try as he might, the puppet could not will himself to move. He was petrified, resigned to seeing himself depart from the mouth of Hell, wooden box in hand He watched as his body fell into the sand, wailing like an injured animal. Memories flooded in like a dam breaking, and all at once he remembered every aching detail of Tatarasuna. The apathy that filled him as a result.

The Traveler pulled on his sleeve, hesitantly, as if bracing for an impact that wouldn’t come. With great effort, he turned his head to face the blond. He cocked his head to the side, spelling out O-K with his free hand. Of course he wasn’t okay, but he could deal.

“I’m fine, we still have a lot of ground to cover though.” he brushed off.

Another scene change, now more familiar. The same pavilion, now decrepit and reposing with the same elegance. There was a break in the ceiling, and cobwebs were beginning to colonize all corners of the estate. And there his body was again, holding onto a sickly child’s hand. Poor thing was gaunt, pale as if he had never seen the sun. The child coughed into his hand. Yes of course, two boys that never really had a name. They had lived together, promised that they would live and not die. He watched the body do its damndest to take care of the kid, exhausting himself, even.

He died anyways.

Another betrayal.

Where apathy once lived, a simmering rage grew in its place. Righteous, perfect hatred for a world, an Archon, that never wanted him to begin with. A world that had wronged him from the very start. The scenes changed, and the Puppet found himself more and more unrecognizable. Veils were traded in for hats, white for a distinct violet. He exacted his vengeance with learned malice. Often days he could not recognize himself in the mirror.

Hatred. He had begun to hate the very moment he woke up. Loathing that was built into every inch of circuit and wire and synthetic skin. Hatred for the God who cast him aside like a worthless doll. Hatred for humanity, in all of its impure nature. Hatred for how he too experienced the depths of emotion. If the word Hate was engraved in every centimeter of his skeleton, it would only be a fraction of his rage that he exalted on the world. A never ending spiral of suffering and sickness.

The puppet fell to his knees, failing to notice when rotting wooden floors became stone. It was agonizing, this was agonizing. Four hundred and fifty years worth of suffering was attempting to drill its way into his temporal. His hand met teeth in a desperate attempt to quell the swelling pain in his head. His surroundings dulled, the memories a complete destruction of his senses. He was the Balladeer, he was the eccentric, and yet he felt utterly disconnected from either of those titles. Would he ever feel whole? Would he just continue consuming and consuming and never truly feel lo–

A shrill voice pierced his spiral. “Hello! Earth to former Balladeer! Get it together, we have a giant robot to fight!”

There was a static ring in his ears. He looked to Paimon briefly, why did she look worried? Worried about him? The Puppet had no use for breathing, yet he found himself panting like some dog. He turned to face the source of light in the room, an incomprehensible, imposing robot. That’s right, he was attempting to obtain godhood with that piece of shit machine. Incompetent, hubristic fool. He attempted to shield his eyes from the false corona, only to find now his hand felt..weightier. Cool green light seeped in between his fingers.

A vision, what a joke. Oh well, you have to use the right tool for the job. The doll lunged forward, hands outstretched. The Tempest called to his fingers, swirled at his palms. He raised his hands as if he was a conductor in a symphony of metal on metal. An ant fighting a bear, Heracles against the hydra. He tore into the machine as if he had claws, the raging winds ripping it asunder.

The Traveler was there too, with his sword techniques specialized for his condition. After some observation, the doll noted that the golden boy’s biggest weakness seemed to be the lack of periphery he had. To assist, the Puppet warned of any oncoming attacks via shifting the wind direction. It was methodical, it was deliberate. Fighting alongside the Traveler just wasn’t as invigorating should have been. For all the righteous wrath released by the Puppet’s onslaught, it wasn’t anything like Port Ormos.

The last of the Shoko No Kami was felled like a tree. It crashed unceremoniously into the floor, much like how the Puppet did. For some reason, he could feel a cool breeze across his face, chilling his tear-stained skin. He batted it away with a bored hand.

He looked to the Traveler, had to look him in those hauntingly golden eyes of his. He had to atone for at least one sin. Even if it was just a drop in the bucket. “Traveler, I’m.. I want to apologize for what I did to your friend. The soldiers of Watatsumi island were weak and desperate, and I took advantage of him. Sorry.”

The traveler opened his mouth, raised his hands, and paused. He signed out a hesitant “thank you.”

Paimon was quick to interject. “Woah! Finch really did change you, huh? And here I thought you’d revert to the same person after having your memories restored.”

One thing was still in common: he wanted to punt that pigeon far into the stratosphere. He folded his arms and scoffed. “Whatever, I’m ending this.”

Waking up from a nightmare is easy, you just have to be prepared to hit the floor. The puppet lurched awake, head swimming. He felt a rather hasty tug at the back of his head before coming to in the operating theater. Argent was at his bedside, hands hovering with hesitation. Fuck. How could he look at them, after what he’s learned about himself? Had he not betrayed them too when he left? They opened their mouth and said something, some shitty one liner about his vision. How could their world still be turning after what he did?

“Ah, you three are back. How are you feeling?” Buer enquired.

“Nahida! You won’t believe what happened, it was like we were in a dream! I dunno about emo guy over there, but we got to see views of Inazuma centuries in the past, oh, and towards the end, there was this GIANT Robot, y’know, the one we fo–”

Paimon’s prattling was white noise on the puppet’s ears. Let her bark all she wants, the puppet was far too tired to give a shit. Not when he had 450 years worth of backstory to sift through, to contemplate. He was now weighted with thousands of sins, replacing where hate used to rest. He should have been left to rot in that caravan, it would have been the best possible outcome. Instead he has only caused more torment arou–

There were fingers, warm and calloused, ghosting on the nape of his neck. It took all of his strength to not lean into their touch. The back of his head plate slotted perfectly into place, and he felt freezing the very moment their hands left his hair.

“Do you know who you are yet?” The artificer’s voice was low, a conspiratorial mumble.

He was hatred, he was loneliness. He was only good around them. He was selfish and cruel. He was traitorous. He still had the audacity to want. The gall to want them still. He felt detached, dissociated from his previous life, but that didn’t erase the sins that now weighed on his ankles. He wanted to isolate. He wanted to lean back and pray for embrace. But it was never about what he wanted.

The doll could only dignify them with a headshake, not trusting his own voice. He’d need to save it for later.

“And you,” The Archon of Dendro finally acknowledged his existence. “How are you feeling? You absorbed centuries’ worth of information just now.”

He felt like absolute shit. Nothing a subject change couldn’t fix. “Buer, I wish to speak to Argent, alone.”

It wasn’t lost on his periphery how Argent became as rigid as stone.

“Woah woah woah!” Paimon had the audacity to butt in. “You aren’t going to try anything funny with them, are you?!”

“He’s terrible at telling jokes though..” Finch deadpanned.

God cleared her throat. “Is this regarding what we’ve discussed previously?”

Over the course of a month, Buer had done her damndest to get the Doll to “open up” and “confront his emotions instead of repressing them.” It felt less like he was imprisoned, more like he was at a permanent therapy session. He’d given her very little to work with, but she wasn’t the God of Wisdom on a whim..

Loathe as he was to admit it, he answered, “..yes.”

Buer, the mere infant, smiled brightly. “Wonderful! We will leave you to it then. Paimon, I know you have your reservations about your former enemy, but I believe having these two speak alone will be beneficiary for everyone.”

Paimon was reluctant, looking to the Traveler for assistance, anything to appeal to Her. The blond shrugged noncommittally. “...Fine, but if you hurt them in any way, you’ll feel Paimon’s wrath.”

The Doll crossed his arms. “Oh. Wow. I’m so scared, so intimidated right now.”

Buer ushered the insufferable pair out of the theater, Paimon pouting the whole way through. The Traveler still looked..rather pensive. Though the Puppet had no time to dwell on that, it was now or never to lay his emotions bare.

Argent was..distant. Distant in their stance, with their eyes darting around the room and their arms folded over their chest. It was like they were the moon and he were the tides, drawn to each other, never to meet. But fuck, he had to pull the moon and stars down at their feet. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant their forgiveness. For all the poetic he waxed, his throat felt void of words.

He took a breath, he just had to start out simply. “Finch Argent, I am sorry.”

Chapter Text

Silence hung in the air like rotting meat. Against the operating table, miles away, was Argent. Close enough to talk to, distant enough for them to not hear. Remnants of the Doll’s apology hung on his tongue, a bitter aftertaste that he could not feign swallowing. Their arms were crossed over each other, a singular eyebrow quirked. Before the Doll had a chance to elaborate, they cut in.

“I waited for you, you know.” Argent admitted. “I waited all damn day for you when you left. Until the hotel kicked me out, until all the cops left, damn near until sunset. I waited for you, traitor.”

The doll opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and tried again. “You know I left to ensure your protection, right? I only started cooperating with the Dendro Archon once she confirmed that no harm would come to you.”

Their lip curled, revealing a row of pointed, sharp teeth. The Doll took a step forward. It wasn’t lost on him how their gloves tightened around their forearms. How he longed to be gripped like that once more. How he wanted to see their hands laid bare. Though he was in no position to make demands.

“I know. I know that. It pisses me off.” The Artificer’s voice was low and pointed. The Doll had no blood, could not be affected by the venom from their fangs. And yet, when they looked at him that way, he was paralyzed, helpless even. A feeble warrior against Medusa’s gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious at you. What hurts worse was knowing that you were right.”

They pushed themselves off the table, hands now gesturing wildly. Wrinkles formed and creased their brows. “I know we couldn’t have ran forever. I knew that I couldn’t keep you safe after that. But even so, I just.. I—”

A breath. The Puppet dared to draw closer, just a few more feet. He could see the beads of tears batting at their lashes now. “I’ve just.. I’ve been alone for a long, long time. I used to not mind it, just when I had my father and the mountains as company. But after-- After I buried him, when he told me to go try and seek my own life, I only felt more alien. And then I met you! And you chose me!”

The two moved in sync, not drawing nearer, not pulling away. They circled like wild dogs. The Doll remained silent, clearly they needed this kind of release. If taking their anguish out on him would make them feel better, well, he had endured far worse. They bit the last parts out rhythmically, as if the very syllables were practiced. “It was a week before the news even broke to the public. A week of not knowing where you were, if you were even alive. You didn’t leave a note, Archons’ sake! You didn’t even say goodbye! At least the last person who walked out on me had the decency for that!”

The stale air in the theater seemed to pick up, slowly whip into a cold gale. It rustled the Doll’s clothes and sent his hair swaying. Argent collapsed into a seat in one of the front rows, gloves now obscuring their face. They were right, valid to be upset about that. The only thing he left behind was that yukata, gifted by them. He understood this agony, felt it only minutes before. He strode forward, until he was only three feet from them. The wind wasn’t as bad here, the eye of the storm, perhaps. Fuck, he knelt down. He let his head bow to the floor.

“I now know what that loss feels like. Argent, when I was reclaiming my memories, many people abandoned me, died because of me. I felt now what you’ve been holding onto for months. Finch Argent, I’m sorry to have hurt you like that. I do not expect your forgiveness. I’ll carry that guilt, too.”

A beat of silence. A sigh.

“Get up off the damn floor, you’ll get that kimono dirty.”

Albeit perplexed, the Doll obliged and rose to his feet. Argent stood as well, hopping over the thin wooden half wall that obscured the seats from the operating arena. They were mere inches away from each other now. Argent’s hands paused, as if they were calculating if this was even okay to do. Their gloves ghosted over his kimono, dusting where it met the floor. It took all of the Puppet’s self control to not lean into their touch, however subtle. The wind was dying down now, more in line with the tides’ pull.

And oh, The Doll could see their face fully. The hard lines that contoured under their eyes, the terse set of their jaw. Even their skin wasn’t as luminous as it should have been. Under the washed-out, sterile lights, it looked as if the blood was drained out of them. Funny, a pair of cadavers in a theater. Acting as if either of them were truly human. Now it was his turn to hesitate.

Time marched on like molasses. The Doll’s hand crept to the side of Argent’s face, coming to cup the apples of their cheeks. Warm, they were always warm. Like a campfire’s glow, like there were hot coals just beneath their rough, hardened skin. His skin would never know callouses, never bear the same wear that theirs will. He was but a moth to a lantern, the way he wanted to draw closer. Be swallowed the way an avalanche swallows a mountain.

“I can forgive you for leaving,” Argent hummed, “if that loosens the load for you.”

“But can you reconcile who I was before we met, the monster that I was?”

Their eyes searched his face, pulling towards the ground. The Doll could feel how their feet shifted against the cold tile. “Wanna know how I knew to bite that one guy, all the way back in Port Ormos? Why I really stopped hanging around Mondstadt City?”

His head tilted, wondering how this was at all relevant. But fuck, if they were willing to give up any memory, any part of them, he’d lap it up like some dog. To his dismay, Argent pulled away from his grasp. Remnants of their skin tingled against his palms. They took a finger between their teeth, tearing one glove free from their hand. With their still clothed one, they motioned for him to sit back on the operating table.

He obliged, they paced all the way back towards the stands. Despite how hesitant, small their voice was, their words echoed through the hall like the words of God. A choir in a cathedral.

“I was around fourteen I think, about two years after I—” They held up their naked hand for him to see. “Well, froze to death. It’s true, parents did not want their kids around me. They thought that my ‘offputting demeanor’ and ‘my unsightly hands and eyes’ meant I was some demon that took Little Finch’s place. The way those kids back at the village avoid me? That’s essentially how it was.”

They began to pace, gesturing with their clothed hand for emphasis. “But worse was when I was paid attention to. I never really told Pops how bad it was, but the other kids would throw like, rocks and yell and all that shit at me. I dealt with it okay, didn’t go out much anyhow, but one day…”

They held up a string of painted wooden beads, connected to their vision and harness. He couldn’t make out the intricacies from this distance, but it had clearly always been worn with love. “This kid, she had malice in those eyes. Grabbed me by this necklace and tried to choke me. Told me to go back to Hell.” They paused, letting their fingers graze their Adam’s Apple. “I uh, I bit her arm. She was in a coma for a day. Never went back, got too scared.”

Their face bore the same expression it did back on that bench, overlooking the canal. Despite the upturned corners of their lips, Finch simply was so sad, so regretful. Their remorse hung heavy on their form like packed snow. They slipped the glove back on, much to the Doll’s dismay.

“...What does this have to do with anything?” He voiced, a deflection.

Finch shrugged, pacing through the aisles. “One of my biggest regrets was biting her. Sure, she was trying to hurt me, and I hated her for that. Still, as the years go by, I wish I apologized, made it up to her, showed her that I wasn’t the devil she thought I was. I don’t really have a chance like that now, Archons only know where she is. You, However?”

They paused their pacing to face him. He could never reconcile the image of Finch as this devil, this monster. Devils wouldn’t look at him the way they did. They wouldn’t bother cutting his hair, or cooking meals from his homeland. Monsters didn’t buy him new clothes or wipe his tears after a nightmare. Is that why Finch only chose to see what little, rotten good he had stashed away? Because they too could not see the other as monstrous?

“You can still make things right,” Finch continued, approaching him slowly, “there’s hope for you yet.”

They stopped five feet short of him, hands clasped behind their back. Their worn leather boots creaked as their weight shifted. What was making them so shy all of the sudden? He raised a bored brow at them. “What’s got your tongue?”

“Well,” They drug the Ls out behind their teeth, “while you were asleep, Lord Kusanali and I had a little talk. She talked a little about how you were before we met, how you were a completely different person when you sought her presence. The Lord thinks that recovery is the best option for you. I’m certain she has plans for you to lighten your load, metaphorically.”

It was true, how different he was now. Kunikuzushi would never seek approval from a mortal. The Balladeer would never concede to his weakness, his emotions. He was too proud to beg, too arrogant to admit defeat. The Doll, however, had lost his divinity, his memories, his closest confidant, everything. He had been struck down. And now he was before a mortal, divine to his visage. He thought none of revenge or retribution. He sought to close the distance between the moon and the waves.

“And what about you? What’s going to happen when we leave this room?” The Doll did his damndest to keep his voice even. Archons forbid that he ever show his desperation.

“I’m...not sure. I don’t hold any ill will against you, I just—” Why would they not meet his gaze? Their words came out slowly, enunciating every syllable. “I’m scared that you’ll leave me, too.”

It was as if he’d been struck by lightning. His eyes widened, realizing just how much of himself he could see in them. Of course, of course this was the case. He was foolish to not see it, how Finch too had been left behind by whom they beloved. Recognition in the self by the other. Fuck, fuck. He knew not who he was, what man he wanted to be, but he knew that he wanted to be beside them then. For as long as the moon hung in the sky, for as long as the pair’s secondhand hearts beat.

The Doll rose from the table, hastily stumbling his way like a newborn deer. He was newly born, he’d been around far too long. And for the only person he would ever admit doing it for, he took a knee. He knelt before the mortal who became divine and the divinity within a mortal body. And they were staring down at him, their brows furrowed in puzzlement. Achingly slow, he took their fist in his hand, and let his forehead brush against their knuckles.

”Finch Argent, the Archons do so and so to unto me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee.” The Doll quoted, fully aware of the weight of his words. With deliberate, shaking hands, he removed the worn black fabric from Argent’s hand. Their hand was bare to him again, rough and calloused and scarred and full of life. He touched his lips to the blackened fingertips, as if he were kissing a tyrant’s ring.

Above him, Finch’s mouth hung open in a near perfect “o.” Their eyes as wide and unblinking as an owl’s. They didn’t have the heart to tell him that they could not feel a thing in their fingers anymore, but the gesture was more than enough to bring a glow to their face and ears. They brought their bare hand to rest against the Doll’s face, aware of just how he leaned into their touch.

“I-- You don’t really mean all that, right?” Finch wasn’t used to their companion being so...brazen. Was Lord Kusanali right? Had they changed him to such an extent? He was affectionate sometimes, sure, but usually he would be distant aft--

The Doll’s hand ghosted over their own, gazing up at them with pure adoration. Archons, don’t look at me like that, They thought. His hands had seen centuries of hardship, with hardly any marks to show for it. He had meant it, he had meant every word. They would never be free of each other now. Their thumb grazed his cheekbone, the Doll was practically pliant under their touch. They willed him to stand, breaths apart. Their hand moved from his face to the nape of his neck, and their lips brushed against his forehead.

“I think it’s about time we crawl out of this tomb, huh? Don’t want the others to think we’re up to something.” Finch’s voice was impish now, their lips ticked up in a playful smile.

The Doll rolled his eyes. “If you insist.”

And they left the theater together, hand in naked hand. The Traveler and God were at the pistil of the chamber, enshrouded by its peculiar metal cage. The pair descended upon the center of the web. Lord Kusanali eyed their joined hands and shot a knowing look at the Doll, who used his free hand to pull at his eye. God was amused.

“Oh! You two are finally done. Paimon was beginning to worry.” The twittering pest just had to open her mouth. He could not understand how cheery Finch seemed at her.

“Oh you should be, Finch and I are plotting up some rather heinous crimes to commit.” The Doll teased, enjoying how tense the blond became.

“No, we really weren’t.” They deadpanned.

The Traveler responded by placing his pointer finger and middle finger to his chin before curling it back towards his fist. Both the Doll and Paimon scoffed at him. Finch tried to look to Lord Kusanali for assistance, but she only leered at them with a knowing smile.

“Now, now, enough teasing. Mx. Argent, I’d like to thank you once more for your assistance today. I know that he is in good hands with you around.” God spoke evenly. “If it is not too much trouble, I would like for you to keep your eye on him for me. He has much to make up for still, but I think with you pushing him the right way, he’ll see improvements in no time.”

Finch’s head tilted to one side. “When you say, ‘keeping an eye on him..’”

“Nahida wants you to babysit him, thinks you’re good for putting him in his place.” Paimon interrupted, earning a glare from her companion.

If Lord Kusanali was upset at this outburst, she made no show of it. “Bluntly put, yes. Though Paimon, dear, you do have to be careful about speaking out of turn.” Paimon deflated. “I just think it would be nice to have someone with a more..human touch around him?”

Finch blinked once, twice. Their hand twitched under the Doll’s hold. Them, human? Oh no, surely the Lord must be mistaken. No, no, they had little experience with being human. The very thought felt alienating. “..me? You think I’m fit for the job?”

As if sensing their apprehension, Lord Kusanali flashed an encouraging smile. “Of course! You have prior experience when it comes to living with him. I might even come to you for advice.”

“Wow, the god of wisdom coming to me for advice..” They mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed upon realizing they voiced their thoughts. The God of Wisdom seemed elated at this outburst.

“But of course! I am the God of Wisdom, not omnipotence. And as such, I am always willing to engage in unfamiliar knowledge, to soak it up like a sponge!”

So this was it, this is how everything would play out once they left the theatre. Finch’s head felt faint, swimming in the sheer absurdity. Though, no part of their life wasn’t absurd at this point. It only made sense that a God would ask someone not even mortal for a crash course on the human experience. As if doubting the asinine nature of their reality, Finch shot a glance at their intertwined fingers, at the delicate weight between their palm. Yes, of course this was real, as real as the heart in their Doll’s chest. As real as their own heart.

Finch turned to their companion, eyes searching for consent, for confirmation. Sure, the rather romantic stunt he had pulled back there was not lost on their tugged heartstrings, but was this really, surely, truly what he wanted? As if reading their mind, he nodded nonchalantly. They flashed him a real, genuine smile. The kind where all their fanged teeth were present and parts of their gum on display. The one that pushed their cheeks all the way into their big, dumb, calf-round eyes.

“Your Grace, I would be honored to do such a thing for you, such an act for him.” They replied, then faced their confidant once more. ”May Lord Kusanali forbid me that I forsake your presence, for where you go, I will also be.”

Paimon looked to her own companion with a rather puzzled face. The blond was no better, hesitantly signing out “wedding...vow?” The moment his open hand met his fist, Paimon looked as if she had seen a ghost. Archons, her skin was as pale as her hair. She whipped around to Finch with a start, wildly gesturing with her cute little hands. It was kind of like watching a startled fox or raccoon.

“Woah woah woah, hold on a second! Just what did you two get up to in there to be saying...things like that?! Don’t tell me you’re in love this.. this..ugh! Paimon doesn’t even have the words to describe you!”

“That’s none of your business.” The Doll deadpanned.

Finch tipped their head back and laughed. “Oh, Paimon, it’s okay, really. I do love him, yes. I’m not sure how I should, but we’ve cared for each other through thick and thin.”

The Sanctuary descended into Babel at their words, and the rest of the day was mostly dedicated to the God of Wisdom wrangling four unruly children. In the end, marching orders were given, details were compromised, and Finch went home with a lighter feeling in their chest.

It started out slow, just meeting up after classes and strolling around the gardens. They would prattle on about their day, their current projects, and the surrounding fauna. All to a willing and listening ear. Sometimes their friend would talk, mostly about the kind of programs Lord Kusanali was trying to get him interested. Finch did their best to consider his words. Sometimes they would just lean against the railing, admiring the scenery from so far up.

In the interim, the Traveler did his damndest trying to teach a rather uncooperative doll in the ways of wielding anemo. Though between their more than loaded history and his looming trip to Fontaine, training was a bit..hectic. Especially once he learned that he could use his vision to fly.

After a month or two, some volunteering programs did end up clicking for him. Finch was at his side for that as well. Surprisingly, most programs he signed up were helping to take care of children. And he was...surprisingly good with kids? Finch was admittedly a little hesitant to come along, but after a lot of bribes convincing, they mustered up the courage to go with. Maybe it was their tendency to catastrophize, maybe it was because they were used to kids being afraid of them. At first, they simply loomed over their compatriot like an ill-fitting shadow, helping him stock first aid kicks and preparing snacks.

Another month goes by, in between projects and volunteer hours, The Lord permitted Finch’s companion to stay with them. Auntie was delighted to have her favorite tenant back in the neighborhood. Though admittedly any waggling eyebrows or too-wide grin had Finch clasping at their burning ears. She’d prod at them, insisting that the indigo-haired boy make a move and put a ring to their gloved finger. Finch wanted to die again if it meant getting out of that.

It wasn’t all bad though. Hell, it was nice having a roommate again. The house didn’t feel homely without the whirring of his exhaust fans or the slight, radioactive sound his electric heart sung in. It didn’t matter if it was a late night cramming, or an early evening dinner, as long as he was in arm’s reach, Finch felt at ease. It mattered not if they had matching rings on their fingers or were courting each other. What mattered was how his fans sped up when Finch kissed the crown of his head. It was important how he’d leave water and snacks out whenever study sessions would run too late. And it was valuable how they’d cloak themselves in shadow, racing to the top of that knoll and blowing wind into each other’s faces the whole way. Nothing was more valuable than the view of the night sky and the city and the falling water with a partner by your side.

The wind would lap at their skin like the tides’ waves. An expansive sea of stars blanketing their world. Distantly, Finch couldn’t help but wonder about what they’d do when the school year ended. Return to Mondstadt, remain here? Their friend could surely not leave the country safely.. But when the air just wasn’t the same cool, balmy breeze that their home country could offer.

“Will you be okay if I return to Mondstadt for the summer?”They asked, their voice rather sheepish.

Their partner gazed at them thoughtfully, the moon’s light kissing his form. “Oh please, you couldn’t bear being away from me for a few months. If anything, you’ll be crawling back to Sumeru before summer’s end.”

A swift punch to his ridiculously plated shoulder. Damn the metal his bones were made of. “You didn’t fare much better, you looked like a lost kitten when I showed up.”

The conversation quickly devolved into a teasing match, but its sentiment still rang true. And when summer did roll around, Finch was quick to become a blubbering mess over him. His hands smoothed over the length of their coat, muttering hushed promises about keeping the lights on until their return. They had given him a memento, a token for their return. The brightly colored wooden beads looked a bit out of place on his otherwise plain clothes, but hey, it brightened him up a bit. He too had hung a parting gift from their vision, a gilded golden feather. Not distance, not borders, not even death could rip them away from each other, not entirely. Because wasn’t that love too? Allowing someone to touch you, to irrevocably change who you are?

The moon would soon rise again, and the tides, mad envious, only wants their lunatic luster.