Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Misfortune was a strange thing. Born from chance, rising from the depths of the unknown, it was the tool that disrupted. Broke empires, shattered kingdoms, ruined plans.

And just like that, the Abyss had felt it. 

It’d been days. Days since its plans marched forward, goals pursued rapidly. Alberich had led the charge, Khaenri’ah’s remnants mobilized, twisted in pursuit of vengeance. The tendrils of chaos had taken root, their ends worming deeper through the surface.  

It’d been glorious. 

Inch by inch, it seeped through the cracks, the beacon of celestial oversight floating above—waiting, watching. It’d been a strange experience, its taunts met with silence, the forces occupying heaven’s thrones left still. An eerie happening, one that made even the Abyss pause hesitantly. 

Five-hundred years ago, it had met Celestia’s wrath. The heavens wreaked havoc upon Khaenri’ah, bringing about destruction on an unprecedented scale. Catching the Abyss in the crossfire, the Archons had shattered its encroaching influence, piece by piece. And yet, five survived. The Sinners. Unbroken, unpunished, unseen. And so,  the Abyss sulked for years, strength weaned by divine intervention. 

Now, to be met with silence when an even greater catastrophe was looming was… quite unexpected. 

And despite progress, power regained slowly through centuries, recent setbacks had proven fatal. The malfunction of the Loom of Fate, further hindrance in Mondstadt, enemies kept at bay. Each one added to the pile, each yet another thread unraveling before it could be pulled taught. A series of unexpected variables thrown into mix. 

The Abyss couldn’t control everything. Power was malleable. Controllable. But it came with its own limits. Fate always controlled the ending; the only thing it could do was simply nudge it. 

Schemes decades in the making, now no better than severed tendons. Useless, disconnected. Dangerously stretched thin, reconstructing plans would require far too much time and manpower—two things that it didn’t have, even in these opportune circumstances. 

Restoring power in Mondstadt meant suffocating the influence of Alberich’s son. A thread tugged too hard, and the whole weave would snap. Blood was thicker than water, and in a time of jeopardy, the Abyss Order’s leader couldn’t be trusted. Not with everything on the line. 

Perhaps, there was… another option. An unorthodox one, something that even it thought was unlikely. 

If power were stretched thin here, then it would reach elsewhere. Into the void. Across worlds. As the Descenders once had. 

Such an action was costly. The Abyss knew it. Funneling power into other forces was one thing, but breaching the very fabric of reality was another. Externalizing forces transformed their sources, leaving unwashable stains, especially on this magnitude.  

And so, it allows it to be awashed in darkness. Claim the power tit needed. Waiting. And finally, it feels a pulse of life, a flare flashing amidst emptiness. 

And it pulls. 

The unwitting creature doesn’t even notice. The swirling coils had already embedded themselves in its flesh, mental barriers worn away. And when the barriers finally shattered, its power flowed into it like a flood.

It didn’t even have a chance to scream. 

A harsh whisper enters the creature’s ears, panic and fear soothed away by the grating voice. Its sense of struggle was gone, fading away into the night. For a moment, it stands there, reddish-black flames flickering near its fingers, silence behind the intimidating mask. 

The monster raises its hand.
Flowing into the air, the Abyss’ dark power remains lazily suspended, floating without care. The air is darker, harsher, reminiscent of the depths the Abyss had emerged from. A moment later, the monster’s fist suddenly tightens, the fog expanding before rapidly fading away.
And then, it tears. 

The air in front of it rips open, revealing the depths of darkness, even amidst the silver glow of moonlight. The Abyss Herald’s hand relaxes, releasing something that had coalesced from the remaining haze. It was a small object, one faintly noticeable in the gloom of the night. A sigil attached to a silver chain, dark runes etched into a surface humming with ominous power. 

It cocks its head slightly at the sight. It studied it in silence, simply watching. Certainty wasn’t something the Abyss could ever guarantee. That wasn’t its role. But the raw strength emanating ahead was palpable, delicious even.  

The controlled Herald leans ahead, feeling itself awash with foreign sensation. 

It shudders. 

This one was powerful. 

A world strong enough to rival its own strength. An opportunity to drag sympathetic forces, make deals, bring chaos. 

And if it failed here, there was always another opportunity. Another world. 

It was a shame that such an event had come to fruition. But depending on one plan ensured failure. Contingencies were required. In the case that Alberich would fail, the Abyss couldn’t face another loss—not after so long. 

So be it. The beginning had come again. 

Talulah doesn’t know how long it’s been—weeks, maybe months. Time lost all meaning out here, swallowed by the endless white of the Ursan tundra, where one mile bled into the next until the frost became her only companion. All she knows is that it’s been a lifetime since Nine shattered the walls of Rhodes Island and dragged her back into the world. 

Before that, there had been a room. A cell, really. Three walls of gray, reinforced and inescapable. The fourth: a pane of glass, transparent and cruel, showing her everything she couldn’t touch. Freedom was right there. And yet, for all those days—weeks—she had been a specimen behind glass, a monster behind a window. 

But now, she was free. 

Behind her, hundreds of miles away, her prison continues on. The huge landship, the one that had protected her in its own twisted way, chased destiny. Ahead, past the bleeding orange horizon, he awaited. 

Kashchey. 

Her teeth ground together, fingers clenched. Crimson flickers of flame stir around her, burning through the frost, rust-colored ground peeping through ice. Cool water seeps through her boots, the sensation ignored as memories flood in. A hand raised in defiance, a warm and cozy home, a series of injustices that stirred the fire within. 

In this escape, perhaps fate had given her another chance. A final attempt to atone for her sins.  

But was it really atonement she wanted? Or just the clean, cathartic end of a blade in the right heart, a chance to unwrite the things she’d done?  

No. She knew better. Yet part of her still believed that killing him might make everything quieter. That if his voice stopped, maybe the echo of his teachings inside her would, too. 

Even after this time, standing upon frost-ridden ground felt surreal. There wasn’t any reason why Reunion, led by Nine, had broken her out of prison. Not after what she’d done. Not after turning on them, sacrificing them, slicing them down as their backs turned towards her. She’d be carrying those souls to her grave. It was no more than she deserved. And no matter how much she’d tried to justify it, tell herself that she didn’t deserve it, that reminder stung sharply like frost against skin. 

Whatever she had done, she had done alone. Nobody deserved to be blamed. Not the Ursan villagers. Not the persecutors of the Infected. Not Kashchey himself. They’d just pushed her, placed the bait. She’d been the one to take it. 

He didn’t force her. He didn’t need to. The voice in her head, the cold, precise logic that slithered in her mind had always sounded like him. And back then, she’d believed it. Maybe a part of her still did.  

Talulah had made mistakes. Nothing could reverse the pain, the death, the loved ones who had lost their lives. They were permanent marks, ones that would be branded to her very soul. 

And yet, she could break away from Kashchey. Sever the last ties, banish those remnants of history. He’d carved those twisted words into her bones, raised her to be a tool, and called it a harsh reality. And now, she’d use it. Everything he’d given to her, every cruel lesson against him. Let him see what his monster had become. 

Perhaps, Ursus would finally be freed from the cycle of pain. Nobody would ever have to fall. Not like her anymore. She would be the last. 

Kashchey’s end was approaching. And Talulah would be carrying out his execution. 

She was coming. 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t exactly Kaeya’s idea of a peaceful afternoon. One moment, he was sipping wine beneath the roof of Good Hunter; the next, a dazed pigeon barreled straight into his table, wings flailing, feathers bursting into the air like flurries of snow. His plate followed soon after—flipped clean off the table, clattering to the stones below in a tragic arc of meat and sauce.

He could only yelp, giving a tragic leap backward. 

By the time he reorients himself, Kaeya’s chair had toppled backwards, momentum having carried it towards the ground. His eyes flicker towards the floor, and the sight only elicits a groan. 

Great, four hundred moras’ worth of food wasted. 

He gives a mournful look at the skewers lying below, now covered with dirt, braised meat, and vegetables left exposed to the environment. The delicious wine marinade had left the stone tiles stained, and the plate on which it was served was now shattered, millions of shards lying flat. 

Glancing nearby, he can feel the weight of concerned gazes upon him as bystanders watch the scene. He knows exactly what they’re thinking. That Cavalry Captain, always getting into trouble. Kaeya lifts a hand, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. A silent reassurance; he wasn’t hurt. Only his pride. “Nothing to see here.” 

His eyes flicker toward the table, catching sight of the twitching bird, feathers scattered across the table. Kaeya’s eyes narrow. So this was responsible for the accident. His fingers hover over the bird, poised to shoo it off , then pauses.  Something’s tied to its foot. A scrap of parchment, wrinkled and clumsily knotted. A message. 

Kaeya’s fingers scrabble against the paper’s surface, finally clutching onto a thin wire. Pulling the cord free, the message rapidly unfurls, bolded letters leaping up at him. His eyes flick once toward the onlookers. Then, the paper moves closer to his chest, his posture all ease, but his gaze kept sharp. 

One breath later, it’s folded and gone, buried in his pocket. 

He straightens, body pointed towards the street , then freezes, the door to Good Hunter slamming open. A figure storms through, red-brown hair flying behind her. Sara. Her eyes dart across the crowd, wide with surprise. Then, they find him. 

Her gaze drops to the scattered skewers next to his feet.

Sara bolts across the square, boots striking the stone with haste. A moment later, she’s mere feet away from the commotion, hands hesitantly poised above the glass shards scattered around him. A look upward, eyes filled with concern.
“Captain Kaeya,” she breathed, her voice sharp, lined with worry and disbelief, “what happened?” Her eyes are wide with surprise. People of his status rarely dined at Good Hunter, those men and women typically ate at more prestigious locations. And that mess near his feet was something that needed to be resolved. 

Acting on instinct, she reached for the edge of the tablecloth, fingers curling around the fabric as she prepared to kneel and begin gathering the ruined remains of his lunch. She didn’t get the chance. Kaeya’s hand lifted slightly—not a command, but a suggestion, poised and smooth, fingers angled just enough to catch her motion mid-thought. 

There was no sharpness to that action, no edge. But it stopped her all the same. 

“I got it,” he says, lifting a finger toward his lips, a flicker of amusement playing across his features. His fingers wrap around the skewers’ handles, warm flesh against cold steel. A faint squelch emerged as he lifted it from the stone. His smile tightened, jaw ticking as the sticky marinade coats his hands. That would take a while to clean. “A gentleman should clean up his mess.” 

“Let me at least help,” Sara offers, already moving. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, hair falling across her cheek as she leans in. Her hand slides across the table, searching. At last, porcelain brushes against her fingers. Got it. The surface is cold, but that didn’t matter. She lifts the plate, places it beside Kaeya, and lets him offload what remains of his ruined meal. “Please, let us cover it. I’ll have a replacement out right away.” 

“Oh,” A sheepish smile crosses his face, unblemished fingers running through navy-blue hair. He glances downward, checking for anything else, something catching his eye. A shard of porcelain stuck to his coat. He narrows his eyes, unlodging the sharp piece before disposing of it, eyes then meeting hers. “The generosity is appreciated, but I’m quite… busy. Perhaps next time?” 

His eyes wander, catching the shape of something, the sight making his eye twitch with amusement. “Though, perhaps… I might need to reimburse you for that .” 

Sara turns around, the motion hesitant. It’s only then that she notices the wooden chair, splintered into pieces, lying on the floor. 

Her mouth opens slightly, words forming at the tip of her tongue. Just as she’s about to turn around, the feeling of something cool enters her hand, metal clinking against metal. Fingers close reflexively, the woman freezes when metal touches her skin. But before she can push the hand away, his fingers clasp around, sealing the gift in her hand. 

“Think of this as a small donation.” He flashes her a wink, then taps two fingers to his temple before turning. She’s left blinking, one hand still clutching the coin in her palm. By the time her voice catches up with her thoughts, he’s gone, cape fluttering, silhouette swallowed by the mid-afternoon crowd. 

The ground under his feet feels solid. Cold, present, stabilizing . Something that didn’t nearly describe his afternoon as he wanted it to. 

Releasing a sigh, Kaeya reaches towards his trousers’ pocket. The hole is wide, deep, forcing him to rummage through its contents. A brush of flesh against soft parchment, fingers scrabbling around it. At last, there it was. 

Unraveling the note, he squints, one hand shielding his eye from the sun’s glare. His brow furrows slightly. For the Knights of Favonius’ Deputy Grandmaster to convene a meeting, the outcomes were worrying. Either something serious had occurred, which wasn’t surprising considering recent circumstances, or he’d have to spend less time at Angel’s Share.

Knowing her, it’d be the latter. Of course. 

Regardless, given Mondstadt’s relationship with the Fatui had deteriorated in recent years, Kaeya had expected the former. The Fatui were always busy sticking their fingers where they didn’t belong. And lately, they hadn’t been subtle about it. Picking up on whispers he’d caught on near Goth Grand Hotel, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were responsible. 

But he could think about that later. Jean had called him for a reason. 

The route is familiar to him. Stone-paved streets, winding pathways, sloped staircases. Each familiar sight a landmark within the city upon Cider Lake. He pushes forward, pace kept relentless, the steady thud of feet against the granite marking his journey.

At last, standing at the edge of the staircase, hand kept stabilized against the rail, Kaeya sees it. The imposing structure stands ahead, polished bricks and turquoise roofs reaching towards the sky. Far beyond his reach, their flag flutters in the afternoon sky, coat of arms marked with a golden glow from the overhead sun. 

Even now, the sight made something curl in his chest—a weight, a pride, a distance he couldn’t quite name. Service molded that loyalty, those feelings, the presence of a weight demanding compensation in turn. One that he was happy to pay back. 

His palm clenches, sharp fingernails digging into the flesh. He can only wince at the feeling. Whatever would happen, he couldn't control the outcome—only the reaction. And so, he approaches the set of red double doors, patient, waiting to see it through. The Grand Master had been waiting for him; that wasn’t a trust he planned to break. 

Boots clicking against the checkered floor, Kaeya moves with haste. The Knights’ headquarters was always gorgeous—gold-plated images, polished granite tiles—but his summoning took precedence. It always did. No matter how opulent the coat of arms or disarming the potted plants were, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

Towards his right, the Cavalry Captain spots Wyratt and Wood flanking the corridor, each rigid, spears in hand. He simply raises a hand at them, receiving a greeting in response. His gaze drifts toward Wood, and his brow arches at the sight. The tired Knight’s back had straightened, whatever slouch that had remained eliminated. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, a faint echo of a soft smile.

It only grows bigger when his eye flickers towards the closed door, a series of small pops resounding in the background. Heh. Klee must have ended up in solitary confinement. Again . That girl had quite a penchant for explosives. At this rate, that room essentially served as her private property. 

Moving ahead, his hand grips the railing, climbing the final stairs towards the second floor. A verge down the hallway leads to Jean. Her old office waited ahead, left unclaimed after Varka’s departure. With him gone, she’d filled those boots—capably, Kaeya had to admit. 

He reaches towards the door, clenched fist knocking against the hardwood. A pause. Silence. Kaeya leans in, tilting his head slightly. Another knock. This time, it's met with more silence. He sighs, already dreading what he might find inside.. It looked like he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Twisting the knob, he’s rewarded with the smooth squeaking of hinges, anticipating Jean’s presence. 

He stops short. The sight knocks the rhythm from his step.  

Papers blanketed the carpet—official reports, loose notes, correspondence scribbled with unreadable haste. Eye drifting around to catch a flicker of blond, his gaze catches sight of Jean beneath the desk. Crouching low, she’d been gathering what she could from the ruin, trying to restore order to what had once been a meticulously kept workspace. 

“This is quite the surprise,” he remarks, leaning against the wall, hands folded against his chest. Cocking his head slightly, he watches Jean’s gaze bore into his own before moving ahead. Helping others in such mundane ways wasn’t his usual brand of heroics, but he could manage. 

With a hand offered, the woman shoves a stack of papers into his palm, her fingers clasping around his own. Satisfied, he places them upon her desk, leaning against the chair she once occupied. He smirks. “I don’t recall you mentioning your office had a thing for storms.” 

Jean immediately sighs, planting a hand across her face. A moment later, her fingers part, revealing stormy-blue eyes boring into his own. The determination is still there, filling her gaze, but it’s marked with a tinge of discomfort. Fatigue, perhaps. Not an emotion Jean readily revealed, no matter how big her workload was. 

“I was organizing official reports…” she remarks, tone kept snappy. A little harsher than usual. She immediately winces, closing her eyes before meeting his gaze, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. Her hands fiddle behind her back. For a moment, Kaeya sees her as she once was; new to the post, barely hiding her panic behind polished manners. “Sorry, I’m just… tired.” 

“...”

“...”

“So, about the message you sent…”  

“You got it?”

“Yeah, that damn bird crashed into my meal at Good Hunter” he mutters under his breath, slight bitterness entering his tone. His stomach growls, memories of those meaty skewers making his mouth water. 

Jean can only bite back a laugh. A pigeon crashing into the Cavalry Captain’s meal? Hilarious. But the smile doesn’t fully reach her eyes, a hollowness still there within. It’s not difficult to ignore. 

“... Fatui?” Kaeya interjects, drawing out the word slowly. Might as well take a shot in the dark. And who better than those diplomatic parasites, worming their way throughout Teyvat? 

A breath released into the air, this one quick. The woman can only nod, blonde hair bobbing up and down.  

“It’s a long story…” Jean replies, lips kept pursed. She continues to stare soullessly ahead, fingers twitching.  

He can only raise an eyebrow in response. 

“But to keep it short, a Knight caught wind of something unusual in the wilderness. When a reconnaissance team showed up, there was nothing. No trace of the object left, the wilderness kept untouched.”

Kaeya can only nod. 

“A couple of days later, an adventurer caught sight of the object, pulsing with ominous energy. According to his report, a group of Fatui diplomats had followed the strange object, and the incident was cross-checked through our database.” 

Intrigued, Kaeya leans forward, arms folded.  

“Confirming its earlier sighting, a patrol made its way towards a caravan stop near Port Dornman.  But when they arrived, there were no signs of life. Only corpses, buried three feet underground, untouched. No signs of injury. It’s as if they simply collapsed and died .” 

"Shit," Kaeya whispers, his eyes flickering with anxiety. His fingers drum against his thigh, the man left lost in thought. Discovering corpses was one thing. The victims associated with the Fatui? An easy excuse for those bastards to take control. “And the sigil?” 

"Gone," Jean whispered, brow creased in worry. Covering her face with both hands, she lets a sigh escape her lips, the sound left drawn out. "After the corpses were discovered, trade was redirected towards other stations under a made-up excuse. But for some reason, the Fatui caught wind of the incident and demanded the scene to be revealed.”

“Fucking hell,” Kaeya mutters under his breath, running his hands through his hair. After dealing with Durin, keeping monsters and the Fatui alike at bay, he didn’t like the sound of this. More work for him. But on a darker note, it wouldn’t be hard for those snakes to pin their diplomats’ deaths upon the Knights, especially not with the cover-up. 

“All contact with Port Dornman has been silenced. The only things leaving the port are goods and approved letters. You understand how whispers spread like wildfire—containment is the only possibility now.”

“At least we have the witness, right?”

Jean just stares at him, voice kept muted. 

Kaeya can only curse under his breath. The absence of witnesses meant there was no point of reference. And the Fatui, being devilish figures, enjoyed taking advantage of weaknesses. A cut here, a slice here, and a thousand times later, their prey would be left helpless. That was how they operated. 

Regardless, whatever had occurred explained why his contacts remained unresponsive. Even after sending messages for about a week, there had been no response. 

“He’s gone. Dead. An unknown body was fished from the bay yesterday night, no signs of struggle.” The woman murmurs under her breath. She looks weary, with the lines of exhaustion etched upon her face, the darkening bags under her eyes—all unlike the determined Gunnhildr he’d known. “The signs point to suicide, but friends of the victim mentioned he was never suicidal. In fact, he feared death. When the Knights attempted to reference records, all of them had been wiped. Someone doesn’t want the truth to surface.” 

Leaning against her desk, Kaeya can only rock back and forth, thoughts rapidly flashing through his mind. Death. Destruction. Manipulation. All three cards in his playing deck. He had to admit that the Fatui maneuvered this situation perfectly. He didn’t respect them, but that was something he had to give them. 

“They’re demanding that Mondstadt provide compensation,” Jean whispers softly under her breath. “There have been allegations that the Knights are responsible for this entire situation. No inspections have been run either, the Fatui arguing that any provided evidence must have been tampered with.” 

Kaeya’s eye narrows. 

She exhales, voice low. “There’s a reason why the Knights haven’t been in an uproar. Information has only been shared with a few senior members. You’re only the second person Varka authorized to know about this.” 

The last of her words softened by the end, tapering into a whisper not meant to be spoken again. 

Kaeya doesn't move. Not at first. He stands in the middle of that paper-strewn office, skin marked golden by the streaming sunlight, but all warmth is gone. His eye searches hers, as if trying to find a lie, a flicker of doubt, anything that would let him discard the weight she just placed on his shoulders. 

Nothing comes. 

The silence between them stretches. And then, quietly, he whispers two words. 

“Why me?” 

It’s not the Kaeya the city knows. Not the smirking silhouette draped in charms and riddles. The softer one emerges, voice hushed, as if the words were dragged from somewhere deeper. “Why would Varka trust me? Surely there would be better alternatives…”

He watches her, gaze focused upon her blue eyes. Tension fills the air. 

Then, something warm presses into him. The heat of a body, a quick embrace that seemed to last longer than expected. A moment later, she pulls away, though her hands continue resting upon his shoulders.

“Kaeya,” she whispers under her breath. “You’re dependable. A shining example of what being a Knight of Favonius means. Grandmaster Varka is occupied on the border, and I’m busy dealing with governing Mondstadt. Your subtle, Kaeya. You see what others don’t, and you know how to keep your mouth shut. That’s more than I can say for half of this damn order.”
Kaeya’s jaw tenses, lips parting, but no sound emerges—not yet. Her words cut deeper than comfort should. Dependable. A shining example. If only she knew the weight those titles carried when spoken to someone like him. 

Not praise—pressure. That’s what it always became. Words meant to lift him up instead sank like chains, binding him to a version of himself he didn’t trust. She didn’t know the boy who came from nothing and should’ve returned to it. She only saw the Knight. The Cavalry Captain. The mask. 

His eye flicks away, latching onto anything but her face. The corner of her desk. A crooked stack of parchment. His own boots. He didn’t flinch at blades. That was recoverable, something that cut deep but healed. But praise, that sort of unfiltered belief, left him reeling.
Because belief demanded truth. And Kaeya had never been able to offer that. Not to Jean. Not to anyone. 

He forces a breath, then another. The air tastes dry. 

Then quietly, almost too quietly, he looks back. 

"Are you sure?" he asks her, his voice hesitant. Jean pats him on the shoulder gently, filling him with reassurance. “How long does Port Dornman have?” 

“Two days, at the very least,” the woman responds, turning away from her. She moves back to her desk, fingers laced together, tight at the knuckles, the way one might clasp something serious. “I can stall them for that long. After that, it’s uncertain. This evening, a joint investigation will be launched to determine the cause of the incident.”
Jean follows it up with a shrug, the action kept diminutive, “The Fatui won’t listen, but it’s better than nothing.” 

“Good,” he murmurs under his breath, moving away from her desk. Fingers brushing against his clothes, he dusts off his military jacket, putting his mind on anything but this. He needed a break. A well-deserved one, he thinks. Reaching towards the handle of the doorway, he turns back, meeting Jean’s eyes. “I’ll head over to Angel’s Share. I need something to drink.” 

“Don’t we all?” Jean asks, giving a genuine laugh. It still feels hollow, but the short burst of humor overshadows it. “Please, do send me correspondence whenever possible.” The corners of her lips turn upward, a tired grin manifesting. “And please, use a better carrier pigeon. We don’t want another repeated incident, do we?” 

Kaeya can only respond with a low groan, though a dry chuckle replaces the gesture. That wouldn’t be happening—not after this afternoon. 

Waving goodbye to the acting Grand Master, his hand hovers over the doorknob, still in the stall that stretched. One breath passes, and then, another. His fingers twitch, brushing against the lapel of his coat, adjusting merely nothing. The air is still warm where her hand had rested, and yet, he forces it away with a practiced smile that doesn’t quite touch his eye. 

Kaeya pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor. The sound of her pen had already resumed behind him. 

He had one last stop to make before nightfall. 

As soon as Kaeya steps out, the route to Angel’s Share occupies his mind. Past the massive rows of stairs, down the street, and to the right, his favorite place awaited. The bar had been one of the foremost taverns of Mondstadt, the warmth of turquoise tiling and swirling hazel wood familiar. 

But as he walks, something clings to him, quiet and invisible, the kind of weight that coils tight under skin. 

He rolls his shoulder, slow and casual, as though easing out of the chill of the breeze. It’s the wrong shoulder—the one her hand had touched. For a moment, his fingers drift upward, almost brushing the place clean, before falling instead to his coat.  

He looks the part again. That’s what matters. That’s what always matters.
By the time the streets begin to blur into familiar storefronts and winding alleys, the weight has tucked itself away, hidden beneath polished buttons and a practiced gait. He lets his thoughts drift towards something easier. 

Alcohol. One of the few indulgences he allowed himself, especially off-duty. And Angel’s Share never failed to provide. 

He releases a soft breath, allowing his thoughts to wander. Whatever Jean had told him, that could wait. He could deliberate upon that with the taste of wine still burning the edges of his tongue. 

Even though Kaeya told Jean he needed a drink, he wasn’t being entirely honest either. A round of drinking formed loose lips. For him, Angel’s Share doubled as an information center. A push here, an imperceptible glance there, Kaeya could find anything. A coin, a smile, a slow pour; he’d known how to listen without asking. 

Pushing through the doorway of the establishment, he doesn’t approach the bartender. The sight of a raucous customer attracts him, the man stumbling towards the staircase. The second floor. A better place to observe conversations. Sneaking behind the man, Kaeya keeps his motions practically imperceptible, attempting to avoid the bartender’s gaze. When the man turns away, another customer draws his attention, and he can only release a breath in relief. 

Kaeya had been a regular at the bar. But today wasn’t the day he could show his face, especially with Ludi Harpastum edging its way to full swing. And with the owner of the Dawn Winery coming to help Charles, it was better kept that way—silent, sneaky, hidden.  

His boots creak against the steps, body approaching the third landing. He doesn’t pause. 

The fourth floor, left mostly deserted. Perfect. That was expected. Nobody drank in the afternoon, Angel’s Share typically hitting its peak around nighttime. 

A few minutes later, a lone customer wanders in, moving across the room. Kaeya smirks, the expression muted. 

Glancing at the man, Kaeya offers a winsome smile, waving towards the customer. A call to come forward, one quickly rewarded as the man approached him. 

The alcohol had already affected him. Kaeya could tell that in the way the man walked, the way his greeting slurred just slightly. A grin tugged at Kaeya’s lips, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Ah. So that was the game tonight. 

How generous of fate to make it so easy. 

Almost three hundred miles away from civilization, in a frozen wasteland covered with frost, Captain Igor Vasilyev inspects his handiwork. 

Good, progress was being made. 

“Don’t bother moving those corpses,” the captain orders, pointing at the bloody corpses below. His subordinates watch, eyes affixed onto his figure. “Detonate the buildings across the mine. The debris will cover it up.” 

It’d only been yesterday since the message had arrived—one from a member of Ursus’ conservative nobility. The Originium mines would be closed. That was the natural end for sites where the precious mineral became depleted. Enter the site, purge all signs of life, and leave. That was the standardized process. It was useless to move so many Infected towards other areas without risking exposure. 

The process had been brutal. Some met their death with fear, screaming as cold blades pierced through their flesh. Others met it with acceptance, heads bowed down, waiting for their end to arrive. More were still asleep, unaware of when judgment would be executed. 

However, they hadn’t expected some of them to fight back. 

Weak, scrawny, thin things. That was what prisoners were meant to be. Forced on a diet of watery soup and stale bread, poor nutrition sapped their strength. But deep in the corners of several buildings, some stronger ones had stood. Overpowering a group of the Infected patrol, they’d taken their weapons, hacking them apart into pieces. 

Their plan had been to flee, to escape through the dense arctic forests that would promise them freedom. 

And yet, death found them anyway. 

It hadn’t been a pretty ending, by any means. 

It wasn’t the first time that any purge was met with resistance. Ursus was full of unrest and instability. Conflict came like a flame did to oxygen. And yet, this one felt stronger than the rest. 

Turning around, Captain Vasilyev moves towards the other side. Supplies needed to be transferred from this complex. Making the journey back towards their noble’s house was quite a distance away. Weeks, even, braving the tundra’s worsening conditions. 

Moving towards another group of subordinates, the man shivers. He had a thick coat, one crafted from wool and fiber, something that provided him sufficient insulation. But in the frosty snowstorms of the north, somedays, it didn’t feel like enough. 

The weather had been absolutely dreadful recently, harsh blizzards and snowstorms running amok nearby. He’d read reports of similar conditions up north, his superiors confirming sightings of large weather fronts below the Infy Icefields. Harsh weather inhibited troop movements, but more importantly, life in general. They were something never great for the land. 

Similarly, there’d been whispers floating around. Talk from scouts patrolling the north of military warbands moving northwards with increasing frequency. There wasn’t a clear picture formed. And yet, anytime forces built up over a front, Vasilyev knew that wasn’t a good sign. 

But still, that wasn’t his primary concern. Whatever was happening was clearly outside of his domain. He had to return. 

He’s just about to bark an order to a subordinate when a feeling of unease spreads through him, seeping through the cracks of his very soul. He shivers, feeling a creeping emptiness crawl up his spine. The air feels heavier, slower. It’s almost as if something had emerged, taking up the space within. 

The voice in his head screams that he’s being watched, that he needs to run far, far away from whatever had suddenly overcome him. 

To run. 

Run. 

Run… 

As the frosty winds continue roaring through midnight, a series of thuds echo, rising above the gales’ howls as every soldier in the vicinity pauses. One soldier drops his crate. Then another. Then a dozen more, as if the cold itself were reaching up their spines, pulling their arms numb. The silence spreads like frostbite. They don’t move for some time, frozen expressions only enhancing the eeriness. 

Moments later, they turn in unison, the towering arctic trees casting long shadows from the west. Not a word is spoken. Step by step, they move forward—away from the deserted outpost, from the broken scaffolds and half-buried crates, from everything left unfinished and forgotten. 

Chapter Text

"Got another Death After Noon?" the man slurs, lips split in a crooked grin, propped against the bar.

Diluc doesn’t answer right away. He studies the speaker. Couldn’t be more than twenty, by the look of him. Pale hair stuck to his forehead, skin blotched red with alcohol, sweat flowing down his messy figure—every telltale sign of someone chasing oblivion a little too hard. 

Watery blue eyes meet his, unfocused and heavy, like they’re struggling to remember what they came here for. Diluc sees the stagger behind the smile. The lag between thought and speech. The faint tremor in the fingers clutching the counter. 

He’s drunk. And not just a little. 

"Of course," he murmurs under his breath, hiding the disappointment behind a mask. Bartenders were expected to do that. Serve without judgment, play to the tunes of the customer. They weren’t the enforcers of the establishment. 

He could throw the man out if he wanted. The tavern, the winery, every bottle of wine—it all bore his name. But he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs a wine bottle from an open crate and pops the cap off. 

The liquid slowly pours into a glass, drop by drop, catching the amber light. Diluc pauses, eyeing the man and how he leaned in, eyes growing wider at the drink. His jaw flexes, the disgust not reaching his face, sitting there in his throat as he hands it off to the customer. 

“Thanks,” the man mumbles under his breath, voice barely audible. Turning around, he stumbles towards his friends, the group of men laughing a little louder than normal. 

“Even after overseeing this place for years, I still don’t understand how you deal with these many drunkards,” he mutters under his breath, voice kept audible for Charles alone. “The idiocy on display is astounding.” 

“It’s a thing you get used to. Working for over a decade here does that,” Charles replies, hardened features lightened with a smile. He turns towards Diluc, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Although, by your standards, today isn’t that terrible. You should have heard about the time-” 

Diluc typically wasn’t one for idle chit-chat. Nor fantastical stories. Yet, he leans in, keeping his ears open out of respect. Perhaps, it was even a little bit of intrigue. Some drunk had once somersaulted down the second floor stairs singing ‘Ballad of the Barbatos’—naked save for a half-empty bottle and a feather boa, if Charles was to be believed. 

Diluc merely shakes his head, lips pressed in a firm line that quirks—just barely—at one corner, the closest thing to amusement he allows before turning away to pour another drink. As the shadows lengthen and the orange glow bathing the tavern fades away, Diluc keeps pouring, watching the steady trickle of bodies in and out. 

Night falls, and with it comes the tavern’s busiest hours. The noise inside Angel’s Share swells, voices rising, glasses clinking, the growing hum of a crowd craving drink. Despite the added bartenders and extra counters opened on the upper floors, the staff moves fast, urgency driving every pour and step. 

"You’d think after ten years I’d have seen it all," Charles mutters, raising a cloth to his forehead. The bartender’s forehead furrows, Diluc raising an eyebrow in response. Charles wasn’t usually the one to complain; years of experience serving drunk customers had molded his personality. And yet, the owner of the Dawn Winery knows that look, that mask keeping the exhaustion at bay. "But this? This is a goddamn stampede.” 

Diluc grunts, crimson eyes shifting away from the dwindling stack of crates behind him. Their supplies were running short. Then, it lands elsewhere. A white coat. Navy hair. Easy-going charm. His eyes narrowed slightly. He was here. Great. 

A twang of bitterness enters his throat, crimson against the hoarfrost flashing before his eyes. It fades away as quickly as it had come, chest tighter than usual. The heat in his chest hadn’t cooled. He needed his hands busy, anything to keep from thinking too hard. He doesn’t look there again, that laugh already reminding him of it . 

And so, he pours dandelion wine into the glass of another customer, finding himself lost in thought. At some point, he’d have to leave this place. Managing his estates was something he needed to catch up on. 

"Even annual events with large discounts never attracted such a crowd," Charles comments, the snort that follows kept short. The poor bastard Charles was serving could barely keep his chin up; six drinks deep, swaying like a tree in the storm, about to pass out at any moment. “Mondstadt truly does enjoy celebrating Ludi Harpastum.” 

“There’s a reason why the advertisements were so successful,” Diluc replies, reaching behind the counter. Fingers closing around a fresh bottle, cold and slick with condensation, he places it within the cabinet. “I’ve never seen this many foreigners in one place.” 

“We expanded our vintage wine categories last year,” Charles juggles drink orders, barely glancing up. He reaches behind the counter, pulling a bottle of sparkling water and dandelion wine in preparation for making Death After Noon. “There’s a reason why Angel’s Share is a holy site for alcohol connoisseurs. People look forward to new varieties.” 

“Such as?”

Charles arches a brow, shooting him a look. “Aren’t you responsible for pushing new products out?”

Seeing Diluc stare at him blankly, he can only sigh. “So many people have been asking me about the flaming flower-stamen wine. The one your wine-keeper, Connor, always mentions when coming here.” 

Diluc can only snort. Of course. He’d never been one to know much. He handled the balance sheets and estates; his employees dealt with the rest. 

“Flaming flower-stamen wine?” a voice drawls out, growing closer by the second. It’s thick with derision. Someone slinks into the seat beside him, elbows planted upon the counter lazily. “Didn’t know we were catering to poets now.”
Diluc turns away from the man, hand clinging tighter to the wet, crimson-stained rag beside him.
“Regardless, could I get another Death After Noon? My supply…” the man declares, turning his cup upside down. “As you can see, has dwindled to nothing.” 

That voice again. The individual in front of him watches him, a star-shaped pupil wholeheartedly focused on his figure, glimmering with amusement. 

Kaeya. 

Fuck. That wasn’t someone he wanted to deal with right now. 

"Never expected to see you here," Diluc mumbles, response kept curt. The strain in his wrist feels tighter, and the sensation of muscles contracting with tension feels more acute. Tonight had been a long night—his grip tightens upon the counter, wood creaking beneath his glove. He doesn’t answer, not right away, of course. “When’d you come?" 

" I've been here and there," his brother responds, dismissively waving his hand in the air. The chair’s leg scrapes against the hardwood, sending a shrill creak in the air. Lazily leaning back on one of the bar chairs, he lies against the table, legs occupying several empty chairs. “I wanted to hear some local stories. They’re quite entertaining this time of the year.”

He can only release a sigh of disappointment, fingers dragging down his face.. Of course, he’d be here. Lounging like a cat who never worked a day in his life, soaking in the noise like it was delicious sustenance. Kaeya must have slunk in hours ago, probably spent the whole damn afternoon drinking.

He didn’t understand his brother’s motivation to sit around all day, watching others’ watery eyes and hearing their slurred speech. Diluc found it a waste of time. Ironic as it was, being the heir to the Dawn Winery, he despised alcohol—the taste, the smell, the experiences. The other son, the one unrelated by blood, had seemingly inherited that instead. 

Kaeya ignores Diluc’s sigh, interpreting the expression as an invitation to lean closer. He releases a breath, the scent of fruity alcohol causing Diluc’s nose to wrinkle. Of course he leaned closer. Of course. 

“Drunkards truly make such a lovely scene after dark.” Kaeya drawls, amusement glimmering in his eyes, masking the cold determination underneath. Diluc’s lips purse, just about to retort, before Kaeya presses a finger to his lips.  “And before you ask what I’ve been doing here all day, Jean allowed me to take the day off. There isn’t anything better today than drinking and meeting my favorite person.” 

Kaeya’s words come slower at the end, an emphasis placed on “favorite”, a practice that causes something hot to coil low in his chest, unwelcome and all too familiar. The burning flame deepens, melting the biting hoarfrost with its heat, but it subsides, Diluc biting back a retort. Kaeya knew how to play his games. He’d crafted his taunts in a way to provoke certain responses. Typical of him. 

In fact, their relationship had been far more manageable in private. But in public, keeping up that façade of a charming rogue meant the occasional quip. He lets the silence stretch. If Kaeya wanted a reaction, he’d have to earn it. 

At last, he raises his gaze, noticing an increasing number of people congregating around the bar counter. Turning around towards Charles, he motions for the man to come over. 

“Find someone to take my shift. I need to deal with something,” he requests, motioning towards the series of empty seats. 

Charles simply nods, withdrawing momentarily before reappearing with a younger man—dark hair, dressed in clean monochrome. They quickly take over the bar’s duties, each of them serving drinks to the swarming masses. 

Diluc barely registers them. His eyes are fixed on Kaeya. More specifically, his hair. 

He recoils. 

It takes him a full second to process the sight. What was once a rat-tail streaming down his shoulders is simply gone. His brother’s hair now falls just above his shoulders, uneven at the ends, as if hacked off in haste. 

He blinks once, twice, making sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. 

“…What the hell did you do?” Diluc mutters, his voice flat, fingers lifting just enough to gesture toward the tragic remains. 

Kaeya doesn’t miss a beat. His hand rises, following Diluc’s stare to the jagged edge of his hair, and his mouth curls into something half a smirk, half a wince. 

“Oh, that?” he says lightly. “Just a little wager. Got drunk and lost. Woke up to a handful of hair on the floor and scissors I definitely didn’t own.” 

“You look ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, giving a snort. 

“Well, at least I’m not serving alcohol,” he murmurs softly, taking a careful sip of his drink. Kaeya purses his lips, making a careful note of his taste, before looking up with satisfaction. “You made this perfect, at least. Pity you’re wasting your talent on managing money.” 

Leaning forward, Kaeya cocks his head at Diluc, meeting his brother’s steely gaze with his own. Giving a soft smile, he simply shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t survive here for a week. One, you find interactions with drunkards frustrating. Quite strange if you ask me.” Kaeya whispers lightly, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He leans back in the seat, arms kept behind his back. “They have quite the number of strange stories. Plus, pulling their strings gets me free drinks.” 

“Regardless,” he continues, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “You knew what responsibilities this shift came with. As you once said, ‘Employers should share their employees’ burdens’.”

“You’re misinterpreting that statement,” Diluc murmurs, the strain in his voice making it deeper. That damn blue eye of his, glimmering with amusement, wasn’t helping either. “You weren’t even invited into that meeting in the first place.” 

“Relax, you’re taking this too seriously…” Kaeya mentions, giving a short laugh.

Diluc sighs. 

“I’m heading out anyway. Angel’s Share is running out of alcohol, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran out of it tomorrow afternoon.” 

Kaeya’s laughter stops right there. 

“A restock already? Of what, Death After Noon?”

Diluc nods. 

The smile immediately leaves Kaeya’s face, his brother imitating an expression of dejection. Diluc doesn’t comfort him, though. Even if Angel’s Share ran out of that drink, Kaeya would remain here. A center for information, the establishment offered more than alcohol, if one knew where to look. 

“Without alcohol, this place loses all its charm,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. A brief pause follows soon after, fingers lacing together. “I’ve completed quite an amount of work here. The camaraderie’s decent.” 

“And, that means I have to work more,” Kaeya sighs, the sound dragged out as he slumps against the table. He taps the empty glass jar in front of him, looking solemnly at the dwindling supply of Death After Noon behind the counter. 

They remain quiet for a couple of moments, both electing not to speak. Yes, in private, they said in full sentences, in nods, in unfinished apologies neither of them corrected. But here, with eyes watching, the silence stretched longer. Grievances couldn’t be aired freely. Conversations stalled, both of them muted. 

At last, Diluc is the one to break it. It was his turn today. And today wouldn’t be the last. 

“Any thoughts, genius, on the alcohol problem?” his fingernails tap against the table repetitively, catching Kaeya’s attention. That blue eye stares up, intelligence shining behind that watery gaze. The heir to the Dawn Winery simply points towards the few remaining crates behind the bar, a reminder to reorient his brother. “You know, the fact that we’re losing barrels a month ahead of schedule?”

Kaeya simply turns around, the motion kept slow. Left hand leaving the bar table, he lays it across his knee, chair turning around smoothly to face the bar. The look in his eye is faraway, distant, even. It takes everything in, glimmering with something older. Memory, maybe. Or regret. A recollection of something nostalgic. A wistful look past the horizon towards a new dawn. His lips purse, and Diluc can only await a response. 

"It's so much easier to drink away problems than to confront them," his voice is quiet, barely audible amidst the chatter of the bar. His hand reaches behind him, clasping over Diluc’s hand. A coin presses into his glove—not for the drink, really. Just a gesture to anchor the moment. “No point in fighting back when you can drown yourself in self-pity. Forget all your problems exist.” 

There’s nothing Diluc can respond with. The rowdiness of Angel’s Share fills the bar, the oppressive noise unable to dispel the gloominess. Solitude was hard to bleed into. And yet, Kaeya cuts through it like hot steel against paper.

“I thought it would be nice to spend time here and appreciate Ludi Harpastum before leaving the city,” he whispers like a confession, staring silently at the constant flow of people in and out of the building. “I’m looking forward to visiting Port Dornman. The sun descending past the horizon, dyeing the dark waters a fiery orange. I’d love to see that sight once more.” 

“Port Dornman?” Diluc can only ask, looking puzzled. Port Dornman. He hadn’t heard that name in a while. The port was far from the mainland, past the ocean, harnessing trade all across Teyvat. What was his brother doing, going all the way there?
“Yes, Port Dornman.” Kaeya huffs at him, continuing to stare past him. He was looking for something. Diluc felt that. “If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m going there for work purposes. Not sightseeing.”

“What work?

“...” Kaeya sighs, hands splaying across his forehead. “Just some things I need to clean up. The kind nobody wants to resolve.”

“And by resolved, what exactly are you tending to? Diplomacy? Weeds that need to be cut down?”
“Relax, I’m not eliminating anybody,” Kaeya remarks, silver flashing from hand to hand. Diluc leans forward, catching sight of a sharp blade flicking between his fingers. His eyes narrow. He hadn’t seen that in quite a while. “It’s fun fooling around occasionally, but Jean isn’t the person to request that.”

Diluc cocks his head in surprise. For them to send Kaeya, out of all the captains, to Port Dornman, something must have happened. Something deadly. Typically, simpler ones were funneled over to lower-level soldiers, following the chain of command. On the other hand, captains typically dealt with more severe threats. So for someone of his stature to be sent over, it meant… 

“Have any details?” Diluc prompts, the hope of drawing some information burning in his chest. Diluc wasn’t one for idle chit-chat, the art of drawing information from others, but it intrigued him nonetheless. And considering Kaeya’s seniority, he wouldn’t be left unsatisfied. Even if nothing was provided, he’d still respect that.

“Ten corpses buried, no blood. All Fatui. And no one saw a damn thing,” Kaeya’s fingers drum against the counter, spiked bracelets digging into the wood. He turns around, facing Diluc. “They’d followed an unidentified object, which has promptly disappeared.”

“And naturally, to add to the difficulties, all internal information has been purged.” His hands fold in front of his face, expression kept cold. For a moment, Diluc was left shaken, that coldness reminding him of something. Of the day their blades had crossed, of the day fire had seared flesh. “The Fatui caught wind of it, and the blame’s been pinned on us.” 

"Fuck," Diluc whispers, hand unwittingly tightening around the bottle of wine. He grimaces slightly, wincing as he absorbs the information. External variables. Something he hated to take into account when running calculations. The Fatui were always wild-cards. Blood and violence always followed those bastards. “The Fatui as victims? Color me shocked.”

He can only snort.  

“I thought the same. But after reading the documentation, the situation looks dire.” A glass of wine, seemingly pilfered from behind the counter, swishes in Kaeya’s hands. “Regardless, most of this information is confidential. I still enjoy working, so I’ll leave it at that.”

As expected. 

"When were you so law-abiding?" Diluc coughs under his breath, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d been on the receiving end of Kaeya’s shenanigans. He still remembered that, those days they’d spent working together as partners, just before that fated afternoon. "Anyways, give me your honest thoughts. Not whatever crumbs you’ve been handing." 

"Inquiring about my opinion? My, my, it’s been quite a while," he reclines against the leather chair, chuckling. "I thought it was a false-flag operation at first. We both know the Fatui are known for that kind of shit.”

Diluc nods. He remembered that. The way they’d play both sides, only to escape at the end. 

“But now? I’m unsure,” His brother’s fingers drum against the glass, clinks echoing out in the air. “You don’t bury ten diplomats without leaving a trace unless you’re afraid. And the Fatui? They’re not afraid unless it's something big.”
Diluc’s eyes narrow, a flicker of cold running down his spine. Limited information gave him crumbs, but he could use them. He didn’t trust the Knights of Favonius to carry out an investigation so clean, not when the Fatui were involved. Being part of a bureaucracy imposed limits. Limits that even Kaeya couldn’t skirt. A private investigation would be the best option. Perhaps, he’d rearrange his schedule tomorrow when arriving at the Dawn Winery. 

“Any chance another party is playing us all?” his eyebrows arch slightly, knitting in worry moments later. The Fatui weren’t ones to be fazed by something like this. They’d kept Teyvat under their thumb for years, playing the entire continent like a fiddle. Sacrifice wasn’t a quality foreign to them. Even after the death of several Harbingers, they’d only looked for replacements… 

There used to be a saying amongst the Knights of Favonius, one that described the Fatui perfectly. 

"If something unnatural occurs, blame the Fatui. If they’re not responsible, blame the Abyss Order. And if either party isn’t involved, pray to the heavens themselves.”
“Oh?”

Kaeya’s chair leans forward, body planted against the counter’s edge. “I see where you’re taking this. The Abyss Order, huh. Hmmm…” His gaze becomes frostier, eye flickering back and forth. “Good guess, but not entirely confident in that. This strike seems far too clinical. You’ve seen how they operated in the past. Summon monsters, blatantly cause destruction, and leave—forceful methods executed solely in rural areas.”
He closes his eye now, losing himself in thought. "Though, if it's not our group of favorite monsters, I have no idea." 

Reflecting on the situation, Diluc tries to unravel this intricate web. It was intriguing. Someone was hiding behind this, and they were smart. Smart enough to leave corpses, but no blood. It would probably be best to take time off tomorrow to mull over the situation. That would serve him well. He missed times like this. 

"Keep me posted," Diluc mentions, gaze fiery with determination. “I don’t like the sound of this.” 

“Sure thing,” his brother whispers, rising up from his seat. Just as he’s about to leave, his brother returns, wine bottle in hand, grin curling up slowly. Diluc sighs. Of course. That look always meant trouble.
“You said you wanted extra information, right?”

A nod.

“You could always… reimburse me for my drinks.” Kaeya points to the empty bottles that Diluc had begun to throw away. “For the next several days, of course.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Diluc murmurs through gritted teeth. Kaeya and free alcohol were never a good mix.

“Well, I have two other options then.”

“Spill.”

“If you’re looking for the more conventional route, you could always rejoin the Knights. I could administer your reinduction ceremony.” 

Diluc simply growls under his breath. No. The Knights were off limits. He wouldn’t do that. Not after what they’d done that day. Not after their failures, ones that left his hands stained crimson. 

“Oh, you don’t like that? Poor thing…” Kaeya mentions, voice trailing off slightly. He stops. Just for a moment. The smile falters, gaze drifting somewhere behind Diluc. He’d remembered that day, too. Diluc knew that. At last, his brother purses his lips, licking them before speaking up again. 

“There’s a second option as well. More unconventional, if I say so myself.” Kaeya’s voice comes out hesitant, scratchy, as if waiting to hear Diluc’s response. He braces himself, expecting something stupid to come out of his brother’s mouth. “You could always sleep with Jean, you know that? I'm sure you could lay your hands on information, amongst other things..." 

Diluc splutters, nearly dropping the fresh bottle of Death After Noon as Kaeya’s words land with the subtlety of a blade. The glass slips from his grip, tilting midair—he catches it inches from the stone floor, fingers clenched tight around the neck as he steadies it against the counter with a thud. 

Behind him, Kaeya’s already turning away, every step practically humming with satisfaction. “Oh, looks like I’m running late!” Kaeya calls out over his shoulder, his tone light, loud, and obnoxiously cheerful. “Have fun serving drinks!” 

He ducks smoothly as Diluc’s fist swipes toward him—an almost casual swing to anyone watching. Just a brotherly jab. Just a joke. But Kaeya knew better. Knew exactly how much force his brother could pack into a single motion when riled. And judging by the rising shade of crimson across Diluc’s cheeks, the jab would have landed harder than any punch. 

Kaeya grins, teeth glinting white amidst the light. “Offer’s still open!” he adds, moving past the door. “If you want to renegotiate your payment, you know where to find me!” 

And with that, he’s gone—vanishing through the tavern’s double doors with the soft creak of hinges. The only trace he leaves behind is the silence, and Diluc, still standing there, grips the bottle. His knuckles turned white; his jaw remained clenched, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and the particular, private brand of fury only Kaeya could summon. 

Kaeya slips out of Angel’s Share, the door whispering shut behind him. The din of the tavern fades quickly; shouts fade away into murmurs, laughter blurring into the night wind. Cool air brushes his skin, clearing the last traces of wine from his breath.  

Huh. Easier than expected. 

Diluc had followed the thread, as Kaeya hoped he would. A nudge here, a glance there—old memories stirred and left to settle. Kaeya hadn’t needed to push hard. Just let things unfold. A half-truth, a shared look, and his brother had done the rest. 

Not manipulation, exactly. Kaeya just understood the way Diluc worked.  Give him something serious, something bigger than both of them, and he’d sink his teeth in. Kaeya didn’t have to do much beyond laying the trail. 

He hadn’t lied. Not really. And he wasn’t about to drag Diluc into something messy if he could help it. The man had enough on his plate: estates, wine, and whatever ghosts that made him the resolute man he was. His brother could chase the story at his own pace, if he chose to. Kaeya just needed to make sure the door was open. 

He was always good at opening doors—coaxing, maneuvering, guiding people to truth without ever walking through it himself. It was safer that way. 

He didn’t know if he was Kaeya Alberich, last son of a fallen nation, or the adopted knight of a country that would hang him if they knew the truth. 

He wore masks the way others wore armor, and the lies clung to him so tightly he no longer knew where they ended and he began. Even now, his words to Diluc weren’t false. But they weren’t wholly true either. Performance was the only thing he knew how to do without trembling. 

Knight of Favonius. Brother. Liar by birthright.
Some days he thought he was all three. Some days he thought he was none of them. 

Regardless, the deed had been done. Reminiscing about the past… Perhaps that was meant for another day.  He had unfinished business to conclude. 

He pushes forward, feet rhythmically pounding against the wooden bridge stretching across Cider Lake—water stained orange by the glow of fading sunlight. It’s quieter here. Silent. No familiar voices, none of the ruckus or welcoming camaraderie Angel’s Share provided. Out here, he’s alone. Just as it's meant to be. 

Past the wind-swept plains, the crimson echo of the sun descends lazily past the horizon. Everything’s bathed in a warm light. From here, Kaeya can smell the fleeting scents of woody fragrances, rich earthiness wafting through the air. Mondstadt was a land of serenity. This was simply a grandiose reminder of Barbatos’ power in shaping the land. 

For a moment, he wants to stand still, watch the burning sky fade into dusk, moonlight bathing the land in silver. But he shakes his head, reminding himself of his mission. That needed to be accomplished at all costs. Maybe in the future, after this was all done, he could lie in the grass and watch the sun set past the rising cliffs. 

The path is long and winding, half-covered tracks and sloping grass hills leading towards Mondstadt’s coast. Just past Windrise, the Falcon Coast would lie, bordering the ocean that separated Port Dornman from the mainland. He just needed a boat, something small enough to avoid detection. Jean had likely arranged one, and he’s grateful for that. 

His footsteps echo upon the paved path, mind wandering back to his conversation with Diluc. For once, it felt strangely normal. Still uneasy, tension bleeding through, it’d been better than previous times—in public, at least. He shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips, though his eyes remain filled with pain.   

His relationship with Diluc had never been one fully rekindled. That fateful day, nine years ago, had still left a stain on them. Those seething emotions, barbed words delivered in venom, each something he couldn’t reverse. Nor could he go back on Crepus’ death, his father’s blood left on Diluc’s hands. And perhaps, even his own. 

They’d diverged from that point on. While Kaeya advanced up the Knights of Favonius’ ranks, Diluc had resigned. He’d been the one to grow his connections and contacts, followed protocol most of the time, but his brother had withdrawn. It felt lonely the first few years. After all, there wasn’t anybody he could fully trust. Nor keep them by his side. 

Witnessing his brother’s transformation, the guilt feels overwhelming. Kaeya wasn’t responsible for Crepus’ death. He knew that. But in some way, he blamed himself. Perhaps, if he arrived earlier, perhaps, if he trusted his gut feelings and tracked the Fatui, maybe Crepus wouldn’t have died, bleeding out in his own son’s hands. 

And maybe, he wouldn’t have broken down, revealing everything about himself. Everything wrong, everything twisted, every lie shattered into broken shards that cracked even more. Those days were long gone, those days when they’d vowed to each other, promised to defend each other till their dying breath. 

Even today, he still wonders how life would have turned out. What would have happened if that day had never happened? Would their relationship shatter, falling past his outstretched hands into the endless Abyss? Or would that shaky foundation still remain stable? Who even knew?

Kaeya shakes his head, bringing himself back to reality. The past was the past. He had to tell himself that moving forward was the only way he’d avoid falling back in. But the ache lingered. Already, the craving for a drink gnawed at him—lips dry, throat tight, not from thirst but from knowing what silence would bring. That awful quiet that came before sleep, when the clamor of others faded and his mind surged forward with memories uninvited. 

Faces. Words. His father’s blood-soaked hands. The cracking in Diluc’s voice. And his own. 

A bottle dulled all of it. Not enough to forget, but enough to blur. The way one might smudge ink across a letter too painful to read aloud. He didn’t drink for amusement. He drank because there were nights when the only thing louder than the guilt was the hush between each breath. 

By the time he’d moved past Windrise, approaching the Falcon Coast, silvery moonlight had already replaced the blood-red light. It’d been one hour, two hours at most? He didn’t keep a watch on himself, but his surroundings identified the time as dusk. 

The ferry is right there, just past the sandy banks. Kaeya leans against the cliff, panting slightly. His stamina and strength were exceptional, but the journey itself still took something out of him. 

But right in the corner of his eye, something is there. A voice whispers in his ear, sweet and sickening. 

He turns around. 

There . 

A stream of golden-colored light, twisting and turning past the cliff-face, edges stained an ominous black.  

Kaeya can only shiver. What was that ? 

He felt it deep within himself. Elemental energy, warped by something sinister. That wasn’t good at all. But he felt drawn towards it all the same. 

Shifting into position, he moves towards the markings, gloved hand hovering above the cliffside. A gentle wind whistles through the coastal air, small stones trickling down from above the cliffs. There wasn’t any life here either. 

His hand slams down, plunging fingers deep into the brilliant light.

Immediately, his senses heighten. A shiver runs down his back, fear and pleasure intermingling, the ominous power embracing him. It flows through his veins, sets him alight with warped vigor, and the ecstasy is there. 

No, no, no. There’s no way this was happening here, just mere feet away from the coastline. Not this close to civilization, here in Mondstadt. He stumbles backwards in shock, the abnormal sensation setting his veins alight, though he catches himself before toppling face-forward into the sand. Steadying himself, his eyes narrowed, fingers rapidly tapping against the cliffside. Perhaps this was related to the events in Port Dornman. Highly unlikely, but a chance. 

Kaeya presses deeper into the winding caverns, fingers running over the cold, etched stone. The path narrows, lit only by the faint residual glow of energy he’s been tracking, weaving like a thread through the darkness. Though the place appears abandoned, he moves lightly on his feet, always poised to turn at the sound of a shift in the air. 

The energy cuts off suddenly. 

He slows, eyes sweeping the chamber. Down here, there’s nothing but dead rock and silence. Just more darkness. A sigh escapes him, the frustration within coiling low. Yet another dead end. 

But as he turns to leave, something flickers at the edge of his vision. 

Kaeya freezes. A shape is there, almost buried by shadow—tall, indistinct, feeling utterly wrong. He squints, steps closer, and the shadows stretch long across the floor, outlining something inhuman. The air grows colder. 

Then he sees it. And everything clicks. 

It’s here. 

Chapter Text

The silence of the cave was thick enough to drown in. Wind whispered through the cracks in the stone walls, hollow breaths whistling down the winding corridors. And in each corner, shadows continued to cling to the surface, still, quiet, waiting .

Then a voice broke the stillness. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”  

Kaeya stepped forward from the darkness, boots crunching lightly against scattered stone.  His voice was low, strained, but sharp enough to cut. His eyes locked onto the figure ahead, and for a flicker of a moment, they blazed with something raw. 

The intruder didn’t flinch. He stood near the edge of the ruined archway, half-lit by the moonlight that spilled through the broken ceiling. 

“I am exactly where I need to be, Alberich.” 

The voice was unmistakable—the rasp, mechanical and layered, just like wind blowing through a broken flute—the sound of an Abyss Herald. Kaeya’s fists clenched tight enough for his nails to pierce skin. He didn’t look down at the blood. 

“If your stealth is so lacking that you were nearly seen by a patrol,” the masked man continued, tone eerie as he tilted his head, “perhaps Alberich misjudged your usefulness.” 

Kaeya's laugh was short and hollow. “Mondstadt isn’t my enemy. Not now.” His voice was low, measured, but venom ran beneath the surface. “And you know it, Anton.” 

He shifted his grip at his waist, fingers brushing against the silver chain coiled at his belt—cool and reassuring. It reminded him of the blade tucked behind his hip. Habit. Familiarity. He met the Herald’s gaze again, or rather, the cold eyeholes of that inhuman mask. “If Father wanted to replace me, he wouldn’t have sent a mouthpiece.” 

Anton tilted his head again, the motion birdlike, unsettling in a way. Kaeya imagined the smirk he couldn’t see, smooth and predatory behind the layers of metal and shadow. “Confident, are we? Strange, considering what Alberich has planned for you.” His fingers twitched, mimicking Kaeya’s motion from a moment ago. A mirror gesture—a warning. 

Kaeya didn’t flinch. “Father wouldn’t waste that kind of effort. If he wanted me gone, he’d do it himself. He’s never been shy about handling things personally.” He stepped forward slightly, just enough to catch the faint shimmer of frost across his fingertips. It cooled his blood, but not his temper. “He sends you when he wants to posture, not to execute.”

Anton said nothing for a moment. Then—softly, with a tinge of amusement—“Maybe you’re right. Maybe not. Who’s to say?” His words lingered in the air. “Either way, Alberich wants you to withdraw. Leave Mondstadt. Abandon Port Dornman and all its entanglements. Something’s changed, and he wants you clear of it.”
The chill that crept down came from within, a jolt of unease twisting into something darker. His stomach tightened. Had Father moved against Mondstadt directly, interfering directly? Kaeya’s grip tightened around nothing, his blood pounding louder than before. Mondstadt was his post. His territory. His mask to wear. If Alberich had meddled… 

All those years. All the careful sabotage and misdirection. The delicate balancing act. The trust. He could feel it unraveling at the seams. 

“Port Dornman, huh.” The words came out low, brittle with restrained fury. He didn’t even realize his hands had begun to freeze, tiny shards of ice blooming at his fingertips like crystallized fury. “Then I hope, for your sake, that whatever happened there had nothing to do with you. 

"Forget about that," Anton dismisses him, gauntleted hand waving in the air as if swatting a fly away. “Your father’s words were explicit. Abandon Port Dornman.” 

Kaeya’s jaw tensed. His teeth ground together so tightly that it ached. That gesture—casual, dismissive—ignited something in him. The idea of being waved off like a subordinate, after everything he’d done for the organization, it burned like acid in his chest. 

He breathed through his nose, slow and steady, willing the frost not to crack beneath his composure. 

“Your constant reminders are tiring…” The irritation is sharp, furious. The frost on his fingers nearly leaped out, aimed towards the Herald’s cape, but he suppressed it. He couldn’t afford to be the aggressor. Not here, not now, with the only entrance facing the vast ocean. 

His nails press deeper into the flesh of his palm, the flow of crimson widening. Knuckles turning white, he ponders what Anton had said. If it were true, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Destruction? Certainly. Death? A possibility. Changing plans meant someone—maybe even he—was being cut out of them. 

Now came the gamble. Kaeya had always been good at reading people—but Anton wasn’t a person. He was a monster wearing a voice, a being still holding onto the remains of whatever humanity left behind. Still, if Father hadn’t said it himself, maybe confronting the blade would yield more than dodging it. “Father’s reaction doesn’t concern me.” his voice is softer, delivered quietly like a warning. “I know the intricacies of Mondstadt’s bureaucracy far better than he does.” 

"Besides, my methods are far more subtle," A hollow laugh escapes his lips. Father’s style was simple: burn everything, without a care for damage dealt. And despite their relationship, shared blood never softened that instinct—they just delayed it. Kaeya knew better than to test how far that delay went. 

And yet, behind it all, crimson bleeds behind his mask—concern, a deep red that flowed through the cracks. He could still feel it seeping up, no matter how cold he kept his voice. Something seemed… off. 

Abyss Heralds were deadly monsters. Meetings like this were always delicate.. After all, Abyss-associated creatures were unpredictable by nature, their motivations twisted like winding vines. One never knew who they truly served: the Abyss Order, or their own goals. 

But today, the uneasiness gripped his chest. The circling suspicions drew closer, moving in like hawks watching their prey. He’d have to throw some bait, trick the circling predators. 

“I thought we were allies,” he remarks, hand placed against chest, lips pouted in mock hurt.  

He met Anton’s gaze, lips curled, but his heart beat harder beneath his hand. If the Herald took the bait, Kaeya would know soon enough. 

The silence draws longer, the rhythmic thump of his chest continuous as the gentle wind whistles through the cavern. He felt it in the air. Something was definitely wrong. It was too quiet. No threat, no rebuttal. Just silence. Either Anton had lost patience or something worse was coming. He needed a reaction, any kind of pressure in response. Lips pursed, he presses forward without haste. 

“Father’s bode his time far too long. Five hundred years. Five hundred years since our country has been levelled.” his voice is cooler, eyes narrowing into slits once more. They glimmer maliciously, his figure kept relaxed. “What he pursues is… reckless. It’s an inopportune time to seek vengeance.”

He steps forward, boot thumping against the cavern floor. 

“How many more can the Abyss Order lose before we start falling apart?” 

“We have enough.” There it is, at last. The Herald ground his teeth together, the face beneath the mask contorting into a grimace. Kaeya had gotten a reaction. Good. “Leave it to us. Just follow Alberich’s instructions. 

"I can handle Mondstadt. My methods are just another means to the end." His jaw tightens, irritation coming to the forefront. How many times would they circle around this topic? Mondstadt was his domain. His. “Father has no need to be concerned. Think of me as someone with good intentions.” 

He holds out a hand, fingers uncurled in the Herald’s direction. A foolish attempt at resolution. But an attempt nonetheless. He was already keeping track of the abnormalities: the stiffer-than-normal gait, repeated jabs at Kaeya’s loyalty. He didn’t expect Anton to accept, but he’d shown openness to de-escalation. In his mind, intent mattered more than execution. 

The Herald doesn’t move. 

Kaeya maintains his gaze, unflinching. He wasn’t disrupted by this. However, deep within, he can’t help but release a soft groan. Great. There was only one way this conversation was moving, and he didn’t like it. Even though adrenaline pumps through his veins, his body already bracing for what comes next. He pushed the thrill down. Now wasn’t the time. 

A twitch starts in his right hand, just enough to betray his readiness. The Herald hadn’t moved yet, but the shift in the air had said enough. 

"Foolish boy," Anton rumbles, gaze contemptuously focused upon him. A deep laugh escapes his mouth, the sound left distorted. Disturbingly, it had lowered in pitch, and Kaeya’s stomach hadn’t liked that. "Alberich wanted to send a message. You think he doesn’t know what you’ve been doing, running around these years?”

Kaeya freezes. 

The frost in his fingertips retracts and suddenly enters his nails, blood turning ice-cold. No way. There was no way Anton should have figured out his deception. Kaeya had covered his tracks well, circled around twice to locations he’d visited. In his mind, precaution was better than overconfidence. Had Father figured out his betrayal, he wouldn’t have been surprised. It was bound to happen at some point. Father had taught him everything he knew, after all. 

In the corner of his eye, darkness flashes. 

At last, he moves. And the first thing he does is clap slowly, sound resonating through the air. Kaeya tilts his head slightly, eyes turning into slits. 

“Bravo, you finally caught me.” 

A razor-sharp blade appears in Herald’s hand, each step taken forward menacing. The grip on the hilt tightens. 

Kaeya keeps his distance, circling his enemy in a slow, lazy fashion. His gait betrays no urgency. 

“Far too obvious. I’m surprised you think this would work,” he whispers, gold flakes shimmering in the air. Silver materializes in the air, inch by inch, the familiar smoothness of metal under his fingers. Blood , the voice in his mind whispers. Blood . “I’m far too valuable for Father to dispose of. I’m worth more than you’ll ever understand.” 

“Pawns move at the whim of others,” the raspy voice filters through the helmet. A step forward, mirrored by Kaeya as he pushes away. “You’re just one for Alberich.”

Kaeya stands still, fingers clenched in his palm. He couldn’t afford to continue reacting, meeting step with step. That meant giving control, meant giving up a part of himself. And in fights, disadvantages always put opponents on their back foot. 

“The thing about pawns,” he murmurs under his breath, quiet and sharp like a blade drawn in silence. The silver edge of his sword drags against his palm, drawing the slightest trace of red on his flesh. He stares at his own reflection, blurred in crimson. “Their nature is sacrificial. But ignore them long enough, they learn to move on their own—and not always in your favor.” 

His fingers tighten around the hilt, and he lunges forward, lightning fast. 

Targeted towards Anton’s chest, it whistles through the air, the thrust carrying Kaeya forward. Straight through the heart. An ending move. But mere inches away from the monster’s chest, Kaeya disengages, angling the blade towards the arm. The beast barely has time to react, but still manages to lunge away. 

When he looks up, the Herald looks unfazed. His gaze wanders, scanning the monster for any cracks. Right there, a scar carved just below the bicep—small, but proof that it could bleed. 

Archons, the Herald was fast. 

Something was different. Anton moved faster than any Herald should. Whatever had happened, his opponent was enhanced. Inhumanely fast, able to deflect even the most deceptive of attacks. Unfortunately, Kaeya doesn’t have time to ponder, the monster taking advantage of his overcompensation. 

The blade flickers, dark metal sweeping merely inches away from his midsection. His stomach feels tight, heart pounding in the aftermath. That was close. Way too close for comfort. He counterattacks, launching a retaliatory sweep that sends the herald backward. He couldn’t afford to be on the defensive. Not with his style of fighting. 

Kaeya didn’t do patterns. Predictability got you killed, and so, prioritizing misdirection and deceit was how he played the game. Think the blade came one way? Sorry, that was a feint, the silver edge barrelling towards your heart. Even the most experienced soldier couldn’t account for every misstep. 

But for someone like Anton, a Herald coming from the darkest of depths, his advantages all but evaporated. Bladework wasn’t something he could match with. Abyssal corruption, those familiar voices within could assist the Herald, pointing out Kaeya’s very own openings. 

As the fight would drag on, he’d eventually discover the way Anton fought. Fast slashes, quick counterattacks, heavier slogs, it’d all shape into a pattern. It was only a matter of time before the opportune time to strike was to be found. 

First, he’d have to nullify the Herald’s advantages. Freakishly-high endurance was one thing. Speed on top of that? Kaeya couldn’t afford the fight to drag on, lest the encircling predator caught the scent of blood. Even the most veteran of fighters knew that; the winner was whoever stayed standing the longest. 

Coating his blade with a layer of rime, Kaeya’s hand hovers over the edge. For someone like Anton, a heavy-handed grip wouldn’t work. Yes, armor was susceptible to hardened blows, but that style was vulnerable to counterattacks. Speed wasn’t the game he wanted to play—not in this fight The edge of the blade raises in air, frost-coated metal reaching towards Anton.

Kaeya snaps his fingers. 

The cavern’s temperature suddenly plunges, air turning frigid. Flakes of frost flicker in the air and the hair on his arm rises—chest constricting at the change. Do or die. There was no choice but to follow his instincts. Deep below, that small part of him revels. Frost, anticipation, the promise of blood—those belonged to him. 

“Let’s play a game,” Kaeya breathes, the corner of his lips turning upwards lazily. His eyes sparkle with predatory excitement, fingers adjusting the angle of his blade. “Whoever lands the first blow… gets to ask whatever they want.” 

Anton doesn’t respond. 

Hmm. That was… disappointing . Anton didn’t really enjoy playing games, did he? T’was quite the shame. The herald mirrors him, eyes locked on Kaeya’s sword. And beneath that mask, Kaeya can feel the sneer radiating off him. Quiet, mocking, and far too familiar. 

His blade is the first to strike. 

Sneaking through the monster’s defenses, Kaeya’s sword penetrates armor, knicking the flesh underneath. First a drip, then a slow, steady flow. Dark blood trickle from the small knick, descending down the Herald’s armor like a waterfall over cliffside. And yet, he chooses to ignore the wound, just pacing around him. 

At last, the blade swings in his direction, immense force behind those arms. Steel clangs against steel, and the force nearly sends Kaeya sprawling, shock echoing in his arms. The adrenaline pumping through his veins shakes him out of his stupor, body leaping away from another strike. The man was brutal, applying precision to longer swings. He wanted to finish him off slowly—just like a predator did to prey. 

The monster slashes again. And this time, he catches Kaeya off guard. Mere fractions of a second away from leaping backward, the blade whistles through the air inches away from his chest, shearing through the flesh of his shoulder. 

His vision swims at the pain, agony searing through his muscles sending him backwards. Teeth biting his tongue, Kaeya staggers back. His wound gapes open, bone exposed to freezing air,  He wants to scream, to let the agony out. Instead, he clenches down—jaw tight, like there’s a knife between his teeth. 

Gaze flickering towards the side, he watches a deep red pour down his arm, white snow stained a dark red. A reminder of what had been a deadly blunder. 

He grits his teeth. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes. 

A single wound can be a death-knell , his father used to say. Perhaps it was time to pay his regards, show Father that he’d still stand at the very end, still survive. 

He couldn’t engage a claymore wielder’s offensive strikes. That would be suicide. The range, the power behind those attacks couldn’t be met head-on. Instead, he’d have to find a way to create space, give himself time to recover. His gaze shoots ahead. Anton stood still, at a distance away, sneering. He was the predator, and the world sought to remind Kaeya of that. 

He breathes out, hand adjusting the hilt of his sword. A breath taken in and released. Smoke-like vapor blossoms in the air, reminders of the rise and fall of Kaeya’s chest, of his very life. 

“For someone trained by Alberich himself,” the creature questions, laugh kept menacing, “Your blade work is pathetic.”

“I was just testing your skill,” Kaeya whispers faintly. He turns his head away, spitting on the ground. A crimson blob affixes onto stone, and Kaeya wipes his mouth away with one hand. “Tell me—are you truly this bad at defending yourself, or do you want me sinking my blade into you again and again?” 

Only the monster’s grip on the blade changes, the scathing remark readily ignored. Eyes flickering upon his target, both of them circle warily, watching each other’s figure. A step here, a flinch there, and they would engage mercilessly. 

His opponent’s boots crunch upon the floor, scattering pebbles in the wake. Down here, Kaeya can hear everything—the scrape of metal against metal, earth descending against cliff-side outside, the gentle breeze across the sea. He was ready. 

At last, he’s the one to break their pacing. Hand flicking out, flashes of white fly through the air, sharp blades barrelling towards his opponent. Slamming against the Herald’s armor, they shatter into millions of crystals of ice, Anton ignoring them wholly. Frost wouldn’t do much to steel. 

But that wasn’t Kaeya’s goal. And so, he leaps forward, moving into the path he should have avoided. That had simply been a distraction. 

Dealing with the continued salvo, Anton hadn’t noticed Kaeya, nor the way his run gracefully transitioned into a smooth slide. Perhaps he was overestimating—a common denominator amongst cocky opponents. 

He shifts subtly leftward, positioning himself closer towards the Herald—or more precisely, where his dodges would lead him. By the time the realization hits Anton, Kaeya’s barely a foot away, leg right in view. 

Kaeya’s vision flashes a brilliant white, and two blades appear in his hand, long and tapered to a sharp end. And then, he rams them into the Herald’s knee, frost digging deeper into his flesh. 

Anton can only scream. 

Black blood spatters over frost, the monster collapsing on its nonfunctional leg. Flesh exposed to the air, Kaeya drives the blade deeper. Once more. Again. Finishing his work, he’s merely feet behind the Herald. 

He extracts his blades, a sickening squelch emerging as black-stained ice separates from his knee. His opponent had been incapacitated, and in a fight like this, that was a death sentence. You could have danced circles around opponents with nothing but bladework and precision, but once you lost movement, the fight was over before it began. 

Unfortunately, Anton’s head twisted at the last second, catching sight of Kaeya. And with a final swing of his sword, the blade barrels down towards his chest, sharp tip growing larger by the second. Everything seems to move slow, senses picking up on everything: his rapid breaths, the inviting chill of hoarfrost, the decaying scent of spilled midnight-black blood. 

He had one last chance to escape. Killing the Abyss Herald would do. 

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon , he whispers, heart thumping as the greatsword descends, silver-tinted glare reflected into his eyes. The blade grazes past his chest, the motion easy, as if cutting through paper. Kaeya hisses, agony spreading within like liquid fire. 

At last, he finds himself behind his opponent, blade striking the ground where he’d lain before. The blade slams into the ground with vigor, a killing blow cleaving through thin air, the force behind it sending it tip-first into rock. When the dust rises, clearing his vision, the greatsword is buried up to the hilt in the ground, quivering from the force of impact, unable to be pulled out. 

This was his moment. 

The monster stares at the blade, body stilled by shock. By the time Kaeya’s hand wraps around his struggling opponent, Anton had finally realized what he’d done, the moment one too long. Long steel rams through armor, force cleaving through flesh until a foot of metal protrudes through.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, fingers still wrapped around the hilt. The monster can only choke, its last words silenced as blood fills its throat, the blade protruding through stained an ominous black. 

He holds Anton’s body for a moment longer before letting it drop. The only sign of the corpse hitting the ground is a muted thud, swallowed by the cavern’s silence. Kaeya doesn’t watch it fall. He just exhales, head shaking slightly as the bloodlust begins to ebb—the cold clarity of battle giving way to a rising, sickening fatigue. 

Already, the rush was fading. In its place came the weight. The bile clawing at his throat. The familiar ache in his stomach. Disgust curled in his chest like a parasite, coiled tight and bitter. He didn’t even try to stop it. 

Just another body. Just another grave he’d never visit. 

Another Khaenri’ahn, lost to the rot of a war they never chose. One more countryman swallowed by a cycle that began five hundred years ago—one more name added to a tally he never wanted to keep. 

These meetings, these interactions with the Abyss Order, constrain him, the poisonous cage ever shrinking. Mondstadt was the place he grew up, the place that shaped his ideals. And yet, he was betraying it. For what? Father’s revelations? Glimpses of ideas that made this process bearable, yet still clawed at him every night he returned home? 

Khaenri’ah may have been his birthplace, the dead nation whose legacy Kaeya had carried, but Mond had been so much more: his allegiance, his people, his home . 

He swallows harshly, throat bitter and aching, the beginnings of a falling tear choked back. This cruel, broken world didn’t tolerate weakness. Perhaps that what Fate had ordained. 

First, he’d have to take care of Anton’s remains. If the Knights of Favonius wandered upon the Herald’s dead body… well, that was a series of questions he didn’t want to answer. Regardless, the Herald—and the blood that ran through him—reeked of the Abyss. Its taint clung to every drop, disrupting the natural order, sending wildlife fleeing while drawing monsters like carrion to rot. 

His fingers wrap around the body, gently cradling the corpse—the sole reminder of what he’d done. Blood soaks into the fabric of his shirt, staining his hands a color he couldn’t wash out. Though he grimaces, face contorting into disgust, Kaeya presses his elbow against the open wound. The Earth couldn’t afford more of an Abyssal creature’s blood to seep deep within. 

Drip, drip, drip. Every drop, every splash against his skin, the voices within stir. Kill, destroy, consume. The blood within, tainted and corrupted, stirs within his veins, a reminder of his heritage. 

His own blood drips from his chest and shoulders, lacerations still kept fresh. Trickling down, it mingles with Anton’s own, the resutling color a deep burgundy. The Herald had still inflicted significant damage despite his death, enough to keep Kaeya out of action for days. A once manageable ache, his pain intensifies into an excruciating sting, flesh exposed to air. 

Kaeya walks deeper into the cavern, the echo of his footsteps following behind. The ethereal blue glow recedes—smaller, fainter—until it’s gone. He’s used to the darkness, having lived in Khaenri’ah’s remains. Down there, the midnight-black void was constant. Endless. Father had held his hand, the acrid stench of blood filling his nose. His nose wrinkles unwittingly. Carving a pathway through the Abyss was simple—a flurry of blades and spilled blood, he’d watch his Father’s movements. 

Either way, as Kaeya walks deeper into the cavern, he begins to notice the hidden grandeur lurking behind the dark. The shadows stretch like hands reaching upwards. Crystalline formations glint in the dim, their edges catching what little light exists down here, and clusters of pale, foreign flora bloom in the silence—thriving, impossibly, in a place where life should not. 

It’s almost beautiful, in its way. Silent. Sacred. 

And yet Kaeya knows it won’t last. 

All of this will wither. Corruption would leech into every corner soon enough, drawn to the blood he left behind. Whatever strange beauty lingered here would decay, piece by piece, until the only thing left was rot. Just another grave. 

He lets the monster’s corpse go. 

Sliding off his hands, smooth armor brushes against his fingers, the only markings left ruined metal. Cuts where blade and frost pierced metal with equal intensity. But when his fingers brush against something far smoother, he freezes, warped chill entering his spine. 

That wasn’t… normal. 

Fingers scrabble against the material, wrapping around the remnants of a chain. And with it, he pulls , the snap of silver echoing throughout the cavern.  

Moving it closer, he takes a good look at it; a gasp follows, short and soft. 

The ominous sigil that Jean had described. Midnight black with violet undertones, an eight-pointed star engraved within. The symbol of Khaenri’ah’s old dynasty. And yet, for some unknown reason, he didn’t recognize it, familiar features warped every so slightly. 

As Kaeya tightens his grip around the chain, the whispers begin. 

Soft at first—barely audible tremors in the back of his mind—hissing fragments of destruction, voices beckoning chaos like a lover’s breath at his ear. Tantalizing. Persistent. Familiar. They thrum through his bones like a phantom pulse, each syllable echoing with ruin. 

He’d heard them before. Knew their desires. For someone with knowledge of the Abyss and its cursed rhythms, they were tolerable. Manageable. But they always came at a cost. 

And this time, they shift. 

Without warning, the voices grow sharper. Like knives dragging across glass, they begin to drown out everything else, peeling back his sense of self with every echo. His head pounds, the unbearable pressure sharp and rhythmic, as though something deep inside is hammering to be let out. 

Pain lances through his skull, centered behind the eye he’s kept hidden for years. The old scar pulses. His breath catches. 

Something inside him is trying to claw its way free. 

His vision blurs. Kaeya stares at his hands, only to see them cloaked in rising black smoke. It coils upward like a living thing, thick and heavy, seeping into the air. Wherever it touches, the world decays. The crystalline walls lose their shine. The strange, delicate flora curls and blackens. Color drains from the world, replaced by something lifeless and Abyss-born. 

No. No, not here. 

The pressure builds, surging into something catastrophic. 

He doubles over, a scream tearing from his throat—raw, broken, unfiltered agony. His breath shudders, each inhale shallower than the last. It feels like his body is unraveling molecule by molecule, breaking itself down and rebuilding from something other. Alcohol-dipped needles jab into his right eye, searing ice and electricity straight into his skull, rewiring nerves he never knew existed. 

It’s like something is being rewritten. 

He had to let go. 

Anything. Anything for one moment of relief. 

He unclenches his fist, fingers curling downwards. The chain clatters upon the floor, clinking with each roll against the ice-coated ground. Kaeya inhales greedily, taking in oxygen like a parched man to water. Chest unconstricting, sharp and shuddering, his fingers curl around broken pieces of frost. 

Kaeya braces himself, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tensed for another wave of agony—ready for the sensation to tear through him, rip him apart from the inside like before. 

But nothing comes. 

Only the dull, familiar sting of wounds he’d earned in the fight: slashing aches from Anton’s blade, the warm throb of bruises, the sharp pinch of blood drying against his skin. Real pain. Human pain. He almost welcomes it. 

He opens his eyes, letting his gaze drift toward the source of moonlight pouring through the cavern’s entrance. Thankfully, he hadn’t wandered too deep into the cave’s winding passageways. If he could just— 

Unseen beside him, the chain pulses. 

A jolt of warmth surges through it, this one wrong, thick and sweet like a fever. The object draws upon his life, what little energy remaining siphoning away, piece by piece. And with it, black mist begins to rise again, curling at the edges of his vision. 

His knees buckle. 

He stumbles forward, balance shattering as the gravity tugs him to the floor.  The last of his strength bleeds away, every muscle refusing to respond, the rocky floor rushing up to meet him. 

Well. Fuck. 

That’s the final thought that crosses his mind before everything fades, and the dark takes him again. 

Chapter Text

Kaeya wakes to the quiet hush of twilight.

A cold breeze brushes past him, stirring the loose strands of his hair and rustling the frost-dusted grass nearby. The peaks of Dragonspine loom in the distance, their jagged silhouettes framed by the sun’s slow descent behind the mountains. Crimson and gold spill across the sky, smearing the clouds with warm hues like streaks of fire on fading parchment. It’s a beautiful sort of stillness—the kind that demands nothing, only observation. 

Below, the world softens. The chatter of soldiers has faded, their patrols scattered. The laughter of children has slipped away into doorways and under warm roofs. Even the wind seems to carry less urgency now, as though the land itself is holding its breath before night falls. 

Yet not far from this quiet overlook, two figures make their way through the thinning forest below—shadows moving slowly along worn footpaths, the trails faint but familiar, carved long ago by wandering adventurers. Unwittingly, they begin to ascend toward the escarpment above: a place that offers a sweeping view of the vast terrain beyond, and perhaps, the next step on a path neither of them fully understood. 

A couple hundred feet away, a young boy—maybe around eleven or twelve and dressed in simple clothes—holds an older man's hand. Father. A man obscured by mask, hilt by his side, eyes glimmering with a glint he couldn’t yet name. There were secrets behind that veil, his character a blade wrapped in silk. Intricate, yet deadly. 

The boy walks without thought, instinct driving him to follow.  

This scene… was familiar.

His grip tightens, hand grasping his father’s own. Kaeya looks down, catching sight of his fingers. So small, so gentle—an innocent purity that childhood brought about. Not of blood, not of steel flashing through the air. The half-masked man, wait, no, Father, squeezes them, looking back with a soft smile. 

And yet, the sorrow is there. Hidden, pushed behind the exposed front—an instinct born from shared blood. Family meant everything; here, the cold façade remained impenetrable to anything but a gentle warmth. 

Each step towards the precipice takes them through the sloping grass nearing the edge. At last, the country below simmers in nature’s grasp. Gently sloping hills frame grassy woodlands, archaic settlements stretching towards the plains. Sun-kissed amber lights coat the horizon, the flaming sun reflecting ochre into the crystalline turquoise of the lake’s surface. 

So familiar and yet so alien. Nothing like the ink-thick void they’d called home. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Father whispers, finger pointing out towards the horizon. The building past their towers above the forests, surrounded by fields of something undeniably thriving—a sight complemented by a rosy glow, orange lanterns bathing the property nearby. "Just hold my hand." 

And so he does, towing behind Father, the rhythmic thud of boots thumping against grass. The long and winding roads had taken them hours, hidden paths bearing wear and tear. For a moment, the uniform ahead grows and grows, and he finds himself reeling from the collision. They’d stopped, waiting for something. 

Father ushers him ahead. Hands grasp his shoulder softly, the grip still reasonably firm. Down past the stretch of forest, ochre paints the sky, bleeding along the horizon like a blood-orange stain—one that Father watched solemnly, gaze unfocusing as reminiscence sweeps through. A memory, faint as the zephyrs blowing through. 

“Remember everything,” the whisper is gentler, hoarseness tickling the back of Father’s throat. Tilting his head up, Kaeya catches a glimpse of Father’s gaze, a look burned into memory forevermore: full of hope, burning with hatred—a sacrifice in exchange for progress. “This is your chance.”

You are our last hope. 

The estate’s outline lodges itself in his vision, imposing walls rising above the surroundings. His thoughts had shifted elsewhere, the forthcoming action recognizable: abandonment, sharp and piercing. He’d take it like a knife, piercing through flesh. Father would leave him here. 

The cold steel pressed against flesh barely feels real—more like a phantom sensation lingering just beneath the skin, a vague discomfort just behind. It isn’t until he glances down that he sees it, the glint of a blade jutting cleanly through his abdomen. 

A breath catches in his throat as the air thickens around him, suddenly dense and suffocating. The dull itch blossoming in his gut sharpens into searing agony, tearing through his body with a force that leaves him convulsing. His limbs twitch, uncooperative, as his numbed mind struggles to register what’s happening, of who was behind this. Then comes the twist, brutal and merciless, the sensation of torn flesh impossible to ignore. A soft voice, almost tender, ghosts from behind him: Forgive me. But the words are distant, drowned beneath the white-hot pain consuming him. 

Dreams were something he’d known all his life. Twisting and warping, fantastic and illusory, the gap between subconscious and reality bridged. And perhaps, for the first time in a while, everything felt… realistic. The burst of searing agony near his ribs. The gust of cold air slapping against his cheek in this dream—no, a twisted nightmare—was as clear as day. His heart sinks, fluttering down his ribcage as his assailant steps into view. 

Father. 

Once cloaked by a mask, Father stood ahead, regal uniform fluttering in fading sunlight. A short-trimmed beard hugged his jawline, handsome features contorted into a contempt-filled leer—one that burnt his very soul. 

The eyes are what scare him. Flaring with cold fury, violet irises curl into a velvet dusk, charcoal-colored smoke rising in the air. A mesmerizing sight, if Father hadn’t assaulted him. His heart pounds, breath held within.

Through the haze, it dawns on him that they somehow now stand at eye level. The familiar height difference that once marked his younger self and Father is gone, replaced by a sudden, jarring symmetry that makes the moment feel all the more unreal. 

Kaeya lowers his gaze and freezes. The ragged cloak that once hung from his smaller frame is gone, replaced by the sharp, familiar lines of Mondstadt’s Cavalry Captain uniform. He’s no longer a boy. His body has shifted, reshaped, aged back into the man he is now, twenty-eight, scarred by time and duty. But the uniform doesn’t stay constant. It flickers, intermittently revealing glimpses of something far more regal beneath. An ensemble fit for royalty, gleaming with memory. 

Yet his eyes are drawn to something else entirely. The blade in his abdomen, once a cold silver, has turned a deep black, pulsing with an otherworldly haze that clings to its edges like smoke. A shadow given form, a wound that seems to reach deeper than flesh. 

“All those lessons, and still, none of it stuck, did it?" Father asks. Disappointment glimmers in that tone, tempered by a biting edge. Father’s hand moves under Kaeya’s jaw, body forced to tilt up. Those eyes, smoldering with fury, meet his son’s own. “After everything…betrayal as the final payment.” 

He gasps loudly, agony tearing through him as his strength saps away. The wound pulses steadily through his core. His lips press together, drawing whatever moisture within but everything aches; every whisper, every sound met by a searing pain. 

“I wish this path hadn’t led us here.” The sigh that escapes Father’s mouth is heavy, regret flitting across his face before submerging into the depths of violet. "I had hoped we might resolve this peacefully… so forgive me for what must come next." 

Only then does the blade twist again, another burst of agony emanating within. A slow, suffocating throb pushes through his body, like something unnatural was leeching the life from him, inch by inch, worming its way deep into his core. 

Yet even through the haze of pain and blurred vision, Kaeya forces his eyes to focus. He sees it, the black smoke curling from the Abyss-tainted blade, snaking upward toward a dark, pulsating sphere forming in Father's outstretched hand. The air around it crackles with malevolence. When Kaeya looks up, he’s met with a cold, unflinching stare. Father’s expression is carved from ice, gaze sharp enough to cut. There’s no hesitation. No mercy. 

And Kaeya screams—raw, guttural, filled with terror and revulsion, with helpless panic that claws at his chest. Oh, how long does he scream. 

Kaeya jolts awake, choking on a breath he doesn’t remember holding. 

His vision blurs, chest heaving, sweat slick on his skin despite the cold biting at his face. The world around him is muffled, like he's underwater. There’s no howling wind, no crunch of snow beneath him, only the frantic hammering of his heartbeat echoing through his ribs. His body scrambles to move before his mind can catch up, limbs flailing against the frozen ground as if trying to outrun whatever horror still clings to him. 

For a split second, he doesn’t know where he is, only that he’s alive. 

His feet are the first to rise, hands propelling him upwards. A panic-filled whirl follows, blade flashing through the air in a silvery arc. Fingers wrap around the metal hilt, adrenaline pumping through Kaeya’s veins like a creeping frost, fast and consuming—his assailant. The blade protruded through his chest. Where were they?

An endless stretch of frost-white surrounds him, tempered by slate-grey skies overhead. The fire running through his body seeps out, warm and slow, just like scarlet had dripped down his shoulder the night before. That was a nightmare. The pain, the fear, Father himself. All of it a perversion of his past, an experience that could be dismissed. 

The exhale that releases comes with haste, heart pounding against his chest. The nightmare, the blade rupturing through the abdomen, all fractures of the toll it had taken.

Nightmares. A word that he hated. The pain, the vision; they’d never been this coherent before. The clashing of blades, Crepus’ corpse bleeding out amidst the weeping rain. A walk through the pitch-dark void, monstrous shadows waxing and waning. Standing alone amidst the forest, darkness conquering the world as the sun reached its descent. 

Father wasn’t part of them, hadn’t ever surfaced in those nightmares. Instead, he’d infected his dreams. That gentle laugh after fending the monsters away, tales whispered of the mother he once had. Hands wrapped around his own, guiding the swing of his blade. Meeting him was exceedingly rare; being run through? An experience he wouldn’t want to repeat.

Absentmindedly, his fingers graze against the fabric covering his abdomen, trying to soothe the burning pain underneath. There were no wounds; that Kaeya was sure of. No blood seeping through cloth, no crimson moisture coating his fingers. His features contort into a wince, still rubbing against his stomach. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks. Shock could amplify memories, alter things deep within one’s subconscious.

And yet, how did Father know?

Deceit came naturally to Kaeya. A facet easily accessible, yet perfected by few. Usage only strengthened it. In his field of work, practice was necessary. The language of lies helped him survive all these years, concealing the sabotage as he played both sides like a fiddle, and nobody had been privy to it. Not Anton. Not Father. Not even Diluc that day when they’d stood below the pattering showers of rain. 

Even Anton knew, his last moments spent gurgling on his own blood as black liquid poured out of ruined legs. A herald wouldn’t know about his secrets: the inhumanly fast movements, passive-aggressive stance, all facets of something more sinister hiding at bay. Whatever it had been, something had felt off. 

The strange sigil, reports of Fatui casualties, disappearance of a sole witness. They all tied back to something. He had to figure it out.

But the crunch of snow under his boots shakes him.

Where exactly was he?

The landscape, endless and vast, stretches out in solemnity for miles. Past the horizon, rich-umber mountains tower above snow-coated forests, framed in frost, hardy greenery below peeking through the snow. Slate-grey clouds loom overhead, the atmosphere far desolate than usual. Nothing like the home he’d passed out in.
Had he woken up in Snezhnaya? 

The land of frost was a place seldom seen, known through only photographs and word of mouth. Frozen soil and blizzards of frost and ice spanned the distant country, its citizens hardened by the bleakness. Mondstadt was the land of gale and song—nothing had mirrored such conditions, not even the mountainous heights of Dragonspine. 

Perhaps, this was an ill-fated dream—the reality that could never have been. A pioneer. The founder of an unknown continent, far past the stretches of the Dark Sea. The false title this dream had placed. His fingers curl together, pinching the flesh of his cheek. The pain flares, sharp like a needle, and he winces. 

Fuck. 

The sigil had transported him elsewhere. Great.

To his back, desolation seeped through the land, white storms of death slamming frost into the ground. Ashen clouds frame the bleakness, the faintest of activity noted with flickering eyes, movement past the distant mist. Kaeya shivers. His grip tightens on his blade, stance spread with tension.
The only direction was forward. Through snow and ice, blizzard and frost, there would be life. Hope for civilization. Harsh conditions, not as merciless as the gales of frost behind, faced him ahead—and that step would be taken. 

He breathes through his mouth, crystalline hoarfrost materializing in thin air.  

There was a long road ahead. There was no turning back now. 

It had been hours since Kaeya began walking—how many, he couldn’t say. With no sun to track and no equipment to measure distance, time had blurred into a haze of endless white. Each step sank deep into the snow, his Mondstadt-issued boots ill-suited for this kind of terrain. They weren’t made for the unyielding bite of frost or the constant drag of snowdrifts that clung to his heels like anchors. 

Still, he pressed forward. The rhythm of lifting each foot free from the snow had become mechanical. Step, sink, pull, repeat. Energy bled from him with every mile, though his Cryo vision dulled the worst of the cold and lent him just enough stamina to keep going. Maybe he’d covered forty miles. Maybe seventy. It didn’t matter. Wherever he’d landed, he was far from anywhere familiar. 

And farther still from home. 

Kaeya releases a breath, frosty plume quickly materializing in front of him. Ice-coated mist blows back into his face, his brow furrowing in annoyance. Down here, the snow is thinner, ice banks having made way for smaller layers of frost spanning the ground—the tundra, a place where life itself came to flee, where only the hardiest survived. 

The sky had darkened, charcoal-grey clouds splattered with red, as if crimson had been spilled in the heavens. Sun descending past the horizon, the light couldn’t have dimmed at a better hour. Great.  

Darkness creeping upon the land, he winds through empty trails, landmarks shrouded in the shadows of night. The hope was still there. Of life, of the conviction that somebody was still here. Desolation wore down even the strongest of people, left them exposed raw, but Kaeya still believed. 

Traversing the mountains before had left him weary, and it hadn’t been long since exhaustion had taken its toll. Thump, thump. The blood pumps through his veins, hot and fast. The adrenaline is a rush. Moving through the towering landscape had a cost, and the aching pain throbbing in his ankles served as a reminder.

By then, the landscape had changed. Thick, green leaves, coated in a layer of frost, dangled from the branches of trees, hardy in their way. Each branch giving way to another and another until the entirety of a forest stared back at him, large and menacing. The hope within him stirs, welling up like water to a shattered glass’ brim. 

Life. And with it, brought animals. Supplies. People . In a world like this, limited opportunities could only be used.

Only time separated him from his goal. A few hours, maybe even a day. Soon, he’d find some signs of life. Perhaps, even a way home. 

But the pain flaring through his ribs, the agonizing brush of cloth against open flesh reminds him. Kaeya grits his teeth, grinding them together at the sensation. Those wounds hadn’t healed. The passage of time only counted down the clock, each second ticking as they festered—their raw surface exposed to air. 

The tightness of his stomach doesn’t help. A rumble issues through, reminding him of the hunger. His last meal had felt like ages ago. Feathers flying through the air, chicken skewers tumbling through the air. His mouth waters, the juicy meat so vivid in his mind. He’d have to find something soon.

Another mile. Another stretch of forest, of land without activity. Civilization’s possibility grew smaller every moment, the yearning receding like a tidal wind.

A pained laugh escapes his lips, short and uncontrolled, his smile sardonic. After all the pain, after all the loss, this was how he’d go out. Not with a bang, just a whimper. Lost and alone, dead in a frozen wasteland, wandering in the search of the very thing he shunned. 

How ironic. 

It’d been hours, yet the inhospitable stretch of tundra had been discouraging. 

“Just a bit longer,” he whispers, his foot crunching through snow. The cramp in his calf throbs, each step twisting it a little bit more. And yet, he powers on, the hope he’d held onto fueling him forward through the pain and the misery.  

The thicket of trees clears gradually, the thick overlapping of branches making way towards a field of frost. No trees here. No cover for whatever place had been set up. The thump of his heart rings within his ears, his skin feeling warmer.

Perhaps, something was here?

A fresh burst of energy erupts within him, warm power pouring into his muscles—the strength wrapped around him like a warm blanket, the embrace reinvigorating. His feet no longer drag against the snow, each step nearly a leap forward. Fifty meters. Another hundred. Past the distance remains the faint outline of something blurry, its presence dragging him forward like the pull of a magnet. 

When the blur finally sharpens, Kaeya almost smiles—fatigue dulling the reaction into a quiet flicker of relief rather than anything triumphant. 

Five hundred meters. Two fifty. One hundred. Seventy-five. Fifty. 

It’s not until he’s within reach—barely fifty meters out—that the shape in the distance resolves into something tangible, something unmistakably real. 

A cluster of darkened structures loomed ahead, weathered by time, choked by frost. Abandoned, yes, but not lifeless. The faint echo of existence clung to their walls, and somehow, amidst the stillness, that knowledge warmed Kaeya more than the cold ever could chill him. 

Fatigue, long held at bay by adrenaline and grit, surged back with full force. His muscles ached, breath heavy, steps slow. At last, he let it take him. With a quiet exhale, Kaeya allowed gravity to pull him down, the snow embracing his fall like an old friend. 

Flat on his back, he stared up at the pale sky. A single snowflake drifted from the heavens, landing softly on his cheek—a kiss of cold, fleeting, and familiar. He closed his eyes, lips curling into a quiet, genuine smile. 

Even in a land swallowed by winter, he was still alive. 

And that was enough. 

Chapter Text

A thin plume of breath curls into the frigid air, dissolving slowly into the stillness. It drifts upward, vanishing like a ghost—proof, however fleeting, that someone is still alive in this frozen wasteland.

Not far from where the vapor lingers, Kaeya rises to his feet, joints stiff from rest, muscles aching beneath his layers. He brushes snow from the cuffs of his coat, fingers numb despite the gloves, and exhales through gritted teeth. The cold settles deep into his bones now, its presence constant, unrelenting like the winds streaking through winter air. 

He trudges toward the nearest building, its cracked stone and rusted edges chipped away. The doors are sealed shut, chained and barred from within, and even brute force—shards of cryo summoned and slammed into the hinges—fails to make a dent. The ice only cracks uselessly, dissipating into shards that scatter like shattered glass across the snow. 

Kaeya curses under his breath, but only briefly. If one path is closed, he’ll find another. 

He always does. 

His vision blurs spectacularly, smoke-grey layered on frost-colored white making way to a pale-ivory path. A hallway, worn and marked with scratches, the crumbling bricks not raising Kaeya’s hopes. The building was old, that he knew. Ages since anybody stepped foot within, silent echoes casting through the air like memories of the forgotten.  

He grips the edge of a crooked door, eye flickering back and forth. A broken chair, leg torn from the seat. Scattered supplies, food and weapons hastily thrown away on the floor. Papers smudged with ink and random scribbles, their markings still fresh. Still, it hadn’t been long. 

The next thing that catches his attention are the cups. Rusted, metal things filled to the brim with what was presumably water, each stacked precariously on the shelf. Liquid. His parched mouth salivates, fingers suddenly feeling dry. Even surrounded by snow, there had been no time, no source of heat nearby.

Rushing towards the edge of the room, Kaeya nearly stumbles, feet brushing against the edge of something. With a trembling hand, he reaches towards the cup. Water. Nourishment. He doesn’t take a second glance at the surface, downing its contents with haste. The cough that follows is quick, each following in quick succession. Stale, all of it. The unpleasant taste lingers in the back of his mouth, his throat gagging in response. 

His finger reaches out towards his face, flicking away a drop of water. The breath that escapes his lips is one of exhaustion, fatigue rendering him like a prisoner just reaching freedom—a bone-deep weariness that sank into his very soul. He’d left the desolation of the past, trading it for uncertainty. And that worried him. 

Supplies are the next thing to go. Packets of food, weapons hastily abandoned, a pile of documents in the corner. All the goods that had been left in this room.

The growl of his stomach interrupts his thoughts, a wince following. Hunger crouched over him, waiting to sink its fangs within, but he didn’t dare touch the food. It wasn’t fresh. The tinge of white scattered across the surface warned him of that. 

Besides, there was wildlife in the vicinity—a good source of food. Walking through frost and the smattering of forest had exposed him, the chitter of creatures bounding past the treeline. 

A singular eye focuses upon the documents, gaze narrowing at the minuscule font. As the shadows had lengthened, daylight waning by the moment, the words became scrambled. Harder to read. But Kaeya continues to scan the page, the font eerily familiar. Close to Snezhnayan in way, hardened edges lengthened, turned softer at the ends.

But that’s where the similarities ended. Right in the upper corner, a one-winged bird had lain with extended claws, the sight mirrored upon itself.  

Staring at the symbol, something coils in Kaeya’s chest—part fear, part intrigue, a sharp, breathless thrill that skims down his spine. His eyes linger on the strange emblem, one wing curled in on itself, as though even the design tried to hide what it was. These weren’t Fatui documents, not really. Whatever force had left them behind, it wasn’t Snezhnayan. Wasn’t Teyvat. 

And deep down, Kaeya knows. The language, the ruins, the silence of a land that feels too deliberate, too quiet for any nation he’d known. Not Snezhnaya. Not Mondstadt. Not even the shadowed edges of Khaenri’ah. And wherever he’s ended up, it’s… foreign . Perhaps another world, maybe. 

And he has no idea how far he’s fallen. 

And perhaps, that news would be meant for another day. Another day in which exhaustion hadn’t seeped through his bones, blades hadn’t dulled the sharpness of his mind. Fatigue had already churned through him, the fire in his veins snuffed out in a hiss of wear. And so, he rises to his feet, the thump of his boots echoing through the room.

The corridor is the first thing he passes. Long and winding, it leads past the lengthening shadows, a single door at the very end. 

And he opens it. 

The room beyond is sparse, the air stale with disuse. A cracked wooden desk sits in the corner, dust gathered in etched grooves. A tarnished medal hangs crookedly on the wall beside a splintered nameplate, its lettering worn away by time. It had once held some meaning, but now, it's just a forgotten remnant. He lingers for a moment, the details blurring. He’s too tired to care. 

What mattered was the bed. 

Without hesitation, he let himself fall into it, the worn mattress groaning beneath his weight. The cold clung to his clothes, the ache in his limbs gnawed at him, but none of it compared to the pull of sleep. His eyes fluttered shut, thoughts slipping loose from their anchors, scattered like snow in the wind. 

Whatever dreams waited for him—twisted or kind—he’d face them when they came. 

For now, he simply let himself drift. 

Kaeya wakes to a cold splash against his chest, a sharp, wet drop seeping through the fabric of his uniform. Another follows, and another. The steady rhythm of water dripping from the ceiling. 

He grimaces, shifting instinctively to his right—only for the bed to vanish beneath him. 

The world lurches sideways. His body hits the ground with a graceless thud, air punched from his lungs as pain flares across his ribs and shoulders. For a moment, he lies there, stunned, listening to his own shallow breaths rasp through the cold air. 

Groaning, Kaeya pushes himself up with a wince, the motion tugging at half-healed wounds like raw wire. His vision blurs briefly, brightened by morning light and the haze of disrupted sleep, before returning to reality. 

His eyes flick upward. The ceiling above him is cracked. Water seeps a bbthrough the crack, each droplet a cold reminder. 

Of course.

A laugh briefly escapes his lips, short and sweet. His vision is quickly filled with an image, each detail shaded by the burning brightness overhead. Miles of rime-frosted landscape. A hallway choked by ink-thick darkness. Reminders of a world left behind, faint mist obscuring whatever remained left. 

His mind wanders, thoughts lingering upon the nightmare from yesterday. Nightmares. A word he hadn’t thought about, not in a while. Each night spent clammy, each day spent waking up in a sweat, body shivering from a frost not there. And yet, perhaps “nightmare” wasn’t the right term. A vision. Yes, a vision—a conclusion born from conditions alone, block upon block stacking upon the rest until everything toppled.  

He leaned against the wall, catching his breath. 

Last night, his imagination had been active—solitude brewing yet another malaise. The flash of steel as it scraped through the air, silver flickering past his gaze until darkness consumed his vision. Blood had streamed from his eyes, crimson soaking the ground as he flinched, his brother towering over him. 

But now, stepping past the open door, a new vision fills his eyes. The amber glow of morning sunlight filters through glass, dyeing the lacquered tiling the color of a withering firelight. Strong, grey walls, each left completely intact, hold the structure strong. His gaze flickers towards the ceiling, taking note of the smoothness, its surface devoid of the very hairline cracks in the room. 

Stupid. He’d been rash enough to settle in, move towards the bed as if drawn towards a siren’s lullaby. The soft bosom of sleep had been warm enough, calling to him. Those foolish enough to search for comfort in the absence of safety sank to the depths—he couldn’t afford to be one. 

And yet, he’d let his guard down. And for what? A bed full of splinters and a leaky roof? 

“Comfort is for those who’ve earned it,” he imagines the voice would say, sharp and cold as ever. The delivery was meant to be harsh; he had learned that over the years. In life, there were no second chances, and in his line of work, death circled him, waiting to sink its fangs at any missteps. 

Being reckless would land him nowhere useful. Not in a place like this, the territory foreign, the people absent. The shake of his head that follows is quick, Kaeya steeling himself in preparation. Exploration required his guard to be up and down here; he’d best keep it on stand always. 

The first room was his target. Home to documents strewn across desks, food and waste hastily scattered throughout. Noteworthy scribbles would always lead somewhere, even if the results were substandard. But that was for another time. Perhaps when all corridors were traversed, all rooms opened, then he’d return to the scene.

The pathway is long, each thud of boots against lacquered floor leading him one foot closer to the intersection. Two directions. Two separate pathways, each with its own set of rooms.

And yet, he continues walking forward. There has to be more. More than the smattering of doors near the ends of each row, the hallways kept barren with the exception of the sun’s morning glow. The end of the hallway beckons, calls to him, and when he finally steps through, there it is.

Another hallway. Huh.  

The rhythmic echo pauses momentarily, only the faint shadows of sound left audible.

Wonder where this one led to.

Instead, the frigid expanse ends, another door stood tall and unopened. He pauses, eyes flickering back to where he’d emerged from. Perhaps, mapping this complex could wait. And so, he makes his way past a series of windows, stopping merely meters away from the door. All stands still.

A deep white replaces the cool metal ahead, a blinking brightness coating his vision in what feels like a minute. His heart drops, hand involuntarily reaching out towards the building's edge. Teleportation was always difficult, an act that left its user completely disoriented, throwing off their spatial awareness. And in a place like this, out in the wilderness, abandoned by figures in the recent past, he couldn’t risk it. 

Kaeya rubs his eyes, the burning sun still imprinted in his vision. When the sight finally clears, his mouth partially drops open, shock coloring his features. 

Although the front of the building had shown signs of decay, it paled in comparison to the devastation at the rear. The rest of the complex followed suit—structures that once towered over the flat tundra now lay broken, their remains scattered across the frostbitten ground. Shards of splintered wood, twisted metal, and chunks of stone and plaster were strewn across the landscape, as though something had detonated and ripped the area apart.  

But that wasn’t what drew Kaeya’s attention.  

Ahead, a vast section of earth had been carved inward, a depression stretching five to ten meters deep by his estimate. Opposite him, a gentle slope dipped downward, linking the surface to the exposed lower ground. Unlike the snow-covered path above, the sunken terrain was littered with debris—collapsed beams, jagged wreckage, and overturned fragments—proof that something massive had given way. 

Interesting… 

Walking forward, the movement is kept brief, wintery conditions piling frost against the exposed pathway. The snow gave way underfoot, each step leaving a shallow impression behind. One foot. Another. He expected nothing but rust, broken metal carving deep into the soil. But the first scent that hits him is one of pure rancidity, throat involuntarily tightening in response.

Kaeya covers his mouth, short bursts of breath tickling his arm. A puff of vapor wisps out, vanishing as quickly as it came. He flicks it away absently, his eye following the fading mist—until it lands on something else.

There.

Just beyond the collapsed degree, something juts from beneath the blackened scraps of metal. Protruding, wrong. He squints, gaze narrowing. Shapes. Limp and twisted, strewn across the snow like broken figures.

Bodies. 

His eyes widen, gaze taking it all in, but his fingers do their own thing—out of fear, perhaps out of shock, a distraction meant to delay. Reaching towards his back, they scrabble against fabric, clutching the scratched remnants of his coat with desperation. The smell. Rancid and foul, wafting towards his nose in pursuit. The cloth covers his nose, protecting him from the worst of them.

He moves closer. 

The corpse’s features are heavily emaciated, hunger and rot having worn their way through flesh. Ribs protruded through the skeletal frame, skin stretched tightly over bone. Short-cropped black hair framing the face, slate-grey intermixed within—choppy, as if cut by a knife. Rust-maroon and scorched-pine scattered across skin, wounds kept hidden by shredded rags. A mockery of what once might’ve been called a man. 

Whatever this person had gone through, it’d been hell.

But the thing that catches his attention juts above the cadaver’s head. A pair of small ears, shaggy and matted, the black tufts of fur nearly unnoticeable amidst his hair. Not human. Definitely not.

His hand reaches out towards his eyes, rubbing them. A blink. Once, twice. Still there. 

Kaeya shakes his head, features colored with disbelief. The implications… he wasn’t sure what to make of it. And yet, they frightened him nevertheless. 

A strange dream followed by a foray into a foreign land. A journey through miles of snow, wandering through a desolate landscape for hours. And finally, he’d arrived at this complex, and yet it hadn’t stopped there. Abandoned buildings hosting foreign documents and now, buried in the snow, this had laid. 

Teyvat. A home he’d found himself far, far from.

Drinking with friends at Angel’s Share. Watching Diluc’s wry smile at his jokes. Mentoring Klee to escape solitary confinement. All simple memories, each fading into echoes passing through time. His gaze softens and yet, the tension within bleeds away—strange.

A new world. Torn from his masterpiece and thrown into a blank canvas. All of that work… gone.

And yet, in a way, he’d been unbound.

Broken away from the shackles of fate Destiny had ensnared him with. An escape from Father, slipping away from the Abyss’ Order’s tainted grasp. A relief from the decision he’d have had to make, the difficult choice avoided. Each hard, each holding him down like anchors.

And perhaps, in a twisted way, Fate decided to set him free. Let go of everything he hated, but at the highest cost.

A hollow laugh escapes his lips, and he snorts, the following laughter rising. Growing, crescendoing until it’s uncontrollable, until his breath becomes short and he gasps for air. 

You’ve always wanted this , it whispers, coiling around him like a serpent, mind within its grasp. To be free. 

Freedom. A word holding weight of its own, a cost that remained too high. In a world where predators pinned their prey, gazes drilling into them as they ran helplessly, freedom was… foreign. So close, and yet, so far. 

And no, it stares him in the face, mocking. Whispering twisted words under that twisted façade, that voice taking advantage. The shake of his head that follows is short, his vision blurring softly like faded ink upon dusk’s moonlight, words fracturing into shards that float away. The voices now were softer. His brow smooths, the tight line of concern softening slightly. 

But the silence doesn’t last. 

Then his eye falls on it—outlined in the snow, buried under the shattered remnants of something long gone. Disgust flickers across his features, a wave of revulsion surging, curdling sharp and sour in his throat. Not just one body, but two. A woman and child lay nestled together in the snow, their limbs entwined, locked in the kind of embrace meant to shield, to protect... even in death. 

Death’s shroud had loomed above him all his life. Civilians caught in the crossfire, soldiers torn apart by ancient beasts—its touch seeping into both the innocent and battle-hardened alike. He remembered the sorrowful gazes that never looked skyward, the sound of weeping swallowed by the earth as the caskets passed by. Mortality had touched them all. It had touched him, too.

But this?

Nobody deserved this.

Just another forgotten outpost swallowed by the tundra; A graveyard, heavy with the remnants of something far more brutal than abandonment. And what churned his stomach was the violence. Civilians. Not soldiers, not combatants, but people.

A girl, no older than twelve, slumps awkwardly in the snow, a wound carved through her abdomen like a cruel signature. He tries to look away. Tries not to remember the way her hand had still been outstretched, as if she’d been reaching for someone. But the memory clung to him, sharp and insistent, impossible to scrub clean.

His fingers clasp around metal, a deep fury rising within, bubbling like the frost crackling in the presence of heat. His throat itched for something stronger, something that could rinse out the taste of death. Knuckles turning white, his grip tightened further.

And then, he screams. 

He screams until his voice is hoarse, until the sky is smeared with the crimson of his furious rage, until nothing comes out. Ashen-black flashes across his vision, the revolting stench of rot leeching into his veins palpable. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All the anger he’d bottled up, the hollow ache of loss gnawing at him day by day—it had all come to this. 

The vicious scene before him, the looming threat of Mondstadt falling to Snezhnaya in his absence, and the cold truth that he was stranded, isolated in an unfamiliar land with no clear path forward and dwindling chances of survival. 

A blank slate. The one hope he’d held onto, the one chance he’d wished for. For a world unstained by his sins, unburdened by the weight he carried. And Fate had led him, held him by his hand, all while dangling the very prize that blinded him. Blind faith.

A humorless breath escapes him—half a laugh, half a sigh—as the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a grim, tired smile. There it was. The cruel punchline to a joke only Fate seemed to find amusing.

Deep past the forest, past the emerald-coated thickets and ragged markings of frost-glazed tracks, the world shifts.
Unbeknownst to him, the land responds. A hush bleeds past the treeline, silence spreading like a breath held too long. The soft rustle of furred creatures vanishes, the chirps and flutters of small birds abruptly gone. Only the wind remains, its cold fingers threading through the treeline, howling low and hollow like an unsaid warning. 

Something had stirred. And the world, sensing it, had chosen to fall silent. 

The wind howls low over the frost-bitten expanse. 

Somewhere in the endless white, nearly three hundred miles from the massacre Kaeya had stumbled across, a line of armored figures comes to a dead halt, the motion abrupt and jarring, as if the world itself had snagged on a thread. 

Snow crunches faintly beneath their boots, then stills. For a heartbeat, no one moves. 

One by one, the soldiers shift, their once-fluid march fractured by something unseen. Their breathing clouds the air in uneven bursts, short plumes of frost rising and vanishing into the cold. Tattered cloaks flap behind them, ragged and broken by wind, stained by days of travel through the unrelenting tundra. There are fewer of them now—much fewer than when they started. Faces once hidden behind polished visors are drawn and gaunt, the steel of their uniforms dulled beneath ice and exhaustion. 

But even in their diminished state, they’re still formidable. A formation forged by discipline and fear, now cracked right down the middle. 

The commander doesn’t speak. 

He stands apart, silent at the head of the column, his armor darker than the rest. The snow doesn’t seem to touch him. The shadow of his helm obscures his eyes, but under that helmet, something flickers —recognition, perhaps. Maybe even dread. The faint tremble in his gloved hand stills before anyone else can see. 

Then it begins. 

A ripple, barely perceptible, pulses through the air, the strange pressure thickening in their lungs like air tightening around them. One soldier stumbles, nearly dropping his sword. Another shudders, the fingers on his gauntlet twitching involuntarily. Somewhere deep in the field behind them, a crow takes flight—startled, its wings slicing through the silence like knives. It doesn’t caw, instead disappearing past the slate-grey sky into the horizon beyond. 

“Formation!” the commander growls, gritting his teeth. With a step forward, he punches his fist into the air, order snapping others our of their daze. The remnants scramble back to obey, falling into practice ranks, the crunch of boots through rime stamping out their panic. The fear doesn’t fade, not entirely, but their bodies knew what to do. Routine was their shield. Always had been, a defense against the desolation they faced. 

Images flash through the tundra, disorienting and rushed. A jumble of color and word, far away and nearly there at once, glass shards ripping through his mind. A place. No—a ruin. Metal buildings buried under snow. The stench of blood. The tremble of the ground as it gave way. And then— 

A collapse. Broken limbs and spilled crimson. Ordered and executed under their light. The spike of nausea twists in his gut, that one face fleshed out right ahead..
Duke Tarasov.
He would not be pleased 

With a curt motion of his hand, he signals the column to turn around. Wordlessly, they obey, their boots crunching through the snow in a slow, deliberate retreat. 

The tundra, silent moments ago, stirs again behind them. But none of them look back.
They have loose ends to tie up. 

Chapter Text

The wind howled through the broken windows like a mourning cry, low and long, stirring the frost-dusted curtains Kaeya hadn’t even realized were there. He sat near the remains of a scorched pit, boots thawing from the embers that glowed dimly in the darkness, the flame more for comfort than heat. His breath left pale clouds in the air, curling briefly before fading into the gloom.

It had been days—three, maybe four—since he'd claimed the ruins as a temporary refuge. The silence had grown loud since then, pressing in from all sides. Not even the distant scuttling of wildlife had remained. 

He rubbed his hands together, more out of habit than need, eyes scanning the jagged shadows dancing along the collapsed ceiling. Kaeya should’ve felt grateful. A secured supply cache. A defensible location. Even a thin mattress, dragged from the scattered room down the hall. But none of it eased the gnawing weight in his chest.

He hadn’t dreamed since that night. But waking hadn’t brought peace either. 

Hours spent exploring what little remnants were present in this wasteland. Days spent scouring for supplies in a world seeming more desolate by the minute. Kaeya’s outlook was bleak. He knew when to admit his weaknesses. Whatever offerings the abandoned complex had hosted were dwindling, each day stripping wares from their storages. The bundle of bandages, dusty and crumbled, had been barely usable. Perishable supplies too; the pang of hunger thumped within. 

His expression wilts, features softening ever so slightly. The disappointment within ate away at him—maybe out of guilt, perhaps out of the idea that attributing responsibility would alleviate the pressure. Pointing fingers was much easier than acceptance, and in a way, he felt relieved. Down here, there was nobody to blame. Not Father, not the Order, not the Fatui. Only himself. 

Exploration hadn’t been a productive outlet, either. Supplies already taken in advance, the debris-coated structures hadn’t held much significance—silvery medals here, a box of general reserves left behind. A stockpile that would last a week. Unopened packets of food had remained quite decent, the winter frost playing to his advantage. 

When the sun cowered from the growing storm, its retreat painting the clouds a brilliant-orange hue, he had left. His eyes had traced the sky, dark visages overhead splashed with molten copper. Life hadn’t presented itself in the vicinity. So he’d come to it. 

Moving past fields of hoarforst, silence was the first thing he observed. Subdued, slinking deep under like a predator, it watched him with weary eyes. The arctic forests promised nothing but an eerie solitude; even the morning chirps of those bound to wake mysteriously absent. 

Strange. 

He watches the grass peeping through rime, its pattern familiar. Long and winding, it slithers through the snow, an odd figure formed. Tilting his head, Kaeya looks again, an image quickly flashing in succession. Bodies, broken limbs splayed out in every direction, crimson flakes of blood staining what was left of the corpses. Bile rises in his throat, eyes looking elsewhere. 

The bodies… the death that had come to claim. For someone ordinary, things like that scarred, burned a brand into the flesh of the mind so severe that a wintry veil couldn’t cool. But Kaeya, he was used to it. The demise, the ending that would grab one in their sleep, the absence had taught him all he’d known. 

Death would always come to claim what it’d been promised. But children? Small, young people grasping onto the hands of the youth that life provided them? They’d never deserved that. And so, he’d roared into the heavens, something unleashed from the very bowels of his soul. A force that’d drove away even the smallest of critters.  

The memory of that day had been growing faint, but the emotion still burned bright. Anger, a fury so potent that it ached. Power, abyssal power, brought death and destruction on a scale unimaginable to those not familiar. And yet, past the verdant treeline, there’d been no otherworldly stains. No ink-thick void staining the walnut-colored bark, no amethyst splotches coloring the dead leaves of pine.

Miles past the complex—five, maybe six?—life had emerged once more. Critters clawed out of holes dug within the ice, birds flying in the air, all facing away from the forest. Ground zero. Whatever he’d unleashed that day, this was the boundary. He was sure of it.  

Regardless, time wasn’t something he could waste, not even while pondering the consequences. By the time whatever would manifest, he’d have already left in search of greener pastures. Ten, fifteen, twenty-five miles, Kaeya would walk however long it would take. Thorough construction suggested nearby supply depots—and where there were depots, there were likely villages not far off. 

A single flake brushes against his nose, the sudden chill breaking Kaeya’s concentration. Snow. Soft and pure, so simple and intricate—a thing born from contradiction, perfection imbued in the smallest of Nature’s creations. He shakes his head, more crystalline figures descending softly against his hand.

He gazes past the horizon, eye flickering in an attempt to find home. This solo expedition had taken him east. The tenth, maybe eleventh, journey these days, footsteps leading him across rivers coated with pale-blue frost, past dying trees cleaved in a time long gone. And like the rest, it’d been uneventful. 

It was only a matter of time until he’d be back. 

At last, the unforgiving wreck towers above him, the frozen wasteland visible past the stretch of trees. The more time he spent here, Sal Vindagnyr had creeped into the edges of his thought like mist: below-freezing temperatures, inhospitable but to the most dauntless of adventurers, and a civilization long gone.  

The building that he approaches is one of senescence; old, clinging to whatever echoes of structural integrity once central to its vision. A hardened sliver of wood, sharp edges frozen by winter, hangs against blackened metal. His eyes narrow into slits, fingers clenching against the flesh of his palm as he waits.

His breath is stolen all at once, a sudden emptiness collapsing into his chest. He gasps, clawing at empty space, fingers scrabbling—then the world turns a cold shade of grey, steel-toned and suffocating. His vision swims as the metallic hue fades, the color replaced by the dim, flickering gloom of the corridor ahead. 

Down past the stretch of metal, cracked walls stretch endlessly on either side, cloaked in a layer of shade. The air is still and cold in a way that seeps beneath his skin. Dust motes drift lazily through shafts of pale light spilling in from a broken window at the far end, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. 

Kaeya stumbles forward, boots scuffing against the metal beneath him. The silence presses into him, his own staggered breaths the only sound to accompany him. It's the same hallway he remembers—he’s sure of it. The ruined doorframe to the left, the scorched remnants of the wall beyond, fractured tiles curled upwards into broken shards. Familiar, but not right. 

His palm wraps around a knob, body pressed against the biting chill of wood. The shoulder underneath his coat burns, old wounds reopening, but he perseveres—that was all he had. The souvenir Anton had left him. One punch against the door. Another one. At last, it swings open, the applied force nearly slamming Kaeya into the floor.

The corner of a checkered tile snags his momentum, halting his slide just enough for him to regain his footing. A soft crunch follows as he rises, boots pressing into the thin layer of snow that had somehow followed him inside, leaving a faint trail across the floor. Grimacing, Kaeya steadies himself and casts a glance ahead, eyes narrowing against the dim lighting stretching out before him.  

Past another assortment of well-worn supplies, a series of wall-mounted hooks nailed to the door faced him, uniforms hanging against the wall. Armed forces. A common theme of what remained. Not an official military, that was certain. Serving an official military required a certain level of… diligence. 

His gaze swivels onto the box in the corner, its metallic edge glimmering inconspicuously in the faint light. Simplicity amongst clutter. In a way, this container of supplies resembled some semblance of hope. A smirk dances across the corners of his lips, eyes crinkling slightly as the amusement flitters across his features. Strange, how such a mundane thing raised his hopes.

Fingers hovering in the air, they latch onto the lock, brushing against the smooth surface of metal. A soft click rings through the air, Kaeya’s back stiffening at the sound. The energy within him returns, muscles awash in an elixir of sustenance. A container of supplies… maybe food, perhaps even some way out of here.

But the moment the soft click resonates through the air, the lid opening fully, his gaze pauses. A blink, eyes taking in the sight. Nothing. Only the remnants of perishable food rotting away faced him, its surface coated in thick white cobwebs. His hand reaches towards his eye, heart pounding in a sickenly sweet way, head shaking back and forth. Another blink. 

Still there.

A grimace overcomes his features, mouth turned downward in a scowl. Great. His luck never failed to surprise him. 

There hadn’t been many things in the vicinity usable. Considering the circumstances he’d found them in, consuming them would have been the third-best option. Rotting away, desiccated by the stale air and stained by an incomprehensible musk, whatever supplies nearby were… well, frankly disgusting. 

By the time he’d ventured into the depths of every structure within the complex, his supplies had been meager. Small, hinging upon irredeemable, barely enough to last him a few days. Even miles past the boundary, there’d been nothing. To the west, endless fields of snow stretching for miles. Northwards, forests pressing against him, well-worn paths etched by the marks of elderly boots. And to the south lay severe blizzards and impenetrable snow-banks, Nature’s conditions boxing him within. 

He scans the horizon, eye focusing upon the sight past the window. Pale glacial-white snow, each individual flake descending gently like the twirl of a ballerina—soft, gentle, fragile . Down here, the cold hadn’t affected him. It should have, his half-cape, a shirt marked with the workings of an eternal blade having barely offered a form of protection. 

But for someone like him, someone marked by Celestia’s gift, they were used to it. Pyro, to flames that licked the air. Cryo, to the frost that soothed away. Each element, each resistance built up to an extreme form.  

Pressing a hand against smooth stone, Kaeya closes his eyes. Reopening them, he finds himself past the broken door, standing amidst the frost once again. Boots sinking into the snow, the familiar crunch echoes throughout the air, his body shadowed by the towering structure overhead. 

The walk inside is cold, familiar, everything he’d expected; the same stretch of the corridor past the fading light, an intersection venturing deeper into the depths. The scratch of curiosity of what laid beyond, of what Fate had mistakenly awarded.  

A yawn rips through him, his core tightening in response as his eyes blur with tears. For a moment, tension pools in Kaeya’s muscles, slowly replaced with a growing fatigue. The journeys had grown longer every day, desperation driving him further. One more mile. Another five. Anything to get out of this hellhole. Anything to find someone present.

The wound under wraps bristles with pain, a burst of agony pulsing through the flesh of his shoulder. Kaeya reaches towards the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric over his head gingerly. A patchwork of bandages, once pristine white, cover his chest and torso, each inch of fabric dyed a plum-red scarlet. Darker than ever, adhering to the dressings he’d administered upon himself.  

For the past few days, the pain had withdrawn, the torment fading into a forgettable throb that had still left his upper chest tight. His fingers grope around the edges of the compress wrapped around his upper body, smile twisted into a wince as they drop to the floor. Cool air brushes against exposed flesh, weeping lacerations carved into his very flesh—each red and angry, perhaps from infection, maybe even from the anger that had consumed him. 

Whatever wounds Anton had inflicted, they hadn’t been treated. With no healer or medical equipment in sight, it had only been a matter of time.  

Time. A force that could eat away at life, consume him whole. Living in this wasteland, it had been one without comparison. Bandages hang limp from his waist, and he can barely find the effort to wrap them again. But still, the soft black fabric against his skin is comforting. And just like a mask, it served its purpose—to hide the pain, to put away the fear.

Maybe this was how it was always supposed to end. Quiet. Alone. With nothing left to preserve but the mask. And yet, tomorrow was his last chance. One more trip, one more excursion past the wastelands and beyond. One more day before supplies would run out. There was no more escape after that.  

With a slow breath, he lets his eyes close, allowing the quiet hush of darkness to wrap around him like an old friend. 

The chestnut-brown floorboards protested beneath his boots, each step echoing the tension that hung heavy in the air. Far from—nearly three hundred miles east—a commander paced his office, anxiety shadowing his every turn. 

“Where is he?” he murmurs under his breath, voice hushed with a tension that bled through. His steps grew sharper, less measured—this wasn’t good. Not good at all. 

The day had been long. That had always been the case for Hans, an officer heading Port Dornman’s branch of intelligence. As a subsidiary of the Knights of Favonius, they worked closely with Mondstadt proper, and his evenings were typically consumed by coordinating a far-reaching network of informants and field agents across the continent.

But today had offered no such rhythm. The wires had gone quiet, reports stalled, and the silence gnawed at his instincts.

The knock on his door had started it all. 

The night before, a thump against the gate had summoned him. Groggy and about to fall asleep, he’d stumbled towards the entrance of his home, returning half-awake with papers clutched between his fingers. The note? Private correspondence from the Acting Grandmaster herself. Jean Gunnhildr. Needless to say, he hadn’t gotten enough sleep after that.

The Cavalry Captain would arrive the next morning. Or so Hans had believed when he fell asleep. 

By the time he woke up, Alberich’s ship had arrived, docks filled with passengers packed tighter than crates on a supply galley. But there was no trace of Alberich. No tales of a witty, young man slinking through the crowd, no recollection of the blue-haired cavalry captain present. Just confused passengers and an increasingly concerned captain.

Gunnhildr had sent Captain Alberich for a reason—to dismantle the Fatui’s diplomatic operations. The city had been going through hard times. First, with the unresolved deaths of Fatui. And now, with Snezhnaya’s premier organization breathing down their necks, no solution in sight, they’d sent him . The silencer of plots, the man who’d wrap you around his finger like a plaything, all while you’d stumble over your own feet. The perfect fit against those manipulative bastards. 

But with him gone, the clock had been ticking. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

He’d scrambled to call upon co-workers, request status updates from the Knights of Favonius’ diplomatic branch. They’d searched far and wide, high and low, through the back alleys and past the city’s outskirts, but there had been nothing. Nothing at all. If Alberich had arrived, he’d covered up his tracks quite well. Too well, in fact. 

And without a weapon like him, the Fatui were sure to press their advantage. Those snaking words, threats that teetered the line between cautionary warning and veiled hostility—each weapon a testament to their prowess. Consequences weren’t something they were afraid of. The manpower at hand soothed their concerns. 

Regardless, Kaeya’s disappearance hadn’t been the sole thing on his mind. Marshaling the Knights had been a difficult task. Plagued by an increasingly worrying situation, the organization’s internal channels had released orders—demands not to spread the word. It was already difficult keeping everything under wraps. Whispers could spread far and wide, wiggle under even the smallest of barriers. Even a fool would be able to put two and two together when given enough time.

" Nowhere in the vicinity,” a voice speaks out from behind him. Caspar, his trusted subordinate. His second-in-command, the man stood tall, dark-brown hair slicked back with pomade, silver-rimmed glasses sloping downwards. He pushes them up, the cool metal brushing against his skin, then fixes his gaze upon his captain. “Nothing as usual. All ferries docked this evening report no sight of him. Our inquiries have extended to smaller towns on the coast. Wevelsen, Annstatt. Nothing noteworthy from there.” 

“As expected,” Hans stares at his desk despondently, Jean’s letter plastered upon mahogany wood. Alberich’s visits were far and few. But the times he’d come, punctuality had never been a concern. Keeping track of him, on the other hand…  

“Should we extend our search further?” Caspar asks, brow furrowed with concern. His finger taps against the desk, the motion repeated several times. “Overland routes, perhaps? The only option we haven’t explored yet.

“Might be worth a try.”

“The northern passes seem extraordinarily clear this year. Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“...”

“Understood,” Caspar whispers under his breath, head bobbing up and down in a short nod. “We’ll begin tracking down records of caravans entering and exiting the city gates.”

“Before you leave, check in with the Knights at the northern gate.” A smile tugged at Hans' lips, joyless and taut. “Alberich’s distinct appearance shouldn’t be difficult to identify.”

“Will do,” Caspar says, stepping back. He’s nearly out the door when he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “And if we still don’t find any trace of the Cavalry Captain?” 

Hans doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, a shadow flickering across his face. 

“Then we’ll have no choice,” he says quietly, voice edged with finality. “We’ll have to declare him missing.” 

Chapter Text

Talulah walks beneath a sky of burning white, her boots sinking with every step into the snow-slicked silence. The tundra stretches ahead, vast and pale, empty as fields of frost, as if the world itself had been scraped clean. There’s no one to bear witness here. No eyes to judge. No voices to call her name. And still, she feels them.

The villagers had smiled when they saw her. A stranger, perhaps a drifter, wrapped in worn winter gear and dusted with frost. Just another traveler crossing Ursus’ forgotten sprawl. They hadn’t seen the dried blood worked into the seams of her soul, hadn’t looked close enough to notice how her shadow bent under the weight of something heavier than the snow. They had looked at her and seen a woman. Not the monster behind glass, not the ghost Reunion had dragged back into the world. Just someone quiet, cold, trudging through the endless white. 

But that woman, the one they thought they saw, is not the one who walks now. 

Talulah’s persona, the quiet traveler, frays at the seams. Each mile across this wasteland peels one more thread back, exposing her to the wind and memory alike. And here, out in the open, under a sun too dim to offer warmth, there’s nowhere left for it to hide. The light catches the treeline ahead, casting long shadows over the snow that dance against the iron in her gaze, gleaming over the wreck she still carries. 

In the absence of others, in the silence between footsteps, she wonders what remains when the mask falls away, when no one watches but the sky itself. 

Five days. Five days since she had visited Lesozny. Five days since she’d seen the familiar billboard strung up in the town square, a reminder of her escape from Kashchey. The town had been the first place she’d stumbled upon after leaving, but neither had it been the last. The city’s inhabitants had been hushed a long time ago, whispers having faded quickly through the open market. But last week, they’d talked openly. Held smiles.  

And in a small, twisted way, her rendered heart had warmed. 

But Lesozny was naught but a dot upon a map. A speck of dust floating in frost-ridden air. Down here, Ursus was known for the territory it had occupied, it had won; a reminder of the strength it once held. Of the people it sacrificed and soldiers it slaughtered to stake a bloody claim.

And here, past the stretch of land, Kashchey’s former dukedom had started. It was an old thing, a “reward” that nobility in the time had been gifted. And just as sons and daughters inherited the lands of their fathers, oppressors did too—the fall of the snake, its rule replaced by those of the Sixth Army. Even slaughter couldn’t eliminate the pests that plagued the land. 

Traveling through the Reformists’ land was a risk too lofty. They called it progress. But what was progress when injustice still reigned? The chains might have been replaced by the whip, but the scars remained just the same. In Ursus, loyalty to the crown wasn’t enforced. Instead, it was inherited. National pride ran thicker than policy, and not even the Emperor could turn his back on Chernobog’s ruins with the nobility still clinging to their place in the old world. 

Silver coated with crimson, blade protruding through the chest. His figure impaled upon the throne, the haughty lies toppled upon the very symbol of power. She had cut her time short that day. In a way, Talulah had believed she had left it all behind. But one hundred miles from Vyazov, one hundred miles from that damned college, she wasn’t sure of it.
It hadn’t taken long to find Kashchey. Not with the secret channels so poorly hidden; despite the Snake Scales’ secrecy, nothing could have stopped her. Vyazov’s location had been burned into her mind. With every step northward, she had to fade from sight a little more. Fewer questions asked. Fewer faces shown. Ursus’ military held onto great numbers up north, and given that Talulah’s reputation had preceded her, contact was best avoided. 

A smile tugged at her lips, joyless and taut. Each step, one closer to her destination. Every inch of glacial-white tundra slowly fades away, replaced by a swathe of chestnut-brown and viridian-green. A new landscape. The steelliness in her eyes softens slightly, the arctic thicket ahead an inviting change of scenery.
The bark, thick and winding, is enticingly close to her fingers, merely inches away. Where forests had come into the picture, animals had dwelled. And in the vicinity, settlements would lie in sight. One more beacon of civilization to avoid.

Her boots crunched against the snow, each step leaving behind a trail of faint, dissolving imprints. Flecks of frost caught on her coat, clung to her lashes, each melting into slow, indifferent droplets that soaked into the lining of her boots. The cold seeped through the seams like it always had, patient and unrelenting. 

These conditions… 

Talulah paused, the dry air caught in her throat—not from the cold, but from the way the treeline gently parted, letting sunlight pour across the snow in a way that reminded her of an old time. 

She remembered this place. Or one like it. 

There. Light, laughter. A figure running ahead through the snow. The memory rose unbidden, its edges bright and soft, like a lantern flickering against the dusk. 

Alina. 

Hair trailing behind her like a silver ribbon, her coat fluttering as she ran up a short rise, she turned back. That smile, so open and bright, had burned more than any fire Talulah had ever conjured. For a single, fragile moment, the wind seemed to carry her voice, full of mischief and invitation. “ Come on, ” it might have said. “ You're too slow. ” 

She wasn’t. Not then. Not when Alina was still there to lead her forward, into something new, something almost kind. That place had been nothing but scavenged canvas and stitched-together hope, a dream they barely had the strength to believe in. And yet, she remembered the warmth. The quiet joy of purpose. The way they’d stood at the center of it all like a hearth, the birth of hope from the ashes that had quelled. 

Her hand twitched. Reflexively, it lifted, as if her body remembered more than her mind allowed. Fingers reaching out for the past, they move ahead for what could never return, as if she could reach across time and take her hand. As if she could grasp that moment and stop it from fading. 

But there was nothing there. 

The illusion faded just as quickly as it came. 

Her hand fell, the weight returning, settling between her ribs. That smile, once so near, now only existed in her dreams, a patchwork held together by guilt and memory. 

Here, Reunion’s fire had once taken root. She had been its kindler, its conductor. But with the blaze came scars, wounds carved in scarlet that even time could not erase. Perhaps, the ashes still held heat. Perhaps, one day, someone else would carry the flames. Rekindled the inferno that had ruined and shape it into something controlled. 

And yet, she moves on. Memory was naught but an obstacle. It was the anchor that dragged one down, the vice that led to a spiral. Perhaps, maybe one day, there would be closure. One day where its name would be met with gasps, a quiet gratitude that lingered, even long after she was gone.

Down here, the landscape is… beautiful. Ivory banks of snow, tinged pale gold and forest-green, light reflecting off the surface in a twinkle. Towering trees rising above the rime, the soft murmur of cold water gurgling past the arctic stream. Utterly pristine. Her boots lift above the water, punching into the snowbank across, her figure lost in thought.

Only a couple more- 

She pauses, body suddenly turning rigid. 

The silence hits her first. Cold and oppressive, pushing into her with an intensity she couldn’t fathom. Only the crisp press of her boots upon the frost echoes. Utterly hollow. The pressure against her chest tightens, a faint bead of sweat running down her forehead as the barest of whispers echoes within.

She swivels behind, hand unwittingly reaching towards her waist. The cool presence of steel between her fingers should have come. But looking beyond, nothing stirs. Only the soft descent of snow, delicate snowflakes fluttering to nestle themselves within her silver hair. 

The tension seeps out of her body gradually, each drop leaching out like the last warmth from dying embers, slow and reluctant, until all that’s left is the quiet ache where it once burned. Grass flutters amidst the biting breeze of winter, slowing the pounding of her heart, whispering that it was naught but her mind. Her shoulders fall, hand moving away from her blade’s hilt. Perhaps, she’d been- 

There! 

The tree to her right. Her eyes flicker, falling upon the expanse of forest, each individual bark noted. One there. Another to her left. One more, another one, until they filled her vision completely, their strange patterns eerily mesmerizing.

A darkness deeper than any night she’d known coils around the tree, weaving an intricate pattern as it climbs the bark—twisting, spiraling, almost alive in its intent. Tar-like in consistency, almost fading upon sight. 

Could it be?

The Emperor’s Blades. Elite units of the Ursan Royal Guard, monsters carved from nightmare and discipline. Infamy that bled through whispers and war stories, so brutal they hovered between grim folklore and the last warnings of dying men. Only Patriot—no, Buldrokkas'tee—had managed to hold them back. Not her, those white-hot flames naught but a flickering light. Useless, neutered by a force far greater than hers. 

The pain comes first. Nails grinding into the flesh of her palm, pressing so hard she’s sure blood had been drawn. Could she move on ahead? Find somewhere else to stay? A detour could always be taken, days’ worth of walking towards the west. Towards the east. Anywhere but here.

But the intrigue claws at her mind, sharp and rattling. If the Blades had been here, perhaps… survivors. People she could save. And yet, where they went, their work had been clean. She’d witnessed their motivation, saw the hunger in their eyes herself. But what could change ever rise from, if not from the aid one gave, and the life one chose to live to prove it?
And so, she presses forward, the rhythm of her boots against the ground hesitant. 

But then something shifted. . Just beyond the thinning brush, something moved—a flicker of motion that stirred the stillness. Talulah halted, her eyes narrowing as a glint of polished metal caught the dim light between the trees. She took a cautious step forward, then another, each movement deliberate, measured. In a place like this, even silence had to be preserved. 

There, threading through the trees in the distance: a regiment. 

At first, it was only the black of their coats she saw, cutting stark against the snow. Then the swords. Her gaze lingered upon their lengths, polished and standard-issued. That faint but familiar insignia made her stomach knot before her mind fully registered it. 

The Infected Patrol. 

The words came unbidden, their name dredged from warnings of the old and harsher memories.  Even without a clear view, the uniforms and weaponry made it unmistakable. They moved with mechanical precision. Twenty—perhaps even two dozen, marching through the snow. Talulah remained still, watching from her cover, her thoughts sharpening into focus. 

Why so many? And why here? 

She knew their reputation, their brutality rendering them feared even among Ursus’ own ranks. They didn’t travel in groups like this unless they were expecting resistance. Their presence this deep in the forest wasn’t routine; it meant something—either a nearby settlement… or something worse. 

The silence seemed to press in tighter, like the nearby trees were waiting to collapse upon her, making her decide. Her eyes stayed on them for a long moment, the old flame stirring faintly in her chest—not quite anger, not quite fear, but something restless. She adjusted her coat and, without a word, veered after the black-clad procession, their path cutting deeper into the woods. 

One ghost at a time. Kashchey could wait. 

Disgrace. 

A word born from shame. An insult that shattered. All he had been. Curled in on himself, he flinches, eyes darting anywhere but toward the ink-thick void ahead. The darkness stretches around him like a second skin, thick and suffocating, sealing off the brightness far beyond reach.

It hadn’t meant to end this way.
The faces had come first. From within, bleeding forward in thin, trembling lines of fractured light. Dim reflections, scattered across the jagged fragments of a broken mirror, each holding only a portion of a face he recognized.
The Cavalry Captain. The Brother. The Son. The many faces he had once adopted, the many personas he had once assumed. They said mirrors reflected more than just one’s face, that they were the gateway to what one’s soul dared not speak. But his pathway had been… broken. Not whole. Just broken turns, each leading to another mask, another half-truth. 

Perfection. The word came unbidden, sharp as a curse. His throat burns; his body curled tighter in response. 

He had never been the perfect knight. Never the perfect brother. Never the perfect son. A ghost of them all, half-formed, half-lived. Always performing. Always pretending. Always surviving. 

The thoughts rose like bile. Words he’d never dared say aloud, truths torn from somewhere deep and rotting, against his will. I was never enough . Not for Mondstadt. Not for him. Not for anyone. 

The shards of glass drift downward, slipping through the hollow dark, each one drawn toward the distant light, cold and pure in its promise of absolution. But the ghost did not follow. And with them, something tugged at its chest, each silver’s departure tearing a piece of it away.

Deep down, he knew: the stain had never left. Even Fate does not forget. The soul’s scars, those secrets buried deepest, were not absolved. Not truly.

A roar tore through the dark, ragged and broken, ripping from his chest with everything he’d never said, everything he’d buried too deep to name. It surged outward, echoing through the emptiness, straining to shatter the silence that had swallowed him whole.
Beyond, the shards began to shatter. One by one, their explosions thundered outward, fierce and final, until the void rang with the sound of everything he refused to be. 

Then, white. Blinding, absolute. 

Kaeya woke with a sharp inhale, the heat still clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell too fast, the dream retreating like the haze of smoke, but the sound had remained, low and distant. Real. His gaze flicked upward. Dust sifted from the ceiling in thin, wavering streams, shaken loose by a tremor that had rippled through the floorboards moments before. 

This time, the explosion hadn’t been in his head.
Another tremor rumbles through the stone, chunks of soot freed from above. Slate-grey rains color the remnants of his cape, a silken powder seeping into white fur. Navy-blue eye flickering over the sight, a sigh escapes from him, lips tight with frustration. Of course. A rise from a nightmare met with little but grace. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the sagging frame, the cold immediately seeping into the soles of his feet, exposed through worn, threadbare fabric. Keeping awake had sapped the energy away, drained him like water through cracked stone, until only the hollow ache remained. Rest should have left him wakeful. But it hadn’t today.

Above, the spiraling hairline cracks splinter through stone, each expanding into more. Branches upon branches, each clump eroding through stone like water against a riverbank—forcing, pushing until it was breached. Now was a good time to leave. And with each explosion thundering outside, sounds growing closer, more violent, he knew it was only a matter of time. 

A rumble issues from above, and before he can look up, his body instinctively leaps away. A chunk of stone, heavy as it looked, thuds into the mattress, tearing the flimsy fabric into pieces. For a moment, tens of feathers rise clumsily in the air, their fall graceful.

But what catches his attention are the voices. Harsh and loud, a foreign tongue leaving their lips. Too many to count, each spilling through the growing crevice overhead. 

The haze of fatigue veiling his vision vanished all at once, as if someone had torn away a blindfold. In its place came sudden, piercing clarity—the oppressive dark swept aside, revealing a world carved in stark white light and sharp, unyielding edges. 

His heels dig into the ground, its metal surface a springboard for his leap. Kaeya's muscles tensed, his body locking in place as a sudden wave of tension seized him—just before his vision blurred at the edges. His fingers twitch first, and with a sharp motion, massive shards of ice burst from his palm. They surge forward, slicing through the air and slamming into the door, tearing through the metal as if it were paper-thin. 

The momentum nearly carries him into the door, but Kaeya contorts his body away. He’s quickly rewarded with a couple of shallow knicks across his cheek, the hasty swerve sending him towards the frost-embedded door. Foolish. He’d wasted far too much time brooding amidst the wakefulness, each second spent mulling over action. 
A series of expletives escapes his mouth, each one a color phrase sharp enough to make even the crudest soldier flinch. Down here, past the building in collapse, time itself seemed to freeze, each second stretching agonizingly long. The slow, but inevitable collapse overhead, slate-grey stone and metal alike crashing to the ground. The morning light filtered through a veil of grey, the rays beyond dulled by the dust that hung in the air like ash.

Seventy feet forward, then a sharp turn to the right. Another left after fifty more. Liquid fire coursed through his veins, each step dragging the weight of his own weakness behind him. His stomach twisted; it was a sharp reminder that mornings had never been kind to him. At last, he reached the door. A breath. Then, with a flash of white, he vanished, reappearing just beyond its frame.  

Barren in its surroundings, the broken remnants of “home” tower above, Kaeya’s figure naught but a speck. His figure paces in the snow, heart pounding much faster than he’d anticipated. There was no cover here; no foliage to hide behind, no debris to camouflage with. Just the fluttering remains of his cape, the scratched black leather of boots worn too lose. 

He had to move.

Another explosion shatters his thoughts in a burst of flame, a blossom of orange-red tearing through the ash-stained sky. These intruders were deadly, their group well-equipped judging by the intensity of each blast. High-powered explosives, each meant to rock a settlement to its core.

But what were they doing here? Unless they had been trying to- 

His blood turns to ice, every muscle locking in place. Of course. Monsters, all of them. He’d known something had been off. Of buildings with cracked stone and rusted edges, of a place so barren yet littered with reminders of the living—he had walked through metal and frost alike. Watched those corpses splayed against the ground, heads tilted skyward in final gasp. A fatality that was meant to stay buried.

And now, desecration. A cover-up of the atrocities that had shaken the very earth. Another booming explosion sends him stumbling, face hurling towards the ground, but the ridges in his boot hook against the frost, stabilizing him.
Foolish were the ones who charged in without thought. For rogues like him, meticulousness was a trait worthy enough to wield. And with soldiers nearby, their numbers unknown, their weaponry presumably advanced, he needed some semblance of a plan. Any details, any reconnaissance of whatever fuckery fate had guided towards him. 

Hiding was pointless. A tactical retreat would only draw whoever they were straight back to him. And doing nothing? That would simply buy time he didn’t have. He was cornered one way or another—caught between a rock and a hard place.

And so, he’d fight. Swing blades and manipulate frost, pulverize opponents and slink through the snow, until darkness would claim the very last breath, until he’d fall, body thudding against the snow.
A quick sprint through frost brings him closer, the shattering of snow growing louder with every step. Thump. Thump. The beat of his heart, ever so rapid. At last, his hand reaches out towards the building’s edge, pushing forward with force. Only dust flutters gracefully from concrete exterior, each piece adorned by the frost of winter.  

A dry huff of breath escapes his lips, more snort than laugh. Fate shared a strange relationship with him—more push than pull, more shove than tug. He’d always wagered on its absence, the idea that nothing guided anything but will and chance. And yet, lately, he wasn’t sure.  Mere coincidence was but a masterstroke against scribbles, too clean, too perfect to be chance. But as they multiplied, doubt followed, growing until even luck itself left suspect. Had it ever been contrived from the start?   He shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, the sky greets him from the rooftop. His feet grace the stone, and when he glances down, his hand tightens into a fist, knuckles pale with pressure. Almost thirty well-equipped soldiers swarmed around the complex, their uniforms standing out starkly against the pale tundra like ink upon snow.  

Charcoal-grey smoke drifts higher in a violent haze, lighting the sky anew in the ash of what once stood. The numbers down there were. The slayer of bandits, the rogue who slunk through shadows. All titles he’d wielded. But the growing numbness in his shoulder, a remnant of the infection that seeped through his blood, the gap in numbers could widen in an instant. In battle, strength only meant so much.
His gaze strayed for a moment, unfocused. There, to the northeast, lay a section of the compound, barely left manned by whatever forces scuttled through. Its corridors were cramped, barely wide enough for two minutes to fit through, the crumbling exterior providing some semblance of cover.  

Adrenaline rushes through him, surroundings quickly blurring as he descends from where had emerged. Down here, any needless announcement would be met with drawn weapons, leaving nothing behind but a shredded corpse. He slips around the rear of the building, only to come face-to-face with a narrow gap between two junctions. Ten feet, perhaps fifteen. A window of opportunity worth merely seconds.

His breath hitches, then steadies. One inhale, one exhale. There was no time to hesitate. 

Boots pounding against the snow-packed ground, he bolts forward. The gap narrows in his vision, walls rushing in as the wind cuts past his face. Just before the edge, he drops low, knees bent, momentum carrying him into a slide. The biting cold bites through the fabric, but he doesn’t flinch at the pain 

He hits the far side hard, shoulder striking the stone, but there is no time to dwell on the sting. striking stone. He pushes off it, crouching low in the shallow alcove as distant footsteps echo behind the walls, muffled and coordinated. Kaeya flicks his wrist toward the corridor behind, just as a lone figure steps into view.

The first soldier never saw it coming. 

A beat later, the man’s body snapped backward, lifted clean off his feet before collapsing into the snow with a muted thud. His head lolled sideways, eyes already shut. Crimson spread beneath him in slow, widening pools—fed by twin incisions at his neck, clean and blood-slick, where two shards of ice had torn through. 

Seven more to go.  

Glass case of his vision glowing glacial-white, his palm raises forward before pulling back into a fist, nails biting into the flesh of his palm. Immediately, a pile of hoarfrost shrouds the corpse thoroughly, leaving nothing except a case of ice. Another minute passes, and another lone soldier emerges into view. 

He moved with a restless urgency, steps uneven, concern seeping into every motion as he hurried past his companion’s fallen body. A superior to find, a few supplies to ferry through. But the panic blooming across his face did nothing to deter the slinking predator’s hunt.

His prey turns its back towards him, ready to skitter back towards the site of demolition; that was all it took. 

A spike of ice whistles through the air, barely audible amidst the midwinter zephyrs. 

The man begins to turn, confusion flashing across his face—but he's too slow. By the time his gaze finds the source, the shard has already struck, cleaving through the thin metal of his armor with a sickening crunch. It drives him backward, momentum carrying his body until it slams into the wooden wall behind him, pinning him there like a broken marionette. The soldier’s limbs twitched uselessly, mouth barely opened in a whimper before falling ever still.

Second down. 

Normally, Kaeya wouldn’t have struck down the messenger. But desperate circumstances demanded crueler choices, and this had been one of them. If that man had managed to deliver his report, it would’ve meant over forty soldiers tracking his every step across the frozen wasteland, hounding him until the tundra claimed what they couldn’t. 

A hail of silver blades claims numbers three and four.

A summoned frost dagger misses its mark on the fifth—but the second finds home, finishing the job without hesitation.

The sixth and seventh fell in quick succession, caught in an ambush that sealed their fate before they could react. 

The sixth and seventh were silenced, an ambush having unfortunately spelled the end of their lives. 

When Kaeya finally crossed paths with the last soldier assigned to the northeastern sector, he didn’t expect resistance, let alone the kind that made him stumble. The man moved with the desperation of someone who knew he was already dead, and in a blink, he’d drawn a ranged weapon, leveling it squarely at Kaeya’s chest. 

The arrow flew fast—too fast. 

Kaeya barely twisted aside in time. The projectile tore through the air and found flesh, slicing cleanly through sinew and muscle. A strangled hiss escaped his lips as pain bloomed sharp and blinding. It had struck inches from his heart, lodging just beneath the ribs. Not fatal, but dangerously close. 

Teeth clenched, he reached for the arrow. His fingers pressed into the torn flesh, slick with blood, until he found the shaft. One breath. Two. Then he yanked.  

Agony roared up within, the world tilting, darkening at the edges, but Kaeya didn’t let go. He bit down the scream clawing at his throat, channeling every ounce of fury at his carelessness into staying upright. He would not fall. Not here. Not yet. 

When the arrow finally wrenched free, Kaeya let out a ragged gasp, the blood-slick projectile slipping from his fingers and hitting the ground with a soft thud. His gaze dropped. The snow beneath him was no longer white, now stained crimson once again. 

He, of all people, should have seen this coming. 

Drawing on the cold fury surging within, he raised his hand. Ice surged forth in an instant, a massive glacial wall hurtling through the air, slamming into his attacker and crushing the man against the rotting frame of a nearby building. When it receded, there was little left; just a bloodied smear marking he place where a body had once been. 

But the seconds Kaeya had spent tending his wound had bought the soldier something else: time to scream. A short-lived one, but loud, the sound carrying far across the open stretch of tundra, rising through the wind’s low howl like a flare. 

And it had been enough. 

Forty heads turned toward the sound, attention snapping to its source as one. In an instant, curiosity gave way to calculation, figures prowling through the snow. The hunt had begun. 

Chapter Text

The Infected Patrol moved ahead in rigid formation, their black silhouettes cutting against the white of the tundra. Talulah followed at a distance, boots sinking into frost with each deliberate step. She didn’t need to imagine where they were headed. The land itself told her. The trees showed it first: black veins crawling through bark, patterns thickening the deeper she went, as if the forest itself had been poisoned. A haze clung low above the branches, not natural fog but something heavier, wrong. Ursus always left scars.

By the time the soldiers disappeared into the hollow ahead, she already knew what she would find. The jagged shapes of collapsed fencing, stone walls half-buried in snow, rusted scaffolds jutting like broken ribs. A labor camp. One of the empire’s countless graves they dared to call “correction.” Even ruined, she recognized it. 

She crouched in the cover of the thicket, silver eyes tracking their helmets until the last of them slipped from sight. Only then did the ground shake, dull thunder rolling as explosions tore through what remained. She clenched her jaw until it ached, breath steaming hard through her teeth. Of course. Erasing the evidence, burning away the bodies. Ursus didn’t bury its sins, but rather its victims. 

Talulah stayed still, breath coiled in her chest. Picking a fight here would be suicide. Patrol captains weren’t men of conviction; they were tools, bought and pointed by Ursus’ nobility. And if the nobles learned that an entire detachment had vanished—burned, gutted, forty corpses left behind in the ruins—then the secret police would descend. The country didn’t forgive accidents.

Another explosion shuddered through the ground, stone collapsing in on itself. Dust plumed upward, veiling the wreckage. She shifted, ready to slip away before the blast drew more eyes, when a flicker of movement caught at the corner of her vision.  

Her head snapped around, eyes narrowing. There, on the roof of one of the few buildings left standing. A figure crouched against the haze, something clutched tight in their hands, too far to make out.  

She held her breath, tension biting down on her ribs.  

Then, without warning, the figure pivoted, cloak snapping against the wind as they vaulted from the third story. They hit the snow hard, rolled, and came up running, the motion swift and fluid. Before she could follow their path, they vanished beyond the ruins, swallowed by the angle of broken walls.  

Gone. 

But the image lingered, sharp as a blade’s edge. 

What in hell was someone doing in an abandoned labor camp? Talulah’s jaw tightened, memories pressing sharp against her thoughts. She knew how these camps ended. Always the same: once the Originium veins were bled dry, the Infected left inside were “cleared.” A neat word for a slaughter. Ursus never left stragglers. Never left witnesses.  

Which meant this wasn’t chance. Whoever lingered here had a reason, and a reason that wasn’t harmless. 

She shifted, angling through the treeline to catch a better view when a shriek split the sky. Thin, piercing, unnatural. The sound clawed down her spine, freezing her mid-step as it echoed through the air, stretching far above the ruins until the world itself seemed to still beneath it. 

A roar split the air—not his, but the dying cry of the man before him—as Kaeya’s blade came down with practiced precision. Steel met bone, the impact cracking loud enough to echo through the frozen trees. The body crumpled into the snow, and with one sharp kick, Kaeya sent him sliding aside. One more down.  

Pain raked across his shoulder, shallow but burning, an enemy’s strike catching him in the momentary gap. His jaw clenched, forcing the sound back down his throat. In fights like these, honor was a luxury. On the knife’s edge between life and death, morality had no place. Only survival, and survival meant cunning, meant ruthlessness, meant playing dirty.  

Reflex carried him before thought could. He dropped low, the enemy’s blade cutting empty air inches above his head. Close. Too close. But combat was a game of minutiae, and Kaeya knew how to exploit a margin. His thrust drove forward, blade sinking through soft flesh until it grated against bone. The scream that followed was raw and jagged, but Kaeya was already pulling free, cold focus unbroken. 

The throb of agony had settled, fading from a mere distraction into a dull sting. His body moved before his mind could, his shoulder rolling back to test its range. A tight grimace cut across his face, brief and controlled, as if refusing to give the pain more weight than it deserved. But the flash of steel pulls his eyes forward again. Already, two more stepped forward, slipping into the places of their fallen comrades with practiced ease.

Their fury had curled into restraint, hesitation etched in every step. The corpses at his feet—bloodied and battered—were proof enough of what he could do. Fingers tightened around hilts, blades angled with unease as they spread wide, closing the gap. A flank meant to box him in, a wall at his back, and steel at his front. His eyes narrowed, his boot sliding through the frost as he shifted into place. 

But like Fate, nothing dictated his course; he claimed it himself, cold and unyielding as the frost that answered his call. His leg immediately pivots, the motion quickly followed by the extension of his bare hand. Silver no longer gleams, replaced by the glint of biting frost. One weapon, two hands. More opponents meant more gaps to exploit, more angles to command.

One spike hurls through the air, shearing through cloth with minimal resistance; only the protruding edge betrays how deep it penetrated. The other barely nicks the black uniform’s fluttering edge, a shallow mark still forcing a stumble. Only one wound drew blood, but they had done their work. 

The first staggered upright, dazed, and Kaeya’s blade carved through before he found his balance. Snow sprayed as Kaeya’s boot swept the second off stance, the stumble leaving him open. Steel met flesh in a swift arc, the fight ending before the man could recover. 

Another two take their place. And so, the bloody dance continues. A cut just below his bicep. A slash driving through the corner of his cape. Each strike met, each parry barely held. Fallen bodies became naught but footnotes, but as the pile grew, so did his fatigue. Breath steamed ragged in the cold, pivots a heartbeat too slow, the gaps in his guard widening—another mark carved by steel. 

Yet he steels himself, pouring the last of his strength into each strike, carving into the black armor ahead. Crimson spray fills the air, darkening his already-red cape. At last, his blade drags through the air, the ragged arc finding nothing but frozen crust beneath his boots.

Just beyond his reach, only four soldiers remain. They circle like birds of prey, backs stiff, gazes fixed upon him like hawks. Fingers clasp hilts, crossbows level upon his figure. They simply watch. But masks could only hide so much; they couldn’t conceal white-knuckled grips or hesitation as they fanned around him. 

Kaeya spat into the snow ahead, the crimson fleck melting into the white, and wiped his chin with the back of his glove. “Your tactics won't last,” he rasped, a faint curl at his mouth. “Still, I'll give you this—you've fought well."

One swordsman snarls, knuckles clenching white against the steel hilt—itching for a fight.  That struck a nerve. Another jab might push the soldier closer; anger made men reckless, and on the battlefield, recklessness meant death. Two opponents were difficult enough; four would be different.  

Beyond the crossbowman stood a towering soldier, hands clasped behind his back—a senior officer, judging by the insignia. That, he’d save for last. But now, he’d deal with these four. 

"As for your friends… I doubt their ending was as fine as you’d hope." 

A guttural roar pierces the air—the voice of a young man empowered by rage—the uniformed figure charging across the tundra. The remaining soldiers exchanged glances before drawing their blades and charging forward, black cloaks snapping like banners in the frost. Whatever the senior soldier was planning, it spelled danger—and with injuries mounting and enemies closing in from three sides, keeping an eye on him would be no easy task. 

A crossbow twanged. The bolt screamed toward him, only to splinter against a wall of ice that flashed into being inches from his chest. Close. Too close. And then, the first blade flashes in a flurry of steel, each strike pummeling against the curved edge of his blade. His muscles struggled to absorb each impact, blade guarding less and less space. And yet, his heels dig into the ground like an anchor, raising snow with each push. 

One stroke hissed past his head, close enough to shear a lock of hair free. But it was sloppy—an overreach, a gap no fighter should leave. Kaeya lunged, his blade driving forward, punching through the man’s knee with a sickening crunch. The soldier crumpled, shrieking, and Kaeya’s follow-up slash ripped across his chest, cutting the scream short. He collapsed into the snow, twitching once before going still. 

Kaeya wrenched his blade free, breath ragged, ice and blood steaming in the winter air. Three remained, and the officer’s shadow still lingered behind them. 

The hairs along his arm prickled, a warning he barely registered before instinct took the reins. His blade swept out in a low arc, the resistance sharp and sudden. A strangled cry followed, metal tearing through flesh as the second man collapsed at his feet, sword still outstretched as if in denial. 

No time to breathe. The third lunged, desperate and clumsy, crashing into Kaeya’s guard. For a heartbeat, their weapons locked, bodies straining against one another, until the whistling crack of a crossbow split the air. The man stiffened, a bolt driven clean through his eye, body twitching in Kaeya’s grasp. 

Kaeya shoved the corpse aside, eye snapping up in time to see the last of them, the crossbowman himself, pinned like a grotesque trophy, impaled against the stone wall by his own misfired momentum. His weapon clattered uselessly to the ground, leaving only the thrum of silence behind. 

The officer was gone.  

A flicker of unease crawled up Kaeya’s spine, his blade tightening in his grip. Too late. The sensation bloomed a heartbeat later, sharp and unbearable. 

His gaze dropped, vision swimming as it finally registered: a deep gash raked across his abdomen, crimson soaking through cloth in a steady pulse. The pain arrived next, white-hot, tearing the breath from his lungs and driving him to his knees. Instinct screamed to curl inward, to fold against the agony, but he forced himself upright, teeth clenched hard enough to ache.  

And then he saw him.  The captain stood before him now, calm and deliberate, as though he’d always been there. Kaeya’s mind clawed for an answer— where had he come from? —but the truth pressed against him: this was the strike meant for him all along. 

A gloved hand caught his jaw, forcing his head up. Kaeya’s teeth clenched against the indignity as the officer tilted his face higher, bringing him eye to eye with that blank mask. Beneath it, a sneer curled cruel and certain, eyes burning into him with the promise of an end already written. 

So this was it, then. 

He shut his eye, bracing for the inevitable twist. The silence stretched thin, long enough that, for a fleeting instant, he wondered if nothing had happened at all. And then the steel moved. A cruel wrench, slow and deliberate, tearing through muscle. The sound that left his throat was raw, strangled, his body curling against the searing spike of pain. 

And then, heat. Sudden and overwhelming. It licked across his side in a rush, a warmth so alien in the frozen air that his body leaned instinctively toward it. The agony faltered, overtaken in an instant by the roar of fire close at hand. His breath caught as the pain seemed to break, replaced by something else. 

The hand holding his jaw slackened, slipping away. Without its grip, Kaeya sagged forward, the motion tearing fresh pain through his side as steel ground deeper into his flesh. His vision blurred, the world tilting. 

Through the haze, he caught only fragments: the officer’s body collapsing, flames crawling hungrily over blackened armor. Eyes that had once burned with cruel certainty now stared blank, glassy, the rest of him little more than ash still smoldering. Whoever had struck him down had done so without hesitation. 

A shadow moved into Kaeya’s sight. He blinked hard, vision swimming, his pulse stuttering at the shape that resolved: tall, steady, followed by the heat still rippling off the corpse. Relief coiled tight in his chest, and with it, a pang of fear. 

Closer now, the figure bent toward him. Something extended. His eye narrowed, trying to focus, but all he could register was warmth. An impossible, living heat brushing against him. 

A hand? he thought, still slumped against the snow. His breath caught at the sensation, his body leaning toward it before his mind could stop him. Warm. Human. A comfort he hadn’t expected to find here, in the ruins of cruelty. 

Through the haze of pain, Kaeya’s vision steadied just enough to catch a shape leaning closer. Strands of silver hair fell across a woman’s face, the firelight behind her burning faintly at the edges of his sight. She guided him down, steadying him onto his side with a hand firm at his shoulder. 

Her expression was unreadable, hard and cold as the snow around them. And yet… for a heartbeat, in the sharp steel of her eyes, he thought he saw it: concern. Or maybe it was only his fading mind, desperate to find something human. 

“...Thank you,” he breathed, the words slipping loose before he could stop them. Barely a whisper, torn away by the wind. 

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even move. Only stood there. 

His head sagged against the snow, the darkness pulling him under before he could be certain of what he’d seen. 

From Talulah’s perspective, it had been a brutal fight. What she had thought to be a one-sided fight, the imposing force of Infected Patrol units overwhelming some lone lunatic with a sword, had been reversed in minutes. The white snow now streamed with blood, melting around splintered ice and glistening limbs. Only the patrol captain remained uptight; the rest of the soldiers torn to shreds by silver blade and ice alike.  

Whoever the man was, he was deadly, moving like a specter. Deadly even while wounded, his shoulder soaked red as the blood seeped through the edge of his strange dark coat, he dispatched his enemies with ease. His sword flashed silver, and his control over ice… it had been too precise to be luck. Shields. Spears. Shards summoned with clinical grace, not born from desperation.
It reminded her of someone. 

Frostnova. 

The name crashes through silence like an echo of a half-remembered dream. Her chest tightens. For a moment, she wasn’t here. She was twenty years old again, walking beside a white-haired girl under the frozen auroras in the wastelands of Ursus, chasing the vision of a world that wouldn’t hate them any longer.  

She remembers the old fires they huddled around in the snow, rough bread shared between them, the smell of blood and hope, and the firelight reflecting off her skin. 

This man fought like her. 

But that’s what twisted the knife. Because she knew how that story ended. 

Chaos and destruction. Havoc wreaked on an unprecedented scale. All her fault. The thing they built—twisted, unrecognizable. She couldn’t even look back at it without her stomach knotting. What had they become? What had she let it become? And in the back of her mind, only one name repeats. 

Duke Kashchey. 

Anger and bitterness rise up her throat, and she can feel it constrict with sudden emotions, her hands clenching into fists. She doesn’t notice it until her nails bit into her palm, sharp enough to cut. Wet warmth pooled in her gloves, and the snow around her feet began to hiss, melting under the sudden spike of what was rolling off her skin. She closed her eyes. Forced it back down. Not now. 

It’s been a long time since she let herself think about him , but the pain, harsh and phantom, was still there. Something that ate at her to this very day, that sickness she couldn’t shake, clinging to her very bones.

She hadn’t thought about him like this in a while. But the pain hadn’t dulled, really. It waited, curled under her skin, in the places she didn’t look. In a way, he was still there, the voice, his lessons curled in the back of her head like a trail of smoke.  

But that wouldn’t stop her. One day, she’d see that bastard fall. Maybe it would take a week. Perhaps a month. As long as that sneering face was still out there, she’d keep moving forward. 

Talulah glances at the figure lying in the snow before her, the massive gash in his abdomen bleeding crimson. She winces. He’d be unconscious at this rate, the injury severe, the wound capable of tearing through anyone. He’d fallen prey to exhaustion, earning a blade through the abdomen from behind by the Infected Patrol Captain. Messy, cunning, in all the wrong ways. 

She’d been keeping track of the captain, moving nearer to the fight as they inched closer to a conclusion. The deteriorating buildings grew closer, the cracks visible as she’d slinked through the snow. A flash of red and black in her peripheral vision. A visceral squelch. But it’s too slow for her. 

And so, right before the armed soldier brought his blade down, she intervened. A rapid step, heels plowing through the snow, a clean swing of her greatsword that sends gleaming silver arcing through the air. 

Moving closer toward the man, she wraps her fingers around the blade, soon followed by her palms. Once her grip solidifies, she pulls. 

The blade slides out with a wet sound, and she winces. It must have torn through muscle, perhaps worse. The jagged steel surface is coated in red, and for a moment, her heart beats quicker before turning around the blade. Nothing but blood. A miracle, considering the force of impact. Perhaps he would last the day, maybe even a bit more. But not long without help. 

Her hands loosen against the hilt of the blade, and with a short swing, she tosses the blade a short distance away. Her eyes flicker back towards the man. 

The first thing that catches her eye wasn’t his abdominal wound, the gaping red crimson hole seemingly normal in contrast. Instead, it’s the outfit, the blue gem hanging loosely from his belt. 

Whoever this person was, something was off, off in a way she didn’t like. Every inch of him spoke of survival, and yet nothing about him made sense. No blood-crusted uniform. No insignia. No dog tags. The coat was stitched with flourishes, not function. The boots weren’t designed for snow. Even the way he’d fought had been too clean, too rehearsed. 

Not a mercenary. Not Ursine military. And certainly not Infected. 

Whatever this clothing style was, she hadn’t seen anything like it. No coat in this weather? Absurd. Especially during this time of the year, when freezing winds howled against the winter air, temperatures curling below 0 degrees Fahrenheit. He shouldn’t have survived without insulation, even while tucked away in a complex like this. No signs of frostbite either. 

Her gaze then drops to the blue gem hanging from his torso. Small, a faded glow still seeped through the bronze casing, three sharp wing-like protrusions jutting from the bottom. The glow had dulled, whatever traces of energy coursing through it absent. Every shield he summoned, every blade he’d impaled with, she had witnessed the thing light up with some strange, unnatural light. 

Could it have been a conduit for Arts?  

The thought passes through her mind, faint, fleeting. Art users typically used physical constructs for their power. Either that or consume themselves in the search for power. The small patch of dark crystals poking through the skin of her thigh becomes acute, the familiar itch stirring beneath the skin. She’d known the consequences herself, noted those marks when she’d changed—each scar watching back. 

Then again, Originium Arts constructs weren’t her specialty. She’d never used one. Those were meant for casters, people who stood in the backline and inflicted damage. She’d been the one to charge, the one to lead. 

Whatever was in front of her looked nothing like any of them. Strange, foreign . 

Her fingers brush against the casing surrounding the orb, and she can feel it. Unnaturally cold, the metal biting like frost. Talulah flinches, withdrawing her fingers slightly before grabbing it again, the cold seeping through her hand. She flips it around with one twist, expecting to see the light-blue orb. Instead, she’s met with a glass surface in the same pale hue, a white snowflake embellishing the glass.
A snowflake. The formation of ice—manipulable, precise. Fitting, but unfamiliar all the same.  

She rose from her haunches. Kashchey’s new body waited back at the Ursan college; that much was certain. She’d traced his old channels, the ones laced with the Scales, poorly concealed beneath layers of arrogance. The urgency pulled at her, impatient and cold. 

And yet… she hesitated. Bleeding out like this, no one in sight—he’d die here. Quickly or slowly, it didn’t matter; not in this environment or these conditions. Talulah’s jaw clenched. She didn’t owe him anything. But walking away… something about that thought sat wrong. It echoed too much of a past she didn’t want to repeat. 

Back at the graves, when she’d left Nine, she’d told herself she’d stop slipping back into old patterns. Stop choosing the easier path just because it hurt less. Right now, leaving felt like one of those old choices. 

Kaschey could wait. For all his schemes and stolen bodies, he’d still be there. This man might not. She clenched her jaw. Leaving him here would be easier. Clean. Like cutting a loose thread before it tangles. But something inside her wouldn’t let go of the thought—that walking away now would feel too close to something she thought she’d left behind.

Her eyes closed, breath catching as red and silver flickered behind her eyelids. That voice again. Sweet. Mocking. Her teeth clenched. Not now. 

No, not right now. That could wait. 

Releasing a sigh, she crouches down and leans forward. Her hands snake under his body, fingers moving through cold slush. With a grunt, she pushes him into a supine position, wrapping her arms around his upper torso.  

She’d seen where the injuries were. Around his abdomen, the wound was growing angrier, redder. Tightening her fingers against his upper body, she hauls him away from the scene, moving toward the side of a deteriorating building. Some place to prop him up. 

Even now, she could feel it, brushing at the back of her skull. That laugh. The one that wasn't hers. 

“ Wasting time. Bleeding heart. You haven’t learned a thing. ” 

The whisper slithered through her spine, Kashchey’s voice coiling tighter. Talulah gritted her teeth. Her throat burned with tempered flame. Not now. Not today. Her will clamped down, and the voice receded. But she knew it’d come back. It always did. 

She pressed a palm to her brow. Her head throbbed, thoughts crowding too fast up there. 

Her muscles strain and continue to protest as she raises him up in the air, blood trickling down his abdomen. By the time she reaches the door of the semi-intact building in front of her, they feel like wobbling, the weight of the man too much in this awkward position. 

This is the right thing to do ; it had to be. The doubt scratched at her anyway, quiet and persistent, crawling under her skin. And yet, she shuts it down. She’d already chosen, and there was no turning back now. 

It shouldn’t feel strange helping someone, but it did. Her mind itched with old instincts, of voices that once turned hesitation into fire, their whispers clamoring at her that it was weakness to pause. She swallowed hard. Those voices weren’t gone. But this time, they were quiet. 

By the time she descends down the hallway, entering a room on her right, she leaves him leaning against a concrete wall, his abdominal wound not in contact with any other surface. 

With a sigh, Talulah moves toward the room's opposite side, the hard concrete floor below her. Sitting down, she’s directly across from the unconscious man, the open entrance visible. Her eyes flicker between the two sights, but for some reason, they unexpectedly linger on the former for a moment longer.  

He stirred quietly, just enough to let out a breath that snagged in his throat, rough and low, like a rasp dragged across ice. Talulah’s breath caught. For a moment, her thoughts quieted, suspended in that sound. Then, with a slow exhale, she let it pass. 

Folding her arms, Talulah tilts her head slightly upwards, closing her eyes. This had cost her time. Kashchey would slip further ahead. Her jaw tightened. But she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not with someone bleeding in front of her. Not again.
She didn’t know what this moment meant, not really. Maybe it wasn’t mercy. Perhaps it wasn’t a weakness. But something in her refused to turn away this time, and that refusal sat heavy on her shoulders. There was no one to lead, no cause to hide behind; just a man bleeding in the snow, and the uneasy stillness of her silence meeting it. 

She wasn’t sure who she’d saved. Maybe no one. But when he woke up, she’d have questions, and he’d better have answers. 

Chapter Text

“—mean he’s gone missing?” The blonde-haired woman exclaims, back stiffened with a tension not verbalized. Her fingers clench tight against ebony wood, knuckles bklanching white beneath the strain.

Minutes ago, Jean’s office had been a sight of monotony: papers scattered across her desk, files stacked in careful order. Administrative tasks, routine enough that any clerk could have handled them. It should have been enough, but she still felt hollow, like it failed to fill the gap inside her. Kaeya’s departure earlier this week had already left her waiting. And with Varka still absent, that restlessness only deepened, a silence that no duty could quiet.

Jean rose from her chair, intent on trading paperwork for real work among Mondstadt’s people, when the office door slammed open. A tall man staggered inside, brown hair slicked back with pomade now damp with sweat. Bent double, he braced his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Behind him, an armored Knight hovered at the doorway, worry carved plain across his face. The glint of silver-rimmed glasses caught her eye. Caspar. Second-in-command to Hans, the captain of Port Dornman’s Knights of Favonius branch. He raised a hand, palm out, silently urging her to wait. 

“J-Jean,” he gasps, chest heaving as he sucked in air like a drowning man. Her breath catches sharp in her chest, the uneven rhythm of his words clawing at her nerves. Hands still clenching his knees, he fought to steady himself before shoving his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “K-Kaeya…” 

Before thinking, her hand instinctively clasps around Caspar’s wrist, icy-blue eyes locking on his. “Speak,” she whispered, cool and sharp, even as her chest tightened with a fear she couldn’t voice.

“He’s gone missing,” Caspar breathes out, voice still shaky. Jean froze, the words slamming into her, her grip faltering until his hand slipped free. Missing… had he meant something else? Behind them, the threshold shut with a hollow thud, leaving only the two of them in the room.

The echo throbbed in her skull, pulse hammering in her ears. Her hand is the first to fall, slamming against her desk with a sharp thud. Port Dornman. The Fatui. And at the heart of it, Kaeya, gone from her grasp, lost when Mondstadt could least afford it.

“Hans was expecting Alberich days ago,” Caspar whispers, voice still run ragged. “There’s been no sighting since his departure—no stories of the Cavalry Captain. Ships, overland routes, towns in the vicinity. It’s as if he vanished.”

“And Port Dornman?” she whispers, gaze drifting past Caspar to somewhere unseen. Chasing possibilities she didn’t want to name. The thoughts scraped her throat dry. If the Fatui had taken advantage, Mondstadt’s gates were already half open. 

He shakes his head. 

“In utter disarray,” he admitted, voice low. “A week, at most, before it tears apart. Hans sent me the moment he realized how bad it was.” His shoulders sagged, glasses slipping as he exhaled hard.  “With Kaeya gone… our diplomats can’t hold the line up. Not with Fatui pressing this much.” 

The Fatui, enemies circling like hawks around Mondstadt’s crown jewel. Greedy eyes feasting upon Port Dornman. Could reinforcements, another diplomatic team, be sent in time? But the press of her fingers against the chair, nails digging into wood, tells her as much. Futile. As anything would have been. 

Perhaps, Mondstadt’s banner would fall, swallowed by the new coming of frost that accompanied the Fatui. And yet, when had Mondstadt not resisted? From the winters of old gods to the suffocating chains of the aristocracy, the city had endured. And in time, the zephyrs would rise to sweep the ice away. 

“Thank you, Caspar,” she whispers, cheeks still pale. Her hand gripped the chair’s fabric, tightening until the seams creaked.. She couldn’t falter, not here, not with Hans in view. Even in despair, the Lionfang Knight had to serve, be a shining example. She forced her shoulders square, voice sharpening. “Keep everything we discussed under wraps. None of this information can leave this room.”

Hans’ hands clasp around her own, the warmth of his palms enveloping her own. A moment later, his fingers retreat, the ghost of sensation still lingering behind. 

“Understood,” his voice softens, some of the tension easing from his eyes. Hand closing around the doorknob, he watches her with an intensity, gaze lingering with something she couldn’t name. “Keep an eye out for additional correspondence. Hans… he won’t rest easy with silence.”

The door soon clicks behind him softly. At last, alone, she let her head fall into her hands, the cool desk surface pressing against her brow. For a long moment, she stayed there, listening only to the quiet tick of the clock and the faint rustle of parchment. Mondstadt was shifting beneath her feet, and Kaeya’s absence had left a gap she couldn’t ignore. Whatever came next, she knew the city was moving toward uncertain, turbulent days. 

When Kaeya wakes, it doesn’t feel like a clear return to consciousness. Everything is slow, muddled by a dragging ache behind his eyes and the sharp cold pressing through the seams of his coat. For a while, he can only lie there, tracking the rhythm of his heartbeat as it pulses steadily in his ears. The air is thick and metallic on his tongue, unfamiliar in a way that sets his nerves on edge.  

Even before he opens his eyes, he knows something is off. The ground beneath him feels too hard, too flat to be anything he remembers, and the quiet around him is the wrong kind of still. Somewhere to his left, there’s a shape in the dark—motionless, indistinct. It could be a person. Or not. He can’t be sure.  

When he finally blinks, the pain arrives with him. It washes in slowly but without mercy, and behind it, his thoughts begin to gather in uneven fragments. Nothing fits. Nothing explains why he’s still breathing. But somehow, beneath the confusion and the cold, a single fact settles in his chest like stone. He’s alive. 

He exhales shakily, instinctively trying to clear the weight from his head with a slight turn—only to be met with a sharp bolt of pain that lances down his side. His breath seizes, tight in his chest, and for a moment the world swims. Slowly, he lowers his gaze, blinking through the haze. Just above his hip, the fabric of his coat is stiff and dark, the skin beneath split wide in a jagged crimson gash.  

Grimacing, Kaeya manages to stay still. Each breath draws heat and weight through his chest, his pulse echoing in his ears as his mind scrambles to catch up. The memory surges forward all at once—steel ramming into his gut, the chill of ice spiking through his limbs, the pain dragging behind it like a second shadow. A missed step, a mistimed dodge. That pivot should’ve saved him. Instead, he’d been too slow to see the flash of black and silver before it carved him open. 

He’d known the captain was a slippery bastard from the start. Too composed, too quiet, watching his own soldiers fall like pawns. Kaeya had marked him, told himself to watch. But somewhere between fatigue and overconfidence, his guard dropped—and the price had been immediate. He should’ve died there. 

Dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. He was alive, somehow, and that meant he had to keep moving. Make the pain count for something. Maybe, if the wound healed right, it’d leave a neat scar—a souvenir from a fight he should’ve lost if someone hadn’t interfered. 

A short, bitter breath escapes him. Of course, it wasn’t clean. Nothing ever was. 

That thought leads him to the next one. Where was he now, and who had moved him? 

Maybe it was the blood loss, or just the fog of waking up—but nothing around him made sense. His hands twitched, stiff and half-numb, as he rubbed his eyes. The haze didn’t vanish entirely, but it lightened. Shapes began to take form, the spinning slowing down. Still distorted, but manageable.

Of course, the clarity came with a cost. 

Light poured through the entrance—too much, too fast. His pupils, narrowed by hours of dark, spasmed in protest. The glare lanced into his skull, hot and sudden. He flinched, breath catching. 

He turned away from the glare, blinking fast, trying to clear the stinging haze. White spots bloomed behind his eyelids, slow to fade. After a few seconds, the light dulled just enough to bear. He breathed through it, more wary now than hurt. 

He squinted toward the doorway. Light bled through a thin crack in the frame, just enough to suggest late morning. Not long since he’d fallen. Hours, maybe. The layout of the room felt familiar. Another structure in the same crumbling complex, he guessed. Or maybe further in. Somewhere he hadn’t mapped yet. 

But that begged the question: who had pulled him out? Someone had stepped in, clean and fast, before the final blow. Killed the captain and dragged him here, kept him breathing. 

A silhouette formed in his mind’s eye—someone watching. No, not just watching. Guarding. The thought landed too late, creeping in after the fact. His jaw tensed. He hated being slow to catch on. 

He’d only caught a glimpse of her face, but it lingered. A woman, half-lit in the pale slant of morning light, shadows carving sharp lines across her expression. Her eyes were shut, but her hand still curled around the hilt of a massive greatsword resting beside her. 

Someone had pulled him back from the edge. That didn’t make them safe. Mercy came with sharp edges, too—he’d learned that before. 

If she’d fallen asleep, it wasn’t a deep one. He doubted anyone who dragged a half-dead stranger out of a battlefield slept deeply anyway. 

A faint breath escaped through his nose, eyes narrowing with a flicker of dry amusement. Of all the people to save him, a stranger with a sword larger than most doors, now half-dozing a few feet away. He hadn’t expected that. 

He stayed leaning against the wall, gaze locked on the dark ahead, where the door’s pale light bled uselessly into shadow. His abdomen throbbed, sharp and deep, dragging at each breath. Cold crept through the floor, up his spine, and he shifted, just slightly, hoping to ease the pressure. 

He regretted it instantly. 

His balance gave out. The wall disappeared from behind him, and he pitched sideways, barely catching himself with a jolt as his hand slapped against the floor. Nails bent under the weight, pain spearing through his gut. His abdomen clenched, breath snagging as the throb spread sharp and unforgiving. 

A flash of silver cut through the dark, and a breath later, cold steel hovered at his throat. He stilled. The blade was close; close enough that one wrong twitch might split skin. Carefully, he looked up. The woman loomed above him, grip white-knuckled around the hilt, body tense like she’d been ripped from a dream. Kaeya didn’t flinch. Slowly, he lifted his hands, expression caught between surprise and strain—enough pain to look harmless, but not afraid. 

So she hadn’t been sleeping. He should’ve known. People like her didn’t rest easy. 

Her grip loosened the moment she recognized him. The sword lowered, then withdrew, slow and cautious. She stepped back and leaned it against the wall, motion smooth but deliberate. 

“You’re awake,” she murmurs, a yawn catching the edge of her breath. She turned away to stifle it, then faced him again, her hand lifting briefly from the sword hilt—not quite an apology, but close. Her silver gaze holds his for a moment, searching, unreadable. 

He doesn’t answer. Just breathes shallowly, jaw clenched tight as pain rises sharp through his chest. His shoulder flares, his ribs ache with every breath, and the cold bites through gaps in the bandages, raw against his skin. Older wounds throb beneath the new ones, each breath a quiet punishment. He sways, blinking hard as the edges of the room smear and twist. 

A voice surfaced, unbidden. Not hers. Cold and low, older than memory. You’d be dead. He swallowed it down. There had been no pity in that voice. Never had been. 

She crouches beside him again, silent. Her eyes sweep over his body, quick but not indifferent, trained in something once closer to battlefield triage. They pause at his side—where the fabric darkens in a slow, blooming red. She winces, the sound faint, unguarded. That much blood, that fast—he wouldn’t last much longer like this. 

It wouldn’t hold much longer. 

She’d already tried. An hour spent pressing cloth to the worst of the bleeding—scraps from his torn cape, soaked and half-frozen. Then she’d searched. Building after building, stripped bare. Whatever passed through here hadn’t left much behind. If she didn’t act soon, the wound would rot. That much was certain. 

Desperation narrowed her choices fast. She turned to the corpses next, hands moving through pockets, cutting belts, peeling bandages away from flesh that hadn’t yet blackened. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. That didn’t make it easier. 

She’d found almost nothing. A sliver of bandage, maybe clean. A few vials, half-shattered and crusted at the rim. Not enough. But it was all she had. And for now, it would have to do. 

She tried not to think about Alina’s hands—steady, sure, impossibly kind. Hands that moved with grace even in blood, tying bandages like they were braids, turning pain into something small. Something survivable. 

Her own hands weren’t made for softness. They were forged in fire, taught to burn, to punish. But maybe, just this once, she could borrow Alina’s steadiness. Fake the motions. Pretend they were meant for healing. It wouldn’t be enough. She knew that. But maybe it could be something close. 

As she moved through the ruined camp, she passed the aftermath of his work. Ice shards lodged in frozen soil. Blood curling pink in the snow. Wounds split fast and clean, more surgical than savage. He’d fought like someone used to surviving. Someone trained. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed… or unsettled. 

Back inside, she poured the last drops of the vial across the fabric—bitter-smelling, barely clinging. One hand braced on his chest, the other pulling the bandage across his skin. Torso to back. Pull. Wrap. Adjust. The movements came easily, practiced like any other battlefield routine. But the proximity… that was harder. It had been a long time since she’d touched someone like this without hurting them. 

The bandage ran short, barely covering half the wound. The rest gaped, raw and exposed. She closed her eyes, jaw tightening. No more supplies. No help coming. No one for miles. 

Unless… 

The thought had crept in earlier, quiet and unwelcome. Not sanitary. Not even sane. But it lingered, stubborn. Maybe it would work. She hated that it sounded like him, that old voice from the dark. But it didn’t leave. Not when the fire was already in her hands. 

“How bad is it?” Kaeya’s voice is rough, frayed at the edges. He doesn’t look at her right away—his gaze drifts to the wound, empty for a moment, then sharpens as the pain catches up. His breath stutters. He holds himself still, jaw clamped tight, as though movement alone might make him lose ground. 

The question tugs Talulah out of the place her thoughts had gone. She blinks and meets his eyes, finding them still steady despite the pallor and strain. For a moment, there’s something there she can’t name—no fear, no anger, but a quiet steadiness that feels almost dangerous in its persistence. She can’t tell if it’s defiance or simply the habit of someone who refuses to look broken. 

“Barely missed your internal organs,” she says at last, voice low. She picks each word with care. “You’re lucky to be alive.” 

The word lucky tastes strange in her mouth. She doesn’t believe in it, not anymore. Too many times she’s seen people survive by chance, only to meet an end worse than the one they escaped. She feels her shoulders tense as the words leave her, as though she’s lied without meaning to. 

Kaeya’s gaze slips down to the floor. He doesn’t answer right away, and she doesn’t rush to fill the silence. The news is sinking in; she can see it in the way his eyes lose focus for a beat, like he’s staring at something far away. Not just the nearness of death, but whatever he’s left to carry because he didn’t cross over. 

“Sounds about right,” he says finally. His tone is dry, the humor in it hollow. A laugh ghosts out of him—thin, brittle, and gone in a breath. The motion tightens his abdomen, and his face hardens. He rides out the pain without a sound, jaw locked until it passes. 

He leans back without thinking, and the bare skin of his shoulder blades meets the frozen bite of the metal wall. The shock drags a flinch out of him. He pulls forward again on instinct, and she half-rises before she even knows why, ready to catch him. But his movements steady before she can close the distance. Deliberate. Controlled. A way of reclaiming some fraction of agency she hadn’t tried to take. 

He offers a faint, almost testing smile, head tilting as though weighing her without words. “Is there any heat source nearby?” he asks at last, voice worn thin. 

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze lingers on him for a heartbeat longer than needed before she gives a short nod. 

Taking his words as permission, she steps closer, movements deliberate, careful to keep space even as she closes it. Her hands hover in the air, suspended in that uneasy space between stranger and patient. She can see it in his eyes—the way they flick from her face to the wound, then back again. Waiting. Measuring. 

She lets out a slow breath. This shouldn’t feel dangerous, but it does. Not the act itself, but the nearness. She hadn’t expected him to ask, not in that voice. That was a doctor’s work, the work of someone trained to heal. Not her. Not someone whose hands were more used to ending a fight than mending its aftermath. And yet here she was, already preparing to do it. 

His eyes hold hers, and in them she catches the glint of someone who doesn’t give ground easily. Defiance, steady and quiet, tempered only by the unspoken acknowledgment that he owed her something now. He wouldn’t be the one to ask twice. 

“You want this cauterized?” she asks at last, her voice kept low. She tips her chin toward the wound, its surface red and swollen, the skin already angry at the edges. It wouldn’t forgive much more time. 

He exhales, the sound quiet but certain. “Do it,” he says, the words stripped bare by exhaustion. That was all she needed. 

She steps closer, her hand hovering a breath above the wound. It wasn’t about mercy or cruelty now. Her hands, made for fire, could only burn, but with no medicine left, fire was all she had to hold the damage at bay. 

It had been years since she’d willed that heat into something other than ruin. The shape of it in her mind was still sharp-edged, still meant to destroy. Even now, part of her waited for it to turn on her, to lash out the way it always had. But she forced it still, forced it to take the shape of something smaller, steadier—the shape of a wound closed, not a life ended. 

She meets his eyes, steady, unblinking. Confusion flickers there, but she’d expected it — a hand hovering in the air meant nothing to him. Not yet. For her, though, there was only one way this would work, and it would mean fire.

The dull glaze in his eyes thinned, sharpened by something unspoken. His brow lifted, and the corner of his mouth quirked, confusion tempered with the beginnings of a smirk. 

“Forest’s the other way,” he said, voice curling with thin amusement. She didn’t answer. He could already feel the smirk starting to fade. 

Of course, he mistook her silence for an opening. The words never left his mouth. Orange light flared across his vision, sharp as a sunrise seen too close. Color hit first, then the heat—searing and unmistakable. It was a feeling he’d hoped never to taste again. And that’s when he knew exactly what she meant to do. 

“Fuck!”

Pain surged up through him, hot enough to blur the edges of his vision. He locked his jaw, biting down until copper filled his mouth. Fire guttered in her palm, spilling over the wound in greedy waves. 

And then, he passes out once more. 

Light seeped back into his vision in slow, fractured waves. The last streaks of day slanted through a cracked window, pooling on a floor scrubbed too clean—as if the blood had been here, and someone had taken care to erase it. But his eyes didn’t catch on the emptiness. Instead, they caught on the tail. 

Long and sinuous, black scales caught what little light remained, running the length of a tail that tapered to a narrow, pointed tip. Small spikes jutted from its surface like barbs, casting tiny shadows across the floor. Then it shifted. A slow, deliberate curl, too controlled to be chance.
Had the blood loss finally pushed him over the edge? His eyes burned as he blinked hard, testing the vision like he’d test a weak spot in an enemy’s guard. The tail stayed. Still there. Still moving.
He dragged the heel of his palm across his eyes, slow, deliberate, as if clearing the grit from his vision. No change. The black curve still lay across the floor, gaze following upward, tracing scale by scale until—

Kaeya rubs his eyes, trying to blink the image away. All that blood loss from before, he must be imagining things. But each time he opens them, the tail remains. Slowly, he lifts his gaze. And then he sees them. 

Dark, polished horns curved through a fall of pale hair, catching what little light remained. His eyes tracked them to the silver gaze he already knew, of the woman who had pulled him from the brink. The one whose fire had sealed his flesh and whose silence filled the room. 

… 

So it wasn’t a dream. The cold under him, the throb in his side, all of it real. And her. Whatever she was, she was real too. He didn’t know what that meant yet, only that the smartest move was to stay quiet and keep his eyes open. 

But—tail, horns? He remembered her face clearly enough: silver eyes, pale skin, a stare honed to a cutting edge. Human. Or close enough to pass. The only half-humans he’d met were Diana, the short-tempered bartender with cat ears, and her father. This was nothing like them. 

Half-dragon, maybe. The tail left room for doubt, but the horns… those were harder to explain away. Diana and her father had a trace of beast in their blood, watered down by centuries. This felt different. Less human. A half-blooded dragon? That would mean—
… 

Yeah. No. Not worth finishing that thought. 

But if she’d hidden this until now, what else hadn’t she shown him? Whatever it was, she was choosing what he saw and what he didn’t. 

Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed. If she had, Archons, he could only imagine the look she’d give him. And that kind of humiliation was one wound he didn’t need right now. 

She felt his look. The tail, which had been lying loose, drew in along her calf in a smooth, practiced curl. Her hand found the greatsword’s guard and stopped there, knuckles pale. When she turned, she angled her shoulder to take the horns out of his direct line, as if by habit rather than shame. 

She let the silence breathe a heartbeat longer than needed, then said, "Don’t move,” her voice cool and steady. Her lips press into a thin line, silver eyes following him as he braces his palms against the ground. The sound is familiar in a way he can’t place; sharp enough to halt him, steady enough to keep him there. He pushes himself upward on a shaky breath, muscles trembling with the effort.

"It’s been only hours. You need to recover." The words carry easily through the stillness, quiet but absolute. The tail held tight to her boot now, spikes flattened. She didn’t look away, but her gaze stopped short of his eye patch and stayed there, steady as a pin. Kaeya goes still, muscles taut with reflexive tension, as if his body hasn’t realized the fight is over. 

When her gaze meets his again, something in him loosens. Her voice still holds its distance, but in her eyes he catches it, the faintest flicker of concern surfacing before its hidden away. 

Then the ache flares. A cold pressure behind his eyes, fire curling in his gut. He clenches his jaw and breathes through it. She leans in, hesitant, but he lifts a hand to stop her. The pain is his to bear. It has to be. 

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, weighing whether to argue. The fingers on her sword eased, then tightened once, a small verdict. She stayed where she was. 

He looks at her again, something unspoken tightening in his throat. Gratitude, maybe. Or a question he isn’t ready to voice. 

“...Thank you,” he says at last, the words rough and grudging, as if dragged up from somewhere he doesn’t visit often. A thin laugh slips out after, stripped of warmth. He’s been close to death before—rain slanting sideways, a blade set to his throat, Diluc’s face hard with fury—but the air in his lungs had never felt this sharp, this unwilling to let go. 

She watches him without speaking, her gaze steady enough to feel like a weight. He’s about to let the silence stand when her lips press together, a slow breath moving past them, like words are there, but she’s not yet sure they’re worth giving voice to. 

“You’re welcome.” The words are brisk, almost perfunctory, but not careless. Her eyes flick to his chest, then lower still, before finding his again. Nothing in her face moves, yet the stillness feels tighter, like something inside her has braced. Her mouth parts a fraction, the pause long enough to feel intentional. 

She draws in a quiet breath, her gaze flicking once to her own hands as if remembering the work they’d done. When she speaks, it’s stripped down to fact, clean as a blade. 

“Your shoulder and chest wounds were on the verge of infection. I cauterized them, too.” 

He inclines his head, a small motion that feels heavier than it should. Gratitude never came easily to him; it was easier to tend wounds in silence, leave debts unpaid. But the words had already been given, and now he held her eyes a fraction too long before looking away. 

His eyes flick to the greatsword propped against the wall, the steel clean but close at hand. Her stance mirrored the weapon’s readiness, her shoulders kept squared, weight balanced, as if the next move could come from either of them. 

A flash of red in the corner of his vision pulled at him, sharp and out of place. His stomach lurched before his mind caught up; a reflex, the kind that came when you thought the blood might be yours. In the corner lay the carcass of some deer-like thing, its twisted antlers jutting at odd angles. Her gaze followed his for a moment, then broke away, but the set of her shoulders hadn’t eased. 

“There’s no food nearby,” she says, voice flat. Her hand settles on the hilt at her side, the touch easy but deliberate. “My supplies are almost gone. And aside from trees, there’s nothing alive for miles.”

Kaeya dipped his head in agreement. He’d noticed it too — the way the forest had gone hollow. No rustle under the frost, no scurry of paws, no birdsong to break the air. Just a stillness that felt watched. It hadn’t been like that at first. Then, one day, without warning, the life had drained away. 

“That’s… unsettling,” he murmured, the words meant more for himself than her. He still didn’t know what had caused it, but her agreement turned the thought into something worth keeping. Answers could wait; the knowledge alone was useful. 

He let the thought go, tucking it away for later. There were other things he wanted from her first. 

He shifted to face her, the faint pull of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. It was a careful thing, one thin and edged with something almost sharp. Not enough to draw blood, but just enough to see how she’d move. 

“You know,” he said lightly, “a little warning before setting me on fire might have been… considerate.” 

Her shoulders drew back a fraction, the smallest give before her stance reset. “You gave me permission,” she said, flat. “Right before you passed out.”

He stilled, turning the memory over. Yes… he could almost hear himself saying it. Figures. 

“Touche,” he said, a dry laugh curling at the edge of his breath. He exhaled slowly, the ache pulling deep beneath his ribs, tightening like a snare. The urge to look away grew until he gave in, glancing down at the wound. Red, raw, but clean. No pus, no tearing. The heat had sealed it smoother than it had any right to be, the work quick and ruthless. 

“Acceptable,” he murmured at last, eyes still on the work. “Cleaner than I expected.” 

She didn’t answer. Just watched, her jaw setting, her gaze steadying until whatever softness had surfaced was buried again under steel. 

The silence pressed between them, unbroken. 

He let the silence stretch, then lifted a brow, as though only now noticing the one thing she hadn’t asked. “My name?” 

He didn’t keep her waiting long. “Kaeya. Kaeya Alberich.” 

She tried it under her breath first, then again, slower, drawing out each syllable as if testing unfamiliar ground. The cadence was rough, the consonants catching. He almost smiled at the attempt, but didn’t. She’d earned better than that. 

So, not a familiar name. Not here, at least, not with the way she reacted. Disappointing, though he wasn’t sure why. What did he expect? This wasn’t Mondstadt. This wasn’t even Teyvat. And if this place had anything in common with Snezhnaya, then ignorance wasn’t surprising. 

Kaeya kept his cards close. Camaraderie, warmth—he gave them out easily. They were tools to draw people in, ways to make others feel safe. Comfortable. But none of it meant trust. And none of it ever touched the hollowed-out places he never let anyone see. 

And yet… maybe this was different. A blank slate. Someone who didn’t know his name, his lies, his legacy. The monsters hadn’t followed him here. The weight hadn’t either. For the first time in years, something about this felt real. She’d stayed, bandaged him. Not out of duty or debt. Just… stayed. 

He didn’t know what this would turn into. But he knew better than to test the one scrap of kindness he’d been given since he’d arrived. 

He had questions. Things he needed to ask. He’d already given her his name, pushing the first piece forward like you did in any game worth playing. Take the hit, hold the cards, wait for the opening. He drew in a slow breath. “Yours?” 

Cold air filtered through the cracked window, stirring the loose strands of her hair. She lowered her gaze to the hilt of her blade, fingers brushing the worn leather as if weighing something unsaid. 

“Talulah.” The name came flat, unadorned, as if she were handing over nothing more than a crumb. 

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Kaeya shifted forward, ready to cut into it, to retake the lead, but her voice slipped in first, quiet and unexpectedly gentle. 

“Hungry?”

He nodded, a trace of surprise cutting through his guarded expression. There were no questions, no conditions, just the promise of food. She bent to the greatsword, curling her fingers around the hilt as if it weighed nothing. 

She worked with the ease of habit, driving a blade meant to split armor cleanly through bone and sinew. Strips of meat fell in precise cuts, the motion too practiced to be improvised. Then the fire came, a sudden flare from her palm. Heat spilled into the room, fast and unyielding, and Kaeya’s mind flicked briefly back to the same flames sealing his skin. 

This would be good. Better than stale rations or whatever he could scavenge. His mouth twitched at the corner, less a smile than the ghost of one. The last real meal had been in Mondstadt’s central plaza, the air thick with grilling spice and warm bread, laughter carrying over the cobblestones, all before a pigeon crashed his skewers clean from the plate. 

That had been the last uncomplicated day. Before the assignment that shouldn’t have been his. Before the slip of a tongue, the face he trusted once. Before Anton. Before blood. 

They ate in silence, the scrape of teeth and the hiss of cooling meat the only sounds in the room. Not tense, but not quite easy either. 

When he finished, Kaeya leaned back against the wall, licking a streak of grease from his thumb. His eyes slid to the untouched half of the carcass, the cold already creeping into the meat. It wouldn’t keep long. 

He raised his hand, and frost unfurled from his palm in a pale shimmer, curling over the meat. In seconds, a thin glaze locked it solid, the air between them turning sharp with cold. 

She watched, and for a moment, the cold spilling from his palm wasn’t his at all. It was hers. The sight pulled her backward into a white blur, of shards of ice locking together into a protective dome, of a figure with hair as pale as the snowstorm around her. Frostnova. Gone now, yet still lodged deep enough to ache. 

“That should keep it,” he said evenly, spreading his fingers so the frost crept further over the meat. Another pass thickened the layer, enough to hold in a place like this. “It’ll stay frozen.” 

She held still, too still, the frostlight tracing faint reflections in her eyes. He caught the quick flare of her pupils, the faint hitch in her breath, the way her gaze snagged before she forced it away. Whoever she was seeing, it wasn’t him. 

After a beat, she cleared her throat, the sound small in the cold air. Her gaze dropped to the floor as if the moment had never happened. 

“If you’re finished, sleep.” Her voice stayed distant, her expression closed again. He felt the shift between them, the pull back into a safer distance. It was a pull he understood, the same one that kept a quiet voice in his head warning him not to lean too far forward. “You won’t recover if you keep pushing yourself.” 

She was right, though admitting it left a faint, bitter taste. Rest would help. And for now, he had no excuse not to take it. 

Talulah rose, the scrape of her boot soft against the floor as she crossed toward the doorway. Kaeya’s brow knit, his gaze following her like he was assembling a puzzle. She meant to stay up. To keep watch.

And for him, of all people? It didn’t fit.

As if she’d caught the question in the air, Talulah turned toward him. Her gaze was the same as ever, steady and knowing.

“Night shift will only take a few hours,” she said, her expression easing by the barest hint. The tension still held in her shoulders as she settled near the door. She let out a slow breath, one hand firm on the greatsword’s hilt. “Go to sleep.” 

She said nothing more, and Kaeya let his shoulders ease against the wall. This time, he leaned back with care, the cold seeping through his coat but not quite cutting as deeply as the quiet between them. Across the room, Talulah’s gaze stayed on him until she was certain his eyes had closed. 

The flames in her hand fades to embers. 

And the ice on the deer remains. 

Chapter Text

Thump, thump, thump.

Amidst the morning quietude, the sound of a steady heartbeat punctuates the silence, reverberating across the room. A short distance from the door in the same room, a silver-haired Draco sits cross-legged, lost in her thoughts, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It’s been a few minutes since the woman had woken up, stirred from her sleep by the faint rays of the Ursan winter morning shimmering through a small slit in the entrance that separated the warmth of the building’s interior from the bitter winds howling outside. 

After regaining some sense of orientation, she first noticed the man from yesterday night, lying against the concrete wall. Her mind had immediately jumped toward the conversation from yesterday, replaying the memories until she finally remembered his name, the only significant piece of information she had managed to receive that day. 

Kaeya Alberich. 

The man’s name was intriguing, to say the very least. The first half of the name sounded similar to those hailing from Sargon, while the second half seemed to be distinctly Leithanian in origin. A strange combination considering that both countries barely interacted with each other, let alone had any shared history. 

Her wandering eyes flicker back toward the man, jarring the sustained concentration she had maintained. The man, no, Kaeya, was still sleeping, his eyes closed as he continued dozing off while leaning against the wall she had propped him up on yesterday afternoon. A brief, imperceptible curl graces the corners of Talulah’s lips as she observes his shallow breathing. He managed to stay alive for the night, she noted, her relief subtle. 

When she woke up, she had not expected him to survive after cauterizing his wounds, the lack of adequate medical supplies and the severity of his lacerations having made her worry. While the practice was able to prevent him from bleeding out, which could have potentially led to the man’s death given the circumstances, it increased the risk of infection and made her attempt a risky solution. To be quite honest, Talulah’s hopes that the man hadn’t contracted sepsis and died overnight had been quite low the night before. 

At some point, the man blearily opens his eyes before issuing a yawn, a series of blinks following in the aftermath. It takes a couple of moments before he overcomes his disorientation, his gaze slowly centering upon Talulah. 

Satisfied that he had awoken, Talulah exhales, letting out a breath that she had unwittingly kept in. An expression of relief, one could say, had they discerned the movement of her muscles, once taut with tension. For a moment, their eyes meet each other, and there’s seemingly a flicker of something unspoken between them. 

She only had limited interaction with Kaeya yesterday, exhaustion having overcome the man and prematurely cut her conversations off. Talulah had questions, and while she had the opportunity to ask him several of those over the next few days, those questions had been eating away at her. The only way her desires would be satiated was by getting answers as soon as possible. 

Once Talulah determines that he’s conscious of his surroundings enough, she decides to speak. 

“If it’s acceptable, I’d like to continue that conversation from yesterday,” Talulah says, her tone detached, betraying none of her emotions as she focuses her unfaltering gaze upon Kaeya. He suddenly perks up, almost as if he had experienced another burst of wakefulness. Looking at her unflinchingly, his eyes light up quickly with an adamantine glister. 

“Hey, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, don’t you think?” he protests, an expression of surprise overcoming his tired features. Seeing Talulah remain unyielding and continuing to stare him down with her silver eyes, he lets out a little sigh. 

“All information comes with a price, does it not?” He responds, challenging her with a steely glint in his eye. It’s a look that she’s familiar with, something she had seen reflected within herself so many times when defying Ursan authorities all those years ago. “After all, if I provide you with information, should you not do the same as a basic courtesy?” 

“While I would be pleased to, you’re not in a position to talk,” Talulah states, her gaze flickering toward the locations where Kaeya’s lacerations and injuries were. Yet, surprise flashes through her after hearing his demands, her guard heightening in response. They had started off so well yesterday, their interactions much more relaxed. 

While Talulah was willing to provide the man with the relevant information he desired, she needed information of her own first before proceeding with his demands. The wandering group of Ursan soldiers that had been slaughtered, the ominous surroundings stretching for miles, the temporary settlement set up within an abandoned Infected labor camp out of all places. All of them pointed to the person in front of her, standing in the center with those ill-fitting clothes and strange name that he carried himself around with. 

Noticing that she had remained unbudging in response to his demands, Kaeya cocks his head slightly, his eyes narrowing further. “All it would take to incapacitate you is a lift of my finger.” 

“That threat also applies to you,” Talulah states, her eyes beginning to take on a colder look after processing his statement. Her tail begins flicking side to side, both as a precaution and a sign of the irritation that was beginning to take hold of her. She couldn’t lose her temper, however, so she decides to approach this conversation from a different angle. “Incapacitating me will only get you so far. You’d effectively lose your only source of guidance in this frozen wasteland for miles.” 

She meets Kaeya’s gaze defiantly until he turns away, averting his gaze from her own and begrudgingly muttering “touche” under his breath. Satisfied with his reply, she relaxes, a slight smile gracing her lips before it disappears almost immediately. 

“Forgive me, that was naught but a force of habit,” Kaeya says, running his hand through the hair near the back of his head, his voice much softer. The sound of a strained chuckle soon follows, echoing through the room. “As I’ve learned from experience, trust is something one cannot easily give.” 

“Fair enough,” Talulah concedes. She, too, had experience with the concept. First, as the victim, the hungry Reunion deserters that she had influenced a Shieldguard to pardon murdering Alina. Then, as the perpetrator, having willingly used the masses comprising Reunion’s fighters as pawns and straying away further from Reunion’s original goals. But she has her own questions, and she’s not about to let her own guard down. “But before we move on, let me inspect those injuries of yours.” 

Hearing her declaration, Kaeya shifts his hands away from his abdomen allowing them to settle upon the floor. Seeing that he had given her better access to his injuries, she moves in closer toward him. 

Only when Talulah parts the black garment and bandages covering his stomach does an expression of confusion flitter over her face. 

Huh? 

Where the wound had once been angry red, crimson blood having begun to slowly coagulate in response to clotting yesterday night, a partially healed site of injury was left, the inflammation having been significantly reduced. Usually, wound healing took a few days before it looked like this, the various injuries of early Reunion fighters that Alina had tended to having provided Talulah more than enough experience with this process. 

Whatever this was, Kaeya’s healing pathway seemed to be far more accelerated, something that only added to the mysterious intricacies comprising him and his background. While Talulah had only been mildly interested in the man when seeing him from afar, the revelations only added to her intrigue. 

Pleased, she applies the unfastened bandages once more before inspecting him, an unreadable expression concealing her previous astonishment. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Better than yesterday, at least,” he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. Taking the opportunity to adjust his position, he lets out a grunt. “Still feeling a bit fatigued, but could be worse.” 

Nodding her head in assent, Talulah stands up before leaning against the partition separating the room from a secondary hallway and crossing her arms. Her eyes locking onto his figure like magnets, she casts a skeptical glance at him before letting out a small sigh.  

“Ask away, then.” He finally concedes, a tone of resignation seeping through his words. A glint of surprise flashing through Kaeya’s eyes follows, as fleeting as is swift, barely identifiable in the dim light of the Ursan morning. Before he has the chance to question, she cuts him off, seeking to establish something as a baseline before they proceed with this conversation. “Judging from the style of clothing you’re wearing here, it’s not a stretch to say that you aren’t from the region.” 

A small period of silence ensues after Talulah’s remarks. It’s only a minute later when Kaeya breaks the quietude, his eyes taking her in. 

“You’re quite observant, aren’t you?” Kaeya remarks, an expression of mild interest covering his face. Talulah doesn’t know whether to interpret it as a mocking gesture or one of genuine astonishment. “As you’ve deciphered, I indeed am not from the surrounding region.” 

The man pauses, taking Talulah’s features in before speaking once again. “And to answer your second, unasked query, I’m surprised because your first question hadn’t addressed the outcome of the fight. My expression was not meant as a jest.” 

Despite remaining seemingly impassive, shock begins to color Talulah’s features internally. She hadn’t mentioned her thoughts out loud, had she? Turning around, she notices Kaeya, his face betraying nothing. Either the man had one hell of a poker face, or she had made the mistake of voicing her thoughts out loud. 

Regardless, she couldn’t let the incident cloud her judgment or break the illusion of control, keeping her composed front up. 

“Anyways, I appreciate your generosity.” A brief, hollow laugh issued echoes through the room, the sound reverberating amongst the metallic walls. Kaeya’s lips curve into a small smile, his eyes glittering with gratitude and another emotion that Talulah cannot decipher. “Despite being in our respective positions, you haven’t taken advantage of me. In this situation, you’ve even given me the upper ground, albeit temporarily. That’s quite commendable.”

“Now that you’ve given me the opportunity to speak, I’ll start off with a question of my own.” he continued, his gaze skimming Talulah’s face briefly before flickering away, as if hesitant. Following his gaze downward, Talulah noticed it pausing, almost as if it focused on something indistinct. 

It’s only when she realizes where he’s staring at that her cheeks become slightly tinged pink, not out of embarrassment but out of irritation. Her eyes turned icy, a glint of steel in them as she met his gaze. “What are you looking at?” Talulah asks Kaeya coolly, her voice unwavering, managing to keep herself from screeching or choking out the question. She was used to having eyes wander over her body, but for someone under her care to brazenly stare at her after she had saved his life, arose anger within her. The desire to shift her body away from his vision and furiously reprimand him simultaneously bubbled up within her.  

Catching sight of Kaeya’s puzzled expression causes her frosty demeanor to intensify, her cheeks reveal a subtle blush, betraying the undercurrent of mortification. 

“Huh?” Kaeya asks her, genuine confusion spreading across his face as he shifts his eyes from her waist toward her face. “I was just about to ask what are you. The horns, the tail?” 

Seeing the tinge of pink that had crept into a flustered Talulah’s cheeks, it barely takes a moment for Kaeya to connect the two actions together, a resulting smirk spreading across his face. “Oh my, so that’s what you were thinking. I can’t believe that you’ve already assumed that less than twenty-four hours after we met.” 

Hearing his response, Talulah’s cheeks flush an even deeper tinge of pink, her pale skin not helping to conceal her embarrassment. Her collected façade now broken, she turns around hurriedly, attempting unsuccessfully to prevent him from seeing her reaction. Unfortunately, he seemed to have noticed, the sly grin on his face confirming the information. God, if someone like Ch’en were here to witness this incident, she would relentlessly tease Talulah daily, reminding her of where her thoughts had taken her. 

It takes a few minutes for Talulah to regain her composure before she turns around again, the barely visible pink-colored spots on her cheek betraying any remnant of the incident that had occurred mere minutes ago. Assuming the position she had initially taken on, she looked at Kaeya seriously once again, as if waiting for him to continue before she finally comprehended what he had asked her. 

Surprise flashes through her, but Talulah quickly reigns in her emotions, her features hardening into a mask of controlled disbelief. The realization doesn’t take long to register, yet her response is muted, the resulting silence serving as the only indicator of her reaction. A moment later, she blinks once, her eyes widening imperceptibly. Had this man never witnessed nor interacted with people having both tails and a horn? 

“Have you never seen a Sarkaz, Lung, or Vouivre before?” she managed to choke out, her voice steady but laced with a hint of incredulity. Her body remained rigid, refusing to betray the astonishment within her. With the way this conversation was going, Talulah wasn’t sure she would be able to fully comprehend nor accept whatever conclusion she would come upon. 

“Huh?” Kaeya states, a similar expression of confusion spreading across his face. Seeing the man become increasingly puzzled, she only becomes paler, her suspicions beginning to solidify. “A what?” 

Only when Kaeya notices Talulah does he continue on rapidly as if attempting to console her with additional information. “I can see you’ve probably figured out I’m not from around this area, so please forgive my ignorance. In my homeland, people like you, well, they’re exceedingly rare, to say the very least.” 

Rare? 

Talulah pauses briefly, repeating the word internally once again. Wasn’t Terra solely inhabited by the Ancients? Sure, not all races exhibited horns and tails, but most races had the latter feature in addition to characteristics ranging from wings to an additional pair of ears. To have someone call her rare, either concerning her race or physical attributes, was something that she would have least expected. 

Leaning forward, Talulah is now barely more than three feet away from Kaeya’s face. There’s a genuinely confused expression on her face now, though she makes an effort to hide her curiosity. “Then, where exactly are you from, then? And what are you?” 

“Oh, me?” Kaeya asks, his voice steady. Once his unwavering gaze fixes upon him, it remains unwavering, betraying nothing. His eyes seemed to flicker briefly as if he was considering something. A moment later, they focused on her again. “Although it’s unlikely that you’ve heard of the place, it’s better than nothing. To answer the latter question, I’m human and hail from a place called Teyvat.” 

“Human? Teyvat?” Talulah inquires, her tone carefully controlled. There’s a hint of perplexity in her voice, but her facial expression remains neutral. Unless there were unexplored lands within Terra far beyond the already-established boundaries defining the territory that countries occupied, she had no recollection of the term Teyvat. Add to the fact that people like her were rare wherever Kaeya had come from only added to the mystery, further intriguing her. “I apologize, I’m not familiar with the latter term. As for the former, despite being human myself, I’ve never seen any race exhibiting your characteristics.” 

“Huh, so the term human seems to be used to designate people exhibiting features like mine. Interesting.” Kaeya says quietly, the volume of his statement just about loud enough to allow Talulah to catch it. “I assume the term ‘race’ is defined as a subcategory of humans, correct?” 

Hearing his question, Talulah nods slightly, indicating his assumption was correct. “That is right. Each race exhibits their own unique characteristics that differentiate them from each other. For example, a Perro would have a fur-covered tail and an additional set of ears.” 

“Interesting,” Kaeya murmurs under his breath, contemplating the information he had recently gained before speaking. “Where I come from, you would be categorized as half-human. The term human signifies individuals without unique features, such as your tail and horns.  Essentially, none of the distinctive traits that would define the separate races you previously mentioned.” 

“To be honest, when I first observed you, I wasn’t entirely certain of what you were,” Talulah states, leaning back against the partition, her arms crossed once more. “While most races on Terra possess distinctive features, some races conceal their unique traits better than others. According to my information, both Ægir and the Anura would bear striking resemblance to you, save for subtle distinctions like tentacles and the such.” 

A period of quietude follows the statement, the man remaining lost in contemplation before shaking his head, attempting to dispel the pensiveness that had overcome him. 

“Sorry, I’m still attempting to comprehend this situation,” Kaeya states, his hands beginning to fidget in the absence of anything productive to do, a consequence of one of the many restrictions his injury imposed upon him. “Finding myself in an unfamiliar land far away from home was remarkably unexpected, to say the very least. However, your assistance has been invaluable, and for that, I’m extremely grateful. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Talulah whispers under her breath, giving him an almost imperceptible nod in acknowledgment. 

“Anyway, to return to the matter at hand, please don’t hesitate to ask more questions,” Kaeya continues onward, cutting through the silence with the statement. Noticing Talulah’s lips move slightly as if she were about to speak, Kaeya cuts her off before she has the chance to protest. “After all, I have already asked a question of my own. Offering you the same courtesy is only fair.” 

Despite having a question at the tip of her tongue, Talulah finds herself unable to respond immediately, the words frozen in her mouth. She stares at Kaeya, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. The further this conversation proceeded, the more the man in front of her seemed like a mirage. A charming conversationalist, a stark difference from the ruthless and cynical figures she had surrounded herself with for years. From their limited interactions, he intrigued Talulah, reminding her of the characters in those fantastical tales that Alina had comforted the younger members of Reunion with, a figure whose character rarely presented itself within reality. 

After all, the majority of Talulah’s interactions with others in the past had occurred in Ursus, where harsh conditions fostered struggle and resilience, two characteristics that played a heavy hand in shaping the personalities of those who lived in the country. With the threat of perishing coming from multiple angles, whether it be becoming Infected or enlistment into Ursus’ vast armies, people were often cautious or downright hostile toward strangers. Effectively, she had adopted the same method of speaking herself, offering warmth only to the vulnerable and those she kept close by. Whatever this conversation was for her, it was a novel experience, a refreshing departure from her usual interactions. 

“Forgive me for my directness, but how exactly did you arrive here?” Talulah finally asks, her voice steady but her eyes sharp. His origins were a mystery, but she had developed a conjecture based on his answers. Despite its preposterous premise, one that fostered skepticism within Talulah, it wouldn’t devastate her to hazard a guess. “According to your statements, you supposedly came from someplace known as Teyvat. Despite Terra not being fully explored, it’s extremely unlikely any civilization would have been established past the Infy Icefield.” 

Taking a deep breath in, Talulah steels herself before speaking, knowing that she would have to expect any responses regardless of their outlandishness. Based on the information she had acquired through her conversations with Kaeya, this was the only explanation she could come up with. “So tell me, how did you end up here from another world?” 

A heavy silence ensues, her gaze locked upon Kaeya unwaveringly, her figure still and unmoving. As she had learned, how one carried oneself was only one portion of exhibiting confidence. The most crucial part, however, was ensuring that others believed in the display. After all, an appearance of being unnerved would go a long way in situations like these. 

It’s only when the sound of a slow series of claps reverberates throughout the air does the silence vanish from the early-morning air, the change accompanied by Kaeya suddenly turning towards her. 

“My, my, you’re quite perceptive,” Kaeya states, his voice carrying a hint of surprise, followed by a small chuckle. Despite a strained smile on his face, his eyes seem to sparkle with genuine mirth. “Congratulations, you seemed to have pieced everything together.” 

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with,” Talulah replies, her tone steady. However, her eyes widen imperceptibly, the shock of her absurd conclusions being confirmed shattering the composure she had previously assumed. Standing stiffly on the concrete floor, innumerable thoughts and emotions overload Talulah’s mind. It would definitely take some time for her to digest this information. 

To have her temporary detour result in something like this was both a miracle and a curse in itself, forcing her to put her plans of permanently eliminating Kashchey on hold while promising uncertainty and untapped potential. While the particular set of goals she was pursuing necessitated only her participation, the ideals she sought to implement in the long run required some form of external assistance.  

The deaths of Reunion’s original leaders hadn’t assisted her, and with the destruction of the organization’s core group of supporters, ensuring that Reunion successfully pursued its ideals by reinforcing its ranks with strong members was necessary. Even then, loyalty was even more important for the time being, and with Nine and the remaining Reunion members remaining frosty to Talulah and her intentions, someone like this man was a blessing in disguise. 

“I’ll admit, your attempts at concealing your surprise are applaudable,” Kaeya declares, a look of amusement overcoming his features. Noticing Talulah staring him down, he winces slightly, letting out a nervous laugh and allowing the expression to melt away. “Despite remaining stoic in the face of my revelations, your… tail… suddenly became fleetingly rigid when I confirmed your assumption. It was imperceptible, but that was all it took.” 

“But to answer your question, approximately six days ago, I had scheduled a ferry ride to a city back home,” Kaeya states, now covering his face with his hands. A small sigh escapes from his lips before he removes his hands from his face, looking at Talulah again. “Unfortunately, I managed to encounter someone I hadn’t expected to see until much later, and that evening, I woke up almost seventy miles away from here, unable to find a route back home. It took me around a half-day journey to approach this area, and from there, you should be able to figure out the rest.” 

The man accentuates the statement with a pause, the silence that had been buried within the depths of prior moments having reemerged. Then, he continues, the temporary cessation of sound broken again. 

“When I woke up here, lost amidst the blizzards sweeping the region and battering the landscape, I thought I had unexpectedly arrived in another country near my hometown. It was only when I found some documents written in another language eerily comparable to one I have familiarity with that the realization hit me.” 

Listening to his voice silently, Talulah attempts to digest the information, processing everything bit by bit. It didn’t take long before her mind wandered towards another topic, the details of the incident suddenly seeming relevant to the discussion at hand. 

In the past few villages that Talulah had stopped by for temporary lodging and to replenish her supplies, she had heard whispers of increased numbers of Ursan troops being amassed at their northern border from wives and mothers alike, their husbands and sons being stationed on the front-lines. With internal discontent fostered by the Ursus war machine churning out casualties on the rise, there was no sensible explanation for the country to shift its forces away from the simmering tensions toward something else it had reasonably dealt with for centuries. All things considered, it was a highly unusual move, one that Talulah had no answer to. 

When she previously encountered the tar-coated trees in the nearest vicinity, she had an inkling of an idea developed in her mind, a possible explanation for the rumors she had picked up upon. But now, with the discovery that someone from another world had ended up stranded here a couple of weeks after that incident, that theory was effectively made void. Still, the sight of the trees covered in a tar-like substance whenever she passed the forest of birch trees separating this abandoned labor camp from the surrounding tundra unnerved her, only motivating her to ask the man another question.  

“Is your appearance related to whatever tar-like substance coating the trees in the surrounding area?” Tapping her foot on the concrete ground, Talulah raises an eyebrow as if expecting an answer from Kaeya. 

“Huh?” His tone nonchalant, it doesn’t take too long for Kaeya to understand what Talulah is mentioning, his eyes lighting up at the realization. “Oh, the foliage nearby withering and shriveling up, leaving nothing but blackened husks behind? I only managed to notice that phenomenon almost three days ago. Not exactly sure what it is, but considering the ominous aura the scene exudes, I’ve generally been avoiding staying too long within the area.” 

“Speaking of which, has the affected region expanded in size? As you can tell, I haven’t been exactly mobile for the past forty hours.” Kaeya states, pointing at his motionless legs. Being injured abdominally made any form of motion difficult for Kaeya, and even the smallest exertion of force via his lower body in his current position would have sent him hissing with pain. 

“Are you admitting your familiarity with the phenomenon?” Talulah turns toward him once again, her voice sharp with suspicion. 

“Making an assumption about me already? My, my, I’m quite hurt.” Kaeya allows a bit of snark to creep into his statement, placing his hand over his heart. Before Talulah could open her mouth and respond, Kaeya moved onward, his amused expression making way for a more serious one. “Considering that the symptoms that have manifested strangely match the progression of accelerated withering, I was solely wondering whether it had spread to the surrounding region. After all, such large-scale withering in such a short period of time suggests transmissibility, and knowing how large the forest around us is, I was worried whether it would spread.” 

Talulah’s brows furrow together, her mind pushed into overdrive by the statement. Even with his steely gaze challenging her own, his inscrutable face in contrast to the amused façade he had adopted prior, she still felt uneasy hearing his statement. It had only been less than a day, let alone 20 hours, since she had stumbled upon his injured self, bleeding out in the snow, the imposing figure of an Ursus Infected Patrol captain above him. Could she really put her utmost trust into the statement of someone, at best a stranger, so readily? 

But regardless of whether he was being honest, he was right. If whatever phenomenon occurring in the surrounding region expanded further, the limited agricultural capacity of Ursus’ less-fertile lands would be annihilated, increasing food insecurity within the country's northern reaches. With extremely harsh winters persisting for the past few years, the conjunction of these two factors would exacerbate internal tensions. Even without any knowledge of the political conditions within the country, his concern was well-placed.  

Talulah’s expression softens, the brow that had once lifted with skepticism returning back to its normal position. Allowing herself to relax, she slumps against the wall, adopting a guarded demeanor once more. For now, she would have to take his word as the truth. Confronting him directly and accusing him of lying would only jeopardize everything leading up to this point, something Talulah’s conscience could not allow. She lets out a small sigh, staring out at the few rays of sunshine peeking through the entrance of the building that enclosed them. 

“The moment I set sight upon your injured figure, I was planning to solely tend to your injuries and redirect you toward the nearest village,” Talulah whispers softly, the morning breeze of the winter carrying the sound over to Kaeya. “However, after confirming my suspicions, I’m reconsidering the decision. Would you like to accompany me during my journey?” 

“Not like I have a choice,” Kaeya mutters under his breath, an expression conveying a sense of gratitude quickly following thereafter. “Thank you. I don’t believe I can repay this debt any time soon.” 

“You’re welcome,” Talulah replies. She thought it was strange that he considered himself indebted to her. To Talulah, treating injured souls was something she believed constituted basic human decency. She doesn’t interject, however, instead electing to keep the conversation short. “Get some more rest, you’ll require it for the upcoming days.” 

Hearing her reply, Kaeya mouths another thank you before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. In a few minutes, he falls asleep, unconsciousness claiming him again. 

Satisfied with her response, Talulah walks through the door, leaving the memories of the past day and a resting Kaeya behind. 

The next few days were going to be quite interesting, to say the very least. 

The sound of a shuddering breath echoes softly across the empty room, reverberating between the wooden walls enclosing the structure. On the room's right wall, a sole window faces its interior, reddish rays of the descending sun casting an ominous light upon the mahogany floor. And in the center of the room lies a pristine table, its elegant surface contrasted by crimson liquid beginning to mar the covers. 

Hans' heart pounds with fear. 

Sitting in a beautifully carved chair, the commander of Port Dornman's Knights of Favonius stares listlessly at the blood dripping upon the white covers, his once lively eyes now hollow. Almost as if all the life had been sucked out of him, replaced by a growing sense of weariness and resignation. 

Closing his eyes, Hans takes a deep breath in.  

This was the end of Mondstadt's sovereignty, wasn't it? 

For the past week, Hans and senior members of Port Dornman's Knights of Favonius had desperately searched for the Cavalry Captain's whereabouts, remaining unsuccessful in their efforts to locate the Lionfang Knight's dispatch. With tensions between Mondstadt and the Fatui brewing in light of the incident with the latter's diplomats, the disappearance of one of Mondstadt's shrewdest negotiators was the last thing the country required in days of diplomatic unrest. 

To be quite frank, Hans had already expected this outcome. There was only so much he could have done to postpone the scheduled meeting. The Fatui were impatient bastards, but who wouldn't be after the mysterious death of their comrades on foreign soil? Especially in the aftermath of frigid, albeit, cooperative efforts between the Knights of Favonius and Il Capitano’s soldiers pushing back the forces of the Abyss, this represented an act of betrayal. Something that was antithetical to the Fatui’s central theme of loyalty, something that challenged their organization, but more importantly, Snezhnaya’s growing influence. 

Yet, the feeling of inadequacy, the gnawing sense of failure, continues to eat away at him. If only he had dispatched Caspar immediately, sending him back to Mondstadt to officially inquire whether Captain Kaeya had been dispatched to Port Dornman or not, maybe this situation would have been avoided. Maybe Port Dornman would not fall into the Fatui’s hands. Maybe Mondstadt would have been saved. 

Lost in his thoughts, it takes some time before Hans finally registers the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him out of his stupor. His heart racing, he turns around quickly before noticing who had touched him, a small smile gracing his lips in response.

“Oh, Hans, are you alright?” asks Evelyn, her eyes reflecting concern. One of Port Dornman’s chief diplomats, Evelyn was certainly good at what she did despite the fact that Port Dornman rarely utilized its diplomatic corps, something attributed to her skills with wordplay. Under that guise of a kindly woman was a shrewd ambassador, one that Hans thankfully had on Mondstadt’s side. “You’re bleeding.”
Looking down at his hands, Hans finally notices the growing crimson stain on the table, red liquid dripping slowly from his palm. He must have clenched his fists too tightly, the sense of doom he had previously experienced having contributed to it. Damn it, they’d have to replace the table cover before the Fatui showed up. 

He’s just about to get up to grab a replacement before Evelyn shakes her head gently, placing her hands firmly on Hans’ shoulders. 

“You’re injured Hans, let me grab some bandages and a new tablecloth,” she says, her body poised to move toward the entrance. Hearing the door creak open once again, Evelyn perks up, turning back before noticing that the other diplomat, Niclas, had walked into the room. Her eyes lighting up, she calls to him. “Niclas, would you mind grabbing a new tablecloth and some bandages? Mila’s shop around the corner should have some more.”

Hearing her request, Niclas simply nods before turning around, the creaking of the door signifying his departure. With Niclas’ exit, Evelyn turns toward Hans, her eyes drawn toward his bleeding hand. 

“Are you okay?” she asks him, her voice tinged with worry. 

“I’m fine,” Hans responds, waving his hand in dismissal before wincing, the cool air cutting against the open wounds on his palm. Seeing Evelyn draw closer in concern, he waves her away this time, his teeth still clenching with pain. “I’m just worried about the upcoming diplomatic meeting.” 

Despite a flicker of concern momentarily clouding her eyes, Evelyn moves slightly away from Hans, running her hands through her hair. A faint furrow appears between her brows, betraying the anxiety now bleeding through her demeanor. 

“I’m worried about it too. For all our differences, Irina and Alexei were proper diplomats, albeit relatively cold ones,” Evelyn says with a sigh, a shadow of unease flickering in her eyes. “I’m afraid that in light of recent events, these new diplomats will attempt to brute-force these negotiations. They’re already angry, and considering the circumstances, their feelings are justified.” 

For some time, Hans didn’t say anything, contemplating what Evelyn had mentioned. The next few hours would be absolutely crucial and yet, an impending sense of doom thoroughly grips him.  

“What a shitshow,” he mutters under his breath quietly, his foot beginning to tap incessantly in an erratic and anxious rhythm. Shaking his head, Hans attempts to bring himself back to his senses. In the face of the upcoming meeting, he would need to devote all of his attention toward negotiations, and dissociating from the situation and drowning in his own feelings of misery wasn’t helping. “Nonetheless, about the Fatui diplomats, what positions do they hold concerning Mondstadt?”
“Not reasonable ones, of course. There’s a reason why none of Snezhnaya’s officials holding fringe beliefs have ever occupied any chief positions in the diplomatic corps.” Evelyn says with a snort, the nervousness in her eyes in contrast with the expression on her face. “Now with the deaths of Snezhnaya’s chief diplomatic corps…” 

“We’re essentially fucked,” Hans states, completing her unvoiced thoughts. Groaning, he covers his face with his hands. “Without a high-ranking representative of Mondstadt present, they’ll think that we’re mocking them. An affront to their power.” 

Evelyn can only manage to nod gravely, her blonde hair bobbing in accordance with the action. 

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t Niclas be back now?” Evelyn asks, her lips tightening with worry. The air around her suddenly seems heavy with apprehension, casting a shadow on the diplomat’s usual composure. “Mila’s shop is maybe a minute's walk from here.”
“Should we go check on him?” Hans asks her, his eyebrows raised. Quite a bit of time had already passed, hadn’t it? Turning around, he’s just about to make his way toward the door, ignoring the protests of Evelyn before he sees the door open. 

But to his horror, it isn’t Niclas who walks through the entrance. Rather, a group of Fatui emerges from the opening, their menacing black-and-red robes fluttering in the air injecting adrenaline into Hans’ veins and sending his heartbeat into overdrive. 

What were they doing here? They were supposed to arrive almost twenty minutes later. 

Despite the expression of horror in Hans’ face, the blonde-haired man at the helm of the group doesn’t seem to give any significance to it, instead making his way toward the the leader of the Knights of Favonius’ Port Dornman branch. Longer blond hair tastefully styled to accentuate his angular face, the man lock eyes with Hans in an unwavering gaze, the disdain glimmering in his features and sneer in contrast with his polished appearance. 

“You’ve exceeded my expectations, captain, I’ll admit that,” the Fatui diplomat mentions, his wide smile showing glimmeringly white teeth, something that sends a flutter of unease through Hans. His gaze finally flickers away from Hans’ own eyes, moving momentarily towards his bleeding palms and the crimson-colored tablecloth before moving back to him, the contempt visible. “Ahh, so that’s why your friend was there.” 

Friend? Wait, was he mentioning Niclas? Glancing at Evelyn, his suspicions are shortly confirmed thereafter as she seems to let out a small gasp inadvertently, surprise beginning to color her stoic features.  

That reaction seemed to have triggered a response from the Fatui diplomat, the man turning his predatory smile onto her. “Oh, you’re wondering where your friend was. We met him on the way here. Safe to say, he wasn’t much of a talkative person.” 

Wait, what did the Fatui diplomat mean? It takes a while for Hans to digest the implicit meaning behind those words, and his heart begins to pound. 

Hearing the diplomat’s response, Evelyn’s usually expressionless façade seems to contort with a mixture of fury and dread, her diplomatic experience failing to keep her emotions in check. Grinding her teeth, she leans closer in, staring determinedly at the Fatui delegation.  

“Where. Is. He?” she manages to draw out, her hands beginning to ball into fists. Seeing her frustration, Hans envelops her right hand with his own, squeezing it in reassurance. Niclas would be fine, wouldn’t he? If those bastards did anything to him… 

“My, oh my, you’ve already assumed the worst of us already,” the Fatui diplomat states coolly, his gaze beginning to harden. “I’d assume better from a Mondstadtian diplomat with over 15 years of experience.”
Evelyn still remains shaky, taking shallow breaths in rapidly, but there’s still a determined expression present on her face. Hans can’t fault Evelyn for her reaction. Tensions were running high and everything in the near future seemed damn unpredictable. 

“Unfortunately, we caught your friend eavesdropping on our conversation while coming here. That was quite the shame,” the diplomat continues, fixing his frosty gaze upon the two figures before him. A moment later, the sound of a door opening echoes through the air, the action promptly followed by two masked Fatui emerging from the entrance, forcefully escorting a familiar face into the room. 

Niclas. 

Thank the archons that Niclas was alive. The brown-haired man looks shaken, almost pale white as he timidly makes his way back toward Hans's side, but more importantly, he’s alright. Shooting him a glance, Hans attempts to gauge the situation, but for some reason, the Mondstadtian diplomat seems to avoid his gaze, moving his face away from Hans. 

Satisfied that Niclas had made his way back toward Hans and Evelyn, the Fatui diplomat assumes a seat at the table, the rest of his delegation following him in response. Adjusting himself, the diplomat clears his throat before fixing his steely gaze upon the group once again, his eyes beginning to concerningly gimmer with something resembling excitement.. “Well then, shall we proceed?” the diplomat asks, a hint of venom creeping into his voice, Holding out a hand to Hans, he smiles widely, the expression seemingly even more unnatural with his half-mask. 

This was going to be a long session, wasn’t it? 

Chapter Text

Clang!

The sharp resonance of steel against steel cuts through the silence, the clash of blades echoing across the vast expanse of treeless terrain. If one traced the sound to its origin,  they would find themselves face to face with the sight of two people trading blows, engaged in combat. 

Right now, the blue-haired man was on the offensive, pushing against the silver-haired woman with calculated precision, his strikes swift and unpredictable. Yet, the woman manages to parry his thrusts away from her body, using the momentum of her swings to intercept the slashes and redirect their momentum toward the ground. 

It hadn’t been long since Kaeya had challenged to spar with Talulah. While she had sternly reminded him that he had been injured almost a week ago, the man had repeatedly insisted, having seemingly recovered and regained his wits. As Talulah had expected from her observations, the man’s healing process had been expedited, almost recovering from the near-fatal injury he had previously accrued in a matter of days. Only when she was on board with his reassurances, did she accept the request grudgingly. 

At the moment, she was having a bit more trouble facing Kaeya, the man having gotten within her range and forcing her on the defensive. While Talulah held the advantage of range and force, his attacks were much faster now, an unexpected switch from the heavier defensive blocks he previously utilized to stave off her attacks. 

Mere moments ago, Talulah had been on the offensive, employing sweeping motions of her greatsword and quick blows that forced the nimble man away from her. At some point, Kaeya had suddenly managed a complicated feint, directly positioning himself in front of the sharpened edge of her blade and moving forward, a contrast to the time when he voluntarily gave her ground. 

Knowing that this spar was meant to be a nonlethal match, Talulah couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in mild surprise at his unexpected move. Years of experience with her greatsword had made her well-acquainted with the unexpected twists of a fight. Still, she hadn’t anticipated Kaeya’s audacity, considering that he was just nearing the end of his recovery. Swiftly adjusting her grip on the blade’s hilt, she deftly redirected the weapon, ensuring that the blunt side connected with him rather than its razor-sharp edge. 

However, by the time she had made that minute adjustment to her blade work, he had maneuvered out of the way, his impressive speed having carried him away from the reach of her greatsword and closer toward her. At that point, he took advantage of the fact, pressing against her with a sudden flurry of slashes, each cut powerful and quick.  

Talulah could feel a burning sensation permeating throughout her body, making her long for a moment of respite. While years of combat ensured she had extensive experience with her blade, her imprisonment at Rhodes’ Island for over a year had deprived her of such opportunities. Hence, here she was, her movements slowed down and holding onto the intense desire to rest while clashing blades with her opponent. 

If this were a real fight, Talulah wouldn’t have held back, flaring her Originium Arts to prevent anybody from taking advantage of her restricted flexibility in close-range combat. However, she had already decided upon the circumstances of the spar in accordance with Kaeya, both of them agreeing to use solely their weapons before the match. As a result, she was now forced on her back foot, making space by strategically giving up ground to her opponent. 

Satisfied with the swinging room she made with her strategic retreat, Talulah launches a counterattack of her own, bringing her greatsword down in an overhead cut. However, Kaeya’s too fast, deflecting the attack with his own blade, taking the full force of her swing head-on rather than utilizing the familiar technique she had anticipated. Talulah’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth betraying a flicker of surprise. 

Normally, the attack she employed would have cleaved through light armor and flesh alike with ease. Talulah, having honed her skills with the blade from a young age, was well-versed in combat, a product of her experiences as Reunion’s leader and Kashchey’s adopted heir, fighting against who opposed her ideals. Yet, this man stood before her, managing to withstand her blow without flinching, and for a moment, it made her pause. 

However, Talulah doesn’t have much time to think, another quick strike interrupting her thought process. Now subject to a relentless assault, she can only focus her attention on the fight, keeping track of the subtle shifts in Kaeya’s stance, the barely noticeable tensing of muscles before a slash. Whatever this fight was turning out to be, Talulah had quickly learned that despite her own skill with the blade, the only way she could prematurely end this spar was by wearing him out. 

In a remarkable display of skill and expertise, Talulah swiftly counters every single one of Kaeya’s strikes, her movements flowing seamlessly between offense and defense as she regains the ground she has lost, ignoring the budding fire in her muscles. Years of combat had honed the half-Draco’s instincts, allowing her to read her opponent’s attacks and respond with precise parries despite the distance between them. Now in a deadlock, the nearly equally matched opponents alternate between offense and defense in short spurts, the impacts of their weapons reverberating through the frozen tundra. 

It only takes a few minutes later for Talulah to notice Kaeya’s attacks slowing down, exhaustion bleeding into his very demeanor like it had. Her eyes subtly narrowed with suspicion. Hadn’t the man effortlessly repelled her attacks previously, his impressive physical capabilities on display? However, Talulah refrains from allowing her focus to waver towards concern, instead continuing to press home her advantage and push the man backward. 

With every cross of their blades, Talulah analyzes her opponent’s moves carefully, discerning the nuances in Kaeya’s technique. Small mistakes, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, began to catch her attention amidst the rapid spar. A block executed a fraction of a second too late, a subtle overextension of a thrust - these minor errors began to add up. Kaeya, who had once been on the assault, began to gradually lose the advantage he once held. 

Having been pushed back toward that boundary of the sparring ring in response to Talulah’s reinvigorated assault, Kaeya snarls, a look of desperation overcoming his features. Pursing his lips together, Talulah’s opponent comes at her as swiftly as possible, the glinting edge of his blade glimmering dangerously in the cold air. 

But it’s not quick enough for Talulah. 

Recognizing his attempt to go on the counteroffensive, Talulah simply angles her blade in preparation for parrying Kaeya’s blade. Tensing her muscles, she steels herself to meet the man’s sword, planning to end the fight right then and there. After all, this seemed to be her opponent’s last-ditch attempt, right? 

Despite this fact, Talulah still feels unease bubble up within her, her heart still hammering with anticipation and adrenaline. This ending was far too anticlimactic, considering that Kaeya had managed to be on par with her for quite a while. Was he attempting to deceive her, by any chance? Or was he simply dealing with the lingering effects of his recovery? 

Charging toward her, Kaeya’s arm begins to descend, the trajectory of his blade angled in a downward cut, one that would have signaled the end of the spar, considering the hole it left in his defenses. It’s only when he suddenly withdraws from the motion, kicking up snow with his foot, that Talulah’s question becomes answered.  

Her vision now disrupted, Kaeya comes at Talulah from a different angle with an almost terrifying speed, her unprotected side exposed. Disoriented, Talulah knew it would be difficult to adjust her greatsword to deflect the strike. Thankfully, a small part of her had expected some level of deception from the man, allowing her to whirl away from her position merely fractions of a second before he arrived. 

Expecting the thrust to be a finishing move, Kaeya had put all his weight behind the sword, overextending in the process. 

That was all Talulah needed. 

With a lunge, she aims her greatsword at Kaeya’s chest, the man’s eyes widening in surprise as he realizes his attempt had failed. In a last-ditch effort to avoid the blade, Kaeya’s boots skidded upon the snowy ground as he attempted to freeze suddenly, losing his balance in the process. His back now upon the snow-covered surface constituting the makeshift sparring ground, the tip of Talulah’s blade stops just inches away from his heart. 

A small silence ensues, both of them continuing to stay in their positions. Only when Kaeya lets out a little cough, cocking his eyebrow at her does Talulah snap out of her reverie, extending her hand toward the man.  

Accepting it gracefully, Kaeya pulls himself off the ground slowly with her help, almost stumbling once again when getting up. It doesn’t take much effort for Talulah to complete the effort, both she and Kaeya equally contributing strength toward the action. 

When Kaeya’s finally gotten on his feet, he brings his hands closer to his uniform, brushing it in an attempt to clean off all the snow that had embedded itself within his jacket. Satisfied with the state of his clothes, he turns back toward Talulah. 

“My, my,” Kaeya began, his tone playfully sarcastic, “I never expected you of all people to take advantage of a recently-injured man. Are you sure you couldn’t go easier on me?” His expression seems to reflect genuine hurt, his lips twisted into a grimace. 

However, Talulah isn’t fooled. Seeing Kaeya’s over-exaggerated limp and the glimmer of amusement that had flickered in his eyes moments later, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Quickly sensing that his attempts at deception had been unraveled, Kaeya raises his hands up in surrender, an innocent expression on his face. 

Yet, despite his efforts, Talulah’s expression remains unchanged, her decision to observe him a voluntary one undertaken with amusement.  

Noticing her stoic demeanor, a slight wince escapes Kaeya. 

“I’m fine!” Kaeya insists with a little yelp, the collected demeanor he previously had assumed still shaken momentarily. However, it doesn’t take long for him to regain his composure, nonchalant confidence bleeding back into his demeanor. A smile graces his lips, his eyes gleaming once again. 

“Not bad, not bad. Your blade work is quite impressive. You seem to know your way around that greatsword.” 

She acknowledges his compliment with a small nod, her expression guarded, appreciative but distant. He had been a worthy opponent, she had to admit. Keeping up with her was a feat of its own. 

With a little flourish of his sword, Kaeya allows the blade he carried to spin into his hands, inspecting its gleaning edge. Satisfied with the result, he allows the blade to drop toward the ground, the weapon disappearing in a shimmer of golden light. Talulah doesn’t know what to make of that, another detail adding to the intricacy surrounding Kaeya. 

As they make their way back toward the temporary encampment established by Talulah the previous day, a wry smile graces Kaeya’s features once more, a glint of dry humor lighting up his eyes. “You're aware, right? If I had truly put my mind to it, I would have easily defeated you in that sparring match.” Talulah tilts her head toward the man, narrowing her eyes at the statement. Well, Kaeya had just reverted back to his jesting side, one that she had encountered relatively early on. The man was certainly intriguing and clever, adept at twisting her words against her. She exhales audibly. 

“So you’re implying that I’m not a worthy opponent?” Talulah inquires, having stopped her walk toward the building she had reluctantly come to regard as a temporary shelter in the past few days. 

“Oh?” Kaeya feigned innocence, pivoting to face her upon realizing that she had stopped walking. Despite his indifferent expression, there was a subtle glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I made no such statement,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “Unless, of course, you concede that I’m the superior swordsman?” 

Talulah suppressed a sputter of protest, her expression hardening as she fought to maintain her composure. As usual, Kaeya had adeptly managed to find a way around her retorts, twisting them to his own advantage. At last, she manages to muster a measured response. 

“It seems you’re eager for a rematch. Prepared to be defeated once again?” 

“I believe I’ll decline,” Kaeya says, his laughter a touch nervous as he runs his fingers through his hair. Hearing his reply, she snorts, unimpressed by his attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Regardless,” he continued, a brief pause preceding his next words, delivered with an unusual solemnity. “I know I’ve mentioned it a lot, but I’ll say it again.” 

His voice now softer than usual, he continues on. “Thank you for these past few days. Tending to the injured is no small task.” 

Talulah allows the amusement from their previous conversation to fade away, adopting a more serious appearance. His successful recovery had assuaged her fears, reassuring her that she hadn’t been responsible for another death. It soothered her conscience, reminding her that she had made the right choice. No matter how strong the allure of ending Kashchey was, she had followed her moral compass, saving someone in the process. That was worth enough.  

Talulah doesn’t know how to put everything into words, how to express her thoughts without revealing too much of her past. After all, revisiting those anguish-raising thoughts, and that too with someone she met less than a week ago, was a proposition full of risk. Trust was something that she had painfully learned to give away easily and with everyone around her having passed away, those memories belonged solely to her and only herself. 

So she simply gives him a small nod, turning away to look at the snowy ground in front of her. 

While their interactions had been limited, Talulah had already managed to decipher that Kaeya was pleasant. Yet, given the brutal efficiency by which he dispatched soldiers, she remained cautious. Putting her utmost confidence in the man would be a hasty decision. She had no way of knowing his true intentions, and she refused to fool herself prematurely. Only time would tell whether she could fully commit her trust in the man. 

“Regardless, if you desire another sparring session, I’d welcome that,” Kaeya remarks, a small smile playing across his lips. He appeared to be much more at ease now as if their spar had reinvigorated him considerably. “Nonetheless, I’d prefer to incorporate this next time.” 

A series of taps resounds through the air, the sharp clicks indicating the impact of something against a hard surface. Talulah’s eyes flicker downwards, finally noticing the origin of the sounds: Kaeya’s hands tapping against the light-blue glass orb near his waist.  

Ah, so that’s what he was referring to.  

“There’s only so much versatility that blade work offers alone. I thought incorporating other abilities outside of our weapons would add another level of complexity,” Kaeya states, his tone casual. Yet, despite his collected demeanor, his eye glitters with anticipation, almost as if he was looking forward to testing her. “After all, I do recall your flames cauterizing my injuries without any advance notice.” 

“You’ve already given me your permission. Did the timing truly matter?” Talulah replies impassively, suppressing a snort that threatened to escape her lips. He still vividly remembered that incident, even after healing rapidly from the fatal injuries he had accrued. 

Either way, this was a good opportunity for Talulah to shift the conversation away from this topic, her desire to unwrap the layers of intricacies surrounding the man encouraging her to do so. Fixing her gaze upon the object hanging from the loose brown belt he worse, she inquired with a more formal tone, “Regardless, what, precisely, is that glass orb you carry with you?” 

Kaeya’s eye wanders downward, focusing on the object that had caught Talulah’s attention. “Ah, this?” Kaeya asks her, gesturing toward the object. When the silver-haired woman gives him a curt nod, he emits a soft chuckle before turning back toward her. “That’s quite the story,” 

“And I have the entire day,” Talulah retorts, sternly gazing at the man. However, Kaeya doesn’t seem to notice, instead choosing to continue onward, effectively conceding to her request. Wrapping his fingers around the glass orb, he unchains the object from his belt with practiced ease. 

“I suppose you would have inquired eventually, so I might as well share this now,” Kaeya mutters under his breath. With a resigned sigh, he hoists the object up into the air, his fingers gripping the metallic, wing-like projections protruding from its surface. 

“To be succinct, this is a vision.” he continued, his gaze fixed upon the object. “In simpler terms, consider it a God-gifted apparatus that enables me to control the elements.” Talulah continued scrutinizing the object intently, noting the gaps between the metallic wing-like protrusions before the weight of his statement dawned on her. A God-given gift? 

However, Kaeya doesn’t seem to notice her surprise yet, continuing to speak. “As you may have discerned, the marking etched into the gem inside the glass casing signifies my ability to wield cryo, enabling me to manipulate ice.” 

“Gods?” she questioned, her tone laced with perplexity. While Terra had its share of godly beings, like Kashchey, she had always believed that interactions between mortals and gods were far and between, their identities concealed from the general public. But to hear someone casually mention such entities, and that too, without a hint of emotion, felt unnatural to Talulah.  “As I mentioned, it’s complicated,” Kaeya replies, sighing as he twirls the Vision between his fingers, alternating flashes of gold and light blue twirling around in the air. “To be honest, I’m still surprised that this Vision still functions here. I can’t detect the presence of elemental energy here, yet nothing seems to obstruct my ability to summon cryo.” 

Walking, Talulah continues digesting the information, slowly piecing together the details about Kaeya she had accrued in the past few days. Despite the limited timeframe, she had managed to glean more details than anticipated. The portrait she was trying to paint remained incomplete, but the pieces she had were intriguing, considering that it had been less than a week since their acquaintance. A heavy silence settled between them, both Talulah and Kaeya maintaining a reserved demeanor during their journey. 

On the horizon, the building they had once emerged from less than an hour back continues growing, an imposing sight towering amidst the flat, white landscape. It was one of the many signs that they were nearing their destination, the call of some form of warmth and shelter beckoning them to move quicker. 

Before long, they arrive near the structure's entrance, Kaeya’s hand wrapping around the door handle. Pulling it open, he gestures for her to move inside first, a steely glint in his eye indicating that any objections would not be heeded. Realizing that her protests would be futile, she simply gives him an appreciative nod, moving into the enclosed hallway. 

Once they’re finally back in the room, Talulah collapses against a tattered pillow near a wall, one of the few she had found lying about in the abandoned complex. She needs some time to regain her vitality, her fight with Kaeya having exhausted her despite the duration of the fight, the rapid back-and-forth causing her to exert more energy than usual fight.  

Talulah was definitely going to have to increase the intensity of her exercises in preparation for sparring more regularly with a well-experienced opponent, an opportunity she had been deprived of for over eighteen months during her imprisonment within Rhodes Island. She has a feeling that their matches would only stretch onward, the deadlock between her strong strikes and his quick-witted fighting style extending for longer periods of time. 

Yet, Talulah pushes the thoughts away, attempting to keep her mind clear. She would need that in the upcoming days, knowing that her travels toward the northern portions of Ursus would resume again. 

However, a knock against a nearby wall her interrupts her efforts. 

Turning around, she notices Kaeya, leaning against the wall a short distance away. Understanding that he had been the one that made the noise, she stares him down with a look of irritation before realizing that he had attempted to speak with her. 

“Are you awake?” Kaeya asks her, his eyebrows raised slightly. A look of amusement passes his face, but it quickly disappears when Talulah narrows her eyes at him. “My apologies for the disturbance. You seemed lost in thought for a moment there.” 

Hearing his response, Talulah’s expression softens, a subtle blush tingeing her cheeks. Had she truly lost track of time so completely? It didn’t feel that way. Nevertheless, Talulah redirects her attention toward the man, Kaeya’s figure towering significantly above her from her current perspective. 

“What I wanted to discuss was your ability with fire,” Kaeya crosses his arms, leaning against the structure's wall once again. Fixing her with an intent look, he continues maintaining the gaze as though expecting an answer. “You displayed considerable skill in controlling those flames a few days ago.” 

Observing Talulah’s inquisitive look, Kaeya decides to elaborate further. 

“From where I come from, simply having a vision doesn’t guarantee precise control.” Kaeya remarks, a derisive snort escaping him as he shakes his head, seemingly recalling something from the past. Shortly after, a shimmer of golden light occurs, a small dagger materializing in Kaeya’s right hand, which he skillfully spun between his fingers - a sight that Talulah was still getting used to. “I’ve witnessed enough accidents to understand that. Mastery of the elements requires extensive practice. One could say it demands considerable effort before adept manipulation.” 

“It’s a complex matter,” she tells him, her voice trailing off. Delving into the intricacy behind Originium would only force her to elaborate upon the political and social ramifications associated with the mineral’s use, along with the intricate power struggles. Originium was already a focal point of Terra’s history, and discussing it meant navigating a maze of complicated factors. 

Moreover, the usage of Originium Arts was highly individualized, with the mechanism by which it functioned shrouded in mystery. No single Arts user harnessed their Arts in the same way, and for the latter, the fundamental concepts behind the system of weaponry hadn’t been fully explained by any researcher or Arts users in Terra. The enigmatic nature of the mineral only added to the complexity of the situation. 

“And I fear, my dear lady, that I shall be here for quite some time,” Kaeya remarks dryly, looking at her with an impassive expression. The subtle twitch of his lips betrays a hint of amusement. Registering what he said, Talulah sighed inwardly, realizing that she had inadvertently set herself up for his remark. 

Damn it, she had walked straight into that. 

Through the little gaps between her fingers, Talulah can see mirth finally breaking out across the man’s composed facade, his once emotionless face bearing the distinct expression of amusement. 

She assumes that position for a couple of moments before slowly lowering her hands and placing them gently in her lap. Having regained her composure, she adopts a calmer expression, looking at the man again unwaveringly before turning away with a sigh. 

“Very well,” Talulah concedes, her tone measures as he meets his gaze once more. Kaeya seems to perk up a bit at her response, his demeanor becoming more alive. However, she doesn’t want to jump directly toward Arts without explaining Originium, understanding that not providing context would only inject further confusion into the conversation. “But before I start my explanation, some necessary context needs to be provided.” 

Kaeya seems to be satisfied with her response, beginning to assume a more relaxed demeanor. The knife that he once held between his hands now flicks between his hands in an almost lazy manner, darting and weaving between his fingers with practiced efficiency. 

“Originium, an extremely efficient energy source, remains the prime energy source of this world,” Talulah states, pausing to emphasize her point before continuing the conversation. “However, it comes at a cost - Oripathy, a transmissible disease with a hundred-percent mortality rate and no cure. Any carrier of the disease is called an Infected, and given Oripathy’s severity, they are faced with harsh treatment and discrimination.” 

For a moment Kaeya doesn’t seem to react to the information, wincing only a moment later as if he had just processed the information. His face briefly contorted with an expression Talulah couldn’t quite comprehend. But she disregards it, choosing to continue onward. She could always figure it out later.  

“Outside of its usage as an energy source, Originium serves as the basis for Arts.” Talulah continued, folding her hands into her lap. She didn’t want her description of Originium to devolve into a lecture, so she aimed to get straight to the point. “Arts encompass a wide array of powers, from elemental control as you mentioned, to more unconventional abilities such as invisibility and necromancy.” At the mention of necromancy, Talulah’s voice caught, a subtle tremor breaking its usual steadiness. A brief pause hangs in the air, and for a moment, she can’t speak. The memories - of Eno and Sasha, of Reunion’s leaders and those times long ago, flash through her mind, reminding her painfully of what her descent into madness had cost her. What she had done to them. 

“My own abilities draw from Arts,” she continued, her voice steadying but carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of somber reflection, “further augmented by my heritage.” 

Glancing back at the man standing in front of her, Talulah notices a subtle gleam in Kaeya’s eyes, something seemingly resembling a spark of intrigue. She isn’t sure what to make of it, whether he was just genuinely interested in learning about her or surprised by her revelation of Originium Arts’ potential. 

“I find it quite…” Kaeya’s voice trailed off, his gaze growing thoughtful. After a moment of contemplation, he continues, his voicecarrying a weight of solemnity. “Interesting.”  

Kaeya’s gaze shifts to the gold-encased vision hanging from his belt before turning back to her. “Back home, there are only seven types of visions. Cryo, which I wield, allows me to manipulate ice. Dendro for manipulationg life. Then pyro, hydro, electro, anemo, and geo. Quite self-explanatory, as you can imagine.” Talulah just responds with a nod of her head, storing the information in her mind. While Kaeya was only providing her rudimentary knowledge, it was a crucial action, one that would allow her to gain a deeper insight into his background. Still, this wasn’t a sign to lower her guard down. She knew better than that, the harsh realities of her upbringing already having taught her that lesson. 

“Regardless, since we’ve discussed the topic of where our powers originate from,” Kaeya declares, a subdued smile beginning to play on his lips. The dagger that he had once held in his hands had disappeared, presumably tucked into that brown belt of his, encased within a leather sheathe. “I think it’s time for a change of scenery. I’m planning on heading out for a hunt today.” 

Having laid against the concrete wall comprising the building’s structure, it takes a few seconds before she fully registers Kaeya’s statement. “You don’t need to trouble yourself with hunting,” she states, looking at him determinedly. Despite the man towering over her smaller figure from their respective positions, her gaze still bores into his own. “I’m more than capable of handling it.” 

“Would it not be a common courtesy?” Kaeya challenges her, raising her eyebrow as if expecting her to respond to his question. His body, once facing her, had already turned around toward the door, his eyes glancing at the light streaming through the window. “After all, you have been taking on most of the burden the past few days.” 

“You were mortally wounded,” Talulah retorted, her voice raising slightly in pitch. Having sat on the floor to regain her stamina, she gets up, staring Kaeya down with her silver eyes. Whether he would heed her commands to rest or not, she still had to try. “Given your injuries, you were in no state to find any food.” 

“I’m finding myself quite reinvigorated after today’s spar,” Kaeya mentions, crossing his arms, his fingers tapping against his biceps in an almost lazy fashion. Now leaning against the wall every so slightly, he’s around the same height as Talulah, both of them facing eye-to-eye, a realization that had just dawned upon Talulah. “Either way, we’re running out of food supplies.” 

Having finished his statement, Kaeya extends his ring finger, gesturing across the room. Following the direction in which his finger had pointed, it doesn’t take long before she spotted the minuscule containers crafted from ice placed in the corner.  

Turning back to him, Talulah winces, noticing the gleam in his eye – a triumphant glint mingled with a hint of amusement, as if he was celebrating a small victory. She had definitely miscalculated that.  “If you’re healthy enough to hunt,” Talulah replies steadily, suppressing the snort that threatens to escape her lips. This was her last-ditch option, one that would hopefully prevent Kaeya from overexerting himself. Observing a shift in Kaeya’s expression, she notes a flicker of curiosity crossing his features as he listens to her. “Maybe I should leave you here.”  

“Woah,” Kaeya exclaims, raising his hands in a placating gesture. His pupils are slightly widened as if he’s genuinely surprised by Talulah’s proposition. Well, he should have been, Talulah admits to herself, considering that she had previously mentioned allowing him to accompany her. “Let’s reconsider your decision, shall we?” 

Witnessing Talulah’s gaze lock onto his own, he quickly continues onward, as if expecting her to commit to the statement she had just declared. Yet, Talulah can tell that Kaeya’s going with the flow, playing along in an attempt to further convince Talulah. “Why not consider a compromise? We can both go out and hunt. That way, I can spend more time outdoors, and your worries will be assuaged.” Talulah can only respond to Kaeya’s offer with a sigh, the light sound escaping her lips. The past few hunts she had embarked upon required her to travel over five miles in any direction away from the camp. Subjecting her recently-injured companion to conditions like those would only exacerbate his state, regardless of how healthy he proclaimed himself to be.  

Even so, she found herself agreeing with him, knowing that regardless of whatever arguments she would employ to discourage him, he would repeatedly insist until she tired herself out. Moving ahead, Talulah approaches the building’s entrance, placing her hand against the cool metallic door handle. Turning around, she fixes her gaze upon Kaeya, who had only begun to straighten himself, pushing away from the wall and unfolding her arms. 

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” she asks him, raising an eyebrow. 

Swinging the metallic door open, Talulah steps out, Kaeya closely behind her. As the heavy door closes behind them with a resounding thud, the silence outside engulfs them, leaving the two figures surrounded by the vast expanse of frozen land once more. 

Hushed streets. Ever-vigilant guards. A growing tension. 

Perched upon a signpost, a glossy-black raven stares ahead, its piercing gaze taking note of the empty streets. For most inhabitants of the port, the bird wasn’t an unusual sight, the coastal waters having sustained quite a large population of the sleek passerine birds. 

However, had one decided to come face-to-face with the bird, they would something was utterly wrong with it. Something monstrous, an anomaly of nature that nothing heavenly had created. Once again, its black sclera scans the sight facing ahead of it just a moment before it unfurls its wings, releasing a sinister caw that resounds through the relatively empty streets. 

For those unfortunate souls within the streets who had overheard the harsh sound clearly, their fates had been sealed for the next few months. In the upcoming days, they would find themselves extraordinarily sick, fatigue overwhelming their bodies as they regularly coughed black sludge out of their lungs, their bodies being nearly driven towards the doors of Death. An event that would spread further chaos through the city, forcing its government to restrict citizens’ movements and extend its decree, fostering discontent and fear amongst its inhabitants. 

From there, it doesn’t take long before the bird reaches another building, this one towering amidst the residential buildings and docks that made up the city. Even amid the general darkness of the city, this building’s lights still shone brightly, a beacon amongst the gently sloping coast and the gentle waves. A central place of activity, one of the few where people continued to move around and work without the imposition of the government-mandated curfew. 

Releasing yet another caw from its mouth, albeit one without afflicting others with dangerous side effects, the raven rises into the night sky, the silvery moon beginning to rise overhead. And with a turn away from the docks, it gently flies through the night sky, the dark wisps coating its figure and following it barely visible.  

Coasting through the air leading to a nearby forest, it begins to decelerate, the unholy creature slowly beginning to disintegrate into motes of shadow. Just moments before it would have approached the boundary line designating the expanse of the forest, it completely fades away from view, a few black specks floating in the air the only signs indicating that it had ever existed. 

For a second, all is quiet, the quiet chirps and rustling of small animals upon the forest floor being the only sounds at night. But a moment later, a sudden shift occurs, a stream of animals and birds beginning to pour of the forest. Within mere moments, the forest, once lively even amidst the dusk, now remains a desolate sight, forsaken by the very creatures that had inhabited it. 

A shimmer of darkness fizzles in the air, its hazy figure barely noticeable amidst the deep darkness of the night. Yet, it’s presence remains powerful, even intimidating as the glimmers continue to thicken, solidify. 

A sudden unearthly screech reverberates through the forest, any remaining wildlife in the vicinity that had remained beginning to retreat to safer pockets in the expanse of trees. The wisps of shadow writhe helplessly in the air, twisting and distorting themselves before they transform, a flickering figure of a man shrouded within pure darkness left behind. 

It was quite… difficult sustaining a physical form, even one as fragile as the one it currently occupied. Manifesting itself upon the hallowed boundaries of the Seven’s Rule, far away from its own domain and source of power, took a lot out of it. And while the Abyss held the power to possess creatures that were thoroughly corrupted by its influence, especially monsters and some of those who pledged loyalty to the Abyss Order’s King, taking that course of action would only backfire. Finding such a creature close to Port Dornman, especially one with a form that would allow it to infiltrate the city without garnering suspicion, would be a difficult task. And considering what had happened within the city’s outskirts in the past week or so, smuggling oneself past the increasingly vigilant city guards would require far more effort and time than what the Abyss would reasonably dedicate. 

Releasing a grating sigh, the being shifts slightly, an expression resembling amusement reflected within its misty outline. As it had predicted, Anton’s assassination of Fatui diplomats and subsequent disappearance had struck fear into the hearts of the Knights of Favonius, forcing the entirety of Port Dornman under curfew and restricting movement in and out of the city. Fortunately, from what information it had absorbed during its recent visit to the city, the situation seemingly hadn’t been resolved. It hadn’t seemed any time soon that the Knights of Favonius would regain control over the situation. 

And with Kaeya Alberich’s disappearance and the Fatui closing onto Port Dornman with a vengeance in their hearts, the Abyss was sure that Mondstadt was bound to be crippled. Another cog in the wheel of its plans, something to make up for the planned two-pronged assault on Mondstadt’s borders that Anton and another Abyss Herald had led. Closing its eyes, the shimmering figure relaxes, feeling the familiar surge of dark power rise up in elation. A small victory, considering all factors, yet one that would define Mondstadt in the time to come. It stays that way for some time, feeling the cool breeze amidst the silence of the forest on its manifested form, a sensation wholly different from the those within its realm’s dark depths. 

A sudden shock progresses through the being’s mind, shaking it out of the stupor it had immersed itself within, a sharp, tugging feeling drawing its attention away from the expanse of lush greenery separating the woodlands and the nearby port. Curious, it shifts its attention away from the place it occupies, focusing on the sensation. 

An unfamiliar scent, the subtle push emanating from something seemingly untainted by its influence, the lack of a familiar connection of darkness lending to this fact. Peering closer, it attempts to visualize the scene, meeting the sight of black strands snaking over the razed ground, the entire sight illuminated by reddish light released by an endless flame burning ever so brightly. A beast of the old, one that had inhabited the realm of the Abyss far before its descent onto this world, a creature that had resisted its attempts to corrupt it, burning with an innate darkness that remained foreign to the Abyss as a whole.  

And while the Abyss rarely sought to engage with such a being after its numerous failed attempts, it couldn’t risk it stumbling upon that location. Especially after it had made preparations at the designated space, something that would play a pivotal role in its attempt at resurgence, to crush the God King’s throne floating above the sky. 

Exhaling quietly, the being breathes in once more. Its figure disintegrates slowly into a flurry of black specks just as it had formed, a couple of particles coating the nearby trees.  

It had other work to do. 

Trailing behind Talulah, Kaeya takes in a series of deep breaths, feeling the smoke-like vapor blossoming from the frosty air blowing back into his face. Carrying a three-hundred-pound reindeer corpse in his arms, he trudges through the snow at a relatively slow pace, the sight of Talulah’s tail flicking back and forth, presumably in amusement, facing him. 

How did he even end up in this position? Merely an hour ago, he and Talulah had set off from the abandoned Infected labor camp that they had both occupied for the past week. Having traveled past the boundaries of their makeshift camp in search of nearby civilization more than a week ago, Kaeya had already expected them to travel far, recalling the absence of signs indicating the presence of life within a five-mile radius. 

From there, it didn’t take long for them to stumble upon a grazing reindeer, something Talulah had strangely referred to as a burdenbeast. Kaeya still remembers the moment the woman stopped chewing the first time he mentioned its name, her brow furrowing in confusion. Funnily enough, she had questioned him why he referred to an animal dwelling in a freezing habitat whose precipitation was predominantly snow as a “rain-deer”, right before he had clarified the spelling of the word. 

Either way, Talulah had seemingly formulated a plan by that point, having discovered a better method to encircle her unwitting prey given his presence. Positioning herself at a ninety-degree angle from the animal, she had signaled Kaeya before charging at the grazing reindeer with her weapon, the animal unaware of her presence until that point. 

From his concealed position behind another tree trunk, Kaeya had seen the animal quickly outpacing Talulah, the woman in pursuit, her hands tightly gripping her oversized claymore. He couldn’t help but find the sight somewhat amusing, a small snort escaping his lips as he watched the chase unfold. 

Unfortunately, the direction that the reindeer chose for its escape sent it barreling straight into Kaeya. Swiftly emerging from his hidden position, he summoned two spikes of frost that found their target before bringing the animal down with a slash of his sword. 

Sadly, Talulah must have seen his attempt to suppress his laughter from the distance and thought it would be hilarious if he dragged the animal back to camp himself. Even though he tried to protest her decision, Talulah had recalled his choice to argue against her pleas to keep him away from the hunt. 

So here he was, dragging the aforementioned reindeer in his arms, feeling the animal’s blood trickling down and soaking the white fur of his half-cape’s collar. 

Dammit, that was his favorite half-cape. 

Muttering under his breath good-naturedly, Kaeya rues his decision. Perhaps arguing against Talulah’s whims wasn’t the best strategy after all. As the weight of the reindeer pressed onto his shoulders, he let out a subtle groan, one muffled enough that Talulah couldn’t hear the sound carrying across the frigid air. 

While the vision he carried enhanced his strength by a significant degree, enough to carry the three-hundred-pound reindeer that he was hauling back to their campsite, it didn’t do anything to reduce the feeling of the corpse weighing down on him. Feeling the strain on his elbows, he executes a subtle sway, redistributing the load to ensure an even distribution of weight on his upper arms. 

Releasing a weary breath, he observes them approaching a row of trees, one that he had learned signified the border of the five-mile radius circle that encompassed their shelter. It doesn’t take long for them to pass the border finally, but the moment Kaeya steps past the boundary, he slightly shivers, feeling awash in a piercing sense of darkness. 

It’s an eerie feeling, one that unsettles Kaeya. Even despite Father taking him through the midnight-black depths of the Abyss as a child, whatever this was, it felt unnatural, almost alien. While the influence of the Abyss back home felt like a subtle pull, guiding things toward death and destruction through its whispers, the sight here exuded a stronger force, almost as if it was seemingly unrestrained.  Yet, for some reason, the silver-haired woman walking in front of him doesn’t seem to notice the sensation, proceeding ahead with her dominant hand gripping the hilt of her blade, just like before. 

That was the least of Kaeya’s worries, though. 

Strangely enough, the boundaries signifying the limit of the Abyss’s influence, manifesting after whatever disturbance had occurred in the aftermath of his unrestrained rage, hadn’t expanded. While at first glance, the news seemed positive amidst the chaotic events of the past week, it only served to raise more questions. Less than two weeks had passed since his arrival in this unfamiliar world, and his abilities of flawlessly wielding his vision and manipulating the elements seemed unhindered. Yet, the Abyss, whose foremost goal was expansion at all costs, seemingly remained quiet despite having grasped a new source of life. 

So that contradiction begged the question. Did whatever rift between worlds that launched Kaeya here even exist? Given Talulah’s brief descriptions of this world, it wasn’t a stretch for Kaeya to assume that this world had entirely different laws. Even so, if he were to pursue that line of thinking, he would be unable to manipulate ice nor discern the subtle trace of light emitting from the fires that Talulah had set alight for warmth at night. 

If elemental energy and its manipulation presented themselves in this world, it was still possible that Teyvat’s fundamental principles still held sway here. Nevertheless, elemental energy’s nature of being present wherever any trace of an element or its medium lingered made Kaeya doubt whether Teyvat’s laws indeed remained applicable here. 

Fuck, this was making him dizzy. 

Kaeya suddenly has the urge to rub his eyes, an attempt to dispel the growing headache that had begun to accompany his swirling thoughts. However, he doesn’t do that, rather electing to shake his head, knowing that the former would only release the weight of the three-hundred-pound corpse onto his lower body and effectively topple him over. 

Continuing his walk toward the makeshift shelter he had come to call home, the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland surrounds Kaeya. Yet, in the stark absence of sounds, a distinct, yet subtle, noise begins to pierce through the quiet- a crescendoing sound he quickly identified as Talulah’s gait, her booths rhythmically crunching through the frigid snow. 

Hefting the dead animal on his biceps, he shifts his gaze away from the grey clouds floating slowly across the sky toward her approaching figure. Having previously adopted a guarded demeanor, the woman looks much more relaxed now, her figure at ease as she walks towards him. 

Easing his stride, Kaeya slows down, staring at Talulah with a deadpan expression. The woman seems to ignore the sight, however, choosing to tap him on the shoulder instead. Raising an eyebrow, a puzzled expression appears on Kaeya’s face, a glint in his eyes as if questioning whether Talulah had something on her mind. 

“You’re struggling,” she points out straightforwardly, her gaze flickering to the corpse in his arms before focusing back on him. Kaeya can only acknowledge the fact, feeling the strain on his shoulders. While the initial journey they had undertaken past the outskirts of the surrounding forest was relatively simple, retracing their route carrying something this heavy proved to be quite exhausting. 

“You weren’t joking when you suggested carrying this back to camp, were you?” he remarks, a touch of amusement in his voice. While the task he was engaged with was strenuous, he couldn’t help but let a touch of humor seep into his voice in response to her obvious statement. 

“I’m not cruel enough to have you bear this load all the way back,” she responds, offering him a wry smile. Knowing that she would eventually request that they share the burden until they reached their makeshift shelter, he feels grateful, relief washing over him as the implications set in.  

Yet, there’s a small part of him that protests, reminding him that he would only be subjecting the woman to the extensive weight, violating the informal code of chivalry the Knights of Favonisu adhered to in the process. Seemingly anticipating Kaeya’s response, Talulah interrupts Kaeya’s train of thought, interjecting.  “Regardless, I’ve already done this before. There’s no need to worry.” She offers him another wry smile, her eyes glittering with determination. Stepping closer toward him, Talulah moves towards his side, the animal’s hind legs now facing her. 

“Here,” she motions, her hands snaking over the reindeer’s body. Grabbing onto the animal, her fingers briefly brush against Kaeya’s bicep, the sensation brief before the animal’s corpse shifts toward the direction she pulls. “Move the beast’s corpse to the left.” 

Kaeya complies with the order, repositioning the dead animal to ensure that Talulah could at least assist him. Thankfully, it wasn’t much of a hassle, only taking a minute or so for both of them to familiarize themselves with their new positions.  

Standing side to side, they grip the animal, Kaeya shouldering the bulk of the dead reindeer’s upper half while Talulah supports its lower half. Fortunately, the woman was tall, her heels putting her on par with Kaeya’s height. As a result, he wouldn’t need to lower himself to her height, something that would have only exacerbated the strain on his body. 

Both awkwardly shuffle forward for the next few minutes, trudging through the white snow while holding onto the reindeer. While their pace seemed far slower than before, they were still on track to reach the remnants of the Infected Labor Camp before noon. 

“We’re departing by sundown,” Talulah remarks, breaking the silence hanging over the frigid air. Once at her side, as Kaeya had noticed, her free hand was brushing away the strands of silver hair that had fallen across her face. Satisfied that she had tamed those rebellious strands, she shoots him a sidelong glance, the intensity of her gaze mirroring the frosty landscape. 

“I presume we’re leaving this hellhole?” Kaeya raises his eyebrow, hoping for a response in line with his expectations. Truth be told, despite having some form of resistance against the surrounding cold as the result of his vision, the buffeting arctic winds were a sight that he was coming to dread, in spite of being cooped up inside for days. After all, his time in Mondstadt had acclimatized him to temperate conditions, the occasional strong breeze serving as an inconvenience. Here? That was a different story. 

“...” 

Ah. 

He shouldn’t have kept his hopes high. 

With a small cough, Talulah breaks the quiet that had settled in. 

“We’ll be heading north,” Talulah states, slowing down and turning her head slightly to the right. Staring at the snow-covered trees with a distant expression, there was a slight upturn of her lips, one that conveyed the amusement that had begun to grace her features, before it fades away swiftly, replaced by an expression Kaeya can’t decipher. “There’s… someone I need to see.” 

Kaeya, having slowed down to accommodate Talulah’s sudden deceleration, can hear the subtle tension in her voice, one that was masked by the composed tone in which she delivered the statement. Yet, he doesn’t choose to pry, knowing that his efforts would be likely to gather no such information from her.  

And with an exhale of his breath, he trudges forward through the wintry landscape, leaving behind a series of footprints gradually fading amidst the falling snow. 

Chapter Text

Halvar Aase was never a man of many words.

After all, despite being amongst the few survivors of Khaenri’ah who retained their voices after the country’s destruction, the Abyss Heralds served as the vanguard of the Abyss Order, silently working towards the goals the Abyss Order pursued.

Yet, it’s precisely at this very moment that Halvar feels the urgent need to roar in frustration, to release all the pent-up emotions he had been suppressing.

Goddamnit, this situation was fucked up.

A few hours ago, Halvar had set out from the border between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya, having held a tinge of concern due to the lack of correspondence from his fellow Abyss Herald, Anton. Normally, the Abyss Heralds rarely cooperated with each other, a consequence of their individual autonomy within the Abyss Order. Often operating independently, they pursued their delegated responsibilities efficiently, remaining answerable to solely the upper echelons of the organization.

But this time was different.

Having closely worked with Anton over the past few years, the black-armored herald was a familiar figure to Halvar. With one of Alberich’s right-handed men having organized an assault against Mondstadt’s northern borders, Mondstadt’s main military had been diverted, forced to deal with the outpour of Abyssal-corrupted monsters. With their remaining forces stretched thin, Halvar had cooperated with Anton to take advantage of this weakness, both heralds continuing to sabotage Mondstadt in small ways, their efforts slowly intensifying over the next few years. 

According to their plans, wreaking havoc in their respective domains would have opened up another two-pronged front, one that would have forced the Knights of Favonius to dispatch more soldiers away from the main battlefield. But more importantly, it would have caught the attention of Mondstadt’s archon, redirecting any celestial being’s attention away from the Abyss Order’s underlying agenda.

Unfortunately, just before the last phase of their two-pronged assault would have been set into motion, Halvar had found himself feeling more uneasy. Despite sending correspondence to Anton multiple times, Halvar hadn’t received any response back. At first, he believed that the inherent sluggishness of long-distance communication and Anton’s penchant for going dark before major events was responsible for the herald's silence. Oblivious of the impending danger, Halvard chose to bide his time, unaware of the fact that the chaos engulfing Port Dornman was the result of his colleague’s actions.

Little did he know that those fractured lines of communication would have led to something more sinister. 

After coming to the realization that Anton was truly missing almost a week later, Halvar had rushed toward the caravan trading stop near Port Dornman, a busy intersection for international trade that the Knights of Favonius had sealed off. However, he had already identified the trade stop as the setting of something much more sinister, his observations made from afar having confirmed his assumptions. 

Assuming the guise of a brown-haired man to avoid raising concern, Halvar had snuck his way into Port Dornman proper, his focus single-mindedly placed on the incident at hand. Having heard that the Knights of Favonius had completely restricted the area to only its members, the Herald was forced to visit Port Dornman’s elusive black market and purchase the details and items of deceased members of the Knights of Favonius. Now well-equipped, he had just made his way toward the restricted area when he caught scent of something strange, something that still sent a shiver down his spine despite being intimately familiar with. 

Pure Abyssal energy.

Unlike the Abyssal energy members of the Abyss Order manipulated, pure Abyssal energy, at its essence, was far more dangerous. Corrupting those who came in contact with it, pure abyssal energy quickly overwhelmed one’s mind and body, leading to a catastrophic overload. However, the method through which it functioned was much more subtle, leaving behind no trace. But Halvar, well-acquainted with the Abyss and its workings, knew immediately what had happened. 

Unfortunately, the herald had quickly discovered that ominous energy wasn’t just localized to the scene. Tracing the scent, the Herald had ended up almost thirty kilometers away from Port Dornman, facing the cliffs on the coastline of the sea facing the city’s eastern border. 

Making the decision to follow the scent toward Mondstadt proper, Halvar had found himself wandering further into the country’s territory. At some point, he had wondered whether he was going anywhere, the continuous stretch of rocky cliffs and pristine sand seeming to extend endlessly across the horizon. Just when he was about to quit, however, fate had guided him to a hidden cave, the scent of the pure Abyssal energy growing stronger by the second as he moved deeper into the rocky cavern system. He couldn’t have foreseen what awaited him inside. 

As his eyes fell upon Anton’s lifeless body, covered in gruesome slashes and dried black blood, Halvar’s heart sank, the herald collapsing to his knees in disbelief. Yet, in the dim light of the cave, Halvar’s eyes had flickered toward two objects that made him freeze, two items that had sent shivers down his spine. 

A lock of azure hair and a star-shaped sigil, both matted an ominous shade of crimson. 

It didn’t take long for Halvar to make the connection, his blood running cold with the realization.
Something had happened to Alberich’s son. 

Ever since then, he had been sprinting back toward the Abyss Order’s seat of power, taking advantage of his ability to create long-distance portals. Right now, he was barely seventy miles away from the black gates of the Abyss Order’s keep, the structure towering ominously above the ruined surroundings and shrouded in a black mist that Halvar could only describe as menacing. 

Exhaustion seeps through every part of Halvar’s body, his movements starting to slow down. Yet, Halvar pushes forward, generating another burst of speed as he undertakes a full-fledged sprint, feeling his reservoir of power starting to refill slowly. He’s so close, just a couple of minutes away from reaching his destination, just a couple of minutes before delivering the fateful news to the Abyss Order’s leader 

The herald can hear the voices in his head, those dark whispers calling hungrily to defy the very fabric of this world’s laws. Continuing to intensify, the voices transform into a clamor, almost overwhelming Anton’s mental defenses. Yet, the herald, having much experience with the temptations and taunts of the Abyss, manages to dispel them with a shake of his head, calling upon the familiar darkness within him. 

Raising his hand, he can feel the dark power, the paradox of scorching heat and bitter frost, the electrifying burst of energy and the debilitating drain of his vitality. In front of him, black smoke rising from his hand coalesces before expanding quickly. The sight of a starry void and a violet circular figure resembling a distorted cross now face him, outlined by the inky tendrils of Abyssal power. 

Stepping through the portal, he feels the distinct lack of warmth, the endless nothingness stretching out for miles before it’s quickly replaced by the sight of towering metallic walls, an emblem of an eight-pointed star beautifully etched onto its surface. From Halvar’s preliminary judgment, he’s standing barely a mile away from the main entrance, the luminous moon behind it casting an ethereal gaze. Tensing his muscles in preparation for the final sprint, the herald swallows harshly, grappling with the realization of facing Alberich and unveiling those harsh truths to the very leader of the Abyss Order himself. 

Halvar shivers. He didn’t fear being killed, knowing that the Abyss had already claimed his very essence, designating his being as invincible. A thrust through the heart or a slash through an artery could only do so much, sending the physical construct that encompassed his soul through the endless Abyss before reconstructing itself once again, piece by piece.  

But Alberich’s fury? That was a completely different story.  

As someone closely intertwined with the Abyss, Halvar only had so much of his autonomy remaining. Unlike the Khaenri’an remnants that comprised the upper ranks of the Abyss Order voluntarily pledging themselves to the goals of the Abyss, monsters that fell under the entity’s influence naturally remained more susceptible to its whispers, blurring the line between internal and external control. And with Alberich’s adept control over Abyssal powers, any severe mistake would be punished appropriately, furthering the chances that Halvar would be deprived of the remaining autonomy he had left. 

Well then, placing too much focus on the implications of his revelations wouldn’t do Halvar any good. All he needed to concentrate on was reaching his destination and ensuring that his demands to meet Alberich would be received by the appropriate audience.  

After all, Alberich rarely engaged with subordinates directly, preferring to employ other higher-ranked members of the Abyss Order as intermediaries. Conveying important information was one thing; gaining Alberich’s trust, however, was another matter altogether. And as the circumstances of this disastrous incident were playing out, the situation demanded the latter. 

“Move,” he orders the soldier guarding the gate with a tired urgency, his chest rising up and down as he attempts to regain his breath. Gesturing for the half-masked man to move, he pushes him aside, receiving a cold glare in response. But the man doesn’t object, knowing that the herald’s status granted him access to the Abyss order’s stronghold. 

With a sigh, the masked soldier barks an order to someone presumably inside the building, the massive gates creaking open and groaning in response. The interior of the stronghold, once obscured by the massive metallic walls guarding the structure, now becomes revealed to Anton’s eyes, the herald beginning to take in the sight. 

Stretching past the massive metallic gates, an interior courtyard dominates the scene, a series of additional checkpoints further dividing the region into smaller portions. Within each smaller subdivision, living quarters and supply storages alike sprawl across the area, both structures critical for sustaining the Abyss Order’s functionality. To his right, a few members of the Abyss Order occupy a series of training grounds, the sound of sharp, dark-silvery blades clashing against each other being the only sound signifying their engagement with sparring 

But most importantly, right in front of him, the imposing outline of the royal court looms above everything else in the general vicinity. 

With a small gulp, Halvar makes his way toward the court’s entrance, a lone checkpoint and glowing runes etched onto the floor’s surface marking the official boundary that separated the areas that the lower and upper echelons of the Abyss Order occupied. Past the boundary, two human sentries outfitted in regal uniforms with flowing black capes guard the entrance, their fingers clasped around the hilt of their weapons, bodies tensed as if waiting for trouble.

As he continues drawing closer to the royal court’s entrance, the herald can feel the air growing increasingly heavy, thickening with a suffocating density. For some reason, the scent of the Abyss becomes almost overpoweringly choking, its power strengthening and permeating the surroundings much more oppressively. He can’t help but let out a hoarse cough, taking in a deep breath to recover.

Now better adjusted to the thickening atmosphere, Halvar lets out another small cough before making his way toward the checkpoint, the only barrier separating him from the destination that fate would take him to. 

Just before he steps over the flickery light signifying the presence of etched runes on the floor, the guards converge upon Halvar, the two of them intertwining their blades in an almost imperceptible motion. In front of him, an X-shaped barrier now faces the Herald, preventing him from crossing over toward the last set of double doors. 

“Halt,” the brown-haired sentry declares, placing his gloved hand against Halvar’s chest. His frosty eyes glimmer with an icy resolve, as if challenging the Herald to question his authority.  

Normally, Halvar wouldn’t have tolerated the perceived disrespect, typically preferring to assert his authority. But recognizing that these guards were relatively well-trained and defeating them would only bring upon him more pain, namely in the form of Alberich, than satisfaction, Halvar stays quiet.  

“What brings you here, Herald?” the man continues, his lips pursed together in a stoic expression. Not hearing the Herald respond, he cocks his head slightly, looking at Halvar with an expression of mild interest. 

For a moment, Halvar doesn’t respond, his mouth drying up as the man’s penetrating gaze seems to continue following him. Clearing his throat, Halvar finally speaks, his voice breaking the momentary silence.  

“It’s an urgent matter, something that doesn’t require your discretion,” he declares, a cold sparkle appearing in the herald’s eye. Given the situation at hand, revealing any details to those excluding Alberich would only spread panic throughout the Abyss Order, leading to hasty decisions being undertaken. 

And given the current political climate of Teyvat, that wouldn’t be conducive to the Abyss Order’s goals.  

Unfortunately, the guard doesn’t seem to believe Halvar, his eyes narrowing as his predatory gaze pierces into Halvar’s own. The soldier’s grip on his spear tightens, and for a moment, it seems as if he’s about to slam Halvar down to the ground for the seemingly insolent response. However, the man calms down, closing his mouth for a second before speaking once again; yet Halvar can still hear a touch of venom in the man’s tone. “There’s a reason why Alberich employs us, does he not Herald? If you demand an audience with Alberich, there’s an official process to go through.” 

His heart sinking at the realization that Alberich wouldn’t be the only one privy to his discoveries in Mondstadt, Halvar stands there dazed, his heart beating faster with every passing second. He really had no choice, did he? 

“It’s about his son,” the herald finally states, snapping out of his stupor, a desperate snarl manifesting upon his face. Despite the steely gaze he assumes, a glimmer of worry flickers behind Halvar’s facade. Alberich was unpredictable, and despite Halvar simply being the bearer of detrimental news, he still feared the upcoming meeting,  

Having served as a correspondent between Alberich and lower-ranked members of the Abyss Order, it doesn’t take long for the sentry to notice the Abyss Herald’s hidden discomfort. Leaning towards his partner, Jochen, the sentry whispers into his partner’s ears, the man perking up ever so slightly in response. Lowering the point of his sword, Jochen now stands with his blade at his side, his partner mirroring the action as they quickly dismantle the improvised barrier. 

Now turning around, the other guard makes his way toward the entrance, disappearing into the courtroom. Regardless of the relatively minor role the guards played in the Abyss Order in comparison to other prominent figures, their status granted them access to the inner circle. More specifically, in this situation, it was the royalty’s court. Halvar can’t see much of the court’s interior however, the door having closed as quickly as it had opened. 

However, it doesn’t take long for Jochen to return, his fingers subtly tapping the hilt of his sword against his armored chest. It was a silent yet distinctive signal of acknowledgment, one that was quickly recognizable to Halvar, something that spread feelings of fear and anticipation within him.  

“Alberich is waiting for you,” Jochen states, sweeping his hand in a graceful motion toward the set of double doors facing in front of Halvar. With a slight gulp, Halvar makes his way towards the entrance, extending his hand toward the double doors. 

Fate was awaiting him. Now, all he could do was wait and see what would meet him. 

Focusing her gaze upon the desolate building located past the thicket of trees, Talulah’s silver eyes light up, her body awash with a sense of determination. Flicking some snow off the hem of her dress, she turns her head around slightly, catching sight of the man she had healed behind her. 

Now extending her finger towards the general area ahead of her, she locks her eyes on the man’s figure, attempting to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately though, it seemed that he had already noticed the sight prior to Talulah’s gesture, his stoic expression not betraying a single emotion. 

Picking up her pace, Talulah ignores the protests of the muscles in her legs, the nagging voice in the back of her head begging her to collapse into the snow under a tree and forget about all her worries. With another burst of speed, she finds herself merely a couple hundred feet away from the caved-in building, Kaeya still managing to keep up with her. 

Flaring her Originium Arts slightly, Talulah can feel a general warmth spreading through her lower half, sighing in relief at the comforting feeling. Yet, this would only be temporary, something that would help her trudge through the ankle-deep snow she had found herself walking in with relative ease. 

A short while later, Talulah finds herself emerging out of the expanse of thicket, merely feet away from the crumbling exterior of the building. The building had seemingly been worn down by snowstorms over the years, the outside eroded slowly by forces of nature, and yet, it was still a comforting sight. 

Fatigued, she collapses onto the snow, her back meeting the cool surface of a wall that had remained relatively intact all this time. She had to admit that her fall wasn’t exactly graceful, almost ungainly, but she doesn’t care, closing her eyes and feeling the burning of her muscles beginning to slowly subside as she rests. 

For the past couple of days, she and Kaeya had moved through Ursus’ harsh terrain quickly, a much faster pace than Talulah had adopted after temporarily parting ways with Nine. After all, discovering Kaeya and tending to his injuries for a week had delayed her plans, the possibility of ending Kashchey continuing to linger at the forefront of her mind. Wtth that burning desire pushing her forward, they had spent up to eighteen hours a day moving through arctic forests and tundras, drawing closer to Talulah’s destination. 

Lamentably, although Talulah’s determination had propelled her closer to her goal, she felt completely wasted now. Being locked in Rhodes Island’s prison for a year and a half had deprived her of the very exercise and physical exertion that she had subjected herself to as Reunion’s leader. Hence, she felt exhausted already, and her stamina was still recovering as she continued to strain herself. 

Opening her eyes, she notices Kaeya moving toward her, an assortment of sticks and small logs held in his hands. Where did the man get them from? she thought, but she didn’t question it, knowing that it would send her thoughts spiraling. Regardless, that fact suggested that he had been quite far ahead of her, contrary to her initial perceptions. 

Considering his ability to match her pace for hours on end, she figured that Kaeya must have previously held a role that required significant mobility, perhaps originating from a profession where traversing long distances was quite common. In combination with his adept swordsmanship, she had assumed that his prior occupation likely lay within the realms of military service, something that would be useful as he continued to accompany her. Furthermore, he didn’t seem to collapse into the snow immediately like she had, instead moving toward the position she had occupied with a slow, almost leisure-like gait. Either he truly wasn’t exhausted by the grueling journey they had embarked upon the past few days, or he just adopted a demeanor of remarkable composure. And if it was the former, she wouldn’t be surprised.  

Around halfway through the journey, he had summoned something fairly transparent, resembling a shimmering protective barrier, one that shielded him from the buffeting arctic winds and swirling snow. Nevertheless, Talulah refrained from taking advantage of his manipulation of ice. Content with slightly exuding a warm aura, perhaps out of courtesy, she had made her way toward the north. 

Considering his ability to match her pace for hours on end, she figured that Kaeya must have previously held a role that required significant mobility, perhaps originating from a profession where traversing long distances was quite common. In combination with his adept swordsmanship, she had assumed that his prior occupation likely lay within the realms of military service, something that would be useful as he continued to accompany her. 

Either way, he was right in front of her now, his hands barely keeping the logs within his grasp. With a grunt, Kaeya drops them onto the snow, a crunching sound resounding from the impact as they begin to settle into the surface of the ground. Talulah doesn’t immediately register the meaning behind the action until she looks up, noticing his eyebrow arched slightly at her. 

Ah, that’s what he had been preparing for. 

With a measured exhale, the resulting release of breath crystallizing into a frosty veil hanging into the air, Talulah feels a familiar warmth expand within her before flame breathes from her fingertips. The scorching blaze, now airborne, flickers before it reaches the kindling that Kaeya had deposited into the snow.
For a moment, nothing happens, the flame disappearing almost completely as it struggles to latch onto an available fuel source. Finding an exposed piece of kindling, the fire begins to expand once more, crackling as it begins to consume the offering, flames licking hungrily at the bark. Feeling the heat, Talulah relaxes, leaning back into the wall with increased vigor. With the comfort of the nearby warmth and exhaustion seeping through her, she was beginning to feel sleepy. 

Talulah glanced over at Kaeya, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the newly revived fire. "You were planning this quite a while ago, were you not?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity as she watched the flames dance before her. 

“I just had the intuition,” he mused, a subtle smile making its way onto his face. Momentarily looking thoughtfully at the fire, he shifts his gaze back up to her, observing the silver-haired woman focusing upon the fire. "It's almost mesmerizing, isn't it?" she remarks, her voice soft as she watches the flames flicker. A tendril of fire, almost subdued amidst its brethren, suddenly latches onto the wooden surface of an untarnished branch, eagerly reaching out to the wintry air once more. "The way it fights to stay alive, finding even the smallest spark to cling to.” 

“Just like humanity,” Kaeya murmured under his breath, his words almost lost amidst the fire’s crackle. Tracing his hand above its fiery aura in intricate motions, he summons the detailed outline of an ice crystal, the object floating into the burning kindling. The flame that Talulah had been watching intensifies for a moment, gradually returning to its baseline levels and flickering at a comforting tempo once again. 

Noticing his somber tone, Talulah simply acknowledges his statement with a nod, silently agreeing with him. She was all too familiar with the concept. Alina and Ivan. Reunion and Tara. Nine and Lungmen. All of them pushing toward survival, trying to stay afloat regardless of the circumstances or decisions they made. All of them looking toward hope. To freedom. 

Letting out a small cough, Kaeya turns back towards Talulah, the silver-haired woman finding her downward spiral through her memories being interrupted once more. Perhaps it was good that he did, something that would prevent her from being completely overwhelmed by her past and wallowing in sorrow. After all, no matter how difficult it was for her to come to the conclusion, the past was the past, and no amount of lamentation would change that. 

“Speaking of which, how much farther north are we planning to head?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at her. Strangely enough, any sign of the solemnity he had displayed earlier had disappeared, a subdued smile spreading across his features once more. And while the tension had evaporated from his body, Talulah can still feel the palpable sensation emanating off of him, one that was currently at a much-reduced degree. 

Closing her eyes, Talulah attempts to recall how much farther their current location was from the college Kashchey’s other form resided within, tracing her fingers over the mental map that had formed in her mind. Turning the paper around, she blinks. It was blank, devoid of details except Ursus’ largest cities which remained farther away from the north. Maybe her exhaustion was taking a bigger toll on her than she thought. 

Getting up, Talulah retreated into the deteriorated building that she had previously laid upon. Fortunately, while the building’s exterior had reflected a state of dilapidation, it had belied the nicer interior, one that was shielded from the blizzards and extreme weather by the stone and mortar walls.  

Turning around and noticing Kaeya not returning her gaze, most likely out of respect for respect for her privacy, Talulah reaches into the inner slip of her dress. Her fingers delicately probe the concealed pocket of fabric, deftly skimming over the smooth lining before finally grasping a piece of paper. Triumphantly pulling the document out, she lets out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, she had the foresight to anticipate a situation like this. 

Returning back toward the makeshift camp they had set up, Talulah sat down, making sure that her tail was out of the way. The last time she had sat down without paying attention, she had found the tip of it digging painfully into her thighs and leaving an angry, red mark behind. Placing the map on her lap, something that would prevent it from being soaked by the melting snow near the fire, she points to a small section on the document marked in green. 

“We’ve reached here,” Talulah mentions, her finger hovering over the general area they had occupied. While she didn’t know exactly where they had come to, Talulah had traced their journey northwards to the location of the abandoned Infected labor camp, crossing through the stretch of Arctic forest that split the northern region of Ursus in half. Absentmindedly, her finger continues tracing over the boundary of the forest, continuing to the east before she shakes her head. 

Feeling a couple of strands of silver hair come too close to her eye, she tucks the strands behind her ear. Casting her eyes upon Kaeya, she notices the man staring intently at the document, his eyes flickering back and forth over the names and intricate boundaries in an attempt to internalize all the details. He seemed to be downright fascinated by the map. But why wouldn’t he be, considering he came from an entirely different world?

Talulah returns to the point she had initially marked, tracing her finger downwards until she reaches another point, this one marking a place within yet another gigantic stretch of forest. “And this is where you were mortally injured,” she mentions to Kaeya, the man wincing as he hears her words. But he simply nods, setting his sights on the area and its surroundings.

Lifting her finger, Talulah shifted upward before reaching a point located just under another darker-shaded area, one that had been labeled with a city’s name. It was just two inches away from the shaded area on the map, but in reality, almost seventy miles of Barrenland separated the town from the Northland. Seventy miles containing a mixture of arctic forests, tundra, and more Ursan army fortifications and supplies. 

“This is where we’re heading to,” she mentions, her finger tapping the spot repeatedly. Transferring her attention back toward their current location, she attempts to extrapolate their current pace to the second half of their journey, calculating how much longer it would take to reach her destination. “Considering, we should be…” 

“Arriving in another three days,” Kaeya states, completing Talulah’s thoughts. Quickly making the necessary calculations, she nods in silent agreement a moment later. If they continued pushing forward at a similar pace until they reached their destination, they would have arrived even earlier, but at the risk of extending the trip’s duration to accommodate Talulah’s recuperation from exhaustion. But with this more conservative estimate, they had a guarantee on how much longer it would take them. 

Retrieving the document from her lap and folding it up, Talulah faces the line of snow-covered trees in the distance, listening to the crackle and pop of the fire in front of her. The biting winds had subsided, and for a moment, she’s reminded of all those years ago, sitting around a campfire and passionately explaining her goals to Yelena and Buldrokkas'tee. Singing with others over a meal of watery soup. Watching Infected children chase each other around in circles, joyous expressions on their faces as they attempted to catch one another. 

She continues leaning against the wall, lost in her thoughts, her eyes distant before a slight cough from Kaeya jolts her from her reflections. A hint of displeasure rises to the forefront of her mind as those memories are dispelled, but she suppresses the feeling, knowing that displaying such an emotion would only send mixed signals. Even then, he hadn’t known what she had been reminiscing about. 

“You seem quite acquainted with Ursus. Lived here long?” he questioned her, his tone casual yet curious, a faint hint of intrigue coloring his words as he studied her reaction. For a second, Talulah’s heart beats fast, memories of Kashchey and Alina, trust, and betrayal pouring through her, suffocating her entirely. He was just using her, trying to get closer to her to figure out her vulnerabilities. 

A sudden moment of clarity flashes through Talulah, dispelling the overwhelming emotions as quickly as they had surfaced. No, she had to calm down. He was just asking a normal question. Now, she had no way to evaluate his genuineness accurately, but making a judgment this prematurely wouldn’t do her any good.

“Grew up here as a child,” Talulah responds tersely, making sure to meet Kaeya’s eyes. Looking away from him would only make her answer seem ingenuine, raising further questions. She had to present a strong façade to assure the man and herself that everything was fine while not revealing too much Regardless of her promise to have him tag along, he still hadn’t gained her trust. And if he would, they still had a long way to go. “Stayed here for about twenty years.” 

“Fair enough,” the man responds. He seems to want to say something for a second but takes it back at the last moment, instead looking at his half-gloves. 

Turning the question back on him, Talulah decides to probe her new companion, her tail beginning to shift a bit in anticipation. If she couldn’t gather any new information from him, she might as well be friendly. Besides, from whatever she had found out about the man in the previous days, his world seemed… strange, to say the very least. 

“So, where were you stationed before you arrived here?” Talulah simply looks at him with an expectant expression, waiting for him to respond to her inquiry. 

“Hmm?” The man pauses momentarily, having been engrossed in inspecting his own outfit’s details. “Oh, forgive me. You were asking about my origins before our encounter, I presume?” 

Seeing Talulah nod in approval, he relaxes, his shoulders slumping as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Where do I begin?” Kaeya releases a small sigh, his eyes becoming unfocused as he begins to consider something. “It’s quite complicated, but given we’re accompanying each other for the near future, might as well explain.” 

“I hail from Mondstadt, the land of the Anemo Archon,” he began. With a swift move, he unclasps the glass orb (A vision if she remembers correctly?) hanging from his belt, laying it near the fire in a position where Talulah can take a closer look. “It’s a small country. Rolling hills, windslept plains, and rocky cliffs. Quite a different sight from all of this, if you only consider Mondstadt proper.” Kaeya declares, waving his hand and pointing towards the vast forest and snowy ground stretching out for miles ahead of them. 

Huh, that was quite a… strange description. It almost reminded her of Kazimierz in sort of a way, only if it was located next to the coast like Victoria or Acahuala. Either way, it was fascinating to think about, to learn about an entirely different world, someplace away from the endless snowy tundras she spent more than half of her life in. Leaning slightly forward to indicate her interest, she touches the surface of the glass orb, noting it to be smooth without any cracks. 

“Regardless, I’ve lived in the country for quite some time. Fifteen, sixteen years, give or take?” A thoughtful look crosses his features, Kaeya considering whether his estimate was relatively accurate or not. Satisfied that it was, he continues on, fully composed. “Most inhabited areas in the region are located relative to bodies of water, and some regions lack any settlements due to monsters or inhospitable conditions.” 

So wherever Kaeya came from, the city or country he had lived seemed to not be considered landlocked, something quite uncommon in Terra. After all, most Terran cities, with the exception of those in places like Iberia and Minos amongst others, were located within the continent away from the coastline. The only “body of water” outside of these coastal cities one could potentially consider were artifical rivers and reservoirs, something that sustained mobile cities’ populations as they moved through the vast expanses of the deserts and dry land composing the Barrenlands. 

And besides, hadn’t he initially met her references of the Infected and Originium with an expression of confusion? If Originium truly held no presence in his world, what would that mean? No Infected? No catastrophes? No mobile cities? The possibilities were truly endless and they excited her, the desire of sitting in a room alone and summoning her vivid imagination overcoming her at that moment.

Suddenly, something passes Talulah’s field of vision, the blurry object bringing her back towards reality. Snapping her head against the wooden wall she previously laid against, she can see whatever had caught her attention with increasing clarity, the aforementioned object being Kaeya’s hand.

“Your gaze looked distant,” Kaeya mentioned offhandedly, his tone apologetic as he withdrew his hand away from her face. Yet, Talulah can detect a touch of amusement glimmering in his eyes, the slight upturn of his mouth confirming her deductions. “Just wanted to make sure you were still present here in the mortal realm.” 

The tip of the Draco’s ears turn pink, her cheeks flushing with heat. Had she really ended up so lost in contemplation that he was forced to check up on her? Perhaps the exhaustion seeping through her was affecting more than just her muscles. Unwittingly, she releases a yawn that had been building up within her for the past few minutes, perceiving the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as a fresh burst of fatigue creeps in. 

Damn it, she was feeling really tired now. 

Suddenly Kaeya rises up from his haunches in a quick movement, turning around one-hundred and eighty degrees so he’s facing the same direction that Talulah had been staring off to the distance at. Tilting his head slightly, he looks at Talulah from the corner of his eyes, his blue eyes piercing her own. 

“I’ll take first shift. Go, get some sleep,” the man orders her. For a second, she doesn’t comprehend his statement, understanding only entering her a couple of moments later. Her eyes widening ever so slightly, a look of mild surprise makes its way onto her face before its replaced by a determined glint in her eyes. 

After all the time he had spent tending to Kaeya’s injuries, here they were, their roles now swapped. She was now his patient and he was her overseer. Quite ironic, considering how things had played out til now.  The universe was really conspiring against her. 

She’s just about to interject and assure Kaeya that she was in fact fine when another yawn racks her body, a fresh wave of fatigue hitting her like a full-force train.

“You’re proving my point,” he mentioned, looking amusedly at her. She has no choice but to bite thoughts of argumentative protests back, banishing them away from the forefront of her mind. He looked quite firm in his decision, his body language conveying that it would be futile to argue against him. 

Talulah exhales softly, the thought of sleep and lying against a warmer surface, perhaps a bed (!), calling her with an irresistible pull. She was feeling really slow right now. Maybe she did need the sleep to recover from the exhaustion that took her mental facilities hostage. 

Pushing herself upward, she assumes a standing position, stretching her arms upwards in a motion that releases yet another yawn from her mouth. With a small shake of her legs that dispels the cramps that had begun to come upon her, she moves away from the fire, its dying flames crackling behind her with every step. 

Looking back at the expanse of snow stretches, she notices Kaeya merely feet away from her, leaning back in a well-crafted chair of ice (When did that happen?), but she doesn’t pay heed to the sight. The man had a point, something she’d come to reluctantly agree with. She had more important things to focus on, namely sleep, and charging ahead without rest would only make her fall prey to exhaustion. 

Turning around and moving back inside the deteriorating building, she collapses onto an abandoned bed, the sweet embrace of sleep calling to her. 

The echoing thud of double doors resounds throughout the room, the reverberating sound a rare intrusion into the usually quiet courtroom. It doesn’t take long for the noise to fade away completely, a deathly silence beginning to hang heavily in the air. 

On the throne occupying the apex of the room, a blue-haired man sits, his hands tightly clasping the hilt of a glitteringly sharp sword that had recently materialized, a black haze swirling around the blade. Briefly closing his eyes, he reopens them, his once eerily calm demeanor now replaced with a sharp, calculating gaze, an expression that would have unsettled even the most seasoned negotiator. 

To his right, a silver-haired man, regally adorned in garments befitting his rank, emerges from behind the blue-haired man, seemingly hidden amongst the intricately carved designs adorning the courtroom walls. His silver eyes, flecked with red spots, flicker back from the man beside him to the courtroom double doors, his gaze hardened like steel. Turning towards the man occupying the throne, the silver-haired man catches his gaze, silently observing him and cocking his head slightly as if waiting for a command.

For a moment, silence is all that remains before a gruff voice interrupts the profound stillness that had fallen upon the courtroom.  

“Bring him to me once you’re done with him.” the man says, his gaze still fixed upon the imposing double doors in front of him. The silver-haired man doesn’t seem to be taken aback by the request, his lips pursed in a thin line. A subtle glitter of amusement, one tinged with cold indifference, flickers in his eyes. Having obscured himself from the herald’s gaze, he had bore witness to the conversation from the sidelines. He had heard the Herald’s wavering undertone behind the confident facade, the pathetic justifications underlying the situation’s circumstances, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath the constant stream of words. 

And if there was one thing that Alberich detested above all else, it was excuses. 

Especially when it concerned his family. 

An involuntary shiver passes through the man, his features momentarily flickering with unease. No matter how many times he’s done this before, the subsequent wrath and punishment he witnessed were still something that he couldn’t take lightly. Yet, knowing that displaying vulnerability wouldn’t serve him well and that it displeased Alberich, he composes himself, his eyes gleaming with icy detachment once more. 

“After you’ve completed your task, find my son,” the man continues, his tone much softer now, an indication of the familiarity between the two figures. The man can only give Alberich a curt nod, advancing towards the room’s entrance. But instead of following the herald’s path through the doors and through the hallway, he stops just short of the entrance, taking a right turn. 

Now, being mere feet away from a passage concealed to most eyes, one that would eventually intersect with the main hallway, he turns around, shooting a final glance at Alberich. Both men’s eyes meet each other, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something unspoken between them. And with a couple of steps, he exits the room, the steady sound of his footsteps gradually fading into the distance. 

Well then, he had business to attend to. 

Chapter Text

Death engulfed him once more.

It hadn’t been long since this nightmare had played through his mind, the last iteration ending up with him screaming himself awake, his palms clammy, and his face pale from the incident. Oh, how he had screamed those days after waking up. But more importantly, the deep pain had repeatedly seared his very soul, its effects visible to this very day. Effects that altered his behavior in minute ways. Ways that wouldn’t protect him from the pain, shield himself from his own deep fears. 

However, this time, everything seemed… a bit stranger.  

The beginning had been quite familiar according to Kaeya’s recollections, the nightmare starting off with Crepus’ death after fending off Ursa the Drake with a delusion. Painfully, Kaeya had been as late as he’d always been. As he shouldn’t have been. Forced to watch his father bleed to death miles outside of Mondstadt’s borders, his trembling brother shakily holding the corpse, Diluc’s grief-stricken expression carved into his very soul. 

From there, their argument had played out. His own history spilled out of his lips unwittingly, his own deep grief, the feeling whose façade had covered it, motivating it. The crimson eyes of his brother beginning to smolder like a flame, the quick motion of Diluc’s greatsword forcing Kaeya to jump back in surprise. The drawing of his own sword out of its scabbard, rain beginning to pour down steadily amidst blood and flame. 

For some reason, the dream had never skipped this scene, no matter how many iterations Kaeya had witnessed. Maybe it was a punishment of the heavens, a divine reminder of what betraying the false heaven’s rule had entailed. A continuation of the sentence against Khaenri’ah, this one forged on betrayal and loss rather than destruction and cruelty. 

But worryingly enough, the dream had diverged from this point onward. 

Normally, this section of the dream would end with Diluc looking at him with disgust after crossing blades, Kaeya’s ruined eye barely managing to witness his brother’s figure turn back and walk into the distance. Instead, this time, Kaeya had barely managed to fend off his brother’s blade before Diluc moved with a sudden burst of superhuman speed, skewering him through the chest. 

Those crimson eyes burned with anger. 

But no, what frightened Kaeya the most was an expression of glee, his brother looking almost sadistic in the dim-lighted environment. Pressing the blade further through Kaeya’s chest, Diluc’s cold smile widens ever so slightly, the expression contrasting Kaeya’s own gasp of pain, the wet squelch releasing crimson liquid that stained his cape’s fur collar. 

Heh, that was ruined again. Just like he’d done all those days ago, fending off those guards at the abandoned camp.  

But before he’s allowed to continue that little train of thought, a harsh voice interrupts him. One filled with guilt and raw pain to the core, yet seemingly burning with a determination Kaeya never knew. Something that reminded him of his father, of him, of their own willingness to do what to survive while fueled by desperation. 

“You know, you had me fooled all these years,” Diluc whispers, his crimson eyes locked into Kaeya’s own. “For the past six years, we’ve been together. As people who can depend on each other. As people forging their way through life. As brothers .”

Diluc shakes his head in disappointment, and Kaeya can catch a flicker of sorrow tinged with disgust. The sight makes Kaeya’s own heart constrict, and the sound of his heartbeat grows louder. 

“Growing up together, everything seemed perfect. Father was alive, and I had someone I could trust by my side. Fight those motivated by lust and greed, vice and sin, rising through the ranks of the Knights of Favonius together.” 

“But now, everything seems a bit too perfect.” Diluc leans in closer, pressing his elbow against Kaeya’s chest, the motion making Kaeya woozy. He can feel his warm breath against his neck, the feeling making him want to twist away and huddle into a sheltered space.  “A young child, one dropped off near the Dawn Winery during a rainy night, looking nothing like local residents? An abandoned child adeptly proficient with a blade the moment it came into his hands? A person so cunning, so crafty, that he could fool Father and me for all these years?” 

Silence follows the monologue from Diluc, only the sounds of their breathing and the slow, steady drip of blood down Kaeya’s chest punctuating it. His brother faces him with a hard gaze, his expression unnerving as he continues to face him. For a second, he sees a flicker of black flash in Diluc’s eyes, but he dismisses it. Perhaps his ruined right eye was playing tricks on him. After all, this nightmare didn’t usually last this long. 

And he was frightened. Truly frightened. 

“So tell me,” Diluc asks him, letting out a breath while staring at him with a cold expression. “was any of this, any of our relationship real? Were we truly close together?” 

Kaeya can’t respond immediately, the turmoil within him churning his insides thoroughly. He couldn’t answer this question honestly, could he? To answer with twisting lies, betraying Diluc and himself once more and forced to live on a tightrope of lies, one spanning the abyss of loneliness? Or respond with honesty, subsiding the whispers of his consciousness and risk being pushed away from everything he loved, forced to embrace destiny and everything he hated? 

Kaeya can’t make a choice. He just can’t. He squeezes his eyes close, waiting for this part of the nightmare to be over, to be enveloped by the familiarity of the biting cold and smooth stone floor. The voices he’d heard within his head, chattering, whispering that he’d lose everything, begin to clamor with louder and louder voices, urging him to embrace what he truly was. A complete, fabricated lie. 

Opening his eyes once more, he meets Diluc’s eyes. Yet, instead of the look of disappointment his brother had adopted, the expression on his face now was… different. A mixture of disgust and cold-hearted determination, a hint of resignation within those eyes. 

Diluc moves slightly towards the right, his face coming closer towards Kaeya. With his position solidified, he begins whispering into Kaeya’s ear softly, Kaeya unable to do anything but shiver, feel his entire body weakening, piece by piece. 

“I was hoping you would contradict me.” Diluc moves back a little, his fingers wrapping around Kaeya’s jaw, holding his face. Cocking his head slightly, he continues observing Kaeya’s eyes, looking at him with the same, indifferent gaze, one tinged with sorrow. The sorrow quickly disappears, though his crimson eyes flash slightly black once again. “This is how it ends, doesn’t it? I gave you a chance to explain. And you’ve confirmed my expectations.” 

They stand in the rain for a couple of seconds, only the pattern of raindrops against the forest floor resonating in the distance. A second later, Diluc shoves the blade in further, twisting it. Kaeya can only gasp, feeling his innards twisting, being cut, ruined . 

The voices in his head become louder, the clamor rising above the agonizing pain wracking his body. He can hear them, in fact, the disconcerting, grating voice screaming to embrace it. To let go of his pain, let go of his limitations, to be set free. 

To change Kaeya. 

He can’t let those dark whispers, that uncanny feeling around the power it offered, take him. So he just scrunches his eyes close, waiting for the pain to take over, waiting to cross past the gates of the Abyss. Waiting to lose sight of his brother and extinguish the guilt and agony causing his suffering. Just waiting. 

“Goodbye, brother,” Diluc whispers to him, looking him directly in the face. His eyes, once stained a crimson red, are completely black now, the sight unnaturally eerie, something that makes Kaeya want to scream. And with a touch of power, he retracts his blade, the red-stained steel weapon exposed to the rain, Kaeya staring numbly at his brother with a hole in his chest.  

And with that, Kaeya slowly topples over, darkness claiming him once more. 

A series of blackened doors grate open slowly, silver light beginning to stream its way through the widening gap. A few guards stationed nearby, heavily armored entities cloaked completely in black, simply glance at the motion before shifting their attention towards the hallway in front of them. 

A black-hearted creature emerges from the aperture shortly thereafter, moving languidly through the hallway, its gait relatively composed. Looking forward, its gaze barely wavers toward the guards or the diminishing source of light behind it. But behind the creature’s steely facade, its heart pounds rapidly, lips cracked and dry like the barren expanses of Sumeru’s deserts. 

Once it finally passes through the rune-covered hallway and another series of checkpoints, the creature’s facade breaks down, and its quickening breath becomes audible. Moving with hurrying steps, it moves through a series of checkpoints, finally making its way closer to the winding hallways leading to the interior courtyard. 

Halvar releases yet another breath, greedily ingesting the air as if he were reclaiming his declining lifeforce bit by bit. It didn’t feel like much, but at this moment, the feeling of fresh air seeping into his lungs was a comforting sensation, something that began to suppress the pounding of his heart. 

Leaning against one of the metallic walls comprising some of the hallway's twisting corridors, he regains his composure, utilizing the opportunity to glance at the imposing set of double doors once more. The guards who had challenged his authority resumed standing like statues with weapons at their sides, only the slight rise and fall of their chests betraying their unmoving figures. 

Alberich was frightening. 

For as long as Halvar could remember, he’d never witnessed the Abyss Order’s King so… enraged. Those frosty blue eyes burned into his figure as he prostrated in front of Alberich, shakily narrating his discovery of Halvar’s body and something from his missing son. That icy tone of his voice tersely questioned him with a cold precision. And those black flames flickered erratically with an increased intensity that unnerved him. The whole experience wasn’t something that he’d forget soon. 

He shivers once more. In all his years serving with Alberich and the Abyss Order, he had never interacted with him personally, all communication having been undertaken via a messenger system. Sure, Alberich was visible to the Abyss Heralds, and by extension, Halvar, at meetings where plans were developed to progress on their efforts to strike back at Celestia. However, even these points of contact were rare. 

After all, direct communication with Alberich was reserved for those who still retained their human forms, pure-blooded Khaenri’ans who had kept their humanity amidst the Curse of the Wilderness. All things considered, it was a system that made sense. Unlike the monsters and Abyss Heralds comprising the main body of the Abyss Order, pure-blooded Khaenri’ans weren’t as tainted by the Abyss as others. And while Halvar had still kept his consciousness, the threat of Abyss Heralds like him subjugating to the Abyss’ whims at any notice was far too great, warranting the necessity of the such a system. 

Either way, meeting Alberich face-to-face was an experience that Halvar was sure he wanted to never revisit.

His mind wandering, the Abyss Herald continues to wander down the hallway, noticing faint light illuminating the silvery, metallic walls. He can’t help but let the sight captivate him, his black gauntlets flickering slightly as he moves forward. 

To be honest, the building felt gigantic. Built up over centuries by the collective efforts of the Abyss Order, the fortress and its surrounding walls sprawled for hundreds of meters in all directions. After Clothar Alberich had established the order five hundred years ago, they had found the crumbling structure within the Abyss’ depths. 

Seemingly abandoned millennia ago, the place had previously been unknown to the denizens of Khaenri’ah. After all, exploring the inky depths beyond the life-bearing lands of the ancient nation promised corruption. But having been tainted by the Abyss’ influences, the survivors of Khaenri’ah no longer feared the consequences as they once did. With newfound power coursing through Clothar Alberich’s veins and the ominous whispers of a dark entity guiding him, such concerns had become inconsequential. 

Either way, the building was quite beautiful in its own way. Reaching out toward the metallic walls, he dragged his fingers slowly across the surface. While black gloves covered his fingers, he could feel the coolness of the wall’s metallic surface under them, the smoothness a testament to the building’s well-made design. Truly, this building was fascinating, the last vestige of whatever civilization or entity had occupied the area a millennium ago. 

Shaking his head slightly, Halvar mutters something about being distracted, remembering what his true purpose was. Picking up the pace again, Halvar turns right towards another hallway, firelight illuminating the dark corridors. There wasn’t much time to waste, and with Alberich breathing down his neck, idling and appreciating the Abyss Orders’ main hold wouldn’t make up for his “failures” concerning the situation involving his son. 

For now, it would take a couple of minutes to exit the building, from which he could escape into the surrounding grounds, the trace of silvery light illuminating the ground amidst the dark mist. Only a portal would have to be summoned, and he would find himself in Mondstadt, far away from unnerving Alberich and with plans to execute. Just by himself. 

That opportunity sounded promising. 

Making his way through yet another walkway, Halvar takes a right. From here, the exit wasn’t far, only another two passages and a left turn remaining to reach the shrouded plains finally. Khaenri’ah be willing that seeing the sun exuding some form of warmth, its gentle golden waves shimmering upon his clothing, was in his near future.  

Clang! 

Halvar suddenly whirls around, his fingers grasping the hilt of his sword, the weapon he had just summoned. What was that sound? And who was there?  

Had someone been following him ever since he left the meeting with Alberich? Halvar can hear the audible thump of his heart, his mind racing, some semblance of sweat dripping behind his masked figure. You need to run, whispers a voice in the back of his head, preserve yourself at all costs . 

Strangely enough, Halvar can’t sense anything in the vicinity, even a trip backtracking his steps having uncovered nothing. Glancing warily at the hallway once more, the Abyss Herald allows himself to suppress the desire to follow his instincts, instead electing to think rationally about the situation. 

After a moment of silently pondering the question, he dismisses the concern, though the thought remains lingering in the back of his mind. If Alberich wanted him dead, Halvar would have been disposed of long ago, already having been made an example of. While the Abyss Order’s leader was crafty, he was relatively forthcoming with members of his own organization, electing to keep everything running smoothly with shows of power. 

After all, while brutality didn’t foster loyalty amongst those within the organization, fear would keep them in line. For facing Alberich’s fury wasn’t a prospect most would risk. Nor was being hunted down by the Abyss Order, wasting away slowly in the depths of the Abyss, unraveling piece by piece in eternity. 

With a slight shiver, he turns back, making a beeline toward the right turn down the hallway. Stepping right around the corner, he’s satisfied to see gentle rays of moonlight beginning to illuminate the darkened hallways, the sounds of shuffling feet and rustling signifying the presence of soldiers guarding the outpost. 

Just as he’s about to pick up pace after noticing the sight, however, he feels a slight tug on his chest, the sensation of someone holding his body from behind him. Looking down, he doesn’t notice anything restraining him, the sight making him increasingly puzzled. The slight grip begins to grow tighter and tighter, the breath being slowly choked out of Halvar’s chest bit by bit. Feeling his heart beating faster and faster, the small portion of the Abyss Herald’s mind, the one he had previously disregarded, screams that Alberich had truly betrayed him. 

A yell threatens to burst through the Abyss Herald’s lips, but before Halvar can vocalize the panic that had suddenly overcome him, a hand covers his mouth, forcefully pressing his jaw closed. And with that, unconsciousness slowly claims him, the screaming voice within his head reduced to naught but a whimper, finally extinguished as darkness claims him whole. 

Talulah wakes up. 

Releasing a yawn from her mouth, she stretches, feeling another burst of sleepiness echoing within her as she clenches her hands against the hard mattress . A large part of her protests the fact, the deep embrace of sleep a comforting feeling that makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside. Yet, mustering up an amount of effort that seemed almost impossible to a sleepy Talulah, the more rational part of her pushes ahead, forcing her to rise up and attempt to steady herself. 

Half-stumbling to the door separating their temporary enclosure from the biting cold, Talulah blinks blearily. Shaking her head to dispel the remaining tiredness that had overcome her, she pressed her hand against the door handle, applying some force and being greeted by the winter wind blowing straight into her face. 

Wonderful. 

Turning slightly away, Talulah shields her eyes from the snow, remaining careful lest she take another gust of wind and snow blowing straight into her face.  Moving slightly to the right, a more sheltered portion of the building’s exterior, she looks straight ahead at the sight in front of her. 

A cloudy grey sky, portions of it bleeding orange amidst the sunrise. The sun’s soft glow dimmed, its rays shining against a vast expanse of green trees. And snow as far as the eye could see, miles and miles of ground rendered white in the landscape. 

Talulah smiles. Waking up to sights like this, particularly those days when she managed to catch beautiful sunrises like this, made being in Ursus a smidgen better. After all, she had gotten used to waking up this early, years of experience forging the habit. First with Koshchei, the snake’s lessons set early in the morning in attempts to indoctrinate her to become his heir. Then with her surrogate father Ivan, long hours in the field and the fear of Koshchei coming for her, keeping her up. And finally with Reunion, where waking up early effectively spelled a death sentence for their fledgling organization. 

Facing in the direction away from the abandoned structure she had stumbled upon yesterday, she continues staring at the sight, noticing the individual snowflakes descend slowly onto the already thick bank of snow.  

Absolutely stunning. 

However, it doesn’t take long before Talulah becomes distracted, her mind beginning to wander. Just when she’s exploring the train of thought about how many inches of snow must have fallen overnight, she hears a sound that could only be described as a whimper. 

Who was there? 

The thought was promptly followed with an expression of embarrassment blooming within Talulah, her cheeks tinged slightly pink. Why was she even asking this question? She and Kaeya had ended up here last night, the man ordering her to sleep while he took first shift. How could she forget that? 

Speaking of Kaeya, where’d he end up sleeping? 

Moving back toward the doorway serving as the building’s entrance, she turns toward the right-hand side of building instead, walking alongside the concrete walls. A moment later, Talulah finds him sprawled on the frosty ground, little pieces of snow on his face and within his hair. 

He must have toppled backwards half-asleep when staying up, Talulah thinks with amusement, a small smile creeping onto her face. But why was he making noises? 

Peering closer at Kaeya, it doesn’t take long for her to notice that something’s wrong. An expression resembling a grimace had overcome his face, his eyes closed and sweat coating his forehead. His chest rose up and down rapidly, his fingers clenched within his palms tightly, and Talulah can hear him alternating between states of whimpering and mumbling something incoherently. 

Kaeya was suffering from a nightmare.  

She knew it. 

Back after Alina… died, Talulah had nightmares. She still had them to this very day, memories of her sins, memories of those she lost replaying in her mind over and over again. But back then, Frostnova had always told her that she had found Talulah splayed on the ground, clammy and making small noises. She’d always been woken up by the Cautus in the middle of one, her friend attempting to console her after as she struggled with anger and loss. 

And now, she needed to help Kaeya, just as Frostnova had done all those years ago. 

Settling herself down against the ground, she moves closer towards his body, her knees plowing through the cold snow. From this position, she’s situated across to the side of his biceps, the expression of distress on his face far more perceptible. Reaching across his chest, she uses both of her hands to gently shake his shoulders, waiting or a response. 

She received none. 

Talulah repeats the action once more, hoping that he would stir. Unfortunately, he didn’t even move an inch, continuing to repeat unintelligible sounds under his breath. She releases a sigh, her brows furrowed with concern. Would she even be of any help? 

After a moment’s hesitation, she banishes away the self-deprecating thought, breathing in deeply in an attempt to draw determination into herself. Of course, she’d treated his fatal wounds even when supplies were scarce days ago. So why couldn’t she do this, banish a nightmare, and force him to wake up? 

And sometimes, when you were deep inside a nightmare, with no way out of that glass prison, you needed something to shatter that cage into a million sparkling pieces. Something that was far stronger than whatever Talulah had done so far. 

Leaning slightly closer to his chest, Talulah shakes his shoulders once more with increased vigor, not too much to violently wake him up from his dream. Noting that the action hadn’t worked solely by itself last time, she decided to add another stimulus this time. 

Pursing her lips, she whispers softly, the winter wind hopefully carrying the sound to Kaeya’s ears. 

Kaeya 

Kaeya 

Kaeya! 

He suddenly wakes up with a gasp after her last utterance of his name, his eyes going wide, revealing deep-blue irises wide with surprise.  Displacing the snow coating the ground with the motion, he shakes his head momentarily after, causing small pieces of snow to fall as a flurry back down onto the ground. Talulah’s lucky enough to serve her head away from his rising figure, the motion startling her and driving her adrenaline higher. 

Kaeya lets out a couple of pants, keeping himself upright as his eyes flicker around his surroundings, almost as if checking whether he’d actually emerged from his nightmare or not. Planting his hands into the snow behind him, he attempts to regain composure while his fingers stabilize him against the ground, releasing a series of short breaths in the process.  Once rapid, the rise and fall of his chest begins to slow down. 

With a sigh, he allows himself to fall backward in the snow again, collapsing into a heap. Closing his eyes and covering them with his right hand, he lets out a low groan. He continues to assume that position, the howling winter winds amongst the trees sounding nearby. Talulah’s brow furrows, and for a moment, she’s about to open her mouth and voice her concerns. He shouldn’t be this fatigued right after waking up, right? But she remains quiet, noting with satisfaction that her decision had been the right one when he holds out his hand seemingly in anticipation. 

Kaeya doesn’t stir for another moment, but when he does, a raspy voice emerges. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to her, releasing the hand covering his face, revealing navy blue eyes staring at the cloud-covered sky. His gaze soon locks on her figure, and Talulah can see gratefulness in his eyes. 

There’s a moment of stillness that follows, both of them processing the events that had occurred, unsure of what to say to each other. Talulah feels her mouth begin to dry, and just as she’s about to break the silence, Kaeya coughs quietly. 

“So, did you rest well?” he asks, his blue eyes locking onto hers. The gratefulness in his eyes has been masked, replaced by curiosity, and his gaze flickers between her and the surrounding environment, almost as if he was clocking the time between nightfall and early morning. 

“I should be asking you that question,” Talulah sputters slightly, her eyes flashing with a mixture of concern and surprise. She’d slept longer than he had, and the first concern that he had after waking up from a supposed nightmare was to check up on her? It had been a long time since someone had shown genuine concern for her, hadn’t it?  

For a moment, she’s reminded of the memory of Alina at her side, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, the memory making her cheeks flush pink in embarrassment. Turning away, she allows herself some time to restore her collected faćade, lest Kaeya cock his head in curiosity and make assumptions. That moment had truly been a long time ago… 

“I slept just fine,” Kaeya lets out a small laugh, though it’s still a bit hollow, the contents of whatever nightmare he suffered still raw. He runs his right hand through the back of his hair, displacing newer snow fragments that had coated his hair when he collapsed backward. Shaking his head, he stretches, letting out a yawn, before wincing slightly as the realization hits. “Oh, you’re talking about that? ” 

Talulah simply nods. 

“They weren’t that bad,” he states, though he does it a little bit hurriedly. Talulah just raises her eyebrows in suspicion, though she chooses not to pry further. She’s still a bit curious though, she has to admit.  

“So… do you get them often?”
“...” 

Kaeya releases a breath that he’d been holding in, before shuffling backward closer to the wall, likely in search for some reinforcement for his body. “Sometimes,” he says quietly under his breath. For a second, his eyes become unfocused as if he’s still recounting whatever the contents of his nightmare were, though they quickly return to normal. “Thankfully, they aren’t as…  frequent as expected.” 

Pushing his fingers through the compact layer of snow covering the ground, Kaeya simply traces a neverending figure, spiralling into itself. Never-ending, forever continuing, the antithesis of their lives. 

“So, uhhh, I didn’t make any… weird noises, did I?”, he asks, wincing. Seeing Talulah hesitate before she’s about to respond, he covers his face with both hands and lets out a long groan. “Please don’t tell me you heard anything…” 

Talulah can only nod slowly and he just releases a tired breath in response, head slumped forward. “Oh Archons , can we just put… this behind us? Please?” His voice is muffled behind his hands, but she can understand the message he’s attempting to convey clearly. 

She gives him another slow nod and he uncovers his face, placing those hands back onto the snowy ground and leaning against the metallic wall once more. Sitting there still for some time, he stares off into the distance before getting up. Dusting off the thin flakes of snow off his clothing, he looks at her, arching an eyebrow slightly. 

“So, how much further?” he inquires, a hint of curiosity coloring his voice. His navy-blue eyes bore determinedly into her own, and it feels almost as if strength had completely returned to his body, his good-natured demeanor slowly being restored. Hopefully, the state he was in wasn’t just temporary. She was hoping that the suturing she had performed earlier finally patched him up, easing her fear of having another person’s potential death burdening her conscience 

“Maybe another day or two, give or take?” she mentions thoughtfully, lost within her mind as she mentally calculated the distance to Kashchey. It was around 20 kilometers, wasn’t it? No, it should be around 30, right? The rougher terrain ensured they needed to take detours, didn’t they? She shakes her head, attempting to dispel the confusion and come up with a rough estimate but those conflicting thoughts leave her thoroughly unsure.  

“I’m not entirely certain,” she admits, shaking her head in disappointment, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. She had lived her for years, right? So how come she was hesitating now, unsure of how much farther it would take to reach Kashchey even after planning and thinking about confronting him for the good part of last year? “Hold on, let me grab the map. It’s back near the bed.”
Kaeya, who had been leaning back against the wall almost lazily, holds out a hand, almost as if he was offering her support to get up. So she simply takes his hand silently to stabilize herself, using another hand to push against the snowy ground, propelling herself upwards with a small jump. Unfortunately, she stumbles in the snow the moment she lands on her feet, but his hand catches her, gripping her hand tightly and preventing her from falling over. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice cutting through the crisp, morning winter wind. A grin tugs athis lips, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watches her nearly stumble. “I can’t afford to lose my guide right now.” 

“Thanks,” Talulah whispers breathlessly, her chest heaving as she gulps down cold air, her heart still racing at the close call. She’s relieved that she hadn’t ended up planted face-first in the snow, but her body seems to be still processing the fact. Turning away from his towering figure, she meanders through the snow, back toward the entrance of the room. 

Opening the door, she’s greeted once more with the sight of the bed she had occupied during the night. But now, alongside that, she can see a couple of blood-covered uniforms and the familiar Ursan soldier masks now, framed against the wall. She shivers. The darkness had obscured the interior of whatever building she’d slept in and she’s grateful for that fact. 

But where was that map?

Talulah doesn’t remember much from yesterday night, only the memory of blearily climbing into the bed, sleepiness consuming her as melatonin entered her veins. She looks at the bed, attempting to find a dusty, old parchment paper marked with the outline of Ursus. Strangely enough, it’s not there and panic begins to enter her.
Shhhhh, Talulah, calm down , she tells herself, breathing in and out deeply. You held onto it yesterday, and there wasn’t anybody else there except Kaeya. Maybe it might have fallen under the bed? 

Feeling her heart beat, she sinks to her knees, her face hovering above the floor by an inch or so. Stretching, she pulls up blanket masking the space between the mattress and floor, finding herself face to face with a piece of paper. 

Ah, got it. 

She must have held onto it before going to sleep, her hand becoming limp and allowing it to fall. Talulah’s relieved that she still has something charting their progress on hand. After all, with the weather conditions of Northern Ursus and her potential journey back South, she needed some physical representation of the country to guide her. 

Getting up, she quickly leaves the building, turning around and shivering at the ominous sight of that Infected Patrol Captain mask covered in blood before making her way back to Kaeya. It was probably a good idea to leave now. 

She finds Kaeya still leaning lazily against the wall, but this time, he’s flicking a small dagger between his fingers, the sharp weapon almost dancing between his fingers. Her foot crunches against the snow as she takes another step toward him, and he snaps to attention, the weapon disappearing and leaving behind a shower of golden flakes that fade away slowly. She still didn’t entirely understand how he did that, but she doesn’t push him further, knowing that her past inquiries had resulted in him shrugging and giving a vague answer regarding Archons. 

“Oh, you’re finally back.” he mentions light-heartedly, gazing at her with a friendly expression. He cocks his head at her, almost as if expecting an answer. “So, did you manage to find the map? I’d appreciate a progress update, if that’s possible.” 

With a ruffle, she pulls out the folded broadsheet tucked inside the sleeve of her dress, her fingers clinging onto the edge and pulling it out delicately. While the map had been stolen relatively recently, she made sure to handle it carefully, lest the flimsy material lose any chunks due to hasty movement. 

Holding the broadsheet, she unfolds it, the familiar coloration denoting Ursus’ topography and political borders emerging amidst the dull background. It’s been quite some time since she had seen this particular edition. While Ursus had quite the number of… difficulties on hand, especially in the aftermath of the Empire’s partial collapse, the Emperor ensured that several state-issued maps made their way across the country. After all, publishing these maps not only helped the Emperor consolidate power in the aftermath of the power vacuum, but undermined contested claims while curbing the ambitions of separatist nobles. 

Either way, after unfolding the map, she could see the relative location where they had set up camp. It wasn’t far from the northern border town, Vyazov, where she had traced Kashchey’s new vessel. Using one arm to hoist the document up, she pokes her head above the edge, looking downwards at the the ridged, roughly colored surface denoting mountains. Satisfied, she places her ring finger on the little white clearing surrounded by deep green. 

“As of now, we’ve established our camp at this location,” she mentions, tapping the place she’d been pointing to before. Her eyes wander up again, noting the patch of grey covering a large portion of the map’s upper side. 

“And our destination lies approximately… right here,” Talulah continues on, lifting her finger and pointing it to another location on the map, tracing it alongst the journey. Her eyes harden, a sharp glint of something resembling determination appearing in them. “Based on the scale, the supposed distance is approximately… Ah, 29 kilometers. So, given the weather conditions, it should take around 2 days to traverse northern Ursus and reach there.” 

“We’ve been travelling quite the distance, haven’t we?,” Kaeya whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible to Talulah. His deep-blue eyes flicker back and forth across the map, and she can see a calculating expression had begun to take shape. A moment later, his gaze shifts to her, the intensity of it focusing upon Talulah, curiosity bleeding into it. “So, where’d you obtain the map?” 

The intensity of his gaze startles her for a moment, and she almost jumps, noticing how quickly his expression had changed. But she didn’t move at all, her own steely demeanor, one forged from her past trials and by the necessity to keep a façade of control while leading Reunion. So she stares at him with her own intense gaze, her steely silver eyes matching his own. 

“Oh this?” she asks him, her tone nonchalant. She points at the map once more, tracing her finger alongst the path once more, her eyes still focused on Kaeya to check whether he would waver. For a second, she’s afraid that she’ll stumble for an excuse, falter in attempt to hide the truth that she was a fugitive.  

And for all Talulah knows, she’d expect him to react poorly when he’d discovered the person leading him across Ursus was being pursued by multiple factions. Especially considering that he’d arrived in a completely new place, without any knowledge of the surrounding environment. She’d have to try preventing him from learning that his rescuer was prowling through enemy territory, on the hunt. 

“I grabbed one from a town nearby.” she states, finishing her statements. She’s sure that her poker face is on, but the pursed lips betray her desire to keep information to herself. 

In reality, Talulah had pilfered a map of the country from someone a while ago. After splitting off from Nine with the promise to reunite with Reunion again, she stumbled upon a village during the opening stretches of her journey. While Talulah already inherently knew the route toward the college that the parasite Kaschey had dwelled in, she’d believed that obtaining one would still be necessary, something that would refamiliarize herself with Ursan territory and guide her in case something went awry. 

Unfortunately, the only person in the small town who held possession of a map was a town elder, and Talulah couldn’t contact him without running the risk of being imprisoned by Infected Patrol members. So Talulah risked it, making her way past the town elder’s house guards, a tremendously risky move considering her infamy. 

Just when she managed to creep past the guards on her way out, something had crashed within the house, most likely the result of her escape destabilizing something from the elder’s collection of precious items within his office. Talulah still remembers her heart pounding, house guards and members of the Infected Patrol stationed nearby that witnessed the commotion swarming into the house like ants. Thankfully, something urgent had occurred at Reuyevka’s outreaches at that moment, alerting the village’s local patrol units and allowing Talulah to escape without further scrutiny. 

So here she was, standing in the familiar, cold Ursus morning, a light flurry of snowflakes fluttering around her, her finger pointed to a map. Her black dress billows around her, the wind passing nearby, a light and simple breeze. 

Kaeya’s eyes seem to narrow further, and he looks at her once more. For a second, he pauses and Talulah’s heart thuds at the fact that he’ll catch her lying, forcing her to spill more information. 

“So, you stole the map, huh?” he whispers under his breath, his piercing gaze boring through her. Her stony features don’t reveal anything, her gaze still challenging, yet her heart jumps. 

“What makes you think that?” she responds, attempting to keep a cold gaze at him. Yet, her heart beats quickly, thoughts of him learning about her mistake turning into delusions of betrayal. She knew that she could leave him right here, abandon him in the middle of the Ursan tundra during the peak of the winter without remorse. She’d done it before, after all, and he hadn’t been with her for long. 

Yet the thought of leaving someone doomed, their fate sealed in this winter hellscape makes her feel guilty. She didn’t deserve to have that on her conscience, another death weighing down on her soul, didn’t she? Otherwise, she’d just invite Kashchey right back in, turning down a path she knows she’ll regret. 

“I mean, it’s not difficult to come to the conclusion,” he mentions stiffly, though he seems to be relaxing. Shrugging his shoulders, he looks at her curiously, the tone of his voice becoming more casual. The tension slowly begins to leave Talulah’s body, the draco unwittingly letting out a sigh though she still remains on edge. “For the past few days, we’ve avoided contact with any nearby settlement. You’ve always suggested me to hunt near midnight or twilight. And whenever I approach you silently from behind, you’re always startled, jumping as if you’re going to be caught. It’s a pretty damning report, all things considered.” 

He peers at her once more, his frosty blue eyes beginning to thaw. “So you really did steal it, didn’t you? That’s quite the risky move from quite the cautious individual.” 

Talulah just stands there, her hands limp as she holds up the map, the delusions and whispers in her head increasing once more. He was getting closer toward piercing the web of half-truths she’d spun around Kaeya, her caution and fear of being overwhelmed by an Ursan patrol group who recognized her having her forcing her to alter reality.  

He’ll sell you out for compensation, Kashchey whispers in the back of her head. Think about everyone like pawns on the chesstboard, my little snake. There is a reason I taught you to be decisive. To make hard decisions when nobody else could.

And after all, what good would revealing to a half-injured man, previously at Death’s doorstep a week ago, that they’d possibly be killed on site mere days after she’d miraculously arrived right in time? And what prevented Kaeya, his resource-poor self, from turning her in the moment she’d arrived at another village, exchanging her for resources and some semblance of power in this new world? Some station that would grant him less scrutiny, some place of control where he could learn far beyond what she could teach her?

Little snowflakes fly into her face, but she doesn’t budge, her hands still gripping the map, though her hands hold onto it much less tighter. For a moment, she doesn’t know how to proceed with the situation, Kashchey’s voice still whispering away in the back of her mind.

Releasing a sigh, Kaeya’s eyes soften and he moves closer to her, his body language far more relaxed than before. At the moment, a conflicted Talulah can’t tell whether he’s coming to confront her face-to-face, or just making her feel relaxed before striking at her. 

He’s closing the distance to corner you , the voice in the back insists. Why else would he be so calm after accusing you? He’s lulling you into a false sense of security, ready to strike when your guard is down. 

Her instincts scream as he’s just merely feet away, but her body can’t move, frozen. She can’t budge at all, and her heart pounds within her chest. She closes her eyes, waiting for him to confront her right now, send them down a path eventually leading to disappointment, or even worse, disappearance. For the short time they had spent together, she’d begun to enjoy some semblance of company, the previous year left in isolation, the voice of her torturer still whispering in the back of her mind. 

So when he embraces her stunned figure, she’s surprised, feeling his arms wrapped around her. She freezes, her hands going limp as the map falls from her hands, her arms just remaining stuck in place, her body limp with shock. 

“Hey, shhh,” he whispers, his arms wrapped around her awkwardly, keeping his distance away from the curve of her back. His hands rest hovering above the curve of her back, as if he’s unsure how much contact she’d be comfortable with in her vulnerable state. almost as if he’s not entirely sure whether she’d be comfortable with it in her vulnerable state. “You’re alright, Talulah, you’re alright.” 

As his words begin to sink in, Talulah feels a small tear start to well up in her left eye, beginning to roll down her cheek. Thankfully, in the angle of their embrace, Kaeya doesn’t seem to notice her beginning to well up, continuing to slowly pat her back softly instead of wrapping his arms around her back, attempting to make her feel better. She blinks rapidly, trying to will away the moisture, grateful that their current position obscures him from seeing her this vulnerable. God, how could she have ever thought about that? 

He continues holding her, patting her back slowly as she stands there, continuing to recover. When she finally feels her body start to move, she backs away, ensuring that any hint of the tear rolling down her cheek or the wetness in her eyes was gone. 

“I know you don’t mean to hide things from me,” Kaeya whispers, his eyes softening once more. His fingers graze her shoulders slightly and she shivers, before he withdraws his hands and places in his pockets, standing there still. “But, if I’m going to accompany you, you’ll have to trust me, a little bit for now, alright?” 

Talulah just nods softly, her eyes averted away from him, staring at the snowy ground instead. What poisonous thoughts had Kashchey infected her mind with? And why, why was she so vulnerable with someone she met so recently just now? Was it the fact that she didn’t have to keep up any façade around him? Not burdened by the weight of responsibilities, not forced to assume the role as the strong, cold leader in control? 

In some ways, maybe she’s saying this too early, the vulnerability of the situation making her think this way, but he reminded her of when she first met Alina. Alina, the young Cautus who had embraced her as a person first and foremost, looking at her like a person. Not like the way Reunion’s followers looked at her as a source of strength. Not in the way that Nine looked at her after breaking her out, reminding her of the burdens she’d have to pay back one day. But simply, as a human, someone who placed nothing on her, expected nothing from her but just their company. 

Releasing a sigh that had been pent up within her, Talulah begins to move again, picking up the map that had fell onto the snowy ground. Dusting the little flakes that had coated the parchment paper, she stares at it, satisfied that it hadn’t gotten damp. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze focusing back on Kaeya. This time, there’s gratitude in her eyes, and she feels much more relaxed. Much more… whole. Kashchey’s voice had disappeared and for a moment, she feels truly relaxed. “I really appreciate that.” 

She just stands still, both of them remaining unmoving, little flurries of snow fluttering down and finding their way to stick onto their clothes. She needed to apologize for those internal thoughts, answer those fears of betrayal. She didn’t have to do that, she knew, but she could at least explain to him, knowing that it would assuage her conscience. He deserved to know, deserved an explanation for all the things she’d been hiding about herself, about the aftermath of Reunion and her infamy. Maybe not everything about Reunion, but maybe, just their failure. Yet still, it’s something. 

“I-I’ll explain everything,” she murmurs softly under her breath, the winter wind carrying her subdued voice toward Kaeya. She turns her head, looking at the brightening sky outside, the sun beginning to rise higher amidst the air, its position still obscured by the vast bands of grey clouds painting the sky. “But for now, we should get moving.“ 

Kaeya seems to understand what she means, and with a step forward, he moves closer to her, Talulah’s own body moving around. And with a step forward, they both move away from the abandoned building they previously called camp, the vast expanse of trees in front of them seemingly growing larger with each movement. The wetness in her eyes has finally dried up, and she feels a renewed sense of strength now, Kaeya’s reassurance making her feel better. She knows she’ll have to repay his kindness in due time. 

And she’s grateful for that. 

Truly grateful. 

Diluc Ragnvindr was a resolute man. 

So when the Dawn Winery’s owner overheard new whispers regarding the chaos in Port Dornman amongst his contacts within the organization he joined a decade ago, following his pursuit of bloody vengeance, he had immediately perked up. 

A little bit more than two weeks ago, Diluc had returned to the Dawn Winery to restock the dwindling supply of Death After Noon that Angel’s Share had stored, the conversation he engaged in with Kaeya still echoing through his mind. While he wasn’t too worried about the situation, given his brother’s proficiency with diplomacy and ability to tackle such situations with ease, he still approached it with a level of caution. In any case, as he had painfully learned all those years ago, relaxing one’s guard often led to mistakes being made. 

Taking advantage of the information that his brother had informally disclosed, something that went against the Knights of Favonius’ internal code given Diluc’s lack of standing within the organization, he had launched a private investigation. Contacting his “friends” from several years ago, he had requested them to relay information from Mondstadt’s foremost port city to him, given their presence within the country, 

Unfortunately, their investigation only revealed the same information that Kaeya had given him, further confirming the gravity of the situation at hand. If Diluc were to go by the apprehension that his brother had exhibited during their short discussion before departing, Mondstadt was truly in danger. 

Just a couple of hours ago, Diluc’s friends in the shadows provided him with another comprehensive update on the events in Port Dornman. Given that the city had completely restricted movement outside of the city, excluding goods and approved letters, from what he had learned, his contact’s response time was relatively quick. While he wanted to travel across the sea to Port Dornman himself, abandoning one’s business during the busiest days of the year would only harm himself and his own business without being much help 

From what his contact had gathered, there were two items of concern: One, multiple high-ranking members of Port Dornman’s Knights of Favonius branch had been dispatched to areas within and surrounding the city, questioning civilians and soldiers alike. Secondly, the Fatui within the city had become increasingly fidgety, approaching matters with a level of arrogance exceeding previous levels. 

Whatever events had swept through Port Dornman the past week, they seemed quite foreboding. And given that Kaeya had informed him of the Lionfang Knight assigning him to the city’s diplomatic team, assuming that his brother was at the center of this scene wasn't a stretch. 

So here he was, sitting in a white caravan, following the roads extending from the Dawn Winery to the bridge connecting Mondstadt city with Windrise. Just as Diluc continues reminiscing about the conversation he held with Kaeya, the caravan he’s currently sitting in begins to accelerate, sending the vehicle down the rocky surface that marks the transition from Springvale to Windrise.  

Cursing under his breath, Diluc tightens his grip on the reins, seeking to return the caravan back into control by decelerating before things end badly. Just when Diluc lets out a small sigh of relief to prevent an impending crash, he catches a glimpse of a familiar sight. 

Home. 

Just beyond the rocky edge marking the opposite side of the paved road lay the vast expanse of Cider Lake, its turquoise waters shimmering amidst the overhead rays of sunlight. Past the lake, a stone bridge arched above its surface, connecting the mainland to the island on which Mondstadt, the city jutting above the water, was constructed. 

Letting out a breath that he hadn’t been aware of holding, Diluc tightens his grip on the reins, applying light pressure against the horse’s sides with his legs. Having previously been a steady pace, the horse begins to quicken its gait, the wind shifting against his direction as it grows more brisk. Feeling the cool sensation blowing against his cheeks, he descends down the gently sloped path leading to Mondstadt, his hair tousling. 

From there, it doesn’t take long to approach the gate of Mondstadt, the sound of rattling following behind him as he crosses the uneven surface of the bridge. Anticipating the guards stationed in front of the gates of Mondstadt halting him, Diluc gently shifts his weight slightly backward, whispering, “Woah, easy,” to the horse in hopes of it slowing down.  

By the time his caravan finally comes to a standstill, he finds himself surprisingly face-to-face with a new set of guards. 

That was strange. 

“Halt, Ragnvindr,” a blonde-haired man ordered him, his gruff voice echoing across the distance between them. The other guard, who had previously stood with a firm stance, moves away from his position toward the rear side of his caravan, a subsequent unzipping sound following shortly thereafter as he opens the contents of his vehicle towards the sunlight. 

Huh?
Why were they searching through his caravan’s goods? While the responsibilities of these Knights of Favonius’ members were to guard the gate and provide necessary assistance to business visitors, they had often allowed him to pass without undergoing the mandatory goods check that others were subjected to. After all, his position as Dawn Winery’s heir had provided him that very status that such an organization had recognized. 

“Sorry, Ragnvindr, just some new orders.” the guard states, noticing Diluc’s eyebrows furrowing in apparent confusion. “We’ve been informed to inspect everything and everybody that enters the city.”

“Where are the guards that normally remained stationed around here?” he asks the new sentry, a hint of curiosity bleeding through his voice. While Diluc’s interactions with Swan and Lawrence, the two serious albeit good-natured guards, were brief, he had become accustomed to their sight every time he entered the city. After all, the Knights of Favonius’ responsibilities demanded compliance in that very task. 

“Oh, Swan and Lawrence?” the blonde-haired man asks him, raising an eyebrow in response. “The Lionfang Knight had them pulled back to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. Apparently, they seemed short-staffed back there, and others’ positions have been rearranged since yesterday.” 

For a moment, Diluc freezes, processing the new information he had received slowly. What had required such a change to be undertaken so suddenly? After all, Varka’s return from the battlefield situated on Northern Mondstadt’s borders had restored the majority of the Knights of Favonius’ forces. For such a rearrangement to occur, either more Knights had been dispatched toward other cities or the organization’s headquarters had been put under some heavy protection. 

“Good to go!” The guard who had disappeared from view firmly suddenly thumps the wooden frame comprising the caravan’s backend, jolting him from his contemplation. Startled, Diluc flinches at the unexpected sound, one that had signaled to the sentry facing him that the Dawn Winery’s owner was clear to proceed. 

Gently closing his fingers around the reins again, Diluc commands the horse to move once again, the animal returning back to a steady gait once more. Moving through the busy streets near Mondstadt’s entrance, Diluc passes by intermingling citizens and vendors advertising goods on sale, noticing that the citizens seemed relatively calm despite the recently implemented security measures. At least that was one good sign. 

After passing by Blanche’s General Goods store, Diluc turns right, but the crowded corridor barely provides him enough space for the caravan to move through. Fortunately, Angel’s Share was just a minute away, the steady clop of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestone floor indicating their progress to the tavern. 

Before heading to the Knights of Favonius’ headquarters, Diluc had planned to drop off these new goods from Dawn Winery at Angel’s Share. While Ludi Harpastum had ended almost two days ago, the steady stream of customers to the bar, something attributed to its status as one of Mondstadt’s foremost taverns, had ensured that such restocking was necessary.  

Speaking of Ludi Harpastum, Diluc had noticed that the city still hadn’t managed to completely remove the decorations associated with the festival, the flower bouquets still hanging above the streets. Snorting, he disembarks from the caravan, finally reaching Dawn Winery’s flagship bar. 

It only takes Diluc a short while to transfer all of the crates into Angel’s Share, a sense of impatience driving his actions. After seeing those new guards outside and reminiscing about the details of his conversation with Kaeya at the start of Ludi Harpastum, he was getting antsy.
Thankfully, Charles, the tavern’s bartender, had sped up the process of unloading, rushing outside to lend a hand after witnessing the owner of the Dawn Winery hauling crates in his arms. 

From there, he manages to navigate the caravan to the stables located on the other side of Mondstadt, proceeding down the sloping streets with haste. After all, Mondstadt’s staircases that led to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters and Church rendered him unable to travel through the city by carriage, and abandoning his transportation in the middle of the street would only draw ire from the city’s residents. 

Having sat upon the wooden surface of the caravan’s seat for hours, Diluc can feel his joints creak and his muscles beginning to cramp as the soles of his feet hit the floor. Stretching in response, he can’t help but let out a yawn, the sound escaping from his mouth as he arches his back. 

Yawning slightly once more, Diluc pivots on his backfoot, the action turning him back towards the northern half of the city. Facing him amidst the amber-colored rooftops of the residential building were the statue of Barbados and a magnificent church towering over the city skyline, two distinguishing features of Mondstadt city. Just adjacent to these two sites laid the Knights of Favonius headquarters, the organization’s banner plastered on both sides of the double-doored entrance. 

Locking his eyes upon the granite building, he quickens his pace, maneuvering through the residential buildings to cut a path through the city’s alleys and corridors. Occasionally, the citizens of Mondstadt had recognized him, calling him out with cries of “Sir Ragnvindr!” and other greetings, his only response being a terse nod. After all, the Dawn Winery owner’s single-handed focus was placed upon arriving at Jean’s office, and that meant he had no time to dawdle. 

Ascending the staircase leading to the Knights of Favonius headquarters, it doesn’t take long before he’s met with the sight of another two guards, both of them standing at the entrance. It was yet another strange sign, considering that such measures were rarely undertaken. For the most part, guards were stationed within the building, lest the sight intimidate residents of Mondstadt who sought to access the city’s main library. 

Unlike the previous guards, the sentries stationed near the building’s entrance don’t stop him from going through the double-door entrance, instead giving him a curt nod. Satisfied at their expressions, Diluc pushes open the set of double doors with both hands, exposing the building’s interior to the rays of sunlight emitted by the overhead sun. The checkered floor, once black and white, begins to adopt a golden hue momentarily before the thud of the wooden doors signals Diluc being enclosed within the headquarter’s four walls. 

He can remember the message of Jean’s correspondence ringing through his mind, the directions burned into his memory through continuous repetition. Once he reached the second floor, he had to walk straight down the hallway, taking a left that transitioned into another set of rooms. Near the end of that corridor, from what he could remember, the third door on the right was where Jean wanted to meet him.
Placing his hand upon the mahogany railing, Diluc travels up yet another staircase before reaching the second floor. Unexpectedly, while the Knights of Favonius seemed to have intensified their efforts and expanded the number of guards stationed across the city, the upper floor seemed to be quite barren, scarcely any of the lights in the many rooms turned on. It was as if the organization’s elites had disappeared, either to fieldwork or had convened in another meeting scheduled by the highest-ranking officer present.
Either way, that train of thought running through Diluc’s mind did nothing to suppress his surprise the moment he turned left and entered the room Jean had reserved. 

What were so many people doing here? 

The room, one Diluc had believed to be a private meeting room, was, in fact, a conference room, a circular boardroom table located in the middle. Surrounding the table sat Jean and other upper-echelon members of the Knights of Favonius, their figures serious and solemn as if they were discussing something grave. Diluc had already known most of the officers, his time as a former Knights of Favonius member, and the discussions he engaged in with his brother, which accustomized him to the seemingly unknown faces. 

Right now, they seemed to be serious and solemn, as if they had been discussing something that was a grave matter. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Diluc to jump to the conclusion that they were discussing the situation going on in Mondstadt. Yet, for some reason, they hadn’t noticed him, seemingly lost in their own thoughts as they contemplated the information tossed around. 

It’s only when Diluc clears his throat that they finally turn around do some officers’ hands instinctively move to their waists, almost as if they were reaching for their weapons. Fortunately, they seemed to have registered the sight of the Dawn Winery owner standing in front of the war room’s entrance, their hands slowly moving back to their sides in acknowledgment of his entrance. Yet, they remain seemingly on edge, their bodies still on edge as if a silent predator was about to pounce upon them. 

To the right of one of the aforementioned officers sat Jean, the Lionfang Knight. The wary expression that was previously present on her face had seemingly melted away, her eyes lighting up. The Lionfang Knight’s fatigued demeanor had also transformed, the blonde-haired woman having perked up after noticing his presence.  She looked quite good today in her uniform today, Diluc could admit, her blonde hair golden amidst the sunlight streaming through the window. 

It takes a moment for him to finally snap out of it, shaking his head slightly and dismissing the thoughts lest Kaeya’s jesting become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If his brother had ever found out that these thoughts had been running through his mind, he would never hear the end of it. 

“Diluc, you’ve finally arrived,” the woman exclaims. Tapping her hand against the unoccupied seat next to her, she signals him to sit down. “Sit down; we have much to discuss.” 

Obliging, Diluc allows himself to sink into the cushiony seat, almost letting out a groan of relief. This was far better than the hard, wooden surface he had sat on during his journey to Mondstadt, the feeling of the firm pressure digging into his backside still lingering.  

Now in a more comfortable position, he sees the Lionfang Knight in his peripheral vision, her blue eyes focused upon him. For a second, Diluc reckons he sees a flash of something undecipherable in her eyes, but he dismisses the thought. Assuming the worst from the start wouldn’t get him anywhere, would it? 

Turning around, he’s now face-to-face with Jean, the blonde-haired woman offering him another smile.
But good signs never last long, do they? 

A moment later, Jean’s smile falters, her expression looking a bit strained, almost as if everything from before had been a façade. For a second, Diluc can see the weariness permeating her demeanor, the woman hunching over and looking anywhere but his eyes. 

What had happened? 

For a second, the woman doesn’t speak, her lips pursed slightly, almost as if she was struggling to get words out of her mouth. Raising her head again, she locks her gaze onto him, her eyes filled with all the sorrow he had never witnessed before. Diluc can feel his own heart start to beat faster, his own chest constraining as if he were preparing to hear bad news. 

“Diluc, your brother, Kaeya…” She states shakily, her breath quickening ever so slightly. Her lower lip quivers, and for a second, it looks like she’s on the brink of succumbing to distress, exposing her vulnerabilities to everyone in the room. Right now, it feels like they’re the sole occupants in the room, everyone else hushed and seemingly out of sight. “He’s… gone missing” 

For a moment, all Diluc can do is remain still, unmoving in his chair, still processing the information that she had conveyed. The gears in his head slowly turning, he finally comprehends what her statement meant, suddenly stiffening.  

Jean wasn’t usually the type of person to play jokes on him, was she? 

Turning around, Diluc glances at the expressions of the other Knights of Favonius’ elite officers in an attempt to make sure that he wasn’t being fooled, his heart thumping even more rapidly. Unfortunately, they seemed to have subverted his expectations, the officers averting his gaze. 

No, no, no. 

This couldn’t be real, could it? But no matter how long he closes his eyes and pretends that these last few moments were all a dream, the situation he’s terrified of stares right back into his very soul. Diluc can feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat echoing within him, a heavy pressure settling over his chest, almost as if an invisible weight was crushing the air out of his lungs. His breath, once steady, had quickened to the point where he felt the need to gasp, the constraining weight wanting to make him curl up into a fetal position. 

He can’t deal with it, the despondent gazes locked onto his figure, the way Jean attempts to avert her eyes from him, the acute blurriness beginning to creep into his vision as he tries to stifle the sorrow bubbling within him. It’s too much for him to handle, the sensory overload assaulting him from every side and making him want to seek some personal space far away from this constricting environment. 

Getting up from his chair and pushing himself away from the board room, he moves slowly, every step he takes, every movement of his muscles feeling like an eternity. His jaw clenching, he tries to contain the storm of feelings raging within him, the cracking collected facade he wore about to break, shatter into a million, unrestorable pieces. At some point, he finally finds himself in front of the door, his hand, restrained from trembling, wrapping around its cool metallic handle. 

And with a push forward, he moves back out into the hallway, greeted by a rush of cool air blowing into his face, the sound of the door softly sealing behind him and echoing amidst the expanse of the hall. For a couple of moments, he attempts to digest whatever information that Jean had gave him, but at this point, denying what had happened would have not done anything. It was over. 

Standing still in the hallway, he doesn’t hear any noise behind him, not the soft clink of the door opening behind him, not the voices whispering or the chatter in the nearby room, not the click of ceremonial boots tapping hurriedly against the granite-tiled floor. Internally, there’s a small part of him that laughs in despair and disbelief, barely-restrained rage and sorrow tingeing the expression. This was fate’s gift to him, his punishment for that day all those years ago when they crossed blades. 

It doesn’t take long before the slight patter of footsteps echoes within the Knights of Favonius’ headquarters once again, crescendoing in volume, the sign of someone approaching his still figure once again. Although he knows who had come out of that room, he doesn’t turn around, knowing that their presence would only trigger a rush of feelings once more. 

“Diluc, wait,“ the voice calls out, the blonde-haired woman behind him breathless. From here, Diluc can hear a tinge of concern bleeding heavily into the sound of her voice, something that makes a small part of him recoil in revulsion at her pity. It’s a small part of him, but for a moment, the feelings seem so natural. “Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what would happen-” 

His whole body stiffens at Jean’s words, and he turns around slowly, those feelings of rage and revulsion that snake within him expanding rapidly. He doesn’t know why these emotions are taking hold of him, but he can’t seem to shake them off, every word uttered by the woman stabbing him in the heart, further digging into the fresh wounds the news she broke had inflicted. 

“Bullshit,” Diluc spat, venom coating every word that spilled out of his mouth. Although he’s not directly facing the blonde-haired woman, he can indirectly feel her flinch at every statement he delivers. The feeling made him cringe, and he wanted to take everything back, but now wasn’t the time. His brother, the same one that was present for the past seventeen years of his life, was now gone. The same brother he had shared memories with, shared tragedies with, shared a frosty relationship with was simply gone. ”You knew the risks when sending him to Port Dornman.” 

The Lionfang Knight doesn’t respond immediately, shocked momentarily by Diluc turning against her. But before the words finally came into her mouth in response to his allegations, the Dawn Winery’s owner had already turned toward her, cutting her off. 

“Be honest with me,” Diluc growls, his mask now slipping as anger worms its way into his voice. “You didn’t have the foresight to expect something like this to occur?” 

He desperately wants to apologize, to not burn down yet another bridge that would take ages to reconstruct, but there’s simply a large part of him enjoying this. Relishing the burn of vengeance, a pursuit that echoed the experiences of his past, something so raw that it resembled the flicker of flame. Pyro, at its very essence. 

“I-I…” Jean stammers, all the words in her mouth having deserted her. Not knowing how to respond to his question exactly without further aggravating him, she stands still, her gaze glued to the black-and-white checkered tiles of the headquarters’ second floor. 

The silence is temporary, lasting only a couple of seconds. 

But that’s all the time Diluc needed, taking it as an answer. An admission of guilt, a claim so frail, nevertheless one that would stain this relationship in the times to come. Narrowing his eyes, he simply shifts his gaze away, turning around in a fluid motion, leaving the stunned woman behind him as he walks through the hallway. 

He was going to have to run some investigations tonight. 

Chapter Text

The sound of a cawing crow echoes throughout the dusky air, the creatures’ quick flaps moving it quickly through the autumn forest. With a rustle of its feathers, it slows its descent before landing upon a tree branch, looking at the leaves slowly spiraling down onto the forest floor behind it.

If one had been mesmerized by the sight of a crow’s raven-colored plumage illuminated by the orange light seeping through the green foliage, one would have failed to notice the shimmering of a black cloak in their peripheral vision, the unknown figure’s sleek motions weaving him quickly through the semblance of underbrush. The figure glances upwards, catching the bird’s gaze before he smirks, his fingers brushing against the weapon's hilt. Even the crows seem restless tonight . 

With a sigh, Reingard raises his hand, brushing his fingers against his sweaty forehead. This journey is taking too long. He was getting quite tired, having walked all the way from Stormbearer Point, his journey having taken him further toward the south with only Halvar’s vague confessions to guide him. Unfortunately, Halvar had never provided an exact area where Anton’s body had been found, and hence, Reingard had to depend on manual tracking methods. 

“And, of course, it’s raining,” he thought, rubbing his eyes in disappointment. “ As if this day couldn’t get any worse. How did that idiotic Abyss Herald remain unable to identify the exact area where Anton’s corpse was, even when his assigned region was Mondstadt?” Reingard releases a sigh, the gentle wind carrying the smell of wet earth mingled with the fresh scent of pine. 

After delivering Halvar’s unconscious body to Alberich, he had breached the fabric of reality, opening an interdimensional portal that transferred him to northern Mondstadt, where the towering cliffs of Stormbearer Point loomed nearby. He tended to avoid the area of Mondstadt constituting Port Dornman, recognizing that setting foot in a city on edge would be an ill choice. Once his heightened senses caught a trace of Abyssal corruption, he began moving downward toward the area constituting Galesong Hill, avoiding the well-trodden paths where the Knights of Favonius patrols roamed, the scent growing stronger with every step. 

Pulling the hood tighter around his face, he releases a breath, moving through the underbrush. His red eyes flicker back toward the foliage behind him, making sure that nobody had been following him. Thankfully, nobody had noticed him traveling through the area, though a sense of unease still lingers.  Satisfied, he turns back, noting the changing terrain as he steadily moves southward, adjusting the half-mask covering his face in the process. 

To be honest, Reingard didn’t find blending in Mondstadt hard. Unlike the Abyss Heralds, who lacked inherent humanity, having emerged from the Abyss with a consciousness millennia ago, navigating through the mortal realm felt natural for Reingard. It almost felt like home.

Home. 

Home was an unnatural word for Reingard, for he never had one. 

Memories flash unbidden—a crumbling Khaenri’ah, his parents’ blank eyes, the Abyss lieutenant’s outstretched hand. Reingard blinks them away. There’s no use dwelling on the past. Not when the stench of corruption is so close, pulling him further into the unknown. Yet, memories' rawness draws him back like a siren’s song.  

Growing up almost two centuries ago, in the aftermath of the destruction of Khaenri’ah, home was a foreign concept to him. His childhood was one of loss and pain, drifting around the remains of his dead country, his parents slowly withering away as the corruption claimed them as it did to those before them. Unlike other Khaenri’ans that remained, his parents lacked a faction and never sought assistance from the many groups splintering apart from the former country. 

After Khaenri’ah’s fall, a power vacuum emerged within the country’s former lands, with various groups holding and pursuing different ideals. It was a simple factor of life. Lose the one stabilizing factor that held one’s country together, one would find themselves looking at multiple factions locked in a stalemate, each struggling to fill the void. And without any semblance of authority, the country had devolved into further chaos. 

The Abyss Order, for one, consolidated around the desire for retribution against Celestia and releasing the curse placed upon them, which would release them from their transformation into monsters. Some Khaenri’ans had simply accepted their fate, wandering while forming smaller communities across the Abyss, little sparks of hope keeping them alive. And some Khaenri’ans, unexpectedly, had managed to keep some goodwill despite the havoc wreaked upon their country, resisting the Abyss Order’s advances. While they still held some simmering resentment against Celestia for their crimes and agreed that the system would be torn down, they resisted the Abyss Order’s advances, recognizing that the loss of innocent lives accompanying such deeds would only mirror Khaenri’ah’s destruction. 

However, unlike the others, Reingard was not part of any of them. Yet, he had only ever belonged to one. 

The Abyss. 

He still remembers the day he joined the Abyss Order, his parents having encroached upon their territory and gone insane. He had been scared, seeing his parents rambling, their eyes alternating between clenched and wide as the corruption had overwhelmed them. They had been weak, but he couldn’t fault them for that. Growing up in a dead country without any hope, seeing your family fall to a fate that you would share one day was terrifying. And with no escape, sometimes turning towards insanity and embracing it, spitting in the face of reality as a sign to fuck itself felt like the only choice. 

His younger self still remembers how he’d been extracted gently from his mother’s arms by an Abyss Order lieutenant, tears streaming down his face as he watched his parents curl up into a fetal position, covering their ears, almost as if they wanted to feel nothingness. He still can hear the lieutenant’s raspy voice telling him that he would be alright, that he would be taken care of from now on. 

A long time ago, his parents had instructed him to trust no one and not entangle himself in the politics of the fallen kingdom. But in that moment, he disregarded it, holding on tighter to the lieutenant, his small chest heaving as he took in shallow breaths. He watched his parents fade away, knowing that they would never be gone. 

From there, he’d been trained by the Abyss Order, learning about what truly happened during Khaenri’ah’s fall. None of the half-truths, the missing knowledge molded by the degradation of time, his parents’ oral accounts having slowly lost information over time. He’d also been given a semblance of hope, something so foreign in a land as desolate as the Abyss. Something that gave him life and energy, something contrasting the gloomy surroundings he had lived in for years. 

Either way, he had put his history mostly behind him. Sure, his blood relatives were still alive in some fashion, but they had suffered traffic fates. They’d been driven mad by the corruption pulsing through their veins, eroding them, degrading their minds and bodies until all that remained were maniacal husks, crumpled up in a fetal position. They were gone , and now, they didn’t matter. Only revenge did. 

Reingard was one of the lucky ones, all things considered; the corruption flowing through his veins only manifested as the voices in the back of his mind and the increasingly annoying pounding sensation in the back of his head. 

Being one of the older leaders in the organization, he’s grateful that the curse hadn’t affected him to the same degree it had with others. With others, the effects had been quite… potent, to say the very least. 

Strangely enough, whatever… “curse’ Celestia had placed upon Khaenri’ah and their descendants hadn’t sterilized them. Nor did the extended lifespan and immortality age them past a certain age. The latter was quite baffling. For some individuals, especially older individuals alive during the fall of Khaenri’ah, their aging had stopped in their middle ages. But the majority of survivors, including him, stopped aging in their twenties to thirties, the process suddenly terminating and leaving them youthful. It was a strange feature, given the price they were forced to pay, but a welcome one. To be honest, he couldn’t complain about waking up and seeing a youthful reflection of a silver-haired man in the mirror, his red eyes taking in his lean body. 

Either way, the memories were always there, lingering like shadows at the edge of his mind. But now, he had no time for them. 

Finally, Reingard can see the land within the horizon beginning to slope downward gently, the blackened scent growing even stronger. He’s sure that slightly past the river delta, he will find himself face to face with Anton’s corpse. And maybe, he’d find some clues about Kaeya’s disappearance. He didn’t know much about Alberich’s son, considering Alberich rarely talked about him, but he knew that he still cared about him. Cared about him enough to send one of his most important lieutenants, one who had been involved in finalizing the plans that the Abyss Order had concocted years ago, just to find his son. 

Blowing a strand of hair that had begun to get into his eyes, Reingard finally emerges from the forest, a series of grassy plains being the only thing separating him from his destination. Shielding himself from the sun’s shining rays, he mutters under his breath about the temperature, making a motion to take off his cloak. 

Placing his hands upon the bottom edge of the fabric, he held onto it, ensuring his grip was steady. With a quick movement of his hands upwards, he pulls it over his head, allowing the black cloak to flutter back into his hands. He stores it away with a smile, attaching it to his waist. It wasn’t necessary in this terrain, and walking around wearing this in a place without any forest nearby would only gain unwanted attention. And unwanted attention wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now, especially with Alberich breathing down his neck. 

Feeling his metallic boots sinking in the soil, the previous crunch of his feet against the leaf-covered forest floor having disappeared, Reingard decides to make haste. Passing through the wind-swept plains characterizing Barbatos’ country, he can feel a gentle breeze across his face. It almost feels like it's promising him that all his worries could be taken away and all his fears would subside if he simply embraced it. But he shakes his head, dispelling those treacherous thoughts. What good would devotion do when God was merely a tool? 

With every step forward, Reingard can feel the darkness increase in intensity, the whispers in the back of his head crescendoing. But he was a strong man. A person who can overcome any challenge, given that he puts effort into it. There was a reason Alberich entrusted him with locating his son rather than the others. So he pushes forward, ignoring the phantom voices clamoring in his head. Eventually, he sees himself near a series of sandy banks, having traversed through the grassy landscape and stone-paved paths carving through the sloping terrain. 

By the time Reingard actually reaches the rocky wall signifying the starting point of Falcon Coast, he leans against a stone cliff-side, exhaustion having overcome his body and depleting his stamina. Traveling all the way from Mondstadt’s northern boundaries, starting from Stormbearer Point, took quite a number of hours at the very least. Walking in metallic boots continuously upon sloping hills for an extended period took a toll on his constitution. But just as his hand brushes against the rocky cliffside, his body stiffens, his senses heightening suddenly. 

What was that? 

Shaking his head, Reingard attempts to regain his senses. The fatigue that had previously overcome him is temporarily dispelled, and adrenaline runs through him. A creeping dread seemed to emerge, making his skin crawl, and the air had adopted an unsettling stillness. It doesn’t feel... right . 

With a shiver, he pushes through, attempting to draw closer to the source of the unnatural feeling. The force grips his very soul, almost as if it is trying to drain any semblance of humanity and sentience away from him. Sure, he had experience with Abyssal energy, having been exposed to it during his stay within the Abyss.  

But this? This felt utterly wrong somehow, and for someone like Reingard, it took quite a novelty to surprise him like this. Whatever Halvar had blabbered to Alberich, it seemed like his elaborate descriptions of finding a corrupted Anton’s corpse failed to describe whatever monstrosity was festering here. 

Yet, Reingard also grimaces, knowing what it could mean. Anton’s corpse must be nearby. He steels himself, the memory of his parents’ decaying forms resurfacing. No time for hesitation now. Not when Alberich is counting on me. 

His eyes hardening with determination, he begins to move stealthily, carefully tracing whatever force that was seeping into his soul. Closing his eyes, Reingard slowly inhales, focusing upon the clamor of voices within his head, and trying to identify what direction he moved made them louder. For a moment, he turns right, the intensity of those whispers increasing. But no, no, he shouldn’t have, as they decrescendoed as he moved further in the direction. He should have turned left instead. 

Adjusting the direction of his movement, he presses his body against sandstone-based cliffs, planting the soles of his feet upon the shifting surface of the sand. With a glance backward as if to catch anybody tracking him, Reingard checks his surroundings before moving forward, the Abyss lieutenant still on edge. Thankfully, nobody from Mondstadt had noticed his presence. Good. 

As he continues tracing the strange stream of energy across the rocky walls, Reingard eventually finds himself face-to-face with a desolate cove, its entrance facing the pristine waters comprising the sea separating Mondstadt from Port Dornman. The abyss lieutenant can only shiver, looking at the deep emptiness. Fuck me, I can sense it. It’s strong. 

Straightening his posture, Reingard dispels whatever hesitation had overcome him, though some still linger behind. You’ve done worse things, you know? Stepped into the Abyss, Halvar tells himself, attempting to comfort his beating heart. You’ve walked into Hell and come back stronger. With a step forward, he enters the cove, the winding tunnels comprising it awash in darkness. 

Ahhh, sweet darkness. It again embraced him like a familiar song—a much better change from the near-blinding light cascading upon Mondstadt’s plains and hilly regions. With his experience of living in the Abyss for decades, it didn’t take long for Reingard’s eyes to adjust to the low-light setting. 

At that moment, Halvar takes in the vast, winding network of caves stretching far beyond his sight, and a sinking realization settles in—he’s going to be here for a long time. This was something he had to do, hadn’t he? He lets an unwitting sigh escape his mouth and shakes his head. Well then, it’s time to get to work , Reingard whispers to himself, nodding almost as if attempting to comfort himself at the daunting task ahead of him. 

His nostrils flaring slightly, Reingard moves forward, immediately decking under a series of stalactites that seemed to have been hidden within the darkness. Where did those come from? But he doesn’t dwell on the thought for too long, choosing instead to venture deeper into the pitch-black darkness. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his knife, gripping so hard that his knuckles turn white. He was on edge, and whatever ominous feeling that had dispersed throughout Mondstadt had reached its height in here. 

Walking further through the cavern, Reingard notices a sight that makes him shiver: Blackened liquid seeping out of the crevices of a series of shattered crystals, coating the cavern walls with a color so deep it seemed permanent, as though it could never be washed away. To his right, he notices a large expanse of withered flora, once the home of something exotic, something stowed away from humankind’s touch for years. 

Reingard was finally here. As much as he despised Halvar for indirectly leading him to more work, the bastard had been right– this was the place. Whatever had gone down here it was tied to Anton’s death and Kaeya’s disappearance. This location held the answers he sought.  

Closing his eyes, Reingard inhales deeply, feeling an intense sensation of corruption awash over him. Whatever had caused… this, it must have been a serious incident. The levels of corruption only mirrorred those of places deep within the Abyss—places that even Alberich dared not to spend too long within. Inching forward slowly, Reingard lightly plants his heels upon the stony ground, ready to intercept any potential adversaries that could potentially jump on him. 

There, slumped against the jagged walls of the cavern, lies Anton’s body—just as Halvar described, but far more gruesome than Reingard anticipated. The corpse is covered in deep, festering wounds, black blood long dried around the gashes. But worse than the physical damage is the presence of the Abyssal energy swirling around it. The air itself feels thick with corruption, and Anton’s remains are barely recognizable under the layers of dark magic that cling to him.

Reingard’s sharp gaze moves from Anton’s body to something unusual lying on the ground beside him- a faint gleam catching the dim light from a crack in the cave’s ceiling. His breath stills as he crouches lower, his sharp eyes locking onto the unexpected object. Amidst the carnage, a small lock azure hair rests, soaked in blood, lying next to a star-shaped sigil etched onto a metallic object. The symbol hums faintly with a dark energy that twists the air around it, unfamiliar yet foreboding. Something ancient.

His heart skips a beat. A cold dread crawls up his spine.

Kaeya.

The connection is undeniable now. Reingard’s suspicions flare into certainty, and his mind races to piece together the fragments of this mystery. Somehow, Kaeya was involved in this. Whether he’s still alive or not remains unclear, but the bloodied lock of hair and the ominous star-shaped sigil in the blood tells a story that is anything but reassuring.

"Fuck," Reingard mutters, running a hand through his silver hair. The pressure of the situation bears down on him like a vice. Alberich’s son has been touched by something dark—perhaps even darker than the Abyss itself. THe concentrated energy in the air feels off, more potent and oppressive than usual. This was no ordinary touch of the Abyss, yet, that’s not the main concern he has.

Stepping closer, he kneels beside Anton’s body, inspecting the details more carefully. There are traces of a struggle, evidence of something violent and unexpected. But what strikes Reingard most is the sheer malevolence still emanating from Anton’s corpse. Whatever killed him wasn’t just strong. It was ancient, powerful—like something pulled from the deepest depths of the Abyss itself.

For a moment, Reingard considers his options. If Kaeya had been here, he may have been drawn deeper into this dark mess. Or worse—he could have fallen prey to the same fate that had claimed Anton, .

He stands up, his boots grinding against the stone floor as he turns to leave the cave. There’s no time to waste. Alberich needs to know what he’s found, and soon. If Kaeya’s involved, this goes beyond the Abyss Order’s leader’s son having gone missing—the entire Abyss Order would be crippled by their missing pawn.

But as he turns toward the cave’s exit, a low, rumbling growl reverberates through the darknesss behind him.

He freezes. His hand goes to his blade, fingers tightening around the hilt as his senses flare to full alertness. The cavern is silent again, save for the dripping of water from some distant crevice in the ceiling. His crimson eyes dart through the shadows, searching for the source of the sound. The air grows colder, heavier with each breath he takes, almost as if the Abyss itself had begun stirring to life.

Then, from the shadows, a figure emerges—its body cloaked in Abyssal energy, eyes glowing with unnatural light. The very air around it seems to warp with the pressure of the Abyss, and Reingard’s grip tightens on his weapon as he realizes this isn’t a mere monster.

It’s something far worse. Something that was once human.

Anton’s body twitches, as black tendrils of corruption begin to rise from his twisted form. Reingard watches in horror as the corpse jerks upright, its movements unnatural and grotesque. The tendrils of Abyssal magic wrap around him, animating the once-dead remains into something terrifying, a vessel of pure corruption.

“Shit,” Reingard breathes, his muscles tensing as the corrupted figure lurches forward, its glowing eyes filled with a hatred that no longer belongs to a human. Anton wasn’t just dead. He had become something else—something twisted and unrecognizable, a vessel of the Abyss.

Reingard’s blade is out in an instant, the metallic steel ring cutting through the cave's oppressive silence. He braces himself, knowing that this fight wouldn’t be simple, that going against whatever this unholy creature was would only be difficult. Whatever this thing was, it seemed born of ancient magic—something Reingard wasn’t sure even his sword nor decades of combat experience could stop.

With a roar, the corrupted figure lunges at Reingard.

Talulah pads through the snow, her eyes focused upon the sight ahead. With every step she takes, a little crunch echoes behind her, marking the indentation of her boots into the fresh layer of snow below her. 

It hadn’t been long since that confrontation with Kaeya had occurred a couple of days ago. In fact, it had been a day or so, the passage of time revealed by the rise and descent of the sun over the snowy horizon. Regardless, they had made much progress towards reaching Vyazov, the city in northern Ursus where Kashchey’s new form was. The destination that would represent vengeance, some form of closure for all the pain and suffering Kashchey inflicted upon her life. 

The map she carried at her side, tucket within the sleeve of her dress, had been quite a useful resource. While Ursus’ territory spanned miles of endless tundra and green birch trees, particularly in the north, its landscape wasn’t a repetitive sequence of terrain all throughout. Whether it be a small, ice-cold stream running through the frozen clearing or an irregular scattering of trees that marked nature’s grasp, untouched by human usage that left the forest’s boundaries relatively straight, she at least had some landmarks to go by. Something that, thankfully, the map had reflected, its detailed nature having lent her well through her journey. 

But for some reason, it’s not the progress toward Vyazov that occupies her mind. That was quite strange, considering how brightly that flame of vengeance burned within her, motivated her to travel so many miles through Ursan terrain instead of heading toward Victoria with the rest of Reunion, herself in tow. Instead, it was her confrontation with Kaeya all those days ag, relentlessly replaying in her mind, every moment of their interaction infuriatingly dominating her thoughts. 

She had been stupid. So, so stupid. Even after all the betrayals, after breaking the trust of those around her, after molding herself as a leader with an unbreakable façade, here she was. Bawling her eyes out over someone she had only met recently who had accused her of hiding things, revealing the side of her that hurt. The side that she kept hidden, kept to herself, all those emotions and feelings of worthlessness that had been stored over the years. 

Naturally, she had overcorrected herself in the process, avoiding Kaeya. Even minute interactions between them had been terse, Talulah being relatively tight-lipped. She told herself that it was for the best. After all, she’d only saved him a couple of weeks ago. She had no duty to expose her vulnerabilities to him, did she?
For a moment, she looks out through the corner of her eye, noting Kaeya moving through the snow with a practiced motion, untouched by the weariness of walking for miles through such harsh terrain. There's a little thought swimming in the back of her mind, the unforbidden desire to reach out to him, recognizing that her reaction had been a little extreme over the last day or so. But that little irrational thought was eventually squashed shortly thereafter, no matter how nagging it was. There was a reason for this. And only time would wear the act down. 

Thankfully, Kaeya seemed to respect her actions of distancing away from him, electing not to push her further. Even during their limited interactions, Talulah saw the understanding in his eyes, almost as if he’d experienced something similar before, the behavior assuaging her conscience. If he truly understood why she was acting this way, in some fashion, it wouldn’t hurt him that much, right?

She quickly disengages from Kaeya, though, shifting her gaze back toward the horizon in front of her. She swallows, feeling a lump in her throat, a slight burning sensation accompanying the action. Why was she acting like this? Was it because Kaeya reminded her of all those years ago during her childhood in the aftermath of escaping Kashchey, a time when interactions seemed relatively simple, relatively unburdened, not reminding Talulah of her sins? Or was it because he’d treated her like a person—someone real—rather than the leader that everyone looked up to? The leader that everyone idolized, the sinner stained with bloodshed, the person responsible for their successes and accountable for their failures?

It was something that left her feeling conflicted, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. Now wasn’t the right time. Instead, she reaches within the sleeve of her dress again, pulling out that map she kept rolled up into a bundle. Now standing still in the slow, not moving forward, she straightens it, noting the entirety of Ursus upon the map. Amusingly enough, all those times she’d opened and closed the map before putting it back, a couple of crinkles had formed near the edges, a reminder of the wear and tear associated with usage. 

Her eyes scan the map, attempting to find their current location. One unfortunate thing about the map she pilfered was that it represented Ursus in its entirety. While that would be seemingly meaningful for someone unfamiliar with Ursus’ territory or moving across the southern portion of the country, which remained far more populated due to warmer conditions, it was quite useless in her hands.  

With the northern portion of the country containing vast stretches of the same, repeated terrain, even the detailed map was useless, unable to show minute changes within the landscape. Hence, she was forced to look at the small towns and notable features on the map, relying on estimates to determine where they were. It was quite a shame that she couldn’t snatch a map representing the local area and its surroundings from the town elder’s office; that would have been more helpful, being much more detailed. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Talulah to estimate their current location; several landmarks that they had traversed were marked on the map, confirming that they were much closer to Vyazov. One more step towards confronting Kashchey, one more step towards eliminating the monster that caused her so much pain. 

With her boots crunching against the thick layer of snow coating the ground, she felt at home in Ursus. Sure, she didn’t have the facilities or supplies that her childhood in Lungmen or even the time spent locked up within Rhodes Island. But here, out in the wilds of Ursus, she felt free in sort of a way. Traversing through the arctic landscape for miles, the endless expanse of white snow spread beneath a vast sky and the comforting warmth of a distant fire.  

“ And to think I still feel this way after all this time,” she thinks, a muted smile spreading across her face. Yet, as her lips twitch slightly upwards, she can’t deny the twinge of sadness that spreads through her, old memories surfacing once again. Images of laughter and the nights spent huddled around a warm fire, setting the building blocks for the moment that came to be known as Reunion, all before her choices led them astray. “ I really miss you guys…” 

Memories continue swirling through her mind, every step pulling another scene of the times long ago to the fore. She continues trudging forward through the snow, feeling the ache in her muscles slowly become more palpable with every step. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed as she wandered across northern Ursus, but at this point, time didn’t really matter that much. Only progress did. 

So when she finds herself face-to-face with the boundary of the forest they had traversed as they approach, she immediately stills. It seemed far too quiet, right? At least before, she could hear the small noises emitted by the various wildlife present. But here? Barely anything, almost as if they were approaching something that Talulah would have liked to avoid,  

However, as she continues squinting past the treeline and into the horizon below, her mind betrays her, wandering back to the nostalgic memories that she had been visiting moments prior. Standing still and lost in reflection, she doesn’t seem to notice Kaeya, who had given her some distance for the most part, approaching her. So when he taps her gently on the shoulder as if to get her attention, a muffled yelp comes out of her, Talulah being jolted back into the present by the unexpected touch. 

“You’ve noticed the settlement up ahead, huh?” he asks her softly, shifting his gaze back toward the sight in front of him. Talulah hadn’t been paying attention previously, having been lost in her thoughts, so she refocuses her gaze upon the sight in front of her, attempting to identify any signs of civilization visible through the scattered apertures within the tree line. Kaeya noticed her reaction and just chuckled in response. “You’ve seemed quite distracted these past couple of hours…”

It’s at this time Talulah finally sees. Of course, she should have realized. She’d spent years in Ursus, so how come she hadn’t recognized this phenomenon at all? Generally speaking, wildlife tended to avoid human-inhabiting areas, moving further away in a bid to explore non-disrupted environments. A settlement right past this forest would explain it all. Now, perking her ears, she can hear something faint past the line of birches all the way past there. Extremely faint voices. An undeniable sign of civilization.

“Ahh, I see you’ve not recognized that until I mentioned it,” Kaeya lets out a soft chuckle, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he regards her. He steps back slightly, leaning upon a tree behind him. Some snow from above, disrupted by his action, falls on top of his hair, but he doesn’t seem to regard it at all, instead crossing his arms and looking at her with a pointed expression. “So, what are you thinking? Do we want to enter a “last vestige” of civilization before proceeding?” 

For a second, Talulah doesn’t register what he says, his words slowly worming their way through her mind. But when she finally does, her eyes widen slightly in surprise, her hands dropping to her sides. 

“Are you serious?” she hisses under her breath, turning back toward him. He doesn’t seem mightily impressed by her reaction, though; Kaeya looked practically the same as he did before. Unbothered and still gazing at her with that pointed expression. “There’s a reason we’ve generally been taking certain routes.” 

“Regardless, probably a good opportunity to restock supplies,” he murmurs under his breath, brushing his hands through his thick hair, the action ruffling a bit of snow that had coated his hair in the process. Waving his hand behind them, he looks at Talulah, almost as if expecting her to react to the nothingness. “As you can see, we really don’t have... anything.” 

“We’ll stand out,” she mentions briefly, looking at him in disbelief. How did this man expect Talulah, hell, even himself, to remain unnoticeable in northern Ursus? He wouldn’t even look like the natives, his uniform and lack of Ursi features further adding to the confusion. And that didn’t even take Talulah into account. Well, to be fair, she still hadn’t broken the news of essentially being a fugitive on the run, but that was something that she told herself she would hopefully reveal another day. She wasn’t sure how to approach the topic at all. 

“Only if you allow it to become the defining feature,” Kaeya responds with a shrug, tilting his head slightly as he shifts his gaze back towards the horizon. He releases a breath, his eyes tracing the frosty air blowing slowly past his lips. “The more you focus on standing out, the easier for others to identify that deficiency. But it’s up to you to decide how you want to be seen.” 

Talulah doesn’t say anything for a moment, considering his words. A part of her agreed with his statement. He was right in some aspects. If she kept constantly worrying about whether she was noticeable in this small town in northern Ursus, people would notice the way she’d be on edge, potentially making the connection slowly between an agitated Draco woman found in a random settlement with the Draco leader of the Infected movement that had moved throughout the country, creating chaos wherever they went.

But still, Kaeya didn’t truly understand the geography and culture alongside the political aspects of Terra. Sure, maybe she would fall under the radar with a sufficient disguise and well-crafted responses to intrusive questions. But how would they explain to Ursan citizens or even town officials how someone looking presumably Sargonian ended up in Ursus, and that too, having none of the features? In contrast, explaining Talulah's presence wouldn’t be hard, given Ursus’ proximity to the countries of Lungmen and Yan. 

Yet, looking at the way Kaeya’s eyes glimmered, she had a feeling that trying to dissuade him would be ultimately futile.  

“Say, I have an idea…” 

Black blood drips down Reingard’s sleeve, staining his coat and leaving a series of small, black puddles behind him. The Abyss Order lieutenant stumbles a bit, clutching at his shoulderbone. Decreasing the pressure that once applied to slow the rate of bleeding, he takes a look at the wound, grimacing almost immediately at the sight. Damn, that hurt like a bitch. 

Just merely moments ago, whatever monstrosity that had emerged from Anton’s corpse had rushed towards him, barrelling at an almost inhumane speed. Thankfully, Reingard's reflexes were well trained, though they had been barely enough. The cold metallic steel sword had been summoned at the last second, the length ramming through the creature's abdomen and eviscerating it partially. 

Unfortunately, though, the monster seemed to shrug it off. And by that, it meant that it hadn’t slowed down at all, his efforts earning him a rake of claws against his shoulder blade and arms, drawing blood and scoring a blow against Reingard. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t fatal by any means, but the Abyss Order lieutenant was still shocked. Sure, Celestia’s curse of immortality granted to Khaenri’ans had provided them some level of impermeability against physical and magic damage alike, but to have experienced this feeling, this thrill after decades, meant no good. 

Besides, given Anton’s corpse’s ominous aura, Reingard was wary of making such assumptions. Who knew how whatever effects the Abyss-tainted aura surrounding Anton’s corpse could have on him Abyss-tainted. Hell, even his wounds seemed to be closing up slowly each time. “ Urgh” he thinks to himself, circling around his opponent slowly. “ These should have been healed, right? What are you truly, Anton?” 

The creature that had emerged from Anton’s corpse, possessing it in the process, had run at him straight again, the herald’s normally graceful speed slowly overtaken by one with a more frantic pace. Anton barely has time to sidestep this dash, the herald managing to turn around and avoid colliding into the cavern wall. But this time, Reingard doesn’t expect a large sword of frost to be summoned in between the herald’s hands, his eyes widening at the sight rushing towards him. 

Fuck. 

This time, Reingard wasn’t so lucky. With a yelp, he flails away unsuccessfully, the blade making a massive cut into his torso. A burst of pain flashed through him, the sensation and momentum of his movement making him drop to the floor, lying there sprawling. Looking down at himself, he notices the pool of black and red blood intermingling upon the ground, seeping out of his wounds. “ Why isn’t it healing? ” Reingard thinks to himself frantically, his fingers shaking slightly as he maintains the grip on his sword, “ This should have closed up ages ago, shouldn’t it have? Unless…”
Just as he’s about to complete the thought, he looks back up, the enormous figure of Anton’s corpse moving towards him inhumanely quickly, with a massive sword in his grip. It hadn’t been even a couple of seconds since the monstrous creature had inflicted wounds upon Reingard, and here it was. 

Reingard attempts to rise up to his haunches, preparing for the onslaught of assaults that would come his way. Yet, for some, his muscles seem to protest, screaming in pain. It had been so long since he had felt this, especially with his wounds not closing. The pain, the adrenaline, and, more importantly, the fear. If he wasn’t healing from his injuries as he usually did, who knew what a killing blow could mean? Even though he was sure that Celestia’s curse was still affecting him, whatever warped… thing in front of him inserted a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. 

Unfortunately, Reingard doesn’t have any further time to think. His fingers grip a little bit tighter upon the hilt of his blade, and his heart pounds in fear. Panic surges through him as the monstrous horror raises its massive sword as it stays above his struggling form, glinting wickedly in the dim light. 

Reingard closes his eyes.  

Every heartbeat feels like an eternity, the descent of the blade above his struggling figure becoming so slow. It was almost as if time had been slowed down, the cruel phenomenon allowing Reingard to see his impending demise with clarity. His fingers wrap around the hilt of his blade, ready to thrust through Anton’s chest in retaliation. Blow for blow, life for life. Well, if Reingard were going to go down, he’d make sure that the ending would be spectacular. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a quick breath before thrusting his blade's tip upwards, aiming straight through the monster's torso. Do or die. He expects to feel the massive force behind the monster’s blade cutting through his own body shortly after that, ending his own life. A life for a life. 

But what surprises him is hearing a sickeningly wet squelch come from above him. He stills, expecting to feel the massive sword of frost to skewer him through his chest. His whole body tenses up, Reingard squeezing his eyes shut even tighter as if waiting for the inevitable. But for some reason, only silence remains, the sound of something toppling against the limestone floor. 

The monstrous form of Anton collapses against Reingard’s chest, the massive blade that Anton had utilized missing the Abyss Order lieutenant by mere inches. Whatever Reingard had done, the adrenaline flowing through his veins that allowed him to ram his blade through the creature’s torso had altered the trajectory of the weapon’s descent. Instead of piercing through his chest, it had skewed slightly right, taking a chunk of his bicep and leaving the bone exposed to the air. 

Pain blooms through his body, and he grits his teeth, his vision swimming as his body attempts to adjust to the nauseating feeling of pain throbbing throughout his body. But he was still alive, and that was what mattered. 

Yet, with the weight of Anton’s lifeless body pressing down on Reingard, its warm, black blood mixing with his own, he can’t help but gasp, each breath feeling heavier than the last. The cave around him seems to tilt, the shadows elongating and reaching toward him as if eager to pull him under. 

“ Get up, Alberich is waiting,” the little voice in the back of his mind urges Reingard. But despite that, the world around him continues to blur, each breath reminding him of the pressure and pain coursing through his body. And with his vision flashing white, he simply closes his eyes, accepting the inevitable. 

Oh, sweet darkness. 

With that, the light in his eyes flickers out, only the faint sound of his heartbeat marking his fading grip on consciousness. 

Vladislav sighed, his breath escaping in a long exhale. Out of habit, he expected the usualmist to form, but of course, it didn’t. He shouldn’t even have had expected in the first place. 

Damn this weather, he was getting sick of Mondstadt. 

To his right, Ekaterina just snorts in amusement. He turns toward her slightly, raising an eyebrow in response, to which she just snickers. 

“What, you still haven’t quit that habit?” she asks, amusement glimmering in her eyes. Once tastefully styled to accentuate her features, her dark brown hair now remains in a bun, the hairstyle making her look far more serious. Vladislav could say even a little bit intimidating, imagining how stern she’d look with her lips drawn into a disapproving line. 

“You know I damn well haven’t,” Vladislav responded, his hand flicking outward in a dismissive gesture. He grumbles, exhaling into the air almost involuntarily as if hoping the mist would somehow appear this time. “It’s been nearly five years since I arrived at this god-forsaken place, and every transfer request I’ve sent to the diplomatic corps office has been denied. Besides, I’ve noticed you trying the same thing too, though more infrequently.”

Ekaterina's eyes darken slightly, though, for the most part, Vladislav knows it's a playful gesture. Despite the two having different personalities that seemingly wouldn’t mesh, their work forced them to work together, and their personalities worked well in combination to intimidate Mondstadtian diplomats. After all, being sharp-tongued yet able to brute-force negotiations were skills that were difficult to obtain in the diplomatic sphere, and only years of practice honed these skills. And as a result, they had grown closer over the years. 

For a moment, Vladislav looks at the new digital watch on his wrist, tapping his foot against the ground in a regular rhythm. Whatever advancements the Fatui had recently made over the years, he had to admit, this particular gadget was quite useful. Yet, as he continued checking the time, a growing impatience crept into his movements. Where was Vadiv? 

A couple of days ago, the Fatui commander in charge of Mondstadt had called a general meeting for high-level commanders and diplomats within the region, excluding the Harbingers. The Harbingers had better things to do than deal with meddling within intra-country politics, specifically within Mondstadt, so they had left the other Fatui members to assume a hierarchy in the aftermath of Signora’s death all those years ago. 

Nevertheless, they had been scheduled to meet at four o’clock today, but for some reason, Vadiv and the other commanders under him hadn’t arrived yet at the designated meeting location. The Fatui had secured a long-term lease on the premises, including the meeting room, for several months. Given the unsettling events of the past few months- particularly the deaths of their diplomats- they had effectively seized control of the place from its original owners in response. 

Vladislav was just about to complain to Ekaterina when Vadiv bursts through the door, more Fatui leaders in tow. They were finally here. 

“Ah, you’re finally back, Vadiv,” Vladislav said politely, acknowledging the commander’s arrival while glancing at his watch—an unsubtle reminder of his late arrival. Stepping away from the wall he had been leaning on, the diplomat walks toward the table in the center of the room, adjusting it slightly to offer the commander a seat. “Please, have a seat. I’m sure you’re eager to get to the matters at hand.” 

Vladislav’s eyes bore into Vadiv’s own, the commander staring intensely at him, almost as if he recognized the offhand comment as disobedience. But Vadiv doesn’t budge; instead, he continues to match the commander’s intensity, his posture conveying absolutely nothing. For a second, the silence remains maddeningly quiet, the quiet standoff between the two sending the rest of the room into a hush. In the end, Vladislav was the first to break the gaze, letting out a little snort. 

“I see you’ve kept that element of snarkiness with you, Vadiv. Good, good,” Vladislav’s hand reaches toward the top portion of a nearby chair, pulling at it slightly, giving himself access to the head of the table in the process. Positioning himself upon the cotton seat cushion, he waves his hand, his subordinates following his command and situating themselves. A moment later, Vadiv and Ekaterina joined them, an assortment of Fatui military leaders, diplomats, and overseers now scattered around the table. 

Once everyone was situated, Vladislav clears his throat, the sound echoing in the room. A hush falls across the room, everyone turning still as Vladislav emphasized his authority. A moment later, Vladislav’s frosty blue eyes lock onto Vadiv’s own, the commander giving him a nod as if to motion him to start speaking. “Any recent diplomatic developments?” 

“Unfortunately, the Knights of Favoinus were able to get away with it,” Vadiv mentions offhandedly, his hand making a dismissive gesture. His lip curls in a sneer, remembering the previous diplomatic session they had set up with Port Dornman’s diplomats. Despite Hans, the commander and garrison leader of Port Dornman’s forces, visibly worn down by mounting stress and despair, the Mondstadtian diplomat Evelyn had made up for Port Dornman’s weaknesses, delivering a performance that barely fended away the Fatui. That woman was infuriating—her experience had saved Port Dornman, at least temporarily—but Vadiv still respected that. 

After all, diplomacy wasn’t an innate skill. Only years of experience, a readiness to adapt, and mastery over subtle manipulation and strategic stalling, all sweetly packaged in well-chosen words and disarming charm, made one quite exceptional. 

“Regardless, some of our legal experts have seemingly found a loophole in that old law the Mondstadtian diplomat invoked.” Vadiv continues, “We’ll meet with our sources sometime tomorrow, and we’ll be able to progress past this damned deadlock.” 

“Excellent, I expect those plans to be accelerated, Vadiv,” Vladislav notes, tapping his finger against the ebony surface of the table. One of the commander’s subordinates leans toward another sitting to his right, whispering something in his ear. “Pressure is key. We need to cut off Mondstadt’s lifeblood by constricting Port Dornman by the neck. With the Knights of Favonius rearranging forces and being on high alert after Irina and Alexei’s deaths, we must take advantage of their forces being stretched thin. Seizing Port Dornman is one way to cut Mondstadt’s secondary economic center from the mainland. This region will eventually fall under our control- at all costs.” 

Another bout of silence pervades the room, the participants still digesting the intensity of Vlasdislav's words. His subordinates begin to nod, exchanging glances with each other and looking at other figures through the corners of their eyes. Vadiv can't help but be impressed. Regardless of whether they had conflicts of interests, Vladislav showed him that he could respect him 

A momentary cough breaks the silence, this time coming from the leader of the Fatui investigation team dispatched to Port Dornman a couple of weeks ago, the man having been tasked with looking into the disappearances and deaths of the Fatui's premier diplomats with Mondstadt. 

"If I may interrupt, if we’re done with our discussions about future movements, I’d like to reorient our discussion back to Alexei and Irina’s deaths,” the brown-hair man mentioned, his lithe fingers drumming against the table in a series of light taps. He was built lean, fingers worn down with callouses, though he still carried an aura that would make one question themselves in a confrontation. A perfect fit for an investigative captain, a former soldier’s battle-worked experience combined with a bureaucrat’s tenacity and a curious spirit. With a flick of his hand, he smooths back his hair, his dark-brown hair falling past his ears. 

Hearing the request, Vladislav promptly nods, motioning for the investigative captain to carry on. Looking relieved, the investigative captain smooths his coat before speaking. 

“After Alexei and Irina’s…. unfortunate deaths, Captain Vladislav ordered an investigative team to be deployed toward the vicinity of Port Dornman, shifting away from the frontlines near the Abyss where Capitano and his forces seek to repel them. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been ordering my team to identify whatever shit-show went down. Unfortunately, we haven’t seemed to find anything significant…” 

“That’s bullshit,” one of Vladislav’s subordinates says, releasing a snort under his breath. He looks at the investigative captain with a sense of incredulity. “The Fatui only deployed the best of its troops near the border with Mondstadt. And here, you’re telling us that these aforementioned best remain unable to trace a simple elemental pattern? Bah!” 

The investigative captain’s nostrils flare, a sign of his frustration overcoming his features. Vadiv couldn’t help but wince in understanding. While the military branch of the Fatui were quite excellent in their enforcement capabilities, one thing that intellectuals within the organization agreed upon was that they remained hot-headed, often trading patience and well-timed quips with a sense of rushing into things haphazardly. After all, Vadiv had experienced that firsthand over the years as he rose through the ranks, having to deal with some commanders’ petty bullshit when on assignments, the lack of a higher commanding officer lending them an ego. 

However, the investigative captain seems to have better self-control than Vadiv, instead biting down a retort, knowing that escalating an argument at this moment would prove unfruitful. If Vadiv was there, he would have ripped that smile off the man’s face with a well-timed comment. 

“Either way, just as I was about to stay before that unfortunate interruption, these traces found near their gravesite don’t seem to be elemental in nature at all. Our investigative team seems to have never encountered this before. ” 

Looking around for a bit, Vadiv sees Vladislav, noticing the shift in the Fatui commander’s gase to his subordinate, the commander’s eyes narrowing in response. Thankfully, his subordinate seemed to have gotten the message, electing to keep quiet. 

Vladislav looks thoughtfully at the length of the table, keeping the lower half of his face cupped within his palms. “So, what are your preliminary thoughts about it then?” he asks, looking at the investigative captain with a glimmer in his eyes. 

“Honestly?” The investigative captain says, leaning back in his chair slightly. “I’d wager that it’s probably something celestial or abyssal in nature. The energy signature is far too elevated for simple elemental energy, though even if it is a highly concentrated elemental energy source, it’s unlikely based on several tests we ran with new equipment from Snezhnaya. Either way, that’s above my pay grade” 

“Frankly speaking? If I were you, I’d probably tighten patrols around that area.” the investigative captain mentions, shifting his gaze over to Vladislav, almost as if waiting for his approval. “Deploy more Fatui nearby,  telling that the burial grounds are being reinvestigated. That way, you can further solidify control of transportation in and out of the city, while overriding the Knights of Favonius’ authority and allowing us better access to the investigative site. Spread rumors, bribe officials, and intimidate local patrols. I don’t care how it’s done. We’ll probably have to ship some samples of the closed-site back over to Snezhnaya and potentially call in some more… niche experts to fully understand what’s happened. Whatever it is, I’m not feeling too comfortable with whatever happened. It’s been too quiet.” 

“Hmmmm,” Vladislav states, his exhale long as he draws out the end of the word. His eyebrows furry with worry temporarily, though it’s replaced almost instantaneously with another look of determination. Now, the commander fixes his imposing brown eyes on his colleague’s form, looking at Ekaterina. “That’s concerning, that’s quite concerning. Send me a report of your findings as well, and I’ll see what I can do with that.” 

“Now, Ekaterina, with how things are progressing on this front, I would like for you to deliver some documents and receive correspondence from some of our economic experts.” Vladislav leans forward, meeting the diplomat’s gaze with his piercing stare. “Have some trusted soldiers travel back to the Fatui camp facing the Abyss’ assault. Looks like Pantalone sniffed an opportunity in the aftermath of the incident and decided to send over some members of the department he presides over to Mondstadt. Economic viability, monetary weaknesses in Mondstadt, taking advantage of trade restrictions. We need every bit of information before we escalate.” 

Ekaterina simply nods, her dark brown hair bobbing up and down with her head's movement.  Vadiv smiles. He’d have an opportunity to help her out as an acquaintance. He was looking forward to doing something other than sitting around and waiting for Mondstadt’s diplomats to convene yet another session, though their days controlling the timings of diplomatic sessions seemed numbered. 

Regardless, Vadiv can’t help but fall back into his internal thoughts, the meeting having transitioned more into the military and logistics portion of the plans. The distinct voice in the rooms, which once uniquely identified each person from the other, simply became a series of whispers, all blending together. By the time he focuses back on the conversation at hand, attempting to hear more closely what had been mentioned, he hears the shuffling of a chair. 

“Meeting dismissed!” Vladislav barks, moving out of his chair, the action quickly followed by the rest of the occupants in the room. But Vadiv doesn’t get up, instead staying in his chair. Ekaterina flashes him a confused smile, holding her hand out as if to nudge him to come with her, but he dismisses her. He had quite a number of thoughts in his mind. So when the last of the attendees filter out through the room, he just sits there,  several thoughts and implications flashing through his mind, remaining all-consuming in the midst of it. 

The fall of Mondstadt had only just begun. And with it, so would his rise. 

Talulah walks through the streets of Dolgoyev, her eyes flickering from side to side as she takes note of everyone around her. Pulling the tattered remains of a white fur cape around her face in an attempt to obscure her features, she walks through the shabby collection of small stores and stalls making up what was considered the city’s marketplace. A small one, but unexpected given the town’s size and location in northern Ursus, after all. 

If someone had told her a couple of hours ago that she’d eventually be convinced to travel through a small town in northern Ursus, the same location her movement Reunion had wreaked havoc, after all those years being the person who usually thought things through thoroughly, she’d had scoffed. But here she was, now, towing someone else with her, just a mere day away from Kashchey’s location. 

Kaeya moved silently behind her, solemn, though the clink of coins moving against each other in his pocket and amused glint in his eyes betrayed him his expression. He wasn’t smug about the success of his plan at all, but the pointed eyebrow he raised at her immediately after whatever trade he had managed to get through moments before only communicated the lesson he meant to convey. 

Kaeya’s plan had been pretty straight-forward, at least according to him. Focus on not standing out, embracing those differences that Talulah was so sure to arouse suspicion. After all, she had grown up and navigated in communities like that for a significant portion of her life. Outsiders were met with suspicion, the lack of contact with other towns and relative isolation driving inhabitants further into their own local bubble. 

But either way, they had spent quite some time putting their plan into motion. First, Kaeya had suggested Talulah to assist him in hunting several large wildlife in the surrounding area, at least ones that could be eaten. Talulah had responded with a quizzical look in his direction, but he had quickly explained, noting that they would be better off bartering goods in exchange for supplies rather than dealing with physical currency. 

Then again, Talulah had physical currency on her being. After being broken out from Rhodes Island, Nine had given her some Ursan currency before leaving, recognizing that financing Talulah’s expedition towards Kashchey didn’t sacrifice much of the movement’s resources. And with Reunion meeting up with Talulah once more, it wasn’t a wasted investment in the first place. 

But she had come to reluctantly agree with his point. After all, it was a small town. Huddling around, in a state where a mixture of paranoia and watchfulness, paying with currency would only arouse further suspicion. If they had bartered instead, they would be seen instead as wandering foreigners, albeit ones locals that had settled in Ursus for some period of time. 

And so they had completed the first part. Once that had been done, Kaeya had begun to carve up the corpses, separating the pelt from the animals’ flesh before cutting the meat into pieces, placing them into summoned boxes of… snow? Talulah was confused, but Kaeya had quickly explained what he had done after making the boxes seemingly disappear out of thin air. Bringing everything in solid containers of ice would only arouse suspicion, given that most of the containers he’d found at the abandoned Infected Patrol camp had been purely metal. So this time, he’d coated the outside surface with a thin layer of snow, packed tightly enough to stick while disguising the true nature of the box. By the time the “metallic container” had melted once the temperature went above the freezing point, they would have already disappeared by then. 

As for the second portion, the disguise, he sought to have them remain minimalistic. Talulah had internally panicked with that statement, fearing that whatever ideas he came up with wouldn’t be sufficient, but she couldn’t voice her concerns; her status as someone on the run had never been revealed to Kaeya, and she wasn’t about to share it now. 

Kaeya removed his tattered fur coat, the fabric still battered from previous struggles, and handed it to Talulah. With a casual motion, he made it clear he intended for her to wear it like a shawl. After a brief hesitation, Talulah nodded and adjusted the coat around her shoulders, trying to make it work. 

Meanwhile, he had begun to strip down methodically, removing the various attachments and layers—gold emblems, chained bracelets—, until he was left with nothing but basic, practical clothing, the rest having seemingly disappeared as well. His dark eyes scanned the area round him, checking whether anybody had been encroaching upon their location. She had found herself understanding what he was aiming for while he continued to remove all the unnecessary pieces of clothing. Minimalistic. Drawing less attention to himself, making sure that whatever fascination peoples’ eyes would look at him with wouldn’t discern the subtle signs of wealth. 

And lastly, they had needed a distraction. 

After all, despite how small the town was, they still had a never-ending shift of guards near the main entrance, ready to meet the advances of any intruders while checking any travellers who passed through. And being scanned was the last thing they had needed. 

So for this part, Kaeya had instructed her to start running, make her way past the guards. He’d join shortly thereafter, distracting the guards with a supposed threat, something that would make them abandon their position. 

As they’re merely two-hundred feet away from the central gate of the town, obscured by the positioning they had assumed, she notices Kaeya’s arm begin to move in almost a throwing-like motion. And with that, a shower of spears of frost rains down almost a hundred feet away from the guards, their trajectory seemingly starting from past the treeline. 

The guards, startled out of their complacency, rise up to their feet, rushing toward the location where the gigantic spikes had embedded themselves within the ground, in the complete opposite direction where Kaeya and Talulah had been approaching. And with a full-on sprint, complete with more spears leading the guards further astray, they had thankfully made it past the town gate. 

And strangely enough, the plan had… worked?

So here she was now, hauling some supplies in her hands, people’s expressions focused upon Kaeya rather than her, the same leader who had wreaked havoc upon northern Ursus. He seemed to move with a fluidity and confidence, though it remained interspersed with some form of solemntly, the way he carried himself concealing the fact that he didn’t even speak the language. And the locals didn’t seem to question his presence too much, seemingly assuming that he had been a foreigner who had settled in the surrounding location quite a while back. 

Still, despite the way they were treated, Talulah still was on edge. She didn’t want to take any precautions, so she motioned Kaeya to follow her on sticking to the edge of the pathways, moving within less-crowded routes, places where fewer eyes had wandered. He had obliged, moving alongside her, scanning the area thoroughly, though his body language conveyed the exact opposite. 

Just as they’re about to reach the exit of the small market with several supplies in their hands, Talulah freezes. She feels as if something is off, something terribly wrong. She looks around a little more hastily, finding nothing. Just as she’s about to dismiss the thoughts as foolishness, her paranoia having worked in overdrive, she feels a ripple amongst the people around her, noticing them turn around toward the direction that she just faced. It’s at that moment when she turns around once more, her mouth becoming dry at the sight, her body freezing still. 

Another large patrol of soldiers under an Infected Patrol captain moves through the crowd, shoving their way past the inhabitants of the town. And despite being almost twenty feet away from the group, buffered by almost fifteen civilians, she still feels the panic surge through her. What were they doing here? 

The crowd backs away from the group, moving away and making distance with the group. The Infected Patrol groups were preceded by their reputation. Crossing them was always a mistake, and the crowd seemed to recognize them, expressions of fear overcoming them. The leader of the group just responded with a small smile, scanning the crowd with a piercing gaze. 

For a second, time seems to stand still. Were they looking for her? She and Kaeya had just abandoned the Infected Patrol campsite merely two weeks ago, leaving the corpses there in plain sight. And now, to see another regiment under the same division appear where they were? That wasn’t merely a coincidence, right? 

As she’s just about to move away, out of sight and out of the discretion of the soldiers, Talulah feels someone dragging her backwards, attempting to pull her somewhere else. She’s just about to yelp, flailing, before a hand covers her mouth, a comforting voice thankfully interjecting amidst the silence. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” Kaeya whispers, making shushing noises softly under his breath. Releasing a sigh, he moves Talulah backwards, somewhere where they would seemingly be better concealed from the Infected Patrol captain and his regiment. “I recognized those uniforms when they walked in. You were standing there, completely still instead of moving away, so I decided to take action.” 

His hand slowly uncovers Talulah’s mouth and Talulah takes a ragged gasp, breathing in the air almost greedily, as if she’d been deprived of oxygen for almost a minute. Her heart was still pounding, and she couldn’t help but sustain it, watching the captain scan the crowd once more. 

“What’s happening?” Kaeya asks her, concern evident within his eyes. He shuffles towards the side, making more space for Talulah to conceal herself, to which she obliges. “I haven’t seen you…” 

However, his statement is promptly cut off, a soldier bellowing an order of silence into the air before the captain steps forward, his piercing gaze looking at the crowd once more. He clears his throat, the sound rough as it filters through the mask, grating. 

“Good afternoon, citizens of Dolgoyev,” the man announces, the tone of his voice unnaturally cheerful. It’s far different from his overall demeanor, the divergence causing the crowd to shuffle uneasily. Some of them seem conflicted, unsure of whether they wanted to stay around or move away quickly, especially given their reputation. 

“Recently, some of our members have gone… missing. We’ve been searching for them for quite a while, but my patience has been running out.” he mentions lightly, the smirk on his face visible even despite the mask hiding the lower portion of his face. The crowd murmurs uneasily, slowly shuffling backwards, worry evident in their demeanor. Talulah’s heart pounds, her body becoming still. So they were here for that reason…“We only have a few more towns to visit, and Dolgoyev is one of them.” 

“Either way, we’ve been searching for any traces of them. They were last sighted in the general vicinity, and we need to confirm if they stopped by here. Would that be okay?” he asks, the insincerety in his voice betraying the normalcy of his statement. He gives another wide smile to the crowd, who remain frozen in place, staring at the group of soldiers in horror. 

Someone suddenly breaks away from the unmoving crowd, shoving his way past the shellshocked crowd, attempting to escape from from the group of soldiers. Talulah can see how frantic the figure is, notice the panic within him as he stumbles, attempting to push himself past the crowd in an attempt to rush past the unguarded gate. He was probably an Infected, having recognized that whatever fate would be coming would be far worse. So when a crossbow bolt slams into the man’s back, dropping him, Talulah can’t help but wince. Her chest tightened, the familiar feeling of helplessness flooding back. She couldn’t do anything, couldn’t help prevent the loss of innocent lives, all because of her selfishness. Her selfishness to conceal her identity, the selfishness of her goals, her selfishness of pursuing Kashchey. 

Turning around, she notices Kaeya look at the sight solemnly before he swivels his head towards her, pulling her closer in an attempt to keep her figure somewhat hidden. His hand tightened around her wrist, and he quietly shushes her, making sure her legs were tucked in. 

“Well then, shall we get started?” the Infected patrol captain states, a touch of amusement entering his voice. The air grew thicker around them, suffocating. Talulah’s pulse raced in her ears, her chest rising and falling with each breath that felt too loud. A chill crept up her spine, her senses heightened, as though every fiber of her being screamed that they would be caught 

Her hands clenched, her body frozen in place, the weight of the captain’s gaze pressing against her like an invisible force. She could feel the tension in the crowd, the collective hold of breath, and yet it seemed as though time itself had stretched thin, slowing the inevitable.  

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Her thoughts scattered, panic inching its way through her chest. 

And then, like a predator sensing its prey, the captain’s eyes shifted, sweeping across the crowd. His gaze settled. 

Right where they were hidden. 

Chapter Text

The crescendoing thump of Talulah’s heartbeat echoes through her mind, and only one thought occupies it.

Run 

Run, run, run. 

With every passing step, her body freezes up a tiny bit more, and the sensation of Kaeya’s hands wrapping around her, concealing her from the Infected Patrol regiment, becomes more acute. The intrusive thought of peeking at the Infected Patrol Captain, sticking her head out to check whether he was approaching them, remains strong, but she shoves the thought down. Now was not the time to engage in foolishness. 

Now now. 

You’re strong, a small part of her reminds herself. They’re not looking for you. Just stay out of sight. But the longer the hushed silence punctuated by the slight punch of boots downwards onto the snow-covered ground, the more her confidence in her statements falters. They were really coming, weren’t they? Why did she even agree to this and pursue such a foolish plan? The urge to reprimand, blame Kaeya for this situation bubbles up inside her, but she represses it. How could he have known that this would have occurred? How could she blame him when she hadn’t even explained her status as a fugitive, her fears that she had kept concealed all this time?

Tilting her head upward slightly, she catches Kaeya’s gaze locked onto the small gaps within the solid-board picket fence, its wooden planks having begun to decay, affording him the opportunity. His eyes narrow as he tracks the captain making his way across the crowd, but what surprises her the most is the look in his eyes. Filled with determination and strength, and perhaps, even a bit of defiance. 

With the Infected Patrol Captain drawing closer toward them with every step, Kaeya unwittingly pushes her closer to him, almost protectively, and she obliges. Normally, she wasn’t, well, comfortable with physical contact, especially after… losing her all those years ago. The touch of another, so intimate and close, always reminded her of what she couldn’t protect, couldn’t save, of another life lost. But right now? All her inconveniences didn’t matter. Not with her enemies breathing down her back, not with the ever-looming weight of being caught hovering around her. 

“Stay close,” Kaeya murmured, his voice low but steady, as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. Talulah nodded, drawing herself closer, and muffled her breath, trying to avoid making a peep. The sound of the soft crunch of snow becomes louder by the second, and the patrol captain’s heavy breathing through the metallic mask covering the bottom side of his face becomes raspier. 

And then, he’s right there. Only a couple of feet from their hiding position, a couple of feet from finding them two huddled in this space. 

For a moment, all stands still. 

And he begins to move closer, his head presumably swiveling towards the small fence in the street they had hidden behind. 

Talulah closed her eyes, scrunching them close. Her heart is pounding, but the slow acceptance of her fate seems to hit her. He would find them, wouldn’t he? 

A sudden shout echoes through the streets.
“Captain Yolkov, come back! It looks like another patrol dispatched by a local duke found some traces of our other members!” a rough voice calls out from the center of the hollowed-out crowd. An Infected Patrol member pushes himself through the rest of the group, cupping his hands near his mouth to amplify his voice before gesturing to the captain to come back. 

Merely feet away from the small fence they remained hiding behind, the captain, whose hand was extending toward the direction of the wooden pickets, suddenly freezes. Talulah can feel something itchy in the back of the throat, and she resists every urge to cough lest the captain finds them. 

And with a long, drawn-out sigh, the captain moves back toward the market’s exit, wading through several people who had been crowding the entry point of the street, observing the captain. Talulah feels that aggravating itch in the back of her throat once more, but she doesn’t dare let out any sound until he’s far past them, his regiment, and him exiting the boundaries of the settlement. 

The captain snarls, making his way back towards the subordinate who yelled out the command. His eyes narrowed, not in annoyance at his subordinate but rather a burning sense of disappointment, almost as if his desire to complete whatever sweep of the town had been thwarted. “Another patrol? That damned nobleman must have sent another regiment of his own footmen behind our back. Bah!” 

Raising his hand, the captain gestures for his regiment to leave before turning back to view the scattered crowd again, his gaze hardened. “Well then, looks like you’ve earned yourself… a temporary reprieve—a reward of some sort. But we’ll be back…” 

And with a sweep of his feet, the knee-length jacket behind him fluttered in the air and the captain moved away from the scene, his regiment following behind him shortly. The crowd continues remaining silent, only the sound of the harsh arctic winds tearing through the city and its surroundings audible. 

Talulah finally releases her breath, letting out a small cough, the itch in the back of her throat finally relieved. They were safe, weren’t they? She shuffles around a bit, the feeling of Kaeya’s fingers around her waist in an attempt to further conceal her becoming acute. She begins to ease herself out of his grasp, aware of the sensation, but he had already started to withdraw, extending himself upwards to check their surroundings while giving her some semblance of space. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Kaeya asks her, continuing to look at the remnants of the crowd that were slowly shuffling around, a running undercurrent of discontent, and perhaps even anger, spreading through them. Their voices were getting louder by the minute, and they could both see that reflected in their movements. He turns back toward Talulah, releasing a breath he had seemingly kept in before locking his gaze upon her. His deep blue eyes are tinged with concern, but she can see the relief also hidden behind them.  

Kaeya swivels his head back toward the crowd, making sure that nobody was looking in their direction before standing up, brushing the snow that had stained his black pants. Giving yet another look at the scene, this time, from the corner of his eye, he puts forward a hand towards a crouching Talulah. Talulah accepts it, releasing a small grunt as she pulls herself upwards, displacing some snow while stabilizing herself. 

“Yeah, I’m doing good,” she mentions offhandedly, attempting to sound nonchalant, trying to show him that she remained unaffected by whatever events happened outside. But strangely enough, the words come out a bit choked, her throat drying up as she speaks. Kaeya raises his eyebrow slightly at her tone, his lips pressed into a thin line, but doesn’t press her further, instead electing to remain silent. “We’re safe, at least…” 

“So, how’d they end up here?” he asks, leaning against the wall upon which the wall segment was connected to. He almost stumbles in the snow, but thankfully, he corrects himself, the only casualties being his freshly dusted-off black pants. He releases a soft sigh, staring at his dark pants stained with snow once again before turning after her. 

“Them? It’s not surprising, especially after you killed an entire regiment.” Talulah replies softly, staring at the unfolding chaos in front of them through the small gaps in the picket fence in sorrow. It looked like after whatever death the patrol had inflicted upon the town, it was quickly devolving into a mob. The people that had come to their senses were ripping each other apart, continuing whatever persecution that the Infefcted Patrol would have committed, their fear of the Infected overcoming the sense of community fostered for years.  

And then, she was, sitting there, both unable and selfishly unwilling to help. All because of her goal, her revenge, her claim upon Kashchey. All willing to give up lives for that while she just stood there, fiddling with her thumbs, knowing that whatever help she’d bring would only fan the flames of destruction. 

How many more times would she be forced to stand there, helpless? How many more times would she have to accept these deaths, the loss of lives, as a sacrifice in the bigger picture? 

“No, I mean, they should have conducted a thorough sweep of the region’s premises ages, ago, shouldn’t they?” he asks, tapping lightly against the wall, the rhythm of noise almost calming amidst the raucous noises tens of feet away. His eyes follow where Talulah looks at, and when he notices what scene was playing out in front of him, he winces, his own eyes tinged with something unreadable. Something resembling a quiet frustration—one in watching innocents die and perhaps in his inability to assist, watching the scene wordlessly lest their situation escalate further. “...” 

Talulah’s own expression softened, and she looks away from the scene, unwilling to watch the same scene that she had seen so many times, seen in so many different forms, play out once again. Another place where the Infected were mistreated, another place where they were dehumanized, another town where they were feared . She stays quiet, looking at the outline of her hands, the small faded nicks and rough skin that accompanied her skills with the blade with some degree of fascination, anything to not remind her of what was going on. Of her failures. And most importantly, of her loss. 

“You know, on second thought, we should probably get going…” Kaeya leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper in her ear. Even though Talulah knows he’s right there, she flinches slightly, her body stiffening a little bit before she turns to face him, noticing the intensity of voices growing. She whirls around, looking through the gaps of the fence once more, noticing a series of men walking down the street they were in, their eyes tinged with a hard intensity—an intensity she knew all too well. 

Shit. 

It was probably time to go… 

“Go, I’ll follow you right there.” Kaeya motions towards Talulah, his finger extending towards the other side of the street, presumably leading them back toward the surrounding forest, away from the growing chaos. She looks at him, a little worry bleeding through her stoic façade, but he just shakes his head side-to-side. Trust me . 

She begins to move further down the street, her body aligning with the edge of the street’s boundaries, attempting to keep herself out of sight. Turning back slightly, she notices Kaeya crouching down, placing his hand against the ground. 

Kaeya closes his eyes, pressing his hand against the ground. Maybe this plan would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. But hopefully, it would send anybody coming through the street away, making them rush back towards the main crowd, away from both of them.  

Inhaling slowly, he pushes against the ground with a little bit more pressure, willing the cryo energy to spread through the ground. Barely sticking his head past the gate, he sees the ground rising slightly, the difference almost unnoticeable to any susceptible onlookers. Good, that had worked. 

To anybody looking at the path, they wouldn’t have noticed the trap concealed amongst the snow, its height practically indistinguishable from the rest of the path. Unknown to them, a series of razor-thin spikes of frost had emerged from the ground, their tips jagged and sharp. They were protruding into the air, covered with a gentle layer of snow to imbibe a false layer of security. Something deceptive yet deadly enough that would hopefully cripple anyone moving down this path, especially the manic-eyed people currently walking down the street. 

Releasing his hand from the freezing ground, he uses the motion to propel himself slightly backward, keeping his body aligned with the wall of the building nearby. Then, pivoting on his heels, he moves away from the scene with haste, hoping that nobody would notice him. 

By the time he hears the screams in the street, the sharp points having presumably torn through flesh relatively easily, he finds himself almost three-quarters of the way down the street. HIs pulse quickens at the sound, but he doesn’t dare look back. Thankfully, nobody had emerged from the tiny houses found within the street, their inhabitants wisely keeping their distance, attempting to avoid the violence. It had made sense in some aspects, but nevertheless, that didn’t matter at the moment. They needed to get out of here, and fast. 

Once he’s past the end of the street, the growing unrest and violence beginning to spread past the somewhat bustling marketplace into the adjacent streets, Kaeya finally reaches the end of the street, expecting to see Talulah far from the chaos. Instead, his eyes lock onto her—a familiar figure huddled near the corner of a building, her head peeking cautiously around the edge. His heart stutters at the sight, and before he can stop himself, he mutters a quiet yelp in surprise, moving quickly toward her. What was she doing here? 

“You’re still here?” Kaeya’s voice involuntarily comes out in a hiss, the heat of the moment overcoming him. There was a reason why he’d sent her away, allowing her to safety before he’d left. After all, despite having been somewhat reluctantly accepted by Talulah all those weeks ago, he still needed her—needed her to survive.  

Maybe there was another reason, though. A quieter, less obvious one: the desire to not succumb to loneliness once more in this world, a smidge of concern hidden behind that façade of his. It was already hard dealing with the implications of his arrival, the weight of leaving Mondstad,t and his fate far, far behind, without alcohol. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he lost the only source of companionship here, no matter how easy-going he portrayed himself to be. 

“Yeah…” Talulah mentions, but this time, her voice is almost quieter than normal. A tinge of hurt colors her voice, and Kaeya isn’t sure whether it's because of the events merely buildings away from them or due to the tone of his voice. Taking a look at her, Kaeya finds her looking at the expanse of white followed by a splash of green on the horizon, the town’s boundaries practically unfortified amidst the unrest. Perfect for an escape.
Kaeya simply nods, recognizing Talulah’s unvoiced thoughts. It was time to go. 

Looking back one final time, Kaeya places his hand against the ground once more, this time conjuring a massive gate of frost between the last buildings in the street, blocking the way out. One final line of defense, one final distraction that would ensure their safety. 

And with that, they both tear through the snowy tundra, not looking back at the settlement. Not until they reach the treeline, on their haunches, greedily sucking air like a parched man did to water, albeit in a slightly more dignified manner. 

Kaeya stands up a bit unsteadily, recovering and positioning himself against the bark of a birch tree, facing the small town they had escaped from. He pants softly, his heartbeat still pounding, and turns toward Talulah. Unlike him, she had instead sat down, holding her knees closer to her chest, avoiding looking at the village no matter how prominent it was on the horizon. She stares at the ground, fidgeting with her hands. 

She couldn’t do this. 

It hadn’t even been a couple of months before she’d been broken out of Rhodes’ Island prison by Nine. Promised herself that she’d do anything to wash away her sins, no matter how long it took to scrub those stains off. The mark of a new beginning, a way to relight a controlled flame within herself and the land. 

And yet, here she was, all at the start once more. Forced to watch death and misery once more as a spectator. Talulah already knew that the path she would be taking would be one of tragedy and loss, and it was expected, especially in the cold depths of Ursus. 

But to sit and watch, prioritizing her own safety in front of others, forced to step away from the innocents she promised to fight for? It hurt, it hurt so much. And while she’d experienced the same emotions while frozen in the streets, huddled into Kaeya’s chest as he’d covered her, this was more raw. The desire for survival had tainted those emotions, but here? They were far more raw. 

Her eyes begin to well up, and she shifts away from him, not. Why was she like this? Why was she so vulnerable around Kaeya? The strong, stoic leader of Reunion, the daughter of Edward Artorias, who had experienced far worse than thi,s was here, breaking down in front of someone she’d been exposed to for weeks. A period of time in which she couldn’t even tell whether she could fully put her trust in him, a period of time where she felt she was still walking on a tightrope, aware of the fact that one misstep could spell doom, unsure of whether or not the whole situation was a mirage. 

From here, she can hear the distant screams, and she wishes to cover her ears, trying her hardest not to let her intrusive thoughts take over, to look at the consequences of abandoning the inhabitants of the town. A distant memory plays in her mind, hot, crimson flames consuming a town. Screams. A trail of blood through the pristine snow, its patterns erratic. And her corpse… 

Her fingers tremble, and she can tell her breath is coming much more shallow, her vision becoming blurry with tears. She doesn’t have the energy to wipe them away. The only thing she could do was shift herself a little further away from Kaeya, making sure he didn’t see her break down fully. 

For so long, she’d sat down in Rhodes Island’s prison, her gaze steely and her expression stoic, waiting for the opportunity to extinguish Kashchey’s poison through the land. A year spent of keeping that mask up, pushing down that little girl, and telling her that now wasn’t the time to arise. So much time spent trying to be strong, hiding from the truth that the atrocities committed weren’t Kashchey’s but rather her own. 

If one town had this effect on her psyche, how would Talulah confront the entire world? 

Her thoughts are interrupted when she hears the slight shuffle of snow behind her, a soft voice cutting through her introspection. 

“Hey, are you alright?” The gentle tone of the voice makes her wilt slightly, the small part of her whispering to Talulah to say no, to admit her faults. But she couldn’t, not with the fact that she didn’t trust him fully, not with that little girl still locked away, the gate still holding strong. 

“…” Words fail to come out her mouth, her throat going dry. She couldn’t really say anything, the descent into her emotions having become a freefall, Talulah unable to control herself in a way. For a moment, she gathers her words, though she doesn’t turn around to face him. He didn’t need to see this version of her. 

“I’m fine,” she growled, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. “Just… leave me. Please.” 

The venom in her voice surprises her, and immediately, she winces. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this version of Talulah, did he? After all, even though he was the one who formulated the plan of entering the village, he couldn’t have accounted for the Infected Patrol regiment coming in. But the damage was already done. Even without turning around, she could already see the slight wince overcome his features, the movement of snow signifying him moving further away. 

And no matter how much she wanted to apologize, the internal emotions were too strong, too dominant. They controlled her, the sorrow and overwhelming guilt making her want to move to a private space and curl up into a ball, the strong Talulah that had witnessed this hundreds of times making way to the little naïve, idealistic girl underneath. 

Placing her palms upon the snow, she plants her hands into the ground, ignoring the growing need to retract them from the bitter cold. Pushing herself upwards, she stands upon the tundra’s surface, her body facing away from the village. Away from Kaeya. And with a step forward that makes way for a steady rhythm of footsteps, she moves quite a distance away—not out of sight, yet a sufficient distance away. 

Finding a spot near a tree, she leans against its trunk, slowly collapsing before finding herself near its base. And with that, she buries her head within her knees, tears welling in her eyes as her boots sink into the white frost. 

For the first time in quite a while, that little girl had emerged. She was here to stay. 

Reingard can sense it. 

With every step he takes, he finds himself drawing closer. Closer to avoiding isolation. Closer to shelter. Closer to home. 

The minutes of trudging through the snow turn into hours, the sun beginning to set past the horizon and painting the gloomy sky a muted orange; Reingard finds himself much closer to the forest. The trees in this area grew far denser, and the air was almost heavier as if Mother Nature had signified its hold over this area. He’d been attempting to resummon his sword, hoping to see the familiar darkness coil around his blade, the comforting sign of some form of power excluding his skills with the blade. Yet, the same phenomenon had been barely visible, the power out of his grasp. 

That wasn’t the only bad news. 

Unfortunately for him, he had also severely miscalculated the distance it took to drag himself all the way here. That was a stupid mistake. So what he had estimated to be a three-hour journey at most had been much farther, exhaustion wearing him down thoroughly. 

He hadn’t eaten ever since he left the Abyss Order’s stronghold, and he was beginning to regret not having at least stopped somewhere through his journey in search of food. But the forest was right before him, and with some semblance of vegetation in this harsh environment, food was bound to be nearby. 

His pace begins to decrease as fatigue starts to overwhelm his body, slowly but surely. He looks up from the hilt of his blade, which had been repeatedly flicked back and forth in yet another bid to determine whether his power had been restored. Yet again, none of the familiar darkness, at least at the level of depth it usually manifested, had appeared. Instead, it had begun to dissipate, swept away into the midday air by the cool winds sweeping through the open tundra.  Nothing. 

Meanwhile, quite a distance away, a couple of unnamed soldiers stand there, looking out to the tundra facing ahead of them. Unbeknownst to an increasingly fatigued Reingard, they had been tracking his movements ever since he’d been approaching the forest’s boundaries, having set up camp a short distance away. They weren’t sure what someone was doing all the way out here, wandering alone, seemingly lost, but seeing the long sword the man carried around alongside the blood staining his side, they felt uneasy. 

One of them was already making his way back toward the main camp, seeking to alert their leader of a potential intruder approaching them. The camp wasn’t far, being maybe around a seven-minute walk from their current location. 

Regardless, they hadn’t disengaged in their march until a couple of hours ago, having decided to rest and reinvigorate themselves before searching deeper into the sparsely populated Ursan territory. A few weeks back, an Infected Patrol Captain and the regiment under him had disappeared. The incident had been reported merely a week ago after much concern, communication not having been reciprocated for quite some time. So Duke Tarasov, a nobleman who had maintained control around the surrounding area in Northern Ursus, had dispatched another group to find out their fate, the entire incident kept under wraps lest it make rippling waves. 

With one of their members now heading back to inform their leader, one of the scouts reaches towards the binoculars at his side, raising them up to his eyes. Squinting, he sees the outline of the figure moving toward the forest much closer, his clothing looking strange. Foreign-like almost, the materials looking nothing like what someone in Ursus would have access to. Eerie. 

The sword gripped between his fingertips didn’t seem to help either, the blade long enough that its edge dragged slightly behind in the snow. Something resembling billowing dark smoke seemed to surround the blade shortly multiple times, but the scout wasn’t sure whether it was real or whether his eyes were tricking him.  

Nevertheless, the man was approaching quickly. At this point, give or take, he was around two hundred feet away from their location. Should they organize a gradual withdrawal from their position, moving away? Or should they wait for the rest of their company to arrive, treating the unknown figure in front of them as a threat, someone who could have potentially been responsible for whatever had gone down with the old patrol, given the state of his wounds and uniform? 

Just as he’s about to turn back, moving back past the tree line to avoid being sighted, the scout notices the other member he had dispatched previously. This time, he comes back in tow with the rest of their members, his chest heaving up and down as he hunched over, hands on his knees. The tired scout looks up at him, nodding silently in both acknowledgment and signaling that he’d brought along the others. 

Now, it was time to wait. 

Reingard feels exhausted. With every step he takes, his muscles burn more intensely, a side effect of pushing forth with full speed regardless of not having recovered fully. He doesn’t care. All that matters is pushing closer to finding some place to stay. Some place where he can just get some rest, someplace with a source of food nearby, someplace where he can recover peacefully and not worry about the looming anxiety of Alberich’s reaction. 

For a moment, all he can think about is safety. So when he hears a rustle amidst the forest towards his right, his fatigued mind dismisses it, instructing him not to worry. Forests contained animals, after all, didn’t they? He continues to walk forward, though for some reason, he feels like he’s being watched, tracked all the way towards this stretch of land. But the moment he connects the dots, realizing that whatever rustling he picked up upon didn’t sound anything like the surrounding wildlife, he swivels his head, catching note of approximately forty soldiers standing clumped up, facing toward him. 

He freezes. 

What? How did he manage to not notice that? Especially with a contingent of that size, he should have spotted them.  

Unless… 

Fuck. He probably failed to spot a couple of scouts. Of course, he should have never let his guard down walking in this direction, avoiding listening to the little voice screaming in his mind to only focus on pushing through. And while the group’s numbers were pretty large, it wasn’t the first detail that caught his eye. No, it was the uniforms.

They looked nothing like what Snezhnayan’s usually wore. They looked… far more advanced. Sharper materials, sleeker covers, much higher-tech gadgetry. Unless Snezhnaya seemingly had a secret batch of soldiers wandering around in the country, without news dispersing itself across Teyvat, he wasn’t sure whether he was in Teyvat at all. 

And if he wasn’t in Teyvat… Well, fucking hell. He could feel the panic arise within him, the realization that he was much farther away from Mondstadt and Alberich coming to the forefront of his mind. 

But then again, that made sense in sort of a way. The lack of his powers, the weakening of his constitution, the unfamiliarity with the territory. He seemed to be in a completely different place. He wasn’t sure whether to rejoice or fall into despair. 

And the clothing wasn’t all. The group seemed pretty heavily armed, carrying an assortment of weapons, some of which seemed extremely strange. Crossbows and staffs? Maybe he could understand the swords some of them seemed to carry. After all, Khaenri’ah’s defenders themselves had carried such weaponry even amidst their technological advantages, though other higher-tech weaponry was interspersed. But seeing something like these soldiers, not even equipped with something like guns or other technologically advanced weaponry, despite having such a feature reflected by their clothing? An absolute anomaly. 

Anyway, that didn’t matter at all right now, being faced down by a group consisting of almost forty members. So when the person in front, likely the leader, raises his hand as if to halt Reingard’s further movements, barking out a command in a foreign language, Reingard freezes. He doesn’t understand what the man says, electing to keep still. The man stares at him with a strange look, his eyes boring into Reingard’s own, almost as if expecting a response. But Reingard doesn’t respond, unable to respond. He couldn’t speak nor comprehend whatever the man said. 

Not seeing Reingard respond, his figure beginning to back away slowly, the man snarls softly, unhooking the massive sword held at his side. He then moves towards Reingard, his fingers tightening around the length of the hilt.

Oh no. 

Fuck, why did it have to come to this? 

Reingard knows he can’t run. He was already feeling exhausted, and running wouldn’t accomplish much, only sending him into more fatigue and allowing the soldiers to catch up to him. So now, the only choice was to fight. 

Releasing a sigh, he holds out his hand, summoning a blade of his own. It appears once more in a silver shimmer, its black surface, once coated by Anton’s blood, having faded away over time. Yet, the sight causes the soldier’s advance to suddenly pause, almost flinching in turn. Huh, that reaction seemed almost fearful.  

The soldier turns back around towards the rest of his group, barking out an order. Motioning towards another soldier to push their way on towards Reingard, the captain standing in front of Reingard stays, watching the new soldier unhooking a sword of his own before charging at the Abyss Order lieutenant. 

Reingard knows where the blade is coming from. He’s had enough combat experience to expect such predictable responses. He steadies himself on his feet, widening his stance, avoiding planting his feet into the ground to give him some semblance of mobility. 

The blade had gone exactly where expected. Reingard had simply sidestepped the motion, parrying the opponent’s blade. But while he’s able to catch the massive swing of the steel blade onto his figure, what he doesn’t expect is the extreme amount of force behind it, the exertion sending his blade flying away. He’s sent back stumbling, almost flying away into the snow behind him, unarmed and now with the knuckles in his fingers dislocated. He stifles the urge to roar in pain, noting the soldier overextending once more, bringing the blade down in a killing blow. 

But what the soldier doesn’t expect is the blade to appear in a shimmer of silver in the once-disarmed Reingard’s hands, the Abyss Order lieutenant quickly rolling to his side. Noting the slight gap in the soldier’s defenses, Reingard pounces, skewering the man through the chest, watching a spurt of red coating his blade once more. 

Pulling the blade free from the man’s ribcage, Reingard winces. By the Abyss, those dislocated knuckles hurt like hell. With a grunt, he pushes them back into place, roaring with pain at the motion before shaking his hand and looking at the captain once again. 

The captain seems to shrink slightly in fear, moving a step backward, but stabilizes himself. He couldn’t order a scheduled retreat, running away from the unnamed soldier in fear. Besides, the potential repercussions of returning empty-handed and one man down after spending over a week searching for the Infected Patrol Captain’s missing group would be undesirable, especially with Duke Tarasov seeking to consolidate power within the region. 

And so, with a motion of his hand, he waves his soldiers to attack the stranger standing in front of him. 

Reingard had been clenching his fist carefully, testing the movement. The jarring discomfort that had once accompanied the sensation of his knuckles shifting back into their proper alignment settled into a dull throb. Raising his head up, he notices the soldiers beginning to converge onto his location, weapons pulled out and clenched in their hands.  

Well, it had to be done this way, hadn’t it? 

Reingard grips the hilt of his blade even tighter, planting the soles of his feet lightly onto the snow. He was outnumbered quite thoroughly, and that gave one hell of an advantage to his opponents. And with his fatigue wearing him down, he wasn’t sure whether he could fight them back. 

But he had one thing on his side. Something they didn’t know about just yet. 

And so, when one of the soldiers standing a distance away from him raises a crossbow, knocking the sharp arrowhead against the stock, the muscles in Reingard’s body tense, the lieutenant flashing away moments before the projectile thudded into the ground, a short distance away from where he once was. 

However, that wasn’t the only thing Reingard had anticipated. 

Knowing that he was surrounded, he had already expected his opponents to take advantage of his dodge. A moment later, he’s rewarded by his conclusion being true, another soldier moving toward where his dodge had carried him, slamming the sword into the ground. By archons, the man was fast. Thankfully, his anticipation had ensured that he had barely moved out of the way, the sword merely inches away from his shoulder blade. 

And with a roar, Reingard summons his sword, slamming it against the man’s lower body with enough force to shear through his legs. The soldier falls down with a cry, now immobilized. Vulnerable. And with a quick slash, Reingard ends the man’s life, crimson blood staining the white snow. 

Continuing the slash in an upward motion, Reingard catches yet another soldier looming behind him, using the momentum to slice the man’s abdomen. Successfully, he uses the momentum to simultaneously propel himself upward onto his feet, watching yet another man fall to the ground. 

Well, then, he needed to create space now. Finding himself surrounded by so many opponents, attacked from every side, was extremely disadvantageous for Reingard, despite his combat experience. And so, moving slightly backward, he avoids yet another crossbow bolt launched, keeping himself steady on his toes. Reingard’s mind was still swimming with fatigue, his head pounding in confusion, but he still remained unshakeable. Three down, thirty-seven to go. 

This time, he need to take them by surprise. 

So, instead of allowing his opponents to dictate the terms of the fight, Reingard decides to switch the terms this time. Standing still, he releases a deep breath before charging at them, sword kept close to his side, preventing himself from remaining exposed. 

And it seemed to work. 

Caught unaware, some of the soldiers falter momentarily, their moment of indecision met by a quick flurry of Reingard’s blades cutting through them. However, the majority of them seemed to disregard their shock, following up with slashes and overhead swings that force Reingard to dodge. They recognized their numbers advantage, and despite several of them falling to their feet, lifeless, they pushed forward. 

Reingard’s barely able to dodge several of the blades and he feels several knicks incise on the surface of his armor. Thankfully, they weren’t that deep, only remaining as scratches. He seemed to have slowed down a bit, his moments slightly more sluggish, his swings a little bit more labored. But given his combat skill ceiling, it didn’t really affect him that much. 

In the corner of his eye, he notices another soldier ready to slam an axe in a sideways swing, attempting to cut Reingard. Reingard takes advantage of this, moving closer to another soldier, baiting him to overextend. 

Weaving through the blades once more, he sees the axe sink hilt-deep into the other soldier’s stomach, blood immediately spurting out of the wound. The soldier looks up at the other one in confusion before falling to the ground, gurgling. 

Yet another one. 

But with every kill, every dodge, every slash, fatigue seems to weigh upon him further. The knicks in his armor become more serious, small dents in his armor transforming into shallow slashes. He finds himself growing tired as blood flows, staining the snow further crimson. 

It’s only when a blade snakes its way past his defenses, Reingard having been preoccupied by others swinging at him, that he suddenly still. The once-opened wound in his torso, inflicted by Anton’s monstrous corpse, had been reopened once more, a sharp pain echoing through his body. 

Pain blooms through him, and he stifles a cry, striking down the offender. But now, it’s not this injury that remains on his mind. The advantage he once held was now gone, evident in the way the wound didn’t close, reknitting the skin and blood vessels underneath, his flesh still mangled. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was not good, this was not good at all. 

The fatigue continues piling upon him, and with the fresh reminder that whatever advantage he thought he held never existed in the first place, Reingard finds himself making an increasing number of mistakes in haste. An overextension here, another exposed defense there, all responded by deeper cuts, his own black blood flowing down his uniform, camouflaged by the color of his armor. 

Another massive slash cleaves through his shoulder, thankfully remaining a deeper cut instead of separating his arm from his body. With a roar, he manages to retaliate against the assailant, cutting him down, but the momentum of his opponent’s swing pushes him down, slamming his head against the ground painfully. 

His eyes now half-lidded, he watches the soldiers begin to surround him, their weapons remaining aloft. This was it, wasn’t it? 

And with a sigh, he releases a soft breath, the sight in front of him fading away slowly. Reingard couldn’t help but think- he’d failed. And perhaps, in the end, that would be his peace. A peace that had eluded him for so long, now firmly within his grasp. His own. 

Dark tendrils rise from the base of the birch tree, rising into the air and staining yet another section of the bark, the blackened vapor snaking around it like a coiling rope. The leaves, once coated with soft-white snow, begin to wilt, their pine-green pigment draining away and leaving a deep black—something that even time wouldn’t wash away. 

The Abyss simply watches the process, its calm nature failing to betray the underlying excitement. 

It hadn’t been long since the Abyss had risked everything in a hazardous gamble, expending centuries’ worth of its power in an attempt to triumph over Celestia. Just one push and everything would crumble, bringing forth devastating consequences with unknown reach—yet, for now, the balance remained intact. 

At the moment, its focus was flickering between the situation in this new world and the growing chaos its influence had back in Monstadt. Both situations were quite… intriguing, to say the very least. Foolish mortals on both sides, unwitting, not knowing what dark forces were pulling on their strings. But more importantly, two opportunities, instances where its sacrifices could be recuperated, taken as investments.  

But only if these situations were approached carefully. 

Right now, the Abyss focuses on the scope of fresh land stretching out for miles, the pristine, untouched tundra ready for its taking—a slow, subtle process, one that would test its own patience. The untarnished beauty of the arctic forests stretched unspoiled before it, but soon, the stench of decay would blacken the lands and claim its unsuspecting inhabitants. 

Yet, it was getting ahead of itself once more. Committing to its plans was a process. So, it shifts its focus to observing the spread of its touch throughout the land. 

Strangely enough, its vision in the new world was… blurry, for a lack of better words. It couldn’t see much, everything obscured by a thick, white fog, almost as if someone had placed a dirty lens in front of it. And despite it, it could still sense the familiar scent of its corruption, see the way the flora wilted over time.

For now, it couldn’t explain the reason why this was happening, but it had a sneaking suspicion as to why. But that wasn’t confirmed, and the Abyss didn’t want to be hasty, make assumptions that could potentially influence its decisions. So it just sits there, watching, waiting for a right time to strike. 

Regardless, whatever was spreading wasn’t solely of its own doing. Alberich’s son, the one whose loyalty remained wavering between his home and his fate, had thrown a wrench into the works. He wasn’t supposed to have ended up here, the Abyss’ infusion of Anton having backfired terribly. And even if the Abyss wanted it back, it lacked the energy to do so, its previous actions having consumed so much energy. Yet, unwittingly, Alberich’s son had served a great purpose, something that would potentially pay the Abyss back for its efforts. 

Dead bodies, decaying corpses, an impassioned scream. And then, a massive bloom of decay had spread from ground zero, its reach stretching out for hundreds of feet from the site. At the time, Alberich’s son hadn’t even noticed the mark he’d left upon the land—but the Abyss had. The sweet scent of rot, thick and pungent, unfurled into the air, coiling around the nearby trees and marking itself into the very bark. From there, it was almost too easy to spread. The sturdy birch trees, with their simple, unsuspecting nature, lacked immunity to the growing corruption—they had never encountered something like this.

For some reason, the Abyss’ corruption hadn’t yet found the towns, the dreariness of the tundra and its sparse resources keeping its population scattered and distant. But when it witnessed a skirmish between Alberich’s son and some soldiers, the Abyss seized the
moment. It caught a glimpse of the land’s inhabitants—tough, stubborn bastards. Perfect.

The inevitable, slow march of corruption had begun.

But it wasn’t time yet.

Now, all the Abyss had to do was wait. Wait for the land to yield, wait for the right moment to break through, and wait for the world to realize just what had been unleashed. 

Chapter Text

Talulah walks down the sidewalk, clutching something in her small hands and looking anywhere but above her. She can sense them. The little looks, the quiet whispers under their breaths, the subtle way they move aside just enough to avoid her—neither too obvious nor too casual, but a silent rejection nonetheless.

It hadn’t been long ago until she’d entered this dream, this one replaying memories from her past. Memories buried down deeply, years and decades ago, but they still hurt all the same. This one was back in Lungmen all those years ago, living in the same household with that monster, yearning to escape. Yearning to find somewhere where she was accepted, where she was loved by someone else other than her half-sister. 

At the moment, she was walking toward an ice cream shop with Ch’en, away from that monster. Away from the silence of their home. Away from the man who took the role of their guardian, yet remained unable to fulfill any of the title’s responsibilities. Out here, even though everyone despised her, it was something different. 

Talulah continues to walk, her half-sister a few steps behind her. She doesn’t dare look behind to get a better look at Ch’en, knowing she would only see those stares once more. They were almost there at the shop. If she walked down this corner, a small store would be right there. It had good ice cream; thankfully enough, the owner there was at least somewhat nice to her. 

She was going to get vanilla today. 

Ch’en had sometimes teased her about always selecting the same option every time they came to the store, but for Talulah, it hadn’t mattered. Vanilla was simple. Plain even. Something normal, a certainty that hadn’t existed in her world. 

Turning around the corner, she notices the store right before them, Ch’en now by her side. And with a step, she moves closer to the door, her hand upon the handle. Pushing it forward, she hears the familiar jingle, the bright colors, and the seemingly endless flavors in front of her. But she knew what she was ordering. 

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a crumpled note, looking at Ch’en as if confirming whether her half-sister had made a decision or not. Unlike Talulah, Ch’en was someone who practically chose a different flavor every time they came here. But today, she had already made a decision, nodding to Talulah in approval. 

Talulah hands the note to the store’s manager, a kind, old man who had run this business for years. Today, the line was practically nonexistent, so they were first in line this time.
“One vanilla and-” Talulah begins, about to finish her sentence before Ch’en interrupts.
“Chocolate chip ice cream, please!” 

The old man takes the bill, moving towards the little assorted bins near the counter. Just as Talulah’s about to turn around to reprimand her half-sister good-naturedly, she notices something briefly in the man’s eyes, the same glint she had come to fear all these years. 

She flinches. 

By the time the man comes around with the two cups in his hands, his eyes bright and friendly once more, Talulah accepts them gratefully, though she’s far quieter now. Ch’en doesn’t seem to notice it immediately, but by the time Talulah gives her half-sister the cup of chocolate-chip ice cream and opens the door back to Lungmen’s bustling streets, she can tell. 

Another person now… 

And so she walks in silence. 

To home. Back to the monster once more. 

Talulah stands still, her small hands enlocked by the silver cuffs that restricted her movement. Merely a hundred feet away from them, the monster watches them, standing still, his hand enclosing Ch’en’s hand. Her half-sister reached out to her, desperation and sorrow etched onto her face, calling her name as the sky darkened, rain falling in a steady shower. 

She doesn’t remember how long it had been since the white-haired man had kidnapped her, placing her in cuffs, but it hadn’t mattered. A small part of her wished this had happened earlier, not the kidnapping, but the possibility of leaving Lungmen. Leaving with Ch’en, to go far away where she could be accepted. 

Right now, the monster in the distance, one that had assumed a role as her guardian, was revealed to be truly a monster. Before, she thought that the neglect, the abuse, and lack of affection made him a monster. But that paled in comparison to what was being revealed now, the words making little Talulah’s fingers clench and her heart pound. 

“...your Chi Xiao drank his blood. You did it…” 

That monster didn’t really do it. Did he? But when she looks into the still figure all the way on the platform over there, resignation bleeding through that stoic figure of his, her heart drops. All is silent, save for the constant patter of rain against the concrete—a white noise that drowns out everything else, even the voices calling her name. 

Her father slain. Her mother gone. Her guardian a monster. 

And Ch’en?

Oh sweet Ch’en, she couldn’t, no, wouldn’t be able to see her, not with this man taking her away, far from Lungmen. She wishes she could go back, hug her, tell her that this wasn’t the last time they’d ever see each other, but she can’t. Not when her hands were in cuffs, when she was strapped with bombs to blow the city sky high. 

She doesn’t dare look in Chen’s direction, knowing that seeing her half-sister’s desperation, the sorrow etched into her face. She can still hear Ch’en calling towards her, and all Talulah wants to do is close her ears, pretend this was not happening. If she’d turned around, facing her, she was sure a tiny part of herself would shatter. 

“Taaalll!” A tiny voice cries out, piercing through the rain and Talulah can’t resist looking back and turning around. The sight of her half-sister, drenched in the rain, the sorrow etched on her face as she reaches out to her, leaning forward as if to grab her from all the way there, makes her gulp slowly, her eyes threatening to tear up. The conversation between the two men becomes nothing but background noise; all Talulah can do is watch. 

Finally, the man turns around, his hand behind her back, guiding her away from Lungmen. She follows. 

And so, she keeps her eyes toward the ground, barely able to keep the tears she’d held back from streaming down her face, her back turned toward the city. Her back turned away from Ch’en and, most importantly, from the monster. From one monster to the next. 

She closes them. 

Oh, sweet darkness, a release from all the monsters of the world. 

“-lah, Talulah!”

Talulah’s eyes flutter open, her silver irises taking a look at the surroundings, little flakes of snow coating her eyelashes. A snow-covered land, people in military gear bustling and moving about, signs of an encampment nearby. 

But most importantly, she was standing in front of her. 

Oh no … 

“Hey, are you alright? You looked like you spaced out for a while.” the silver-haired woman responds, her eyes gentle and full of warmth. Talulah can’t meet her, no, won’t meet her face, but that doesn’t do anything for some reason. So she looks at the beautiful Elafia in front of her, that soft smile of hers, and nods, her heart heavy. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t revisit the scene. She had nightmares about this before, but they’d always started later. Not now. Not at this time, just before Alina had left. Their final conversation, something that Talulah had never known would be their last at the time. 

She has the urge to cup her cheek, tell Alina that she loves her, tell her that she’d go in her stead. But she can’t. No matter how much effort she puts into it, the words never come out. Instead, something else, words that she regretted the moment they left her mouth, came out. 

“See you later. Don’t stay out too late!” she says, waving as she watches Alina’s retreating figures she left. Her bottom lip trembles, and she wants to leave this dream, no, a nightmare so badly, but she can’t. 

It didn’t stop there. Oh no, it did not. For the next few hours, she was forced to sit, her heart pounding at the haunting realization that she’d find Allina, her love, dead, sprawled on the ground, the surrounding snow coated crimson with blood. 

Maybe this was a punishment for all her sins, all the deaths that she’d contributed to the world’s graveyard. But was this punishment, or simply torture, that she’d been cursed to relive over and over again? 

By the time a couple of shieldguards approach Talulah, she knows what’s coming. She’d be running towards the East, having heard from one of them that an older girl had gone missing. And so, she’s forced to relive watching herself running as fast as possible, her heart pounding. 

So when she finally sees the snow stained a deep red, trailing all the way towards an unmoving mass, Talulah can’t bear to look at the body. She wants to shield her eyes, this nightmare to end early, but she’s forced to look at it, tears dripping from the corner of her eyes. Oh, Alina, sweet, sweet Alina, lying on the ground, her arm and leg severed from her body. 

Not like this. Oh please, not like this. 

She rushes towards the body, panicking, her voice not even coming out of her mouth.  

“No… A… A…” she begins, her voice barely coming out, the back of her throat scratchy. Alina’s eyes flutter open, and even amidst her pain, there’s still that gentle smile on her face. 

“.... Talu…lah?” Alina whispers softly, looking at her. Talulah’s heart pounds, and despite the cry that escapes her mouth, she wants to curl up into a ball and ignore everything, that little girl coming back to the fore once more. But the scene still continues on. 

The rest of the memory becomes a blur, Talulah’s attempts to make this nightmare go away failing. No matter how much she tries to focus, no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how much she tries to pretend that this wasn’t real, it still remains. 

She carries Alina on her back, trudging through the cold, endless snowfield back to the encampment. And while her figure continues moving with desperation, internally, Talulah, the spectator, knows the ending. 

Alina clings onto Talulah, her grasp weakening by the second. That steady heartbeat, once so strong, once so close to her, begins to weaken, fading away. 

“You must... live on…” Alina whispers to her. 

And with a final breath, her body stills, her love’s face resting against the back of her own.
Talulah collapses to her knees, now knee-deep in the snow. The pain, so vivid, is still raw, just like the first time. She tilts her head towards the sky and screams, screams until her voice is hoarse, screams until there’s nothing else to come out, the sound echoing through the empty snowfield. 

And Talulah knows, with every breath that she takes, that nothing will ever be the same ever again. 

Talulah wakes up with a gasp, her heart pounding, limbs flailing as she displaces the snow around her. The coldness bites at her skin, the flakes sticking to her lashes as she blinks up at the sky, momentarily fazed. She breathes hard, trying to center herself, but the lingering remnants of her nightmare grip at her, dragging her back into that suffocating space. Her chest tightens. 

Slowly, she collapses back onto the snowy ground, hands trembling as she covers her face, trying to block out the memories. She remembers. She remembers it all. 

The vividness of the memories feels like they're branded into her mind. For a moment, the weight of them presses down, and she’s nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of falling back into that abyss, that cold, empty loneliness of suffering and pain. Even with the snow around her, the quiet of the world pressing in, it feels like she’s still trapped. The faces—shapeless, faceless—threaten to pull her under. 

Talulah exhales slowly, her lungs working harder than they should as she forces herself to steady her breathing. Her pulse gradually calms, though the unease still lingers, like shadows too heavy to shake. It’s alright , she tells herself, eyes squeezed shut. You’re okay. You’ve just woken up... She swallows, pulling herself back into the present. You’re not back there. Her fingers dig into the snow beneath her, grounding herself to the here and now. You’re safe. You escaped with Kaeya… 

She pauses. 

The words die on her lips, a nagging sensation rising in her chest. Her brow furrows in confusion. Something didn’t seem to add up. What had she missed? What had slipped through her mind? 

Kaeya. 

The thought hits her like a truck. She stiffens, eyes snapping open in sudden panic. Her stomach tightens as the realization floods her. Where is he? She hadn’t even checked on him after everything that happened, too wrapped up in the storm of her own thoughts. After she had escaped, fallen asleep...she hadn’t even considered— 

Her breath catches in her throat, and she whirls around, eyes darting frantically across the snow-covered expanse. She doesn’t see him. 

Her pulse quickens, her chest tightening as she scans the surroundings. She can’t find him, not here. Not yet. He hadn’t gone far, had he? She only moved a few feet away...just far enough to distance herself, but never out of sight. Right? 

For a moment, Talulah stands there, frozen in place as the soft snowflakes drift down, each one clinging to her silver hair like tiny, delicate threads. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, the cold air brushing against her skin like a reminder of the words she’s trying to escape. The silence around her is deafening, but a whisper, faint and almost imperceptible, lingers in the back of her mind— he’s still here . 

“Just… leave me. Please…” 

The words hang in the air, carried by a soft breeze that tugs at her hair. Talulah flinches as several snowflakes are shaken loose, falling to the ground like fragments of a dream she can’t escape. She looks away, trying to rid herself of the sounds, but the words burn into her vision, following her gaze as though they were written in the very air. Had she really said that to him? Was it truly her voice that had begged him to go? 

And now, maybe he was truly gone. She sank to her knees once more, her dress flaring out amidst the snow. The sudden chill—her boots submerged below a layer of snow—hits her as the realization comes to her. Another person gone. She had expected it to sting, but for some reason, it had gnawed at her heart, hurt her more this time. Maybe it was because he’d left even after she’d nursed him back to health. Or maybe because, despite everything, it felt like she hadn’t changed at all. It was the same loss, the same loneliness she’d always known. 

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Talulah attempts to find him. Her movements are a little bit frantic, desperation slowly seeping into them as she sweeps through the area unsuccessfully in search of him. Nothing. No sight of the blue-haired man she had come to expect in the past couple of days. 

And yet, that internal voice of hers, the one that had accompanied her for most of her life, urged her onwards. One more place, one more spot, one more potential area where he’d be found. But with every little corner and area remaining barren, the only signs of life being the rustles of the tiny wildlife inhabiting the area, that voice grows softer, fading away with every step.  

Just as she’s about to scout out one more area, one final location, before she’s forced to accept that loss, her body suddenly freezes. 

Why was she still persisting? 

She’d searched for so long but caught no sight of him nearby. What was the point of looking any longer if he wasn't near her? Her head droops slightly, and she can’t help but admit that it hurts. The thought of giving up, turning her back, and acknowledging that her actions had turned another person away is too much to bear. 

And so, she turns forward, practically dragging her body along as she scouts out this one last area. A gently upwardly-sloping section of the forest leading almost a hundred feet away from the encampment she made for herself. One that could lead to him. 

So when she finds herself at the end of the pathway, nothing in sight, the tightness in her chest grows. The raw sensation in her throat wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard she swallowed. He was gone, truly gone from her life. Her reborn life, reduced simply to ashes. 

Just as she’s about to turn herself back, trudging through the snow to curl up into a ball again, a flash of dark blue appears in her peripheral vision, her despair blooming into hope as her heart hammers in her chest. Was he here? After all this searching, would she find him sitting alone? 

Moving closer towards the location, she finds herself perching over a ledge, Mother Nature having seemingly carved out the escarpment from the upward-sloping area itself. With every step she takes, the chained vice restraining her heart loosens, her breath slowing down. Finally, she catches sight of his figure, sitting on the edge, looking down at the sight below. 

Talulah can only laugh. 

After all the searching, after the self-doubt and the suffocating weight of her own thoughts, here he was. She’d spent hours convincing herself that he was gone, that this was the price she had to pay, and yet there he was—completely unbothered, sitting in silence as the world around him woke up. He wasn’t miles away. He hadn’t turned his back on her. He was simply here, as if he’d never left, watching the sunrise amidst the stillness of the snowy forest. The absurdity of it all made her laugh—raw and bitter, a small release from the tension she didn’t realize had been suffocating her. 

“So, you’re awake,” Kaeya mentions softly, the warmth of his voice cutting through the arctic air, a soft contrast to the stillness of the world around them. He doesn’t turn around, instead continuing to observe the sunrise. It was as if nothing was bothering him, nobody in sight for miles, almost as if she wasn’t worthy of such a reaction. But Talulah didn’t care. He was still here, those venomous words failing to drive him away. He had chosen to stay.   

And that was all that mattered. 

Talulah takes a few careful steps to the ledge of the escarpment, her boots crunching in the snow as she stifles the urge to run towards him, to reveal the worry that had seeped through her thoroughly. When she finally sits down a couple of feet away from him, her legs swinging back and forth, but her fingers only fidget. She’s unsure what to say.  

For a while, she just stays like that, the silence only punctuated by the gentle arctic breeze whistling through the leaves of the birch trees. So, instead, she remains quiet, the words dying upon her lips. Whatever she had wanted to say had seemingly faded away, those raw feelings seemingly tempered by his presence. Talulah just watches the sunrise, the blood-orange colors slowly creeping into the skyline as her heartbeat gradually slows. 

“They say the sun rises in the morning sky, leaving behind a trail of crimson fire—fleeing the earth as though terrified of the bloodshed and war we've sown, too fearful to stay near a world that breeds nothing but hatred." Kaeya whispers quietly, his eyes unfocused as he looks into the distance. The sun hadn’t raised any higher in the morning sky, and yet, its glare bathes the surroundings in a golden warmth. Reaching towards his side, Kaeya raises something to his lips, but Talulah can’t quite make it out. 

Talulah remains still, unsure of how to respond. She couldn’t disagree. It was a sentiment she’d held herself, having seen the world’s sins first-hand, scrawled out in blood and ash, since her childhood. And yet, to hear that come from him, the man who seemingly approached the world so lightly, was jarring. 

“Maybe the old stories were right all along…” he mutters softly under his breath, wiping his mouth with her sleeve. Bringing the object at his side to his lips once more, he takes another sip. Talulah’s eyes narrow at the fleeting sight, her mind catching up with what she was seeing. The object disappeared at his side, but not before she recognized its shape. A bottle? Her chest tensed. Unless… 

Oh. 

So that’s what he was up to. 

This early in the morning? And that too, drinking something she wasn’t sure how he’d obtained? However, Talulah stifles the urge to chide him and take that bottle away. To be honest, she wouldn’t mind a drink of her own, but her coping mechanisms from before had eliminated that urge. Who needed alcohol when all you needed was a beating in which you pounded yourself down to the ground? A bitter snort escapes from her lips at the thought, a frosty haze appearing in front of her momentarily before dissipating.  

“...” 

Talulah doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, so she just sits there in silence, continuing to fidget with her fingers until a thought comes to mind. 

“Isn't it strange?” she begins, the words starting to spill from her mouth softly, almost as if speaking to herself. She stares out at the horizon like Kaeya had done, her eyes tracing the growing outline of the emerging sun. A moment later, the sight of Alina’s bloody corpse flashes across her vision, her remaining limbs splayed out upon the white frost, overlapping with the crimson-colored sky. Her stomach turns, and she closes her eyes, scrunching them hard, hoping the vision would disappear. “Hatred is a poison we willingly drink, a self-imposed divide that shatters us, eating away at everything we've built—but still, we keep drinking, as if we had no choice.” 

The gentle breeze continues to blow through the air, and Talulah pauses, not choosing to speak anymore. She looks away from the sunrise, back to looking at her black dress fluttering near the edge of the ledge and the forest down below. Anything not to be reminded of her mistake, anything not to see her . 

“That’s quite insightful,” Kaeya mentions, his tone softer this time. He turns towards her, a small smile peeking through the mask he wore as the corners of his mouth tilt slightly upward, though his eyes reflect something else. Pain and maybe sorrow. Feelings she knew all too well. “It doesn’t come naturally to me, though. Hence, I rely on this.”

With a slight gesture, he pulls out the bottle of alcohol from his side and raises it, offering her another small smile. For a couple of seconds, he continues holding it out. However, seeing her remain silent, another slight smile emerges before he puts the bottle to his side. 

“...So, where’d you come across that bottle?” Talulah’s eyes ever back towards the place where the bottle was presumably located before fixing her gaze upon him, tapping her index finger against the stony ground in a steady beat. From what she remembered, they hadn’t purchased any alcohol-related items when in town. But then again, there was a minute or so where she had lost Kaeya in the crowd yesterday, right before she found him leaning against a tent pole, completely unconcerned. 

“Oh, that?” Kaeya turns towards her, one of his hands wrapping around the bottle’s neck, still remaining out of sight. Talulah focused her gaze on him again, her brow furrowing in frustration and confusion as he didn’t respond—almost as if he was intentionally dragging out his response. His deep-blue eyes are tinged gold, the sun’s rays having briefly shone upon their ledge, a mixture of humor and caution reflected in his eyes. Seeing her expression, he flinches slightly, and Talulah winces, though the smile on his face relieved her in some capacity. “It’s a long story…” 

“Spill.”  

He winces, and this time, it’s more genuine. “Well, you see.” Kaeya began, shifting uncomfortably. Moving his feet away from the ledge, he swivels away from the sunrise, instead choosing to look at the trees behind him. “I went back there this morning and grabbed one.”

There. What place was he talking about? There weren’t any places with alcohol in the vicinity.  Unless… 

Talulah’s heart skips a beat, and her eyes narrow in disbelief as she turns to face him, her gaze hardening into something more intense. What was he doing there? Even after whatever incident they had escaped from the day before, why did he decide to return? And that, too, if the town’s residents had seemingly recovered from the incident, how would he sneak past the increased number of guards?  

“To be entirely fair, there was nobody at the store that morning. No guards either.” He hurriedly adds, a nervous edge creeping into his voice as he scooches away from her, all the nonchalance slipping away from his demeanor. “It was quite easy?” 

Talulah simply sighs, burying her hands in her face. How did someone like him, someone with a tactical mind resembling her own, make such foolish decisions like this? Going back? And that too, after the Infected Patrol regiment, the same group whose members he had slaughtered, visited the town merely a day ago? But then again, he was drunk in some form, at least guessing from the bottle at his side. 

“Easy?” Talulah repeats slowly back to him, tasting the word upon her tongue. “You really snuck back into town even after yesterday ?”

Kaeya raises his hands defensively, before running his hand through his messy hair, looking sheepishly at her. “I was simply going upon a leisurely stroll. Let’s just call this,” he starts, pointing at the bottle in his right hand. “Something fortunate that I managed to stumble upon.”

Talulah looks at him for a long moment, a mixture of disbelief and concern swirling inside her. He was acting like everything he did was fine, and yet she could tell something deeper lingered behind the bravado, small signs betraying him no matter how much he tried to suppress them. She opens her mouth to speak, but her gaze drifts back to the bottle. 

“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he says, interrupting her thoughts. His voice is strained, and he looks uncomfortable for a second before that old expression is on his face, another soft smile. “All that matters is that I’m right here, safe and sound.”

“And besides, you’re not exactly in any position to judge me after pulling that stunt yesterday, are you?” 

Talulah winces, and this time, it’s justified. Touche. Not when she had said that to him, the same person that had carried her away, kept her out of harm’s way when she stood still, frozen in shock. Frozen with guilt 

“So, what did you see?” she asks him softly, turning around to look toward the town. The same direction in which so much destruction had occurred. 

“Nothing, everything was… quiet. It should be normal that early in the morning.” His voice falters slightly, and she can tell that he’s holding back some information. But she doesn’t press him. The guilt of being unable to do anything, to escape while innocent lives were lost, threatens to bubble up inside and overwhelm her the longer she spends thinking about it, remembering the town. 

“...Are you feeling better than yesterday, at least?” Kaeya mentions, turning towards her amidst the change of subject, the line delivered a bit eagerly—almost as if he wanted anything but to continue discussing the village. His blue eyes are focused upon her own, and for a moment, she’s taken aback. Even amidst his own pain, he’d still managed to ask about her and care about someone else. It was something rare in these lands, where harsh conditions molded people to remain selfish, put themselves and their livelihoods ahead, even when it meant sacrificing something precious. 

“I’m doing… better,” Talulah whispers softly, leaving it at that. She shifts slightly upon her feet, returning back to fidgeting with her fingers. After all those years of Kashchey’s influence, all those years spent losing herself amidst the losses she had suffered, it felt… strange, almost uncomfortable, having someone ask her things like this. Sure, it was nice, but when was the last time someone asked her something like that? When had someone cared, even with the weight of her sins dragging her down—deep into the abyss where the ghosts of her friends lay, the void pulling her deeper in? 

Releasing a quiet sigh under his breath, Kaeya runs his hands through his hair before moving closer to Talulah. For a moment, she’s acutely aware of how close he is, the sudden motion having caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to move in this close, not with him scuttling away mere moments ago. Instinctively, she takes a small step back, her body tensing.  When he’s right in front of her eyes, looking down at her,  she doesn’t know what to do. 

And so, when he reaches towards her, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his finger brushing softly against her skin, she finds herself going still at his unexpected touch. 

“Hey, you can be honest with me, alright?” His blue eyes soften, narrowing slightly as he stares at her, and Talulah catches the faint, sweet scent of alcohol still lingering on his breath. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she swallows, the action a little harder than usual. And even though there’s a voice in the back of her head, questioning how she’d allowed him to get so close, she continues remaining still, absorbed in his touch. “I’m right here.” 

For a second, she wonders why she’s still standing there, wondering why she hasn’t pushed him away already. The old part of her, the one that’s afraid of being hurt, of being vulnerable, tells her to run, to shut it all down. 

And yet, a small part of her relents. 

And so, she stays there, her gaze locked with his, the snow falling softly around them, the weight of his presence pressing down on her. And in that moment, for reasons she can’t explain, she just wants to stay. 

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick- 

A small yelp echoes through the office, the unmistakable sound of a liquid splashing against the ground and a series of curses following. A lock of blonde hair peeks through the gap in between the desk, and a disgruntled woman soon emerges thereafter, brushing off her uniform. 

Jean releases another sigh, placing the cup of tea—unfortunately, now empty, its contents soaking the carpet—upon her desk. Looking at the watch that had been previously placed against her cup on the desk, she observes it carefully, looking for any knicks on the surface. When she sees nothing, she places the untouched watch in a drawer, turning away with a wry smile. At least she hadn’t fucked that up. 

In a couple of minutes, the Knights of Favonius’ leaders would convene in their headquarters, an important meeting set up by her in place of Varka. For some reason, the Grandmaster had become an absentee once again, leaving her a note hastily taped on her door, mentioning dealing with something important—privately. But still, after the events in Port Dornman, especially in conjunction with Kaeya’s disappearance and the Fatui taking advantage of Mondstadt’s crippled state, it was absolutely necessitated.  

For the most part, it followed the script as standard Knights of Favonius’ meetings. Involving all available Knights of Favonius’ division leaders, with absentees provided the necessary information via correspondence. However, this one had been designated an emergency, and all captains requested and encouraged to head back to Mondstadt, though extreme exceptions were permitted. All but two captains were coming, one currently stationed in Port Dornman and still assisting the garrison commander in light of the chaos. And the other had gone missing… 

Jean’s eyes soften, a bit of sorrow beginning to leak past the floodgates, cracks appearing in that dam that held everything back. Even after all these days, his disappearance had hurt. And she had felt it, the guilt eating away at her every day, the question of why she had sent him instead of going herself playing inside her head. What would have happened if someone else had been sent in his stead? Whether he’d be still in Mondstadt, laughing around and joking with the customers at Angel’s Share if the pigeon she’d sent had never made it. Everything reminded her of her mistake, the memory of their last interaction still so vivid in her mind. 

And DIluc remains vivid in her memory, too. The memory of him stomping away, a trail of venomous words left behind as he blamed her, all those raw emotions pouring out. Those stinging accusations, those twisted interpretations thrown out in the heat of the moment. And in her heart, a small part of her fears that he had been right.  

Every single time she replays that memory, Jean wonders where everything had turned wrong. What she could have said differently presented to Diluc in a way that wouldn’t evoke anger and disappointment, only sorrow instead. Revealed in a way that he wouldn’t have pushed her away, their future uncertain as they both hurt. She had even scribbled a script of their last conversation, now revised, in her little notebook late last night, having stayed up to think about it. Think about her guilt, the pain wracking her completely. 

If she couldn’t even break the news about Kaeya’s disappearance to Diluc without backlash, how could she do it to the Knights of Favonius? Elaborate on his missing status, having to tragically appoint a temporary captain in his stead while holding onto the hope that he was somewhere out there and alive, even though that flickering flame dimmed day by day?  

Burying her head in her hands, she sits in her seat silently, pondering the events of the past. If just one thing had been different, would the outcome have changed? Would she be sitting here, sipping tea in her office and less worried by the news of the Fatui? It was too much to think about. Yet, the disparity between her imagination and reality pushed her past the self-wallowing she had immersed herself within.  

If she wasn’t strong enough, how would she be able to defend Mondstadt itself? Fulfill the responsibilities of her position, all while keeping others from falling into self-doubt? 

And so, she rises from her chair, gripping the handle as she slides the cabinet open. Pushing her finger through the entrance, she digs through the cabinet's contents once more, hoping to find the watch she had previously buried within. When her fingers latch upon the strap, she wraps her hand around the watch and pulls it out, observing the watch. 

2:55 

Tucking a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear, Jean exhales a slow, shaky breath, her hand trembling slightly as she smooths her uniform. A wave of exhaustion crashes over her, but she forces herself to push it down. Not yet. Not now. 

She glances around her office, her eyes falling on the scattered papers, the mug previously tipped over on the desk. It’s a mess, just like her mind, cluttered with doubts and questions and guilt she couldn’t answer. But it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when the weight of Mondstadt's future rested on her shoulders. 

Focus . 

Her hand hovers at the doorframe, and for a moment, she lets her gaze linger on the space, as if searching for some semblance of clarity, something to steady the chaotic, dark storm inside her. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the cold, hard truth of what was waiting for her. 

She had to be strong. 

With a sharp exhale, Jean straightens, squaring her shoulders as she takes one final look at the room. A fleeting moment of vulnerability, then it’s gone, buried beneath the weight of her role. She wasn’t just the Acting Grandmaster—she was the pillar holding it all together, even if the cracks were starting to show. 

Her hand grips the door handle with purpose, feeling the cool metal against her skin. She twists it open, the weight of the cool air from the hallway rushing in. It’s sharp and biting, almost as if the world outside was preparing her for the storm she was about to face. 

Well then. It’s time to break the news. 

Yevgeniy marches across the desolate, cold landscape, the steady rhythm of boots striking against the pristine snow echoing throughout the valley. Yawning softly, the corner of his eyes become damp, a small tear flowing down both cheeks. A moment later, it detaches, leaving an imperceptible stain upon his black cloak—a garment that had remained unblemished before time. 

His dark-brown eyes, once holding some brightness, dart side to side, noticing fellow regiment members in line. Releasing a soft sigh, his mind wanders, wondering how he had ended up here. Ended up in the Ursus army. A killer, a disposable one. 

He still remembers all those years ago, years spent in that small town of his. Alekhna. A fond smile emerges, memories of running around the small town center, blissfully unaware of what the world truly meant. Of how vast it was. Just a small, simple life. One that he had longed for all this while. 

And yet, they took everything from him. 

All Yevgeniy remembers was that it was an afternoon. He was just returning from the market, having purchased something for his significant other, someone he’d been engaged to recently, when the soldiers had come. An entire regiment of them, armed to their teeth, itching as if looking for something to strike. 

His father had told him something a long time ago, practically drilled in him from his early days.  

Whatever Yevgeniy did, avoid them at all costs . 

And so, Yevgeniy tried. Whatever was bound to happen didn’t seem good. And so, he ran. Ran straight back to his parents’ house, away from the soldiers and the chaos they had brought. 

However, fate was a cruel mistress. Just moments away from his parents’ house, merely meters away from his significant other who was waiting for him, soldiers had intercepted him. He froze, his heart hammering as the soldier reached toward his side. He still remembers closing his eyes, waiting for the blade to strike. 

And yet, nothing had happened. 

Instead, the man seemed to size him up, inspecting him. Satisfied, he turns around before striking him with the hilt of his blade, pushing him into the snow. 

“This one is good.” the masked soldier states softly before turning around towards another of his comrades. Leaning closer to the ground, the soldier looks at him in the eyes before barking out an order. “Take him away.” 

At that moment, he didn’t understand. But soon, Yevgeniy would come to understand. Harsh times bred strong men. And in Ursus, with its harsh conditions and its stability fraught, it meant conflict. 

Even though he’d been carried away, his significant other following him and weeping, he’d made a promise. To find his way back home one day, military be damned. To find his way back to her. 

Right now, he was just following another path fate had made for him. And one day, that path would lead back home. 

But until then, he would continue marching in line with his new comrades, to carry out the will of Ursus. Albeit, more like a faction of Ursus’ will. But still, a faction that sought to fight for his country and revive it to its former glory. 

They continue marching onwards, the steady rhythm of marching echoing throughout the desolate valley. It was freezing, with temperatures below zero as they continued to their destination. Miles away lay another town at the other end of the administrative division, a hub to resupply themselves as they moved forward. 

But instead of continuing past the snowy field, the commander halts them, barking out an order that causes them to stop in their tracks. It looked like they were taking a short break, their leader wanting their regiment to replenish themselves before they began the final stretch of their journey. 

Relieved, Yevgeniy pauses, noting his fellow comrades shuffling themselves around, sitting down. An opportunity to talk, to catch up with the others. Something they were rarely afforded. And yet, he doesn’t feel the need to. 

Instead, he moves away from the groups that were beginning to form, moving away towards the forest located hundreds of feet in the distance. His commander doesn’t stop Yevgeniy, knowing what his actions would entail. 

When he’s reached the boundary of the forest, he moves slightly inwards, flanked by a long series of birch trees. Satisfied that he’d figured out a good location, he makes the motion to sit down against the tree trunk, pulling out something resembling a book.

Every single break Yevgeniy was afforded, he pulled out a notebook. After being drafted from Alekhna, he’d used his meager pension to save up for a notebook and pen. The rural areas of Ursus weren’t noted for their delivery services, so Yevgeniy had kept a series of notes instead. Small writings towards his parents, descriptions of what he’d been doing to his little brother, and promises to his significant other. 

For tens of pages, little notes remained scrawled. He’d done this alone always, feeling the need to remain in solitude. While the others dissolved their connections to their homes or simply gave up on the need to in desperation, Yevgeniy still clung to the hope—the hope of coming back home, returning to that simple life. And no matter what obstacles were thrown in his way, it remained within his hands, close to his chest. 

Reaching towards his boot, he pulls out a small pen located in a little compartment attached to a strap, clicking it. Scrawling lightly against the paper pages, he’s satisfied by the sight, only light remnants of ink marked upon the white paper. 

And so, he began. 

This note wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t one of his dreams, of his desire to return home. It wasn’t an update to his parents or correspondence with his close ones. It was something simpler. A solitary reflection upon life, all those thoughts of what his military service meant. Of what the world was like, something that he would only keep to himself. 

He sits there, writing in his notebook, giving short glances to the snowy field where his regiment was to ensure they hadn’t left. By the time he finishes scrawling down his private thoughts, he gets up, noting they were still thankfully there. 

Releasing a sigh, he plants his gloved hands onto the snowy ground, pushing himself upwards. Satisfied, he places the notebook within his coat before leaning down again to push the pen back into its compartment. 

It’s at that moment that he catches something strange in his peripheral vision—a swirling darkness that feels almost… unnatural. Black was a color he was familiar with. His uniform, his cloaks, the night. But this was something different.  

Turning toward the strange phenomenon, Yevgeniy's gaze is drawn to the birch tree in front of him. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, but the closer he looked at it, the stranger it appears. The bark—once a soft, earthy brown—was now marred by spiraling patterns of blackness, wrapping around and around, higher and higher, until Yevgeniy couldn’t see anything. He blinks, trying to make sense of it. That wasn’t supposed to be there, right? 

He knows he should stop. He should turn back, check on the regiment, and rejoin his comrades before it’s too late. Deserting his post would come with consequences. And yet, the blackened marks call to him—irresistible, almost like a whisper in his mind. 

Yevgeniy hesitates. The reasonable part of him, the one that remembers his training and discipline, screams at him to ignore it, to move on. But the pull—the strange pull—leads him forward. Against his better judgment, his feet move, his body betraying him. Each step takes him deeper into the forest, following the marks as they grow darker, more prominent with each passing tree. 

Another tree, standing alone in the snow, catches his eye. The marks are thicker now—more pronounced, as if he was drawing closer to something. Yevgeniy can’t explain it, but the air feels different here—charged, almost. A sense of foreboding lingers. But he can’t stop. He won’t stop. 

Deeper into the forest, his steps feel heavier. A coldness settles in his bones, but it’s not the chill of the winter air. It’s something far colder. The trees here look different—darker, their bark a sickly shade of black. Unnatural. The ground beneath him seems to suck at his boots, pulling at him, urging him deeper into the woods. 

For a moment, he thinks he can hear another deeper, twisted voice adding to the desire, but he disregards it. That wasn’t anything at all, right? As his regiment pushed forward, he’d been sleeping late these past couple of days. Maybe it was just his sleep deprivation, after all. 

He stops before one of the trees, the blackened bark reaching up toward him like the outstretched arms of some unholy creature. His pulse quickens. And even though that small voice warning him, the one beginning to fade away, screams into his mind, he can’t hear it anymore. His hand, against all reason, reaches out. Yevgeniy tells himself that he’s just curious, just investigating the anomaly. But there’s something in the way his fingers tremble as they hover near the tree. 

Just one touch . 

And so, he touches the bark. 

For a moment, nothing happens. He taps it once more, furrowing his brow in confusion. 

Then—a flash of pain, sharp and immediate—splits through his skull. The sensation is like something inside his mind is ripped open, hi scream muffled by something he can’t identify. His body jerks, as if it’s being sucked into the tree. The blackness feeds on him. 

Yevgeniy’s breath becomes shallow, the world around him blurring into darkness. He tries to pull back, but his hand won’t budge, his body refusing to obey him. 

And then, his skin . 

His hand—once human—is now dark, turning black and grotesque, like the bark itself is infecting him, consuming him from the inside out. He tears off his gloves in a frantic attempt to break free, but it’s too late. 

Only then does he hear an ominous voice—cold, twisting, alien—whisper in his mind. 

"Got you." 

He tries to scream, but no sound escapes him. His body goes limp, the strength drained from him. His knees buckle, and he collapses to the snow-covered ground, his vision fading. The last thing he sees is the faint flutter of his notebook, the one he’d written in for months, falling from his coat pocket and landing gently in the snow. 

As it lands, the pages flutter, its contents slowly slipping away from him. 

His little notebook, the one he’d written for months in, settles upon a page he’d written in months ago. A small note, a hastily scrawled one detailing a saying he’d heard as a child, made ever so poignant by his time as a soldier. 

Beware of the monsters lurking in plain sight, for they consume us all. 

“-not do this without-”

Jean releases a sigh, burying her head into her hands. After all of this, how had it come to this point? 

Moments ago, she had walked into the little room at the end of the corridor, determined to break the news successfully. To inform the Knights of Favonius’ captains of Kaeya’s disappearance and update them on the Port Dornman situation and how they could proceed. She had been the first person to arrive, others trickling into the room moments later. 

Around twenty minutes ago, she had walked into the little room at the end of the corridor, a hardened determination seeping through her. Yes, her revelation of Kaeya’s disappearance would send ripples through the organization, sending shock and subsequent disorganization through the Knights as they coped with the realization. It would be agonizing, like a wound. Just as one would cauterize an open sore to prevent infection, pain needed to be inflicted to move ahead. 

And so, she had sat in the little chair at the head of the table, waiting for the captains to come in. She had already received correspondence from two captains, one of them dispatched near Port Dornman, obviously unable to make it due to the blockade. And another, currently dealing with issues far away from Mondstadt that time couldn’t ensure their arrival. 

Pulling out a series of briefcases, she had laid out a series of documents on the table, glancing at them in an attempt to refresh her memory. But when everything had been placed on the table, the history of the situation laid out before her, she had crumbled a little bit. 

She wasn’t… normally like this. In the past, she had thought of herself as being righteous, responsible, and dedicated. A woman of the pen and the sword who rigorously worked to protect Mondstadt, sacrificing the little things to further her goals. Sleep. Interaction. A work-life balance. She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.  

At least, she had hoped.  

But now?

That felt strangely… out of reach. For years, people had told her that she was reliable. Someone whose work ethic allowed any goals to be surmountable. And to have spent days, weeks putting effort into the situation occurring in Port Dornman, only to see her hands covered in blood, her childhood friend’s blood, it hurt. The throbbing pain of failure, always hovering in front of her, leaving her unable to run away from its sharp outline, even if she closed her eyes. And no matter how much she’d put into it, no progress had been made. Only regression. 

Closing her eyes, she had attempted to steel herself, but the view of Kaeya’s face had flashed across her vision once more. Oh, archons, it truly hurt. Even though she was about to break the news of Kaeya’s disappearance in mere minutes, there was a growing part of her that believed he was truly dead. If he was alive, he’d be around here somewhere, wouldn’t he?  

And so, when she heard the door creek suddenly, she immediately straightened, her hands placed upon the table as she’d wiped the little tears near the edges of her eyes away. Looking at the entrance, she notices a red hairband peeking through the doorway, one of the captains having arrived. Amber. 

The others had come in later. Hertha, Frederica, Eula. One by one, they had come in, all but two seats occupied. 

And so, she had broken the news. The reactions were exactly as she’d expected. Pain, loss, shock. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure how she’d had the strength to do it, breaking the news to everybody, revealing her worst fears. But she had done it, and it had become a thing of the past. 

From then, they had moved on to discussing the situation in Port Dornman, laying out logistics and passing over the documents that Jean had arranged on the table. While the only companies necessary for this conversation were those led by Albedo, Eula, and Hertha, Jean felt it was her responsibility to expose every captain to the news. After all, given the scope of the situation, it wasn’t unlikely that other companies would soon be involved, especially with Fatui at the helm. 

They had begun looking over the documents solemnly, and their eyes cast downward, full of sorrow. Some exchanged quick glances with each other, checking whether anyone else was alright, while others solely focused on the logistics to conceal their despair. It had gone well for a while, all things considered. 

But with those heavy emotions still at bay, kept under wraps in the hope of facilitating some plan, they gave way to annoyance. Vexation. Irritation. Combine that with a room of many people with expertise in various fields and only one unifying scheme to approach the Fatui’s increasing consolidation over Port Dornman, it was bound to happen at some point. 

Jean had sat there in her seat, hearing the overlapping voices crescendo as basic courtesy began to unravel, people interrupting each other. Unlike her, most of them hadn’t been exposed to this breadth of information, only being fed small bits and pieces from rumors and whispers that had made it across the sea. And now, to be confronted with an issue of this magnitude, it meant that things fell apart. Quickly. 

Right now, they had been discussing how to approach the situation in Port Dornman. As of right now, they had been split into three factions. One, led by Eula and Amber had advocated for simply keeping an eye on the issue at hand, noting that further action from Mondstadt would directly escalate the conflict. Another group of captains, consolidating under Frederica had advocated for providing a show of force, noting that simply ignoring the Fatui’s growing strength would only embolden them. And lastly, the final faction led by Albedo had been averse to confronting the Fatui head-on, instead seeking to focus upon the mysterious anomaly at hand that had befallen the Fatui diplomats. 

Jean buries her head in her hands, the rising voices becoming louder and louder by the minute. She needed to take control of this situation quickly. Balling her fists, the bottom half of the paper in her hands crumpling, she releases a deep breath. 

“Silence!” she orders, the sound of her voice reverberating in the room. Her gray-blue eyes look cold, her eyes narrowed as she stares at the rest of them with a frosty gaze. Some of them wince, others’ heads lowered, almost out of shame. She wishes it hadn’t come to this. But with increasing chaos and no form of control, she had to take over. 

“Everyone is right, to some degree, here.” she says, her eyes scanning the rest of the captains. Her gaze softens momentarily before the determined look makes its way back. “From my correspondence with the branch manager of Port Dornman’s Knights of Favonius branch and recent updates, it seems clear to me that there is only one action we can take.” 

They look at her expectantly, their gazes sharp with curiosity and the faint tension that had been growing in the room. Jean exhales slowly, steadying herself before meeting each of their eyes in turn. 

She turns to Eula first, the blue-haired captain seated with a calm yet guarded posture. Eula’s expression is composed, but there’s a faint edge to her gaze, as if bracing for a challenge. 

“Eula,” Jean begins, her tone measured, “you’re absolutely correct that the Fatui aren’t strangers to resistance. They’ve shown, time and again, that they take any perceived threat as a justification to escalate further. A direct confrontation could play right into their hands, and we can’t afford that. Still…” Jean’s voice softens slightly, “…if we restrict ourselves to observation alone, we risk appearing complacent. That could embolden them just as much.” 

Jean shifts her gaze to Frederica, who sits rigidly with her arms folded, her presence radiating a quiet intensity. The 7th company captain raises an eyebrow, waiting for Jean to address her. 

“Frederica,” Jean says, her voice firm but calm, “you’re also right to emphasize the dangers of inactionI m. The Fatui thrive on exploiting perceived weakness, and if we do nothing, we’ll be inviting them to push even further. But we’re at a disadvantage. They outnumber us, and they’re prepared for conflict. A show of force could provoke them into viewing us as aggressors, especially given the heightened tensions after the deaths of their diplomats.” 

Jean pauses, letting her words settle before turning her attention to Albedo. The alchemist, calm and unreadable, watches her with an inquisitive expression, his turquoise eyes sharp with thought. 

“Albedo,” she continues, her tone reflective, “you’ve pinpointed something critical in regards to the issue. Understanding what caused the deaths of their diplomats might be the key to de-escalating this entire situation. If we can uncover the truth, it could give us the leverage we need to approach this diplomatically. But we must tread carefully. The Fatui may see the deaths as an opportunity to rally their forces—whether or not the cause implicates us.” 

Jean straightens, her gray-blue eyes sweeping across the room as she addresses them all. “Each of you has brought up a vital point. Surveillance, restraint, investigation—these are all pieces of the solution. But no single approach will be enough on its own. The Fatui are too unpredictable, too dangerous, for us to gamble everything on one strategy.” 

Her gaze lingers on the documents spread across the table, her expression hardening with determination. “What we need is a unified approach. Something that balances caution with assertiveness, that lets us gather information while ensuring the Fatui know we won’t sit idly by.” 

“And so, we’ll dispatch someone with members of the 8th company, along with some others under Albedo’s command.” Noting Frederica’s eyes narrow at the suggestion, Jean meets her gaze with equal intensity “And no, this doesn’t mean we’ll be lacking in any of the aspects as mentioned earlier. We need someone powerful. Someone who can weave their way through Port Dornman without suspicion. Someone willing to cooperate with the Knights of Favonius, and yet, work outside of the boundaries that restrict us.” 

For a moment, all of the captains look at her, intrigue glittering in their eyes.  

“Diluc,” she whispers under her breath. And despite her voice being soft, almost unnoticeable, they understand it. 

“Why are we sending someone unassociated with us? He hasn’t been part of the Knights since ages ago.” Frederica asks her, raising an eyebrow at Jean. Her eyes glitter with something resembling genuine confusion, and perhaps, a bit of irritation knowing a member of their capacity wouldn’t be at the forefront. 

Jean sighs once more, but this time, there’s a confident expression on her face—one that hadn’t been there before.   

“Think about it, he’s the perfect person to go. A businessman unassociated with the Knights of Favonius in years. A vision-holder who’s able to sneak around and successfully repel opponents if caught. A wealthy man who is able to bypass restrictions that normal members of society face,” Jean begins, her eyes gleaming. It didn’t take long to come up with the idea, but seeing the expressions on their faces, she had to admit, that was good. 

“Then how do you suggest we go about it, then?” Amber questions her, her hands on her hips as she raises a single brow. 

“Well, it’s quite simple. For starters, we’re currently in the middle of the wine season. After all, it’s been only a month since Ludi Harpastum has started.” Jean begins, the corners of her lips turning upwards into a small smile, her eyes beginning to gleam. “Who knows if Port Dornman might need a new shipment of wine…” 

“And with the recent restrictions on Port Dornman, handling such a large shipment would require quite the number of workers…” Eula continues Jean’s statement, her eyes widening with every word. “Jean, that’s perfect, why didn’t we think of something like that?”

Eula looks around at the remaining captains in the room, as if checking whether they would react the same. Thankfully, the others seem to be nodding, taking the idea into consideration. 

“Hmmm,” Albedo starts, furrowing his brow in thought. “Surveillance, restraint, and investigation all bundled into a single plan. It’s a meticulous approach, Jean. Efficient, yet adaptive.” 

He pauses, his turquoise eyes lifting to meet hers, his voice thoughtful. “I admit, I find the anomaly surrounding the Fatui diplomats’ deaths intriguing. The patterns described—if they are accurate—may reveal far more than what we initially asumed. However...” Albedo’s tone softens, his curiosity barely masking his concern. “Handling such a volatile situation requires… a specific sense of expertise.” 

There’s no malice in his words—only an analytical curiosity, a subtle probing for her reasoning. “If I may, I’d like to accompany him. The anomaly needs to be investigated, and it would be advantageous for me—for us to assess the situation firsthand. After all,” he adds, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles, “curiosity and caution are often the most potent tools in unfamiliar terrain.”

“That’s a sound idea, Albedo.” Jean says, her tone steady as she glances around the room, ensuring that everyone was following along. With a small nod of approval, she straightens her posture before clasping her hands together.

“Well then, it’s settled.”

As the captains exchange glances, the faint tension lingering in the room begins to dissipate, replaced by a quiet determination flowing through them. Jean’s gaze flickers back to the documents spread across the table once more, her thoughts straying briefly to what laid ahead. For the sake of Mondstadt, there was no turning back now. 

Never. 

Chapter Text

It’s been a long time since Talulah saw the monster. That same smirking face, red eyes glaring with condescension. Silver hair framing all-too-familiar features, the hatred seeping through so potent that she could feel it on her skin, suffocating and undeniable. The monster she’d never forget.

It was this bastard. A different form but the same vile essence. An immortal god, and yet, one that she could end, nonetheless.  

Kashchey 

Talulah takes a step forward, feeling the strain in her muscles as she pushes forward. The little jolts of pain had become a constant companion over the past few hours, and yet, she still did it anyway. 

Stumbling towards a tree, she leans heavily against the bark, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. Her silver hair, slick with sweat, blows into her face, and her half-lidded eyes attempt to take everything in, drinking in the surroundings. 

In the corner of her eyes, she notices a flash of blue, the figure of her companion standing closely nearby. Turning towards him, she notices Kaeya doesn’t seem to be winded by the trip, seemingly unfazed by the exertion. But still, despite that, she’s spent enough time over the past few weeks to learn that despite hiding things very well, he’d still display some signs. The brief pause in his step. The way his fingers clutched onto the hilt of his sword, as if stabilizing himself. Hard to find, but still there, nonetheless. 

That damn man , she thinks, the corners of her lips turning slightly upward, breaking through her exhaustion. Even after being forced through a strenuous trip that left her like this, he still wanted to appear nonchalant. It was almost amusing, considering how loudly he’d complained about snow getting into his uniform during yesterday’s storm. 

Talulah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and forcing herself to take slow, measured breaths. Her body begged to gulp the air, replenish herself, but she resisted the urge to gulp it greedily. When her pulse finally steadied, she opened her eyes again, her silver irises lifting from the frosted forest floor to the winding path ahead—a barren stretch of land devoid of trees, its stark whiteness stretching into the horizon. 

And just beyond the horizon, a smattering of black and grey specks, seemingly elevated amidst the flat stretch of land. Right there, her destination lay—the place where the monster stayed. 

Even though she can still feel the burning in her muscles, the short rest having failed to fully rejuvenate her, she wants to push forward. Go there and meet the monster, perhaps slay it. Put an end to it, finally. 

Maybe it’s the guilt of her sins weighing upon her that energizes her. Or maybe it’s the fear of failing to redeem herself, in one way or the other, no matter how small. Perhaps it’s even the desire to move ahead and create a new pathway for herself. An extinguishment of the life that Alina had warned her not to follow in her dying words, and yet, she had continued forward, disregarding that wisdom in her sorrow. 

An end to the cycle. 

Stumbling ahead, she moves closer to the road, approaching the path of closure. And yet, for a moment, she freezes, expecting Kaeya to admonish her. To tell her to rest, to come up with a plan before foolishly charging in headfirst, with a motive that she only knew. 

But this time, he hadn’t objected. And though Talulah appreciated that, a little part of her hurt. No matter how much she had dismissed those episodes of vulnerability in the past as one-time things, a part of her still expected him to tell her that everything would be okay, that he was there for her. Someone who didn’t truly know her, a blank slate she could canvas over. A friend. 

A foreign word in recent times. And yet, it was still one she cherished. 

And so, she moves on, the tiny part of herself still aching inside and calling out for someone—a yearning she tried to suppress but couldn’t silence completely. 

For the past few days, she and Kaeya had pushed forward relentlessly, nearing Vyazov. After losing days as a result of helping Kaeya recover, her guilt of leaving someone behind to their certain death having motivated her to do so, Talulah had feared the monster had moved away. Left behind nothing but another trail of crumbs, another futile chase for someone so close yet always just out of reach. 

So they had accelerated forward, spending less time resting. Eight-hour rest sessions became four, meals eaten at spots where they had set up camp transformed into an on-the-road activity. Conversations became rarer, and the landscape around them continued to change, bit by bit. Trees grew sparser, skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Animals darted through the snow-dappled undergrowth, their tracks vanishing as quickly as they appeared. The biting wind carried away all sounds except for their steady footsteps crunching through the frost. 

And finally, two days later, they were here . Just at the crossroads of Vyazov, all the clues and little notes Talulah had found leading her here. 

For now, Talulah really had no plan in mind. There wasn’t the need for one. All she had to do was confront Kashchey and kill him. Kaeya didn’t need to know that. Maybe when she was more comfortable with him, all of herself accepting him rather than a single, small part, then she would be ready. But until then, she was just fulfilling a personal goal. 

Either way, she was quite sure that no plan was required regardless. Vyazov was a slightly bigger city, and while cities came with their own fair share of problems, given her infamy, it didn’t matter now. Reunion never operated this far in northern Ursus, and while such crucial information had the ability to spread quickly through the countryside, a sparser population up north meant delayed processing. 

And besides, after the events of Chernobog and her subsequent imprisonment, nobody knew that she was free. Only Rhodes Island did. 

Regardless, she wouldn’t be out of place. All she had to do was blend in and not use her powers, lest others connect the dots. A wandering Draco and billowing fire seemingly under control? A practically recognizable combo, even here. 

And Kaeya? He’d be fine. 

Well, maybe not entirely, she thinks with a wince. Although foreigners weren’t… unexpected in northern Ursus, given the usage of mercenaries and multiple races found within that portion of the country, he’d still stick out like a sore thumb with those clothes of his. That wasn’t even considering his lack of mastery in the Ursan language. But that was something that could be resolved, at least she hoped. 

And so, they continue pushing on forward, all those jumbled thoughts in Talulah’s mind pushed towards the back once more. All that mattered was pushing on forward. Toward the Deathless Black Snake, who wouldn’t be Deathless for much longer. 

By the time they continue down the pathway, chasing the sight upon the horizon, the little specks of black and grey had transformed into far larger buildings, the city surrounded by standard guard posts and defensive positions, high walls towering above them. A nomadic city. One that had been parked in this area for quite a while, given how much of the surrounding forests nearby had been presumably cut down for usage. 

Large groups of soldiers patroled around, looking around for trouble. Peering at one of the patrols ahead, she sees a guard armed with a crossbow standing there, looking out ahead. Expecting some sort of checkpoint, she approaches one of the men, hands in the air and waiting for any inspection. 

The guard’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his crossbow lowered but still ready. 'Move along,' he said after a pause, motioning toward the ramp. Talulah didn’t hesitate, but her grip on her cloak tightened as she passed. No questions asked. No immediate trouble. For now. 

The message seemed clear. Anybody could come in, but those who misbehaved would be punished. Appropriately. 

Turning around, she expects some trouble with Kaeya entering the city, given that her last look at his appearance involved him wearing that shredded, elegant cape of his, coated with blood. But now, everything conspicuous had disappeared, only leaving essentials behind. Spiked armbands, the cape, and any other ornaments on his uniform had disappeared, leaving him in something far more passable. His face was now framed with a black cloak, a portion of his face obscured. 

For a second, Talulah wonders where he’d had the time or the materials to complete the transformation. But she doesn’t dwell on her thoughts too long. That wasn’t necessary at the moment. She could oblige those thoughts later after all of this was done. After she’d be in Reunion’s hands again, paying back for all her mistakes. All the lives lost in pursuit of their original goal, having been twisted by herself. 

“Come here,” she whispers under her breath in Ursan, motioning Kaeya over. And despite not understanding what she had said, he understood the meaning of it, moving closer to her. They had traveled and arrived in city together, and it would be strange if they had kept their distance from each other, especially with the guards nearby. By the time they walk up the massive ramp and enter through the wide gate, Talulah turns around, checking whether anybody was looking in their direction. 

“We’re here, huh,” Kaeya mutters softly, turning towards her. Once scanning the nearby surroundings, his deep-blue eyes turn on her, Talulah now able to catch a better glimpse of him. 

Covered by a black hood, his face obscured, he seemed…. Well, normal. At least enough to blend into city, anything that would distinguish himself from the other inhabitants gone. His hair, once softer and seemingly styled, seemed messier and a bit more disheveled, almost intentionally so. And his eyes. They had a more… dull gaze than normal, all of the humor gone and replaced with seriousness.  

“What did you do?” she hisses under his breath, switching back to the common dialect she communicated with him. Most Ursan inhabitants didn’t receive higher education and hence, wouldn’t understand what they were saying. But he would. 

“I’m simply playing a role, madam,” he whispers under his breath, his voice calm and soothing, not like the one that carried the hint of playfulness or the contemplative seriousness. Not the friendly one who showed so much care for her or the nonchalant one who conversed with her. Different. 

Seeing Talulah stare at him blankly, he just releases a sigh, some of the old expression returning back to his face. “I may have fooled the guards earlier, but the city’s a different story. The inhabitants are suspicious and, presumably, haven’t seen that many ‘foreigners.’, especially those like me.” He releases a sigh, moving his hand into the cloak and running it through his hair. “And given what you’re earing, I thought it would be best to project ourselves as...” 

“A well-dressed lady and her servant.” Talulah finishes his thought, the lightbulb going off in her head. Well, it made far more sense than whatever she’d expected him to come up with. Clever, all things considered. And to come up with all of this on the fly, a couple of minutes out from the city, was impressive. “But why that interpretation?” “For starters, you’re quite the elegant person, Talulah. You’re a commanding figure with a nice touch.” he begins, a small smile beginning to spread across his face. He was making sense, wasn’t he? He seemed to be… Wait, what had he said?  Unwittingly, the barest hint of pink blooms on her cheeks, her chest tightening for a faint, brief moment. A compliment. Such a simple thing, and yet it stirred something she wasn’t prepared to confront—not now, anyway. 

But Kaeya doesn’t wait for her response, mercifully—or maddeningly—continuing. “Me? Alas, my fabulous fluffy white cape has been slashed, covered in blood, and in tatters. Poor thing. Would you really have my reputation tarnished by wearing that? ” 

She just sighs, covering her face to hide that expression from him, though the corners of her lips turn slightly upward. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes he was infuriatingly amusing. Infuriating. And yet, still humorous. 

“You’re insufferable,” she whispers back to him. And when she moves her hand away from her face, there’s a calmer expression. All the emotions from before gone, the realization that Kashchey’s new form was nearby hitting her hard. Now wasn’t the time for any more banter. Only action. “Come, let’s get going, my servant.” A small smile graces her features, and she can see Kaeya’s eye twitch, almost as if he hadn’t expected her to play the role. Two could play the game. And so, she continues to move past the ramps, reaching a series of elevators that would presumably lead aboveground. From the corner of her eye, she notices Kaeya confused, looking at his surroundings with awe.  

Talulah gives a soft snort under his breath. Given the descriptions of his hometown, this would blow his expectations out of the water. Small towns, almost similar to the villages in the snowy wilderness of Ursus, such as the one Talulah had lived in with Ivan and Alina, paled in comparison.  

By the time they get to the surface, Talulah finds herself looking at the city's vast skyline, skyscrapers towering above them. Snow gently flutters to the ground, and guards mark a series of checkpoints right in front of them. 

Releasing a breath, Talulah moves towards the checkpoints, waiting for a guard to inspect them. Nomadic cities never allowed everyone in, with a layer of security preventing access to the premises. Down below, where they had encountered patrols, guards had ensured security in the nearby areas, while soldiers in the upper levels ensured that security concerns were addressed in regard to new visitors. 

Once she’s patted down successfully, an officer checking for any weapons on her, she moves towards the other side. Thankfully, she had left her greatsword in the snow quite a distance away from the nomadic city, knowing that she would come back to that place. After all, Reunion and Nine were right nearby, a fact that she had only come to know a couple of days ago. Sooner or later, she would be coming right back to them. 

Kaeya is also able to pass through the checkpoint, and by the time they walk through the gates, she turns around and observes his reaction. Seeing his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with shock, she just smirks. It was a sight, wasn’t it? 

“Fascinating,” Kaeya murmurs, his expression dropping. His gaze now sweeps across the towering buildings, taking everything in. “It’s... gigantic. Industrial. And unsettlingly precise.” He glances at Talulah, his usual smirk softened into something almost contemplative. “So this is where people in the cities live.” 

Walking down a series of blocks, both of them continue to navigate through the winding city. When Talulah finally comes across someone, an older woman who was walking through the streets, she asks her where a college would be located. The woman had mentioned that it was seven blocks down after taking a left soon, the building distinguishable from the rest. 

As they neared the outskirts of the college, Talulah’s steps faltered. Her breath hitched, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future pressing down on her chest. She reached out, her hand brushing Kaeya’s shoulder to stop him. For a moment, she let herself stare at the imposing structure ahead, the silhouette of her enemy waiting somewhere within. No plan. No backup. Just this. 

"Wait right here," she whispers, her voice low but steady. For a moment, she meets his gaze—steady, unyielding, and quietly reassuring. He doesn’t protest, and the lack of objection stings more than it soothes. She hesitates, the words she wants to say— thank you, I need this, I’ll be fine —tangling on her tongue. Instead, she just nods, her silver eyes softening before she turns away. 

Once she walks past a series of buildings representing the outer edge of the campus, she arrives at a smaller building, this one seemingly occupied by students. As she steps into the hallway, she goes past each room, attempting to grab a glimpse of Kashchey’s other form. No success. 

Unable to find anything in the series of rooms in the building, she releases a frustrated sigh, her heart pounding. After all this time, had he tricked her? Had he truly played her? She stands against the doorway of a final room, her fist against the wall. No, she couldn’t give up. Not now. Not with one more room right here, one more place the monster could have occupied. And then, she hears a voice. 

“Historians believe that the cause of the Hippogryphs' fall…”  

Peering inside the room, she looks into the final room from the hallway, noting it packed with students. A series of maps and diagrams of Ursus, scattered throughout the room, shelves filled with historical memorabilia over the ages. She hears a woman’s voice lecturing about the Ursan Imperial history. Calculated, deliberate, laced with an underlying venom. No amount of disguises or years could soften the way it slithered through the air. 

This was him . 

But in a room full of students, she wouldn’t make her move. And so, she waits. 

A couple of moments later, a student asks her whether she was here to attend “Miss Koshelna’s” lectures about Ursan Imperial History, which were apparently very popular amongst the student body. But she declined, noting that the monster’s voice was clear as is. And so, when the bell rings, students pouring out of the classroom, she makes her move. 

Walking in, she catches a glimpse of Miss Koshelna. The same silver hair. The same smattering of black, silver, and red. The woman turns to her, seemingly confused by her presence. “Do you have any questions, Miss?”  “.... Found you.” 

“... turn my body to ash, and scatter it all across this dark hallway!” the voice calls out behind, that same taunting one she’d heard for so long. She can hear the provocation oh so clearly, and yet, no matter how tempting the offer is, she refuses. 

Her hands clenched into fists, her sharp nails dragging against her palm, driven by the comprehension of whatever consequences would come if she had done so. Murderer. Killer. Monster. That’s what they would have called her. 

For now, she swallows the lump in her throat, moving away from the woman behind her. The immortal being stands, and for a moment, Talulah feels like she’s running away. Abandoning her goals, leaving behind something that would only cause more pain and suffering. Blood on her hands, staining them an unwashable red once again.  But this time, she just walks away. 

“‘Terrifying Infected Murderer Reemerges in College Campus,’” she remarks coolly, a slight hint of amusement creeping into her voice. She isn’t sure whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea or cry, knowing that she was leaving him alone. Her vengeance, unfulfilled. “That's the headline that will don the front pages tomorrow.” 

Behind her, she hears the scraping of the chair’s metal legs against the hardwood floor, a desk being pushed slightly askew. But she doesn’t dare turn around. 

“You wouldn't mind having that on your reputation,” Koshelna whispers, the voice soft. If Talulah had turned back, she’d know she’d be met with one of Kashchey’s trademark smirks, one of those smiles that never reached his eyes. Lifeless. Soulless. 

“I should point out that I'm not afraid of the patrol unit who will be here in three minutes, either.” she mentions, suppressing her emotions. She couldn’t be weak in front of Kashchey. Not here, not now. Just strong, and maybe not for Kashchey this time, but just for herself. She mimics looking at a watch’s hands on her wrist, almost in dismissal of his presence. 

You’re almost there Talulah. Just end it here . 

“But... your new old friends who are waiting outside the city... They don't stand a chance against the Royal Guards.” his vessel whispers mere feet away from her. Talulah unwittingly shivers, the empty threat hanging in the air. Even though she’d grown up around him, left him with a sword in his chest in defiance, she’d never felt truly easy around him. Never. “Even if they begrudgingly allowed you to return to Ursus because of those in control... They wouldn't tolerate murdering anyone on Ursus land.” 

She releases a sigh, her hand falling down to the side of her waist, against the place where her greatsword had been kept. But it wasn’t with her now, having been kept outside the city. “Kashchey.” she begins with a snort, “If the Royal Guards found out that the immortal monster–the mastermind behind the Chernobog incident was right here, do you think they would try to take me in or turn their attention and blades to you?” 

A silence emerges, only the sounds of students filtering through the other areas of campus remaining distant, growing quieter by the second as they moved to their next classes. 

“... So why haven’t you killed me yet?” Kashchey’s voice whispers, another dose of mockery injected. But she doesn’t dare answer. She’d already spoken to him far too long. Whatever he wanted to know, that was something for him to understand.  “Figure it out for yourself, Kashchey…” she replies, unfazed. The burden laid upon her soul suddenly lifts, and for the first time in ages, she feels free. 

“...” “When you leave Vyazov, my little snake,” the voice begins again. For a second, Talulah doesn’t want to hear his voice anymore, only wanting to walk away. But she stays, waiting for his final words. A final reminder. “take whatever… monster you’ve dragged to my doorstep away as well. I’m sure it would be unfortunate if the patrol unit coming in, say, two minutes finds him.” 

Talulah suddenly freezes, a shiver spreading through her bones. But that chill is short-lived, her figure moving back into the classroom before slamming into Koshelna’s figure, pressing her against the wall. 

“What did you say?” she murmurs, her voice soft but laced with a quiet, dangerous edge. Her eyes narrow, and she presses against Kashchey’s figure slightly harder. 

Kashchey, however, only lets out a soft, amusing laugh. This one reached his eyes, perhaps one in a very long time. “Oh, I see him. I see him. He’s tainted. Ruined. Corrupted. ” 

Talulah’s gaze drops, her eyes lingering on the ground for a moment before she lids them again, locking onto him with a renewed, burning focus. “ How? How do you know that?” 

But Kashchey doesn’t seem to respond, continuing onwards. Twisting his web of lies, poking and prodding her to push holes into her narrative. 

“Oh dear. My little snake, before you disregard my words as empty prattle, a simple lecture to distract you from my intentions, ask him. Ask him who he truly is, what he hides behind that façade of his.” Kashchey’s vessel brings up a hand, and before Talulah can slap it away, he caresses her cheek softly, his eyes filled with a twisted sense of affection, a mockery of genuine emotion. “Even after all of the… incidents between us, I still care for you. After all, I’m still your father. Always with you, in one way or the other.” 

With a gasp, she slaps his hand away, her other hand withdrawing away from his throat. She watches him stagger, clutching at his neck as he collapses, her defiance leaving him crumpled on the floor. 

She turns back towards the door, moving closer towards it an an attempt to just about head out. But for some reason, she finds her feet becoming still, whatever words Kashchey whispered just now eating away at her. No matter how much she had prepared herself for confronting him, knowing his manipulative, lying personality, he was effective either way. 

And maybe, in some aspects, he was right. And that scared her, the hushed voice in her head, the one filled with all those doubts eating away at her, piece by piece. 

“Either way, you’ve seen it, haven’t you?” the voice echoes from behind her, the sound of a figure getting up from off the floor following shortly. “You’re smarter than that.” 

Her feet still remain frozen to the floor, her hand mere inches from the doorway. Mere inches from the opportunity to leave this room and all this bullshit behind. All this manipulative shit, whatever Kashchey was good at.  “People like him, people so broken that betrayal has simply become nothing but a part of them, hide it expertly. Behind those smiles, behind those easy-going natures are people, monsters who’ve come to life, unafraid of inflicting the same pain that broke them.” Kashchey whispers, the voice slithering around her. Just like a snake. 

“You’ve simply been molded, adapted to that betrayal and loss, but in a different way, Talulah. The passion, that idealism that you carry, it’s overcome that.” 

She stands there, her hand hovering over the doorknob, her mind and body clashing. The desire to hear Kashchey’s final words and yet, to run away from his bullshit, from the creature that sought to tear her apart and isolate her, break her.  “But for someone with nothing to lose? Nothing to call home, lost and without purpose?” his voice continues softly, sinister mockery creeping into it. “It festers, waiting to break free. Waiting to inflict the same pain that it had suffered, all in the name of spite.” 

Talulah simply closes her eyes, attempting to tune out his voice. She had to be strong. Not for him, not for Reunion, not for anybody else. Just for herself. 

And so, she wraps her fingers around the doorknob, opening the door into the hallway before walking out. From behind her, she can still hear Kashchey’s voice echoing, his words still as clear as usual. 

“He’s like a rose; an appealing exterior, one that’s seemingly perfect on the outside. But all this time, you’ve yet to see the thorns. You’ve never seen…” 

The sound of the door slamming shut echoes behind her, Talulah walks away, her pace quickening. By the time she exits the building and makes her way past the campus, she sees the patrol group pass by her, merely feet away from her position. Just in time. 

For a quiet moment, she stands still there, her mind wandering back to what Kashchey had said. “ Tainted. Ruined. Corrupted,” Kashchey’s voice whispers in her mind, and she can’t help but flinch. She knows how much of a manipulative bastard Kashchey had been, always seeking to make her doubt, make her question until her willpower left her, leaving behind a broken shell. Something he could control, something he could use to advance his goals. For that man, nothing was meaningful to him, the flittering passage of mortal lives nothing but a speck in time for an ageless being.  

But at the same time, that small whisper, that small voice in the back of her mind that had been there since the day Alina had died in her arms, whispers. Betrayal and loss was inevitable. She was marked to have it follow her, they tell her, and Kaeya was another cruel trick played by fate upon her. Another person, someone with whom she’d already been vulnerable with, to thrust a knife through her side as she leaned on him, remembering the little comforts that companionship brought. 

How could a man, someone so unfazed and nonchalant, remain that way in life, seemingly unbothered by everything? Someone so compassionate, someone so genuine that it all seemed like a miracle for a weary Talulah’s eyes? And yet, at the same time, have cracks exposing a weathered surface, one whose memories remembered the harsh rays of sunlight? 

She tries to remember the conversations she’d engaged with him, those moments filling the past few weeks of her journey. For the most part, his life sounded decent. Simple. Living in a city, a sedentary one, not a nomadic one, blooming with people and events, his only worries realistically dealing with some military and upholding order. 

And yet, at the same time, Kashchey’s taunts worm her way through her mind, twisting and warping her perceptions, making her question. If Kaeya was only that, how had he effortlessly slaughtered that Infected Patrol regiment back when she initially met him, given the disadvantages? Why did he look so weary after revisiting the town a couple of days ago, drunk and yet, seemingly distant as if he’s seen the same situation played out before? 

She closes her eyes, attempting to reset her memory, remove the slithering voice that speaks in the back of her mind. When she opens them a moment later, she gasps, her hand unwittingly reaching towards her side as if to steady herself against the hilt of a sword, one that wasn’t there. Why was she thinking this way? Why was she standing here, doing this? She had to get back. 

She forces herself to breathe, to think clearly. She wouldn’t allow Kashchey to have that power anymore. She wouldn’t break any longer. 

And so, when she creeps past the decorative underbrush scattered across the campus edges across a pathway leading towards the street, she catches sight of him, hidden in a smaller, obscured location. And when he catches sight of her, too, he perks up a little, smiling at her. A genuine one, too, almost as if he was relieved to see her. 

He seemed… so genuine. 

And here she was, questioning him, Kashchey’s maddening influence still taking hold of her. She couldn’t have that happen. And so, she dismissed those thoughts, knowing they still lingered in the back of her mind, whispering her fears, warning that what she hated the most would only come out of this. 

“How’d it go?” he whispers to her, the sound of his voice reaching her ears. And so, she looks up, meeting his blue eyes, that expression of concern within them once more. 

She still hates the thoughts in the back of her mind, influencing her in so many small ways. But now, she was right here and had to respond. 

“It went well,” she mutters quickly under her breath, the words forceful. Her teeth clenched together for a couple of seconds until she realized the message it had sent. Looking back at him, she noticed that he had seemed a little less lively, a little more solemn. Fuck. Why did she do that? She hoped he would understand, that he’d comprehend that she didn’t have a problem with him, that it was simply the result of whatever encounter she had. But maybe, the little voice in the back of her mind had one instead, a twisted way of protecting her from the pain, from the fear of betrayal and loss. 

Talulah shakes her head, attempting to dispel the voices and reorient herself. And when she stops, she doesn’t hear them anymore, all of them banished. They would come back, but until then, she’d be stronger than that. Ready to face them. They wouldn’t take hold of her. 

She had no reason to doubt Kaeya—not yet, at least. Until he did, she would trust him. Even if it scared her. 

“Come on,” she whispers to him, rising to her haunches. She offers him a hand, which he accepts, propelling himself up to his feet. “We need to leave.” 

And so, she begins to move towards the city's gates once more, her future lying just ahead while her past trails behind, never to be seen again. 

Diluc hefted the heavy crate, exhaling deeply as he pushed forward, each step causing his muscles to strain. As he crossed the wooden plank connecting the ship to the dock, he made his way toward the bow. Slowly, he bent down and lowered the box onto the wooden deck, the soft clink of glass echoing as the contents shifted inside. 

Turning around, he raised thumb in approval to another crew member who had just boarded the ship.  

“All clear,” he says, his voice slightly strained. Rising to his haunches, he brushes his hand against his sweaty forehead, using the other one to grab a hairband from his coat pocket. Once he’s stabilized, he bunches his hair up, putting it back into the ponytail that he’d favored. 

Moving away from the stack of crates that had piled up in front of him, he approached the wooden plank, noting how many people had gathered near the ship. Knights of Favonius members, all of them concealed in sailors’ and worker uniforms. Great. 

With a sigh, he gestures to the rest of them to board the ship, moving towards the cabin located in the center of the deck a short while later. He reaches up towards his coat, letting it slide off of his shoulders before hanging it on the doorknob. How had he ended up in this situation? 

Merely yesterday evening, Diluc had been checking over documents regarding the Dawn Winery’s quarterly profits, a small task before moving onto another one—checking for Kaeya. 

Usually, Diluc was the one who reviewed the financial statements and updates regarding the winery, a mixture of his education and effort to understand such concepts allowing him to do so. But this time, there was something more important on his mind, so he had outsourced that task temporarily, only reviewing the updates briefly. 

He was just about to place the documents back in one of his drawers before Adelinde knocked on his door politely, waiting for his response. He had told her to come on, expecting to hear something about the Dawn Winery’s premises. Instead, she had simply placed an enclosed envelope on his desk before giving a short bow, leaving him with the untitled letter in front of him. 

With a frown, he had torn open the envelope, his fingers grabbing the letter. Placing it on his desk, he had unfolded it, skimming through the contents quickly. It was a long message. And that too, one from Jean. 

Dear Diluc , 

I’ve spent a long time writing this letter, trying to find the right words to say. 

For the past few days, I’ve been reminiscing. Remembering. Hurting too. I still hear your words and your rebukes, echoing through my mind. And maybe, you’re right. Maybe it’s truly my fault as well. 

I know that you’re hurting inside as well. I should have broken the news sooner, and yet, my disbelief had weakened my resolve. I should have faced my responsibilities, and yet, I shied away from them when I needed to confront them the most. 

In some ways, he was the best of us. He’d be here in Mondstadt, engaging with his responsibilities and other Knights with ease alike, resolving problems effortlessly. Other days, he’d be back in the headquarters, hanging around with Klee and helping the unfortunate, even in unofficial capacity. 

That day when I’d sent him away, I’d thought that Port Dornman needed someone wily and strong, someone who could repel the Fatui with words. With force, if it ever came down to that. I’d never expected around two weeks later, to receive correspondence that he’d never even arrived at Port Dornman, all points of contact reporting nothing.  

I’ve been broken by that, blaming myself. But you? Even I know you that you hurt even more than me. You’ve grown up together, sharing experiences and memories for the years. I know I’m bringing up something painful, and every time I do, a part of me shatters. 

Maybe I’m being selfish here. Maybe I’m inconsiderate for asking this from you, especially considering where you are. If you’ve heard of the recent… incidents from Port Dornman, things aren’t looking good for the city and us. You’ve witnessed how the Fatui operate. Subtle enough to remain unable to challenge them head-on, and yet, making major moves that revelation would only serve asa diplomatic offense. 

So I’m asking you this, begging you, please. I’m a bastard for asking this, but now, I really need your help. 

If you can, please arrange a delivery of Death After Noon to Port Dornman. When you reach the area located right below Starsnatch Cliff, located near the sandy coast, you’ll find a makeshift dock set up there, one that will be dismantled after your departure. After loading the ship is done, you’ll be sailing to Port Dornman. Albedo and a couple of members of the Knights of Favonius will accompany you, disguised. 

Infiltrating Port Dornman will be difficult, especially with the new restrictions placed upon ships entering and exiting the city as the Fatui solidify their control. There, you’ll be gathering information about the Fatui and reporting back to us, serving as another diplomat. Albedo will be gathering knowledge and taking notes about the incident that set this all off. In exchange, you can have all the time you want to figure out Kaeya’s whereabouts all by yourself. Take all the privileges you want. You deserve them. 

If you’ve received this message, send correspondence as soon as possible. Please. I know this is a lot to ask, and I can never make up for the pain I have caused. The fate of Mondstadt is on your shoulders now, and we need all the help we can get. 

Sincerely, 

-Jean Gunnhildr 

Diluc just sits in his chair, his fingers still brushing against the bottom of the letter. His heart pounds in his chest, the knot in his throat tightening as a tear threatens to spill out his eye. Why? How had it come to this? The flame of spite burns brightly inside of him, the memory of Jean’s revelation of Kaeya’s disappearance still playing through his mind. 

Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what would happen- 

But at the same time, she was right, no matter how much it hurt him to admit. Would Kaeya want him to do this, burn brightly in malice, and wither away, leaving only ash behind? To leave Mondstadt weak, falling prey to the Fatui once again? He’d be betraying his principles. His brother. His dead father. All in the name of spite. 

And so, he steadied himself. When the fire of anger had finally subsided, he rose, going back to that drawer of his and pulling out a piece of paper and an envelope. Coming back to his desk, he reaches for the pen in the corner before settling down. And so, he begins to write. 

Dear Jean, 

Diluc watches the sun’s bright rays shine overhead, casting a warm tone against the deep blue ocean. Placing his elbows against the ship’s railing, he releases a soft sigh, watching the gentle waves washing against the ship’s bow and creating small ripples in the ocean’s surface. 

It’s been a couple of hours, at most, since they had left proper Mondstadt, the makeshift dock they had boarded from having already been dismantled. From there, the ship had begun to make its way towards Port Dornman, hauling its way through the water. 

Diluc wasn’t usually one to like ships, the endless span of water stretching till the horizon on all sides with no land in sight making him uncomfortable. He liked having something steady to stand upon, some form of confirmation that he wouldn’t find himself plummeting down hundreds of feet. But this time, seeing the gentle waves and feeling the warm rays of sunshine upon his skin, he had to admit that it wasn’t that bad. 

From behind him, he hears the sound of a cable shuffling against the wooden deck and almost jumps, the noise almost unnoticeable as he’d been lost in his thoughts. Turning around and noticing a shock of pale blonde hair in his peripheral vision, he relaxes, feeling the tension seep from his muscles. 

Albedo. 

To be honest, Diluc hadn’t expected him out here at all. Ever since Albedo and the rest of the Knights of Favonius members had boarded the ship, he’d been spending time down in the lower deck, presumably looking over a series of documents that he’d been carrying around. Now, there was simply nothing in his hands. He probably wanted to come out for fresh air, but Diluc knew better. He wanted to talk. “What are you doing here, Albedo?” Diluc asks the man, his voice a little less gruff than usual. He’d not been… in the best of moods the past few days, but perhaps his spite was ill-directed. He continues to look at the ocean, watching the relaxing rhythm of the waves. 

“...” 

“Losing someone like Kaeya… it must be hard to bear,” Albedo whispers softly, approaching Diluc. Placing his elbows against the hull, he looks out at the ocean like Diluc had, observing the waves with an expression he can’t fully decipher. “Kaeya had a unique way of seeing things, I can tell you that.” 

Diluc doesn’t speak, continuing to remain silent, the painful shock stinging him with an increased intensity. He’d accepted that fact yesterday, finally accepting that Kaeya had been lost. And still, it was a difficult decision. Recognizing that the same person who’d joked around and teased him and yet ended up at Angel’s Share every time he’d bartended or joined him at the Dawn Winery for the occasional dinner was gone. He swallows, the painful lump in his throat going down. 

“…” Albedo runs his hands through his hair, looking a little bit sheepish now. “I’m not the best at comforting others, am I?” “Better than others, at least,” Diluc mentions offhandedly, releasing a small snort that sounded a little bid sad. Raising a hand to Albedo in acknowledgment, he leans his body against the hull. “You’ve at least had the intention to speak with me.” 

The ocean breeze passes through, the ship’s sail fluttering slightly in the middle of the ocean. Diluc turns around, distracted by the sound, before turning back to Albedo. 

“Do you believe he’s still out there?” Albedo asks, fishing for something from his side before pulling out a series of papers that had slightly crumbled. Placing them against the hull, he smoothens out, taking a short glance at it before turning to Diluc. “Jean already referenced previous reports two days ago, but I’m still not convinced.” 

Diluc feels the familiar lump in his throat emerges at the thought, but he shuts it down. He’d already accepted it, hadn’t he? Why were the emotions still this raw? “He’s missing,” Diluc whispers flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. Had he said this after storming out of the Knights of Favonius headquarters, there would have been disbelief in his words. But now? It was over. “He wouldn’t be out of reach for this long.”  A brief silence hangs between them, and Diluc looks out toward the sea. The waves are unusually calm, the scent of the salty air filling his lungs. He shifts slightly, turning his gaze back to Albedo, and despite the ache still lingering, his lips twitch. 

“..He’s still a bastard,” he murmurs, softer now, with a touch of something more tender. “Though one I’d rather have around, still.” 

“Your alchemical store was located nearby Angel’s Share, wasn’t it, Albedo?” Diluc turns around, his back now against the hull as he looks at the bright sky. An unnaturally sunny day, the polar opposite of whatever emotions were running through him. Ironic. 

“Yes, located right near the end of the central walkway,” Albedo states plainly, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I recall observing him spending quite a number of afternoons at the tavern.” “Quite the number, huh?” 

“Yes,” Albedo runs his hands through his hair once again, the action making it a bit more disheveled this time. Moving away from the hull of the ship, he then moves right in front of Diluc, standing. “If I may request, would you mind coming down towards the lower decks? I’d appreciate your guidance in looking over these documents. I believe you can provide some fresh perspectives.” Diluc remains quiet, mulling over the offer in silence. And yet, at the same time, the thought of abandoning thinking about his brother and distracting himself by doing something else seemed unfaithful. Unbrotherly.  

Taking note of Diluc’s expression, Albedo gives a small nod of understanding, turning his back on him. By the time he’s halfway towards the small cabin located upon the deck, he pauses, turning around and meeting Diluc’s crimson eyes. 

“Whenever you’re… ready” 

And so, he turns around, leaving Diluc staring at the sky. A quiet weight presses on his chest, the thoughts of the information he’d received the night before playing through his mind—preliminary reports he had read, reports that didn’t seem to add up. Deep down, he’d felt that something larger had been at play, something more dangerous than normal. For a moment, he wonders what might have happened if he urged Kaeya not to leave—to have someone who wasn’t him dealing with the situation. 

What could have been. 

Duke Tarasov takes a slow sip from his glass of wine, the faint sound of screams carrying in from somewhere beyond his study. His gaze flickers over the stack of documents laid out before him, his fingers flipping through the pages with practiced ease. As he reaches for his pen, wanting to mark something down, a sudden burst of frantic shouting catches his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a man, struggling wildly, his screams muffled as two guards drag him past the doorway. 

Just another typical day at his estate. 

Releasing a sigh, he taps his fingers against the desk, going over the reports once more. More soldiers required? Was that really necessary? 

For the past few months, from what he could gather from reports, Emperor Vladimirovich had redirected more troops to the northern border, whispers of unrest and something far greater rising from the north. But that was about as much information Tarasov could gather. No matter how far he pushed forward, how much he tried to delve deeper into understanding the Emperor’s reasons for the changes, he couldn’t find anything. 

Ursus’ northern borders weren’t far from the boundaries of Tarasov’s domain, his outreach miles and miles away from the Northlands. And yet, it seemed as if he’d been blocked from the northern reaches of Ursus, its secrets dangling out of reach. 

What truly angered him, though, was the Emperor’s wavering policies. Emperor Vladimirovich had been hailed as a pacifist and moderate reformist, eager to undo the aggressive militarism of his father. And yet now, he was sending more soldiers to the north, as though nothing had changed. Was this really the voice of moderation, or was it the rumblings of a man finally giving in to the pressure of those around him? The aristocrats, those stubborn old men who never let go of their obsession with militaristic expansion, must have seen this as a victory, building up their own forces in preparation. 

Pathetic. 

Duke Tarasov wasn’t like the others. While other aristocrats squabbled over pacifism and nationalistic expansion, wanting to push Ursus back into its old militaristic glory, Duke Tarasov just waited. He’d been spending the past few years strengthening his rule, expanding his reach slowly. Waiting for the right time to strike. 

Besides, it had been almost two-and-a-half decades since the Great Rebellion had engulfed Ursus, aristocrats and commoners alike swept into conflict as the military’s old guard and royalist armies fought each other. Things had been quiet in this region for the most part, the fear of retaliation amidst Emperor Fyodor’s massive purges still loominjg at large. 

So, while some members of his soldiers had been sent to the north for unknown reasons, Tarasov had set out to replenish his losses, sending his forces to draft young men from nearby villages. Sometimes, they were met with resistance. But resistance was crushed, the defiant dragged back to his estate and thrown in the prisons located in the basement level. He wasn’t stupid or psychopathic. Executions would only fan the flames of unrest, and that wasn’t something he needed to face at the moment. 

Muttering under his breath, he rises to his feet, the pen that he once held falling against the surface of the table. Tarasov moves away from his desk, pacing toward the large bay window on the other side of the room. Peering through the glass opening, he watches the scene outside. 

Diminutive flakes of frost and snow alike fluttered through the air, piling up in a thick layer of white. Flourishing trees stood proudly, strong branches stretching out and reaching towards the air, defiant even amidst the winter weather. A wintry, biting cold that threatened to seep into one’s bones, such a contrast to the crackling, white-hot flames licking at the air inside. 

Home. Tarasov leans against the wall, watching the sight once more. Beautiful. 

So when he hears a knock on the door, the booming sound reverberating through the room as he’s lost in thought, he turns around swiftly. Facing him was Leskov, the captain of his personal guard, the older man’s rough face staring into his own. 

“It’s done,” Leskov mentions offhandedly, giving Tarasov a small bow before rising, meeting his gaze with one of satisfaction. “The last of them have been condemned” Tarasov turns back towards the bay window, looking at the scene outside. Leskov remains in his peripheral vision, waiting for Tarasov to say something. He’d always known when to stay or leave; in this case, he’d be right. 

“How is the other prisoner… faring?” Tarasov whispers, a hard edge seeping through the softness of his voice. Snow continues piling up in the distance, falling from the heavens and covering his estate. He’d have to clean some areas soon. 

“He’s been quiet, Duke. Quite still, unmoving,” Leskov leans slightly against the door, one hand playing with the hilt of his sword. Grabbing something from his uniform, he pulls out a cigarette from a box, moving away from the door into the hallway. Tarasov hears a click, the corner of his lips turning slightly upwards. That had been a habit for Leskov, but he didn’t mind that the man being the captain of his personal guard for more than a decade. He can see a puff of smoke float through the hallway, rising into the air. “Still defiant, though. Not giving in. You can see it in his eyes, almost like he’s waiting for something. ” “Good, good,” Frost continues raining down, hanging off the branches of trees, their leaves coated fully. Suffocating. He turns away from the bay window, meeting Leskov’s eyes, this time with his own. A glimmer of irritation bleeds into his eyes, the duke’s standing figure looking intimidating in the light. “Leave him there. Keep him untouched.” “Then, break him.” 

Leskov took the cigarette between his fingers, his hand steady as he pulled it away from his mouth. With a practiced motion, he brought it down to rest against his side, tucking it loosely against his fingers as an orange ember crackles. And then, he simply bows. 

Walking down the hallway past the set of double doors, the captain of Tarasov’s personal guard moves away, leaving him alone. And so, the duke simply stands still, the sound of a receding set of footsteps echoing behind him, looking through the window as he loses himself within his thoughts. 

Someday, all this territory and power would be his. But for that to happen, he’d need something… more. A weapon, something that would break the dominance other aristocrats held over their regions, someone that could sweep through strongholds effortlessly under his command. 

Now, all he needed was to forge it in fire. 

Chapter Text

Small waves gently ripple through the still water, the sound of oars gliding through the ocean calming. Past the horizon, soft voices flow through the bustling port, the structure overshadowed by the rising sun, its lukewarm rays scattered through the land and bathing it in a golden hue.

A beautiful sight. 

Diluc releases a sigh, appreciating the stunning view. He would have loved to visit the place more often if it weren't for current events. Port Dornman wasn’t a place suited for tourism, but it might have been one had it been repurposed for such purposes. Maybe in the future, it might be, but for now, that’s just a thought. 

The Dawn Winery’s heir leans against the hull, watching the oars moving through the water repetitively, propelling them closer to Port Dornman. Their destination. He’d never been somebody who loved ships and maritime travel, hating the accompanying sea sickness and being surrounded by nothing but water. But still, he had to admit, observing the city from this position and feeling the relief seep into him, bit by bit, made seafaring worth it. Perhaps, it had quenched his very fears. 

But still, he wasn’t coming here to reminisce. Nor to tour the surroundings, wasting time while sipping on a drink. 

He had some responsibilities to fulfill. 

The ship he was on approached the docks comprising the port section of the city, lurching forward slowly as it decelerated. His palms grasp onto the hull tighter, Diluc waiting to be thrown slightly backward as the ship grounds to a halt, avoiding slamming into the docks with a bang. 

Gritting his teeth at the sensation of his stomach being tossed in another direction, he waits for the boarding stairs to attach themselves to the dock, connecting the ship to the harbor as it remained locked in place. Turning his head towards the other side of the ship, he sees a couple of sailors scramble towards the other end, ensuring that everything was locked in place. Once he hears a resounding click does the sound of his heartbeat quell, his breaths becoming more steady. 

Finally. 

Moving towards the other side of the ship, the promise of freedom and some sense of steadiness past those wooden steps, Diluc glances around, noticing people emerge from the lower decks. In the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of pale blonde hair in the crowd, the shuffle of something resembling paper in the air. Albedo. 

Maintaining eye contact with the man, he simply gives a small nod before looking across towards his side, locking eyes with the brown-haired sailor to his right. The man simply nods, ushering Diluc through. And so, Diluc moves slow and steady, taking a delicate step upon the first stair. When he can’t feel the ground under him moves, he takes the next couple of steps before finally touching the hardened ground of the harbor’s dock with his feet—land, at last. 

Turning around, he motions towards the others to make their way down, the rest beginning to register the fact and start scrambling down the stairs. And so, just as several of them start making their way down, someone taps Diluc on the shoulders, startling him. Whatever person that snuck up on him was almost promptly met with a fist before Diluc realized who it was. 

Ahh. 

The port authority officer. Expected, but Diluc was still surprised. The Dawn Winery’s owner simply waves at him in apology, offering a look of muted sheepishness before facing the older man with a stern yet welcoming gaze. 

“Ragnvindr, is that you?” the older man whispers, his eyes growing wider as he takes in the sight of Diluc. “By archons, you’ve actually come to Port Dornman this time! I’ll have to mark this shipment down as accepted!” Turning around, the older man waves at a structure towering above the vicinity, someone apparently located all the way on top. Repeating the motion a couple more times, the man turns around, meeting Diluc’s eyes once more. 

“Port Dornman ran out of Death in the Afternoon, so I wanted to oversee delivering a shipment to the city,” Diluc mentions offhandedly, brushing off some dust particles off of his coat. Noticing something else on his coat, he peers down, identifying it as a wayward string before flicking it onto the harbor ground. “The city has… gone through quite the number of events, presumably.” 

“Yes, yes,” the man repeats, though this time, his voice seems a little bit more dejected. Fidgeting with his fingers, the older man looks at his feet for a moment before gesturing towards the port, looking at Diluc once more. “Come on, Port Dornman’s entrance is this way.” “Port Dornman is quite desolate today,” Diluc begins, his voice steady and calm, though his voice adopts a probing tone as he nears the end of his statement. An unvoiced question, but yet, one that was readily understandable. He continued walking with the older man, moving towards the city’s entrance as dock workers began moving down the walkway, presumably there to assist in unloading the goods. 

“Well, the city has been undergoing quite the number of changes…” the port authority officer began, his voice trailing off. It was almost as if he was lost in thought, trying to comprehend still whatever storm had swept through the city and left everything in disarray. “It’s been complicated ever since the Fatui have begun to assert dominance, achieving some semblance of control over the ports.” “The Fatui?” Diluc whispers softly under his breath, repeating the phrase, almost as if to get used to it. His nails bite into the softer skin of his palm, his teeth clenching slightly against each other. That word. “Explain.” 

Hearing the terse statement, the port authority official simply bows his head slightly before continuing. “The news has presumably reached Mondstadt, but I’d assume that new developments haven’t reached just yet. After the Knights of Favonius established a lockdown in the aftermath of whatever situation happened a month ago, business slowed down. Recently, though, we’ve been instructed to restrict arrivals and departures, even regarding business ventures. Some of them have even been coming over to the docks, asking questions. 

Interesting. But how did someone of his calibre, living down here as a port authority officer know about the Fatui? From what Diluc could tell with Jean’s information, most of the information surrounding the situation was highly-protected, only reaching a few ears. 

“Who informed you about their role?” Diluc asks the older man, his hands behind his back. He meets the man’s eyes with a steely gaze, keeping his fiery-red eyes upon him, waiting for a response. “That information isn’t freely distributed city-wide.” 

“Well, most inhabitants here aren’t well-informed of events,” the man begins, his gaze unwavering. Diluc’s eyes soften a little bit, though the hard edge remains. Good, the man wasn’t intimidated by him. Diluc had the reputation of not behaving much at all like a merchant, being straightforward and blunt, much unlike a merchant’s crafty, fleeting nature. That really shook away some people, but the person at his side didn’t seem afraid. “But people like me, people responsible for enforcing some aspect of control that comes with these external pressures, we understand. And with this city pent-up for so long, pressure threatening to choke them, secrets find a way to spill.” 

“Plus, it isn’t hard to understand that aspect, given how much they’ve increased their presence in the past few days. That hotel they’ve rented out in the city square, what was that called?” The man stroked his chin as if searching through his mind for its name. “The Marsier Hotel? They’ve seen quite a number of people enter their premises recently, from what I can tell.” “Of course, more Fatui setting up shop right here,” Diluc mutters under his breath, letting out a snort. Wherever the Fatui went, more chaos was caused. That wasn’t something the city needed right now, nor Mondstadt. Especially Mondstadt. “I’m sure they’re here to “help.” After all, what’s better than having more Snezhnayans down here?” 

“Exactly!” the man exclaims, his eyes widening. However, a moment later, he stills before attempting to catch up to Diluc, the port authority officer hurrying behind him. He lets out a small cough before shaking his head almost in sheepish disbelief of what he said. “Err, yes, Ragnvindr, they’re here to ‘help.’” 

Diluc simply responds by waving a hand, the gesture communicating some semblance of forgiveness regarding the mistake. “Regardless, have you heard anything about the status of the Knights? You’ve mentioned the city’s been on edge, and I’d rather not have my men run into the Fatui when ferrying the goods over inland.” Turning around, he looks behind him, catching sight of the disguised members of the Knights of Favonius hauling crates toward the city's entrance. He suppresses a smirk, though the corners of his lips turn slightly upward as he notices them attempting to hold onto the heavy containers full of fragile goods. 

“Yes, I’ll take you to the marketplace. We’ll take a different route, one that avoids where Fatui influence has been increasing. Follow me.” Now that they’ve walked the length of the dock, the man ushers Diluc towards the right, slightly away from the main entrance. 

“Once we’re done restocking supplies, take me to the Knights.” 

The officer’s head whips towards him, his expression one of clear surprise. "The... Knights?" He blinks several times, visibly caught off guard. "I—I thought you were here for the shipment, Ragnvindr. Of course, but... well, I’m not sure what they have to do with—" 

Diluc cuts him off with a steady glance, not unkind but direct. “I need guarantees from the city’s governing bodies that recent events won’t impede our goods shipments. The port authority can only do so much, not being fully under the Knight’s control.” 

“Oh, of course. Let’s first reach the market, shall we?” The officer takes yet another right turn, this time approaching a smaller gate. One that wasn’t particularly inconspicuous, but yet one that didn’t seem to be worn down too much. “Come through here, this side entrance should lead down the street towards the city-square. Go straight for three blocks before taking a left, continue walking straight, and you should find yourself near the city square and bar.” 

Diluc just looked at the man as if waiting for him to accompany him, ensuring the officer was kept nearby them. Instead, the officer misinterprets his stare, continuing to add on. “Look, going through the front entrance would have Fatui on your back the moment you stepped into the city square. Come, follow me.” 

Here, the officer pulls something from his jacket, the object continuing to jingle as he retrieves it from a pocket. Pulling it out, Diluc observes a set of keys in between the man’s fingers. Moving towards the door, the officer pushes it into the lock, twisting it until there’s a click, pushing it open. 

“No guards?” Diluc asks, raising an eyebrow. A smaller, less-known entrance without any Knights patrolling the area? That made no sense, only serving as a fault in the security system. Unless, they were somewhere inside the city then. 

“They’re just on the opposite side, Ragnvindr. Come, follow me.” And so, Diluc follows, watching the city emerge, growing more visible as he steps through the hole in the wall. Buildings towering nearby, marking the city square, a gentle, mid-day breeze flowing through the streets. 

Port Dornman. 

And so, Diluc steps inside, his goal towering in front of him. Standing. Waiting. 

One step forward. His resolve hardens. 

This time, there’s no turning back. 

A gentle winter wind blows in Kaeya’s face, scattering snow all over the remains of his previous disguise. As he shuffles through the snow, his gaze remains fixed on the woman ahead of him, her silver hair and flicking tail cutting a sharp figure against the endless snow. It was a sight he still wasn’t used to, even after all this time. Her tail swayed methodically, as though her steps had a rhythm, and for now, all he could do was follow. Watch. 

She’d been quiet since they’d left the strange area she’d brought him to—stony in her silence, her expression reflecting something that was equal parts unreadable and painfully familiar. That simmering vengeance. He’d seen it before in others. Perhaps, in his own reflection too. But hers? It was more subdued, tinged by emotions so complicated even he, master manipulator and expert reader of people, couldn’t begin to untangle them. 

And so, he didn’t try. Whatever storm brewed behind Talulah’s steady expression, he left it alone. He wasn’t sure if it was for her sake or his own. 

Instead, his mind wandered. Wandering was safer. 

The memory of their last destination played over in his mind, a place so foreign it almost felt like he’d dreamed it. A city—no, a moving city—of metal and wires, sprawling across the horizon like a mechanical beast. A place so massive it could swallow Mondstadt and the surrounding countryside whole. And yet, Talulah had called it small, mentioning cities even grander, larger. The thought unsettled him. 

Mondstadt was quiet. Peaceful. Familiar. It was a place where the wind carried the scent of cider and salt, where he could wander the streets and find a familiar face at every corner. Home. 

Hearing that word, his mind flashes back to Mondstadt. Sitting in the bar, hearing Old Jan drunkenly sing down in Angel’s Share, his voice terribly off-key every afternoon. Little Diana, the same girl who’d rage whenever Kaeya amusingly brought up her skills at her craft, and yet, was a genius bartender. And Diluc, always Diluc. 

Kaeya’s breath hitched as the memory of his brother surfaced. He could almost see that ever-present scowl, feel the tension that bled into the air whenever they caught a glimpse of each other. Yet beneath it, hidden in the cracks of Diluc’s glare, was something that felt like… relief. Relief that Kaeya was still standing. Still there. 

A pain of longing, sharp and unwelcome, bloomed in his chest. Mondstadt felt impossibly far away now, untouchable. But that was the price, wasn’t it? That was the price of whatever encounter with Anton had led him to, leaving his world behind. The key gone, tossed into the Abyss, his home having vanished. 

The thought saddened him. 

But now, he couldn’t be weak. Not when that doorway had been shut far in the past. Not with Talulah remaining quiet, her emotions simmering under that little mask, the faintest of cracks visible unbeknownst to her. He’d had to be strong. Whether for her or for himself, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d stood up, able to face whatever came at him. 

And so, he continues trudging through the snow, following her. For a moment, the urge to catch up to her, to ask her if everything was alright, comes to him, but he suppresses it. Now wasn’t the time. Maybe a couple of minutes, and then, everything would be alright. 

For a while, he continues following Talulah, unsure of where they were heading. He’d remember the same clearing of trees as they’d approached the nomadic city, Vyazov, perhaps? Yes, yes, that was the name. But still, he wasn’t entirely certain why she’d been walking towards this area, tracing their steps backward. 

So when he sees her make a little detour past the covered trail in the woods, heading towards a tree, a little frown appears on his face. Yet, he suppresses it, continuing to follow her. There was a reason she’d come here, wasn’t there? And so, when she reaches towards the snow near the base of a towering tree, his guess rewarded. Grabbing onto something, she pulls the item out of the snow, Talulah deliberately keeping it pointed away from him. 

Her greatsword. 

Ahh, right. There was a period of time where she’d remained unaccounted for, promising him that she’d be off to do something. It made sense now. The guards stationed at Vyazov’s entrance seemed to have patted down every traveller who entered and exited the city. What kind of visitor would be allowed to walk into the perimeters of a school carrying a five-and-a-half-foot greatsword? 

Suppressing a snort, he hesitates before stepping out toward her. Reaching out a hand half-heartedly, he debates whether what he’d be doing was a good idea, whether she’d be comfortable with it. And so, he suppresses those thoughts instead, placing his hand upon her shoulder. 

“Hey, you can tell me anything, alright?” he whispers softly, his voice carrying through the air. For a second, they both remain motionless, the only sound he can hear being his heart beating ever so slightly faster. For a second, Kaeya thinks his attempt at breaking Talulah’s trance had worked, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly, that stony front dispelled. 

But instead, that little pause was short-lived. 

Her shoulders straighten once more, the moment of softness fading back into something harder, almost like it never happened And yet, he can still sense it—the faintest crack beneath the surface, a little bit deeper this time. A little less invisible. 

She turns around, catching his gaze for a second, her silver eyes fixating upon his own, the faintest shimmer of sorrow behind them. Locked in, they continue looking at each other before Talulah breaks the gaze, turning back towards the tree and hoisting her greatsword. Placing it in the empty scabbard at her side, she turns back towards the path, her lips pursed. 

“Just follow me.” Her voice is a little bit more subdued than normal, and this time, Kaeya decides not to press further. 

This time, when he continues following her down that winding path covered with snow, he notices her taking a detour this time. Instead of continuing straight, plowing through head-on through the route leading to Vyazov, she veers to the right, moving off the track and into the less-trodden paths, chock-full of nature’s debris and fallen trees. 

But he doesn’t complain. That wasn’t his place. Nor was it the time to do so. 

Talulah hefted herself past a series of fallen trees, her movements agile and practiced. She was probably used to this, Kaeya thinks. The little glimpses of her past, albeit vague ones, that she’d given him in the weeks past had painted a picture. She was generally tight-lipped about it, keeping the details as limited as possible, information about her circumstances kept to the bare minimum. Still, growing up in this country, it wasn’t hard to imagine her navigating terrain like this with ease. 

They maintain their pace as they traverse the forests surrounding the land, patches of snow-covered grass and dappled tree trunks reaching out towards the heavens becoming nothing but a blur. Kaeya can’t tell where they’re heading to, his attempts of examining his surroundings remaining fleeting at best. All he knew was that they were somewhere in this forest, away from Vyazov, away from human civilization. 

Taking another left turn, they continue moving through the forest at a break-neck pace, his panting being the only sound that Kaeya could here in the vicinity. So when Talulah tells him to suddenly stop, placing a hand upon his chest, he halts. 

“Do you hear that?” she whispers softly, placing a finger against her pursed lips as if to silence him. She tilts her head slightly forward, cocking her ear past the clearing of trees. “Listen.” Kaeya begins to recover his breath, waiting for the steady thump of his heartbeat to quell. Leaning against the bark of a tree, he makes no noise, just listening. Just following her, like he would. There’s something off about the stillness in the air. Too quiet, even for a winter forest. He listens harder, his gaze shifting to Talulah. 

Voices. Faint, but still there, nonetheless. 

And if there were voices, that meant… 

“Just wait here, okay?” This time, she grabs his arm, locking her gaze on him once more. This time, it’s a little bit longer, and when she finally does turn around, he can sense a bit of hesitation. 

He responds with a nod, and she moves on forward, her figure growing smaller and smaller until the forest swallows her whole. 

And then, he waits. 

That’s something he could do well. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------- 

Diluc hefts yet another box, strain pumping through his muscles as he lifts the container. Pivoting himself on his heels, he moves toward the back end of the structure, the sight of a rapidly filling storage room expanding with every step. 

Finding himself next to a relatively empty section of the room, he drops the box against a tall stack of wooden containers before leaning against the wall, letting out a strained breath. 

Finally, just a few… 

Oh. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a Knights of Favonius member—Rolf, if he remembers correctly—lifting the last box and setting it on top of his own. The man simply raises an eyebrow at Diluc before wandering off, his figure receding in the distance as Diluc watches. 

He groans.  Great, he was going to be the last one here. 

It hadn’t been long since the port authority officer he’d encountered had ushered him through the hidden side entrance, guards around the corner just as he’d promised. By the time he’d taken around fifty paces past the door, a series of Knights of Favonius guards had caught up to him, patting him down. One of them had recognized him, but regardless, that didn’t mean they let him go off lightly. 

After they let him proceed towards the city center, he just followed whatever instructions the officer had given him. And thankfully, they were accurate. By the time he took his final left turn and walked straight, he’d found himself within the city square, the bar located where it was supposed to be, on the far-right section. 

For a while, he waited for the other members of the Knights of Favonius, all disguised as workers, except Albedo, expecting a large stock of Death in Afternoon to follow behind them. When they hadn’t shown up after a few minutes, he found himself squinting at the sun, shielding his eyes with his hands to avoid the excessive glare. He wasn’t that far from the entrance, was he? 

By the time they arrived near the bar, the realization hit him—of course, they’d come through the main entrance. They couldn’t have snuck in with that many boxes without drawing attention. It made sense; any attempt to enter through a hidden route would have been too suspicious, guards’ interests piqued. Instead, they must have been delayed by swarms of people, the lingering effects of the Fatui presence adding to that while navigating to the city square. 

Regardless, this procession of boxes was complete. Now, all Diluc needed to do was book several rooms near another hotel, one away from Hotel Marsier, yet close enough to keep an eye on the Fatui. A series of rooms near the top of the building, preferably ones facing the city square. A perfect place for reconnaissance. 

Scattered sunlight speckles across the frost-covered ground, the sun rising overhead and bathing the arctic environment in a rare glow. Talulah traces the fiery orb in the sky, watching as its golden light spills over the snow-drenched earth. Scorching, yet sustaining—two sides of the same coin. 

What more could she describe herself as? Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. 

A fiery, stoic leader who sought to inspire and lead, her façade unwavering, weaknesses banished for the cause. Someone who’d sacrificed so much, burdened by the weight of the losses pushing her downwards yet standing strong. 

And yet, there’s another side—an idealist, small and fragile, yearning for something more. A girl who once dreamed of a world where hope wasn’t a commodity to be traded. One that hadn’t forgotten her ideals, one that had remembered the warmth of belonging and craved comfort in a world seemingly devoid of it. 

The fear gnaws at her. The fear that soon, that one side would be etched soon—deep marks made into the latter. It’s inevitable. She should have prepared for this, should have let herself unravel, just a little—peeled back layers of iron resolve, even if only a few. At least with him. But even now, she keeps those mausoleum gates closed, fear keeping her away. 

Even then, she’d failed to do that. So instead, she simply continues tracing the rising sun upon the horizon, the sight of a Pythia’s auburn-colored hair in her peripheral vision. 

“One day, the people will awaken and abandon the ignorant conqueror. And on that day, there will be no more Black Snakes in Ursus.” 

The Pythia in front of her simply snorts, her arms folded together as she observes Talulah, the action motivated by a mixture of impatience and wondering where the conversation would go. Tapping her finger against her bicep, the woman effectively forces Talulah to turn away from the sky, at least for now. “What about now, then?”  Talulah’s gaze snaps away from the horizon, her silver eyes locking with the Pythia’s blue. The exchange is brief, but it’s enough. Talulah knows that the woman is waiting for something from her—answers, decisions, anything.  “Now, before we come back here for the last time, we need to visit Victoria.” Her tone is firm, though she can feel the weight of the words. She had to be ready for this. Moving forward means that this was necessary. 

“So you’ve decided to come with us?”  

The woman raises her eyebrow, and Talulah can’t tell whether Nine is actually surprised at the fact or more excited that Talulah’s presence would bolster her credibility at the helm of Reunion despite Talulah’s crimes. 

"I'm your prisoner,” she murmurs softly, her eyes glancing through the crowd that had begun to surround them. She can hear the whispers, a hint of underlying tension bleeding through the quiet demeanor of the mass of Reunion. “I have nowhere to go except with you. Besides, you said it yourself... The Infected there are waiting for us.” 

Her eyes flutter open once again, meeting Nine’s gaze once again. Her lips purse and there’s a more solemn expression on Talulah’s face this time, memories bleeding through. Of those times long ago when she’d retreat to Alina after a long day, the Elafia always listening to her, understanding her. Of the campfires they had set up as Talulah dared to dream of something better for Reunion, where they spoke passionately about justice under the stars. Talulah had been so sure then—so passionate. They had been unstoppable, or so she’d thought. 

Her movement. 

Her fight.  “It’s for the cause, Nine. Reunion started with me, and right now, I’m one of the last ones standing. I can’t abandon everything, not after what I’ve done.” she whispers softly, the words weighing heavy on her chest as her heart constricts. She feels the gentle arctic breeze blowing her silver hair into her face, but she doesn’t care for it, instead electing to continue on. That didn’t matter, not with this happening. “Even if it ends with me, Reunion will still be a symbol, some hope for the masses. It will continue on. That’s my penance.” 

“...” 

Right here, there was yet another divergence in her journey. She felt it. She could feel the weight of the chains against her hands, restricting her movements, the inevitability closing in. A prisoner. But this was the only way she could repay Reunion, even if it couldn’t return all their losses. 

And yet, confronting her past didn’t mean abandoning the present either. 

Talulah simply swivels on her heels, her back now facing Nine. As she begins to move away from her, the crowd seems to close in upon her, their movements hesitant. It was as if they weren’t sure whether to subdue Talulah or keep away from her, her lack of chains motivating them to do so. She turns her head back around, glancing at the Pythia. 

“Just… give me a minute, will you?” she whispers towards her. Nine pauses, hesitates, and then nods. Without another word, she gestures to the crowd, signaling them to back off. One by one, they begin to disperse, paving the way for Talulah to move through. 

Once she moves past the crowd, she begins moving toward the forest once again, feeling the breeze. It’s different here, still cold, but gentler as it brushes past her skin. Giving a final glance backward, she hesitates before stepping past the edge of the forest, leaving her past behind for the time being. 

She was going to have to face her present. 

A nagging thought enters the back of her mind, the little whisper asking her whether revealing whatever she’d kept hidden, at least the important parts, would be okay at this stage. How would he react, seeing her, the same woman who had nursed him back to health, now bound by chains? Witnessing the strong personality that she had, unexpectedly give up and become subjugated? At the same time, how would Nine react to seeing her haul someone new in? Someone that was completely foreign, completely unknown? While Reunion had no problem taking in new fighters, recognizing that replenishing its reserves after sustaining massive losses at Chernobog, having someone close to her was a different scenario. After all, the others had spent years with her, staying by her side, following her dreams, hadn’t they? 

The thoughts all swarming through her mind, the steady buzz of little voices inside her head, Talulah wanders across the forest, lost in thought. Scattered branches fall from the trees, displacing snow, and small animals make nearly imperceptible noises as they ruffle through the frost. So when Talulah finds herself colliding into something, almost falling backward, she pops out of the little reverie she had gotten into. 

Brushing the snow off of her jacket, she mumbles something under her breath a little sheepishly before looking up. She hadn’t collided with a tree, had she? She was just being absent- 

Oh… 

Just before her stood Kaeya, the man infuriatingly calm yet again. She had expected him to look at least a little bit disappointed or at least slightly flustered, but instead, she only found a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Classic. 

She blinks in surprise, startled at his sudden appearance, and for a moment, she forgets herself. A brief flicker of a smile tugs at her lips before she catches herself, feeling a rush of warmth on her cheeks. Damn him. 

He extends a hand toward her, and for a second, she hesitates. She could get up by herself, couldn’t she? A moment later, she decides to grab it willingly, and when she does, his warmth floods her senses. At that point, she’s up on her feet and ready to go, having been hauled up with ease. 

She couldn’t face him right now, look at him in the eyes and reveal anything. So instead, she turns around towards the camp, her back facing towards Kaeya, not glancing behind this time. Instead, she simply mutters, “Follow me,” under her breath, before moving steadily back towards Reunion. Back towards her past, an element of her present in tow. 

She doesn’t utter a single word as they walk towards wherever Talulah has scouted. She had wanted to say something, tell him about whatever they would be facing in a couple of minutes, but she found herself struggling to let the words roll off her tongue, the sequence frustrating. She had gone through so much, had inflicted upon others so much, and yet… why was this difficult for her? It should be easy, shouldn’t it? 

However, just as she finishes dismissing those thoughts, wanting to mention something about Reunion, she suddenly sees them past the clearing, the voices growing louder. Glancing at her side, she finds Kaeya frozen, his gaze locked upon Reunion’s makeshift base. With a slight turn of his head, he mentions something softly under his breath, something that she could barely hear. Yet, the message was clear. Where was she taking them?  “... Trust me, okay?” 

The words spill out of her mouth hurriedly, almost as if those words were poison that needed to be discarded. Her heart burns with a mixture of pain and guilt, the hypocrisy of those words twisting inside. She was continuing with this façade, even knowing he’d be exposed to her lies and half-truths in mere moments. Perhaps she wasn’t strong enough. Too weak to face the backlash, too afraid of pushing someone close by further back. 

Unintentionally, she places her hand on his shoulder as she whispers the phrase, feeling the hardened muscle underneath his shirt. Noticing what she did, she jumps back, slightly startled, withdrawing her hand hastily. What was she doing? He only responded with a pointed glance, one that flickered from his shoulder to her eyes, and she could barely hold back her flustered demeanor. His gaze lingered for a moment longer, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came. Talulah stammers for a moment, trying to come up with a response before giving up, recognizing that anything else would only further implicate her. 

By the time they walk past the edge of the forest, the camp visible to them, Talulah can see the members of Reunion grouping up ahead of them, locked in place. Past them, Nine and several other subordinates looked at her, their gazes flickering back toward Kaeya’s figure, freezing in place. From here, she can identify Nine’s eyes narrowing ever so slightly, a hint of suspicion bleeding through the woman’s demeanor. 

That was expected. 

Once she reaches the crowd, the crowd begins to part, Talulah gliding through the rough mass of bodies. The sound of ice-cold snow slushing with every step echoes behind her, the lack of a follow-up sound informing her that Kaeya wasn’t following behind her anymore. For a second, she wants to look back, see whether she could witness the hurt bleeding through, some disappointment playing through his face, but she’s too afraid. Too scared to know whether that would be the truth or not. 

Regardless, that was good. He didn’t need to see this—whatever this was turning out to be, what steps Talulah was taking forward. 

A moment later, she finds herself face-to-face with the Pythia, her light-blue eyes staring into her own. Probing. Questioning. Before she has the chance to confront Talulah, though, the Draco manages to cut her off. 

“Let’s get going, Nine. There are people waiting for us,” Talulah mentions softly, lowering her head ever so slightly. She puts her hands forward, feeling the air rush around her wrists as the sleeves of her dress hitch slightly up. For a moment, everyone stands still, nobody moving. This time, Talulah nods at an unresponsive subordinate of Nine softly, reminding her of what needed to be done. 

“Get the chains,” she whispers before meeting Nine’s gaze, her voice submissive, a little quieter. There’s a little bit of defiance that comes through, her tone a little bit more forceful than normal. She quickly corrects it, however. There wasn’t any need for conflict. Not while her fate was this. She looks at Nine, meeting her in the eyes with a somber look. “I’m your prisoner, aren’t I?” 

By the time the subordinate brings the chains, a series of metal constructs specifically enchanted to suppress her powers, she finds herself moving deeper into the camp, further away from Kaeya. She doesn’t want to look back, to be met with the sight of his hurt, so she only continues further down the pathway.  

By the time they reach the center point of the camp, this section is located near a presumable supply area, given the number of boxes, Nine stops her from moving, allowing her to settle against a wooden crate. She sighs, feeling the cold metal against her skin, the short chain between the cuffs preventing her from moving her hands away from each other. 

Talulah looks up, watching the sight upon the horizon, the silhouette of Vyazov towering above them simply reduced to something far smaller all the way here. For a moment, all that remains in her vision is the nomadic city barely poking above the snow-covered trees, the sun still shining overhead. A little later, a red-haired woman moves before her, giving her a pointed look. 

She can only release a soft sigh in response. “Just… keep him here, okay?” she asks Nine, a hint of pleading creeping into her voice. Locking her gaze with Nine, she can see her pupils reflecting a level of concern intertwined with suspicion, the woman glancing back every few seconds as if to confirm whether the person she’d brought along was still there. “Please…” 

Nine places her hands on her hips, releasing a bated breath that flows through slightly gritted teeth, the woman looking resigned now. “Fine,” she murmurs under her breath, turning away from Talulah. Talulah’s shoulders slump in relief at Nine’s response, though her heart still beats quicker than expected. Nine quickly turns away from her, gesturing towards another soldier nearby, the man perking up in response. “Once I’m done, escort the stranger here. Pat him down, send him through our checkpoints. Take all precautions.” Nine glances back towards Talulah again, her eyes softening slightly this time. “This is all I’ll do for you, Talulah.” And with the last remark, the Pythia walks away, leaving Talulah sitting hunched over, anticipation building inside her. She continues to sit there, her hands clasped together, aware of the acute sound of her heartbeat pounding away inside. What would she have to say? How would she summon the courage to explain? 

A few minutes later, she hears the sound of shuffling feet through the snow, her ears inadvertently perking up at the sound. Looking in front of her, she notices the sight of a familiar figure, concern etched into his figure. 

Kaeya. 

He doesn’t speak immediately, and yet, Talulah can feel the tension in the air, feel the unspoken words lingering between them. The pounding of her heart quickens slightly before she takes a deeper breath, the feeling subsiding momentarily. She was strong, wasn’t she? She could explain it all. 

You can’t do it, traitor. 

The voice whispers in the back of her head, accusatory, harsh, and she flinches, feeling it. Was she being delusional? And yet, deep behind that, she knows that there would always be something more behind that gaze, something far more insidious. Sadness, perhaps even betrayal. Maybe even disappointment. 

She shrinks slightly, almost wilting at the thought. So, instead of meeting his gaze, she averts it, looking at anywhere but his eyes. She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want to know how he feels about her now. But in the back of her mind, there’s a flicker of hope—a foolish, fleeting hope—that perhaps, even after everything, he might understand. 

From the corner of her eye, she can see him sigh, moving down towards the opposite side of the massive stack of crates, his back facing hers. For a moment, Talulah hesitates, waiting for him to call out, to ask her. But instead, the silence that follows is worse. Hollow. Cutting. The quiet too wide, too empty. 

Talulah shrinks again, huddling in the cold arctic air, holding herself together, polishing over the cracks. Hiding all the pain. 

Maybe she would find the courage sometime, find the inner resolve to make things all right. To fix this. 

But right now, that little voice needed some rest. Some way to find the words that choked her, hurt her every single moment she continued keeping those secrets in. 

And rest was what she did. 

“...certain they’ll offer reduced prices. After all, we’re traveling in a group. Hopefully, they have a bulk package somewhere.” The voice cuts through the sea of overlapping conversations, not loud, but distinct enough to reach Diluc’s ears. He flicks a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the young man—in his twenties, perhaps—who had spoken out, nodding to himself after making the statement. 

A sharp snort cuts through the moment. The brunette beside the man flicked her hair back, fingers tucking away stray strands behind her ear with the kind of practiced ease that suggests she’s done it hundreds of times. “We could fuel an entire ship with that delusion of yours,” she mutters, her voice carrying an edge of half-exasperation and half-amusement. Her eyes remain fixed ahead, almost as if refusing to entertain the idea any further. 

“At that rate, Ragnvindr can use it for the journey back home with it.” The man doesn’t even look at her as he speaks, his gaze locked straight ahead—seemingly indifferent, yet at the same time, too perfectly timed to be anything but intentional. Diluc exhales quietly, the faintest smirk ghosting across his lips, gone as quickly as it had come. 

“I’ll pay,” Diluc’s voice is even, decisive. An end to the conversation, one could say. Moving forward without a glance, he attempts to observe the stretch of the multi-story buildings at his side. Each building bore distinctive billboards, marking businesses clearly to guide residents through the busy district. The hotel he’d previously identified was around here somewhere, the comfiness of a room calling to him. 

Diluc’s eyes flicker back to the sky, the sun’s warm rays bathing his skin. Exhaling sharply, he resists the urge to pull at his collar as a single bead of sweat escapes, tracing a slow path down his spine. He despised this heat.  

Mondstadt’s winds were crisp, carrying the scent of pine and fresh grass even during the height of summer. However, here in Port Dornman? It was a different story. Humid and insufferable, the city’s position upon the coast and the oceanic humidity made them far worse during this season. All of it with his less-than-appropriate coat, he needed to go indoors. Now. 

Grumbling under his breath, Diluc moves through the crowd himself through the crowd, noting that people seemed a little bit more comfortable here, deeper inside the city. Perhaps the Fatui had chosen not to make their presence known within the business district, instead electing to keep themselves concentrated near the outer edge of the town. 

Regardless, why withdraw now? The Fatui had already left their mark within the city center, securing rooms at Hotel Marsier. Yet, instead of asserting themselves where commerce thrived, they had pulled back. Keeping to the city’s edges, watching the comings and goings, ensuring that they were seen but never quite within reach. 

An intimidation tactic. A slow, deliberate tightening of the noose. 

Diluc exhaled sharply, gaze flicking toward the looming sign of the hotel in the distance. What were they waiting for? The thought settled uneasily in his chest. Something about this felt deliberate—too quiet, too restrained, almost like they were waiting for something. 

A sudden jolt through his frame snaps him out of his thoughts as his shoulder clips against another’s back. Confusion flickering across their face, the person turned, but Diluc was already lifting a hand. Not in apology or dismissal, just a reflex as he moves forward. 

It wasn’t until he stepped back that he noticed the shift in the air. The press of bodies ahead. The way voices had softened, urgent whispers replacing the usual market noise. His gaze lifted, sweeping over the sea of people ahead of him, his stomach tightening in response. The street had all but vanished beneath them. 

A thick wall of commoners blocked his sightline, the sea of backs and anxious glances thrown over shoulders. It was the kind of crowd that didn’t just gather, but one that gravitated, one that drew even the quietest of residents nearby. 

His jaw clenched. The urge to shove his way through the crowd and announce his credentials rose within. He had every right to. He was Ragnvindr, the heir to one of Mondstadt’s prime noble families. And yet, his fingers curled against his palm instead. Not yet. That was no way to make first impressions. 

And yet, he had an advantage, one that others beginning to move into the crowd hadn’t: height. Pushing his heels above the ground, he strains, expecting to see whatever the crowd surrounds. Instead, the crowd seemed to become dense, a sea of brown and blonde hair obscuring his vision, pushing forward. 

His jaw tightened. If he couldn’t see over them— 

He turned his gaze upward instead, toward the looming façade ahead. The building’s sign came into view, its bold letters cutting stark against the morning light. 

FD Bank 

His wandering eyes fall back to the crowd, crimson irises narrowed as they flicker from corner to corner in suspicion—a bank. Processing the information, Diluc finds himself suddenly aware of the acute sound of his heartbeat pounding away in his chest. Why were so many people gathering here so quickly? 

His eyes roam back towards the street behind him. A flicker of movement. A disguised Knights of Favonius member, watching, waiting. Their gaze meets a wordless question passing between them.  

The knight tilted his head slightly, his hand moving towards the right—a silent offer. 

Diluc gives the barest nod, gesturing for him to join. 

Then he turned back, exhaling sharply as he forced himself forward, the scent of sweat and fabric mixing together. The deeper he went, the more curses he encountered, and pushes were met with reciprocation. Quiet apologies flowed from his mouth, shortened by urgency, curiosity pushing him forward. 

Bodies continued pressing into him as he broke into the inner circle. The shift in space allowed him to catch his first sight of what lay ahead, but the tension still remained thick within the crowd. If anything, the air was even heavier here, whispers stopping, idle chatter silenced. Only quietness, punctuated by uneven breathing and the occasional shuffle of feet. 

In the corner of his eye, someone shoots him a look, irritation flickering across their face before they turn away. A few feet ahead, he caught sight of the other Knight of Favonius, the man’s posture tense, hands at his sides. Their eyes meet, and they exchange a brief nod. 

And then— 

Diluc looked past him. 

His breath stops. His pulse beats once, sharp and instinctive. 

A short distance away, perhaps thirty feet, a pair of security guards had been dragging someone, presumably a businessman, outside, based on his disheveled suit. From what Diluc could tell, it wasn’t quite a pleasant scene, the two struggling to keep the man down. The man’s voice rose above the usual murmur of the business district, strained and cracking, “My contract can’t be terminated? What do you mean?” There was something raw in the way he spoke, filled with anger and desperation alike. 

Diluc’s gaze flickered towards the man, his expression reflecting desperation. The businessman was kneeling on the stony ground, his disheveled suit hanging loosely from his frame, his breath coming too fast and unsteady. This sort of thing wasn’t uncommon. After all, Diluc himself was a businessman. A man, backed into a corner, seizing whatever remained within reach, desperate to hold onto everything he’d built. It was nothing different from a drowning man clawing above amidst the water’s depths, grasping at empty air, a final source of nourishment. 

A moment later, the man turns, searching wildly, his gaze locking onto the two security guards who had begun to withdraw silently, ignoring him. Diluc can see the realization creep into the businessman’s face—a slow, creeping horror that made his features pale. One that caused him to sway slightly, almost as if he’d finally accepted fate. His business was over. Whatever plea he had, whatever argument he was about to make, it didn’t matter now. Not with the guards turning their backs on him, all arguments exhausted. All rationality exhausted. 

The air began to shift, and tension emanated from the businessman, almost like heat from a dying flame. His lips parting soundlessly, he staggered forward, his steps clumsy. It was nearly as if he were disconnected from his body. Diluc closed his eyes momentarily, muttering a short prayer for the Archons. Events like these never ended well, not for the victim or the aggressor. But what could anybody do?  “No, no, I don’t accept this!” The businessman’s voice cracked, and then, suddenly, he lunged forward. Diluc remained hushed. The sight of the man throwing himself at the guards, his fingers grasping at the nearest shoulder, filled his vision—a final, desperate attempt to be attended to, to be acknowledged. Just a moment before his hand made contact with the guard, the first guard reacted. A sharp, practiced pivot, just before an elbow drives straight into the man’s ribs. 

The businessman stumbled back, a choked sound escaping from his lips as he let out a harsh, broken wheeze. Doubling over slightly, he slams his palm against the stone ground to stabilize himself. 

Yet Diluc could see it. He saw the moment when rage overtook reason, the man straightening with uncoordinated motion, rage filling his eyes. This time, he charged the two security guards once more, his motions fueled by something far beyond frustration. Far behind desperation, pure, raw rage. 

And this time, the guards didn’t hold back. 

As the businessman throws a fist, one steps aside casually, the other gripping his collar. Pulling him forward, the guard allows the businessman’s momentum to topple him forward, and the quick, efficient movement sends him crashing down.  

The sound that followed was visceral. 

Bone met marble. 

The businessman’s knee slammed against the floor, bone splintering on impact. A strangled cry bursts from the man’s throat even before he can fully process the pain, adrenaline fueling the response. The sound of a crack rings through the street, sharp and distinct.  Diluc winces slightly at the sight. 

Now, before the crowd, the businessman barely moved, fingers twitching against the stone ground, his body attempting to curl in. His mouth opens in a wordless scream, the sound punctuated by breath stuttering between half-sobs and pained gasps. For a minute, nothing happens. The audience simply watches the sight in shock, hands covering mouths wide open. The two guards who had dispatched the man had merely stepped away, retreating slightly hurriedly into the building, their backs turned towards him. 

And just like that, it was over.  

Amidst the crowd, the murmurs returned first, hesitant, then emboldened. A few people began to turn away, retreating from the scene. Others lowered their gazes, turning away as if looking away could erase the memory of what just happened. But some stayed. Their gazes flickered between the businessman and the bank, lips pressed into tight lines. Eyes filled with unrecognizable emotion, a hint of anger bleeding through those stony gazes. 

Diluc exhaled quietly, watching the businessman clutch his ruined leg, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shuddering breaths. In another place, at another time, when Kaeya would have ended up in Port Dornman, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Port Dornman would have exerted influence over its commercial activities, unaffected by external threats. Unaffected by the Fatui, his brother at the helm. 

But now? Port Dornman was no longer that place. 

A quick movement, a flash of brown, pulls Diluc’s attention. A little bit away, merely twenty feet away from him, Diluc’s gaze caught the Knight of Favonius member who had joined him. The man stood stiffly, hands curled into loose fists at his side, his brows furrowed with confusion and anger. 

Diluc met his eyes. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. 

He straightened himself, placing his hands behind his back before moving away from his contact and the businessman, away from the bank where this situation had occurred. Turning around momentarily, his gaze lingered upon the bank doors before walking away, abandoning the scene like many others had. 

Change had come. 

And Port Dornman would be the first impact. 

Chapter Text

Click, click, click…

Talulah gently unfurls her clenched hand, the tension seeping away as she pulls her sharp nails away from the indentations left in her palm. With a quiet breath, she presses her hand against the rough surface of a wooden supply crate, frost and splinters alike seeping into her skin. 

She hated it. 

The silence. Too loud even in its emptiness, pressing against her ears. The weight of it, haunting, unrelenting, never truly there—not with that sound continuously clicking in the back of her mind. Ticking. A slow, rhythmic beat that wormed its way into her mind, never able to be ignored, something that demanded her attention. 

She thought she’d left it behind at Rhodes Island. The sterile grey walls, the enclosed space—no, prison—a constant reminder of the limited freedom the landship enforced upon her. Days, weeks, months of sitting alone, trapped within her mind, held together by nothing but the last vestiges of her strength. 

But most of all, there was the ticking.  

The long, never-ending sound of a clock down the hallway. Each click marked another second. Another moment Reunion had been taken from her. Another moment of all she’d lost. Another moment reminding her of those terrible sins. 

And now, she could hear it again. 

Talulah remembers a saying someone had told her ages ago—familiarity often bred contempt. But right now, the only thing it had comforted her with was a hopeless, downward spiral, pulling her deeper, suffocating her. No matter how hard she tried to push past it, to find the right words, nothing felt right. 

She wasn’t sure she ever could. 

But maybe, just this one time, she would. Slowly, she runs her hands down against the crate, frost coating her palms, her slender fingers engulfed a moment later. It was freezing, the winter’s cold harsh. Biting her lip at the sting, she plants them firmly against the frozen ground, bracing herself before pivoting around. 

Scanning past the crates, she hopes—no, expects—to see Kaeya there, leaning against something, idly fidgeting with his blade. Her fingers curl slightly as she steels herself, grasping at something to say, something to let him know she felt sorry. But the moment his blue eye flicked toward her, boring into her own, her breath caught. The words she’d been holding onto slipped from her grasp, her mouth turning dry.

What could she even say? 

It had been around five days—perhaps, even a week—since she’d willingly placed herself under  Reunion’s control. Given up on the freedom she’d come to love. Betrayed Kaeya, whispered sweet words into one ear, all for the selfish desire of keeping him close. And now, here she sat, arms and legs kept restrained in chains, the person she’d come to know over the past month distant. 

Even though it hadn’t been as terrible as she’d expected, it still stung. A few days later, Talulah had tried talking to Kaeya. Finding a common ground shouldn’t have been difficult, right? Or so she’d thought. 

Instead, their conversations had started brief, their responses terse, and neither knew how to move forward. Even when she turned back towards him to catch a glimpse, his smile never fully reached his eyes. 

The following days, it got better. But still, never the same as before she arrived. Conversations continued ending prematurely, Talulah unsure of how to address her mistakes. Where could she find the courage to admit her mistakes? But more importantly, would she still be able to look him in the eyes and admit that? 

But the longer she sat still, only the sound of the arctic winds whistling through the makeshift camp, the more it felt like torture. She spent more time contemplating these past few days, wondering what would happen if she begged him to come nearby. Sure, Nine and former Reunion members visited her daily, the latter’s interactions far more negative. And yet, despite talking to others, that still hadn’t scratched that itch. 

Perhaps, this was the time to extend an invitation. To beg him to come over. Maybe the reason why she couldn’t ever formulate the right words was because she wasn’t sitting face-to-face with him, right? After all, being confronted directly would minimize her desire to draw back. Sitting behind a crate, withdrawing at the slightest sign of something wrong, wasn’t helping her. She cracks a small smile at the thought, the upward turn of her lips gone as fast as it had come. Self-deception had always come easily. Maybe it still could. 

Turning around once more, she places the palm of her right hand against the snow, the other sliding down the surface of the wooden crate. She got this, hadn’t she? She was Talulah of Reunion. The woman who lit cities ablaze and bore the weight of what came after. She wasn’t some bumbling mess who couldn’t address someone directly without feeling shame.

Unfortunately, though, the moment the words escape her mouth, her courage having been built up, she feels her stomach drop, already regretting how awkward it sounded. 

“K-Kaeya?”

She immediately swallows, the palm of her left hand dropping to her knee, those fingers clenching against it. She doesn’t see him move for a second, and she almost leaves it at that. But then, his eye flickers back towards her, expectant, and suddenly, she finds her voice again. 

“...Can you—.” A pause. Her voice feels stiff, uncharacteristically weak. No, no, no, she wasn’t supposed to be like that, right? Where was her strong persona when she needed it? “Come over. Just—” she clears her throat, trying again to finish her sentence. “Sit with me. If… if you want.”

Before she even finishes her statement, she feels the heat creeping up her neck, the embarrassed flush making its way to her cheeks. What was wrong with her? As if she hadn’t embarrassed herself enough already. At this rate, she’d lose her voice too. That would really complete the whole pathetic image. 

For a moment, Kaeya remains still, his body tense—almost as if he hadn’t expected her to speak. Peeking at him, Talulah witnesses his silence, wincing at the sight. Had she really embarrassed herself, brought down those carefully-crafted boundaries, all for nothing? However, just before she withdraws herself timidly back to her original position, she catches a flash of movement in her peripheral vision, a resounding creak following. 

For a couple of seconds, Talulah sits there, her arms loosely wrapped around her legs, knees tucked close to her chest. It wasn’t worth glancing back so quickly; the chains restricted her movement anyway. Regardless, he was coming, and waiting was one thing she could do well. 

By the time his figure finally appears in front of her, Talulah is unsure of what to say. She hadn’t expected him to respond, or hell, even approach her face-to-face. But now that they’re close to each other, she can see the unreadable expression on his face. The Draco wasn’t sure whether he intended to leave her hanging in the silence, letting the weight of her own hesitation fester. The thought unsettles her more than she’d like to admit. 

Exhaling, Talulah glances down at her fingers, still faintly dusted with frost. If she withdrew now, she’d only regret her actions later. Another wasted opportunity. Another step backward.

So, instead of letting the silence stretch any longer, she forces herself to speak. 

“... Tell me a story.”

The words escape her mouth before she can second-guess herself, but she holds onto them once they leave her mouth. It was far easier than addressing the distance between them, easier than pretending things were normal when they weren’t. She tilts her head, attempting to mask her uncertainty with a casual sense of curiosity. “I assume you have one, don’t you?”  

Kaeya remains quiet, his lips pursed together in a line. A moment later, he leans forward ever so slightly, allowing Talulah to get a better look at him. Once masked with an unreadable expression, his blue eye softens for just a moment before a flicker of amusement bleeds through. Seeing that makes Talulah exhale quickly, relief blooming in her chest even as her heartbeat quickens. 

“I was beginning to think you didn’t want me around.” His voice carries a subdued lilt, something softer beneath it. Something far more fleeting. His gaze lingers upon her for a second, and Talulah’s breath catches in her throat. Then, his focus flickers back towards the ground, Kaeya looking at the distance, anywhere but at her. “Interesting people carry interesting stories. And well… you asked at the right time.” 

“This is a… longer story,” he whispers softly, the breeze carrying his voice across towards her. The draco leans slightly forward, her ears perked as she observes his unfocused eyes. Waiting. Anticipating. “It’s one picked up by travelling across the world.” Shifting his hands to his lap, he looks at her again, his gaze solemn. The wind rustles gently between them, and for a moment, it feels as though the silence carries as much meaning as his words. “A luxury not everyone is granted.” 

“In the sprawling deserts of the old, wind howled across war-torn plains, the scent of steel and blood still fresh in the air. The battle was over. One army shattered, the other, barely intact.” 

Kaeya’s voice dropped into something more even, more deliberate. It was the rhythm of someone who had told stories like this before, yet somehow, one that allowed him to wear each one like a new cloak. The draco doesn’t interrupt, only tilting her head slightly, allowing his words' rhythm to fill the space between them. 

“And in the center of it all, Prince Qubad stood tall, his armor gleaming under the fading sun, his sword planted firmly into the earth. He had achieved victory and glory standing at his feet, yet he felt no triumph. No excitement. Before him, the enemy commander General Frasiyav lay still, the once-great general who had commanded the enemy’s forces.” 

“You have won,” Frasiyav spoke, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “My men can fight no longer. I beg you, Prince Qubad, spare the lives of those who remain. Let them return to their families.”

For a long moment, the prince studied the defeated general, the once-proud man now on his knees. His father was ruthless. He knew that. King Qabus had demanded complete eradication, an unrelenting conquest until their enemies were nothing but ashes beneath their feet. Who would have the strength to fight back then?

But Qubad had spent months, even years, wading through battlefields, cutting down desperate opponents to know that war never truly ended. Even the bloodiest of victories planted the seeds of future vengeance. Cut down the father, and the son would rise, bloodthirst in his eyes. Blood met with blood, the never-ending cycle of war chasing its tail. 

A low-burning fire that had kept Talulah warm the past few hours crackles softly in the background, punctuating Kaeya’s words with a natural rhythm. The Draco’s eyes don’t waver, her finger faintly tightening around her knees as she listens attentively. 

So instead, he made his choice. 

“Your warriors have surrendered,” Qubad had declared, his voice firm. He turns towards Frasiyev, holding a hand to the weary man, who now looked confused. “I have no desire to crush your dignity. Sign a treaty. Let this end with dignity.” 

Kaeya paused here, just for a breath, one that wasn’t long enough to draw attention but just enough to allow his words to settle. His gaze flickers to the snow-covered ground momentarily before returning to glance at her. 

And with those words, he extended a hand out forward, not in conquest, but in promise. And under the sky that had watched them bleed, they chose peace. 

Or so he thought. Fate was a cruel mistress, and it had decreed peace not to be a prize so easily won. 

Talulah’s breath caught almost imperceptibly. She didn’t move or flinch, but something shifted in her eyes, just a flicker. Maybe she didn’t know the story's contents, but it already felt familiar. 

When Qubad’s tutor, Gundafar, returned to the palace to deliver the news, Kind Qabus’s wrath was swift and merciless. Of course, it had been. The cycle of violence had continued for ages, and for Qabus, he’d never been exposed to other possibilities, trapped in a loop of generational making, chasing his nature just like the serpent devoured its own tail. 

“Frasiyav lost because he did not have the blessing of the gods,” the king said with a scoff. “He is a weak man, and the rules of God have dictated strength to be the victor. Finish them.”
And with that, he turned his gaze upon his advisor, his expression dark with contempt. And so, he decreed. 

“If Quubad still wishes to call himself my son, he will follow my command. He will return to battle and eradicate what remains of our enemies. Commanders, soldiers, strategists. To strive for peace means dishonoring the family name. If he refuses, he is no son of mine.” 

Talulah caught a flicker in Kaeya’s expression—barely there, gone in an instant. A faint tightness in his voice, the corners of his lips tightening. 

Gundafar, the voice of wisdom in the court, responded. “Your Majesty, we have already won. The people will no longer fight for Frasiyav. The destruction of their armies has crippled their spirits. If we continue, we will not only destroy a kingdom but cultivate its remnants’ hatred. One city may fall, one man may fall, but someone will still grab the helm. An empire cannot be burned away. The roots will always remain, waiting for the chance to rise again.” 

Talulah didn’t speak, but something in the way Kaeya lingered on the words made her glance up, away from the sight of her arms wrapping around her knees. He was still staring ahead, his expression unreadable. Why was he telling this story so carefully, so thoroughly?
But Qabus had already made up his mind. A complete razing was required. After all, did the destruction wreaked by flame not rejuvenate the land? And so, he dismissed Gundafar with a wave of his hand. “Your mind has grown dull, old friend. You are no longer needed in this war.” 

And in response, Gundafar trudged away, leaving the throne room in silence, carrying only the weight of his failed words.   When the message reached Qubad, he stood motionless for a long while, the paper crumpling beneath his tightening grip. So, this was fate’s decree. No matter his choices or struggles to carve out his own path, his father’s shadow loomed above him, dictating every step. Fate, the cruel mistress, laughed from above, rejoicing. 

He could return, bow his head, and finish what he had started. That was what was expected of him. That was what had always been written in the stars. 

Or— 

Qubad turned to his men. Warriors who had followed him into war, who had trusted in his judgment, bled for his and his kingdom’s ideals. “I will not return,” he declared, his voice cutting through the night's cold air. “Not as a butcher. Not as a pawn. I shall not play a game with those failing to meet their consequences.” 

There was a stillness in Kaeya’s voice now, which wasn’t hollow, but rather deliberate, almost as if he was weighing every word. She didn’t speak, only glancing at him once from the corner of her eye, unsure if the silence that followed belonged to the tale or something quieter. 

One of his commanders, a man who had fought at his side for years, stepped forward. “Prince Qubad, you will be cast out if you do this. Your name will be stripped from the records of our kingdom. You will have no home.” 

For a long moment, Qubad was silent. Then, carefully, he unfastened the royal crest, the seal of his lineage, and let it fall to the ground. 

The firelight caught on Kaeya’s jawline, his gaze distant. He didn’t look at her. 

“My father may be king,” he repeats, and though it’s part of the story, something about it lingers longer than it should. “But he does not decide who I am.” Another pause, the words ringing out in the desert air. “Fate does not decide who I am.” 

With that, Qubad turned away from the palace that shaped him, from the war that forged him, and walked toward an uncertain future. Behind him, the kingdom he’d once called home faded into darkness, its crown left in the dust. Ahead lay exile, uncertainty… and perhaps, even freedom. 

Because at that moment, Qubad had not simply chosen a path. 

He had chosen himself. 

Talulah sits in silence, the weight of Kaeya’s final words settling over her. She doesn’t know what to say, not right now. She could see him turn away ever so slightly from the corner of her vision, the fire casting shadows across his figure. Neither of them moved. The quiet stretches uncomfortably between them, broken only by the soft wind blowing through the makeshift camp. Feeling her dry lips, she wets them absently, her thoughts circling, words hovering at the tip of her tongue. 

Crack! 

A sharp crackle splits the quiet, loud and sudden. Talulah flinches, her hands jerking instinctively as her posture stiffens, the cold wood of the crate pressing against her back. She glances around quickly, trying to identify the source of the noise, only to spot a log that had collapsed deeper into the fire. In the corner of her vision, she catches Kaeya watching her, his expression soft, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her cheeks flushed. Damn it. Why was she startled by something so small? 

And yet, even with her back pressing against a cool surface, the words refused to come. Not because she didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t the issue at all. Because it had to be right. If she fumbled now, if she said what she wanted to convey in the wrong way, would he turn away again? That fear lingered, her chest tightening. 

So instead, she whispered softly, cautiously, the first fragile thought escaping her lips. 

“You said he chose himself,” she said, her voice barely above the wind. “I’ve… been trying to do the same. I just haven’t had the courage.” 

For a moment, Talulah doesn’t even register what she’s doing. Her body moves of its own accord, inching closer towards him. Behind her, the quiet creak of her chains grows taut, metal straining with every shift against the crate. Then, a sharp click echoes from behind her, but by then, she’s already beside him. 

Close enough to speak. Close enough to see him. Close enough to be seen. 

And this time, the words tumble from her lips, the message not practiced. They fall from her lips in a rush, unpolished, raw, the desire to make this moment perfect vanishing. That didn’t matter right now. Not when this was possibly the only chance to make things right. She looks at him in the eyes, his navy-blue eye boring into her own. 

"I should’ve told you," she begins, her voice rough with the weight of everything she’d held in. Her shoulders slumped, and her body suddenly felt tired, almost as if the weight of the world was positioned right above her. "Back when we first met, when things were still… fragile. I should’ve been honest." 

She draws in a breath, steadying herself. 

"I didn’t hide these things because I wanted to hurt you. I just… was afraid. I thought if I said too much—if I told you everything about me, about my status, about my history—you’d see me differently. Or worse, you wouldn’t trust me. And I… I couldn’t stand the thought of that." 

Her hands shift slightly, the chains clinking softly behind her as she leans in a little closer. She can feel the warmth of her breath against her hands, the rise and fall of her chest quickening like a crescendo. She was speaking, revealing, and it felt good, the weight slowly lifting from her shoulders. 

"For years, all I’ve known is guilt and loss. Betraying my morals, watching my friends hacked down due to my actions. There hasn’t been time for me to heal. There wasn't room for opening up. Not even to the people who mattered. I’m… not used to trusting people with things that hurt." 

She falters, her breath catching in her chest. The warmth of the fire dances in her silver eyes,  flickering across the hesitation on her face.  

"I’m still learning how to trust people with the parts of me that are broken. The parts that still feel irredeemable. But I’m trying, Kaeya. I’m trying to change that." 

Her voice feels raw. She blinks once, just once, and the burn in her eyes retreats. But she doesn’t wipe them away. Instead, she lifts her hand slowly, suspending it halfway between them before moving closer. Her hand hovers in the air for a moment, just long enough to question herself. But then, she lets the doubt go. Her fingers brush against the glove tentatively before curling around his hand, steady and warm. Talulah looks at him in the eyes, looking for something, anything, in his expression. Her throat tightens and she swallows, the sound barely audible. 

"I want to be more open, learn how to be more honest with you. Even if it takes time… I want to get there,” she whispered, her heart pounding. At that moment, she just wanted to wait, wanted to see how he’d react, whether he’d give her a sad smile and accept her apology. But she wasn’t done yet. Not just yet. 

Her voice softens once more, and yet, this time, the words carry through the silence between them.

“Can you trust me?” 

She catches his gaze this time; even the sounds of the gentle arctic breeze seem to fade into silence. Kaeya blinks. There’s a moment, just long enough to be real, where he doesn’t move or smile. Just watching her. And then, as if something shifts behind his eyes, he nods. Not with acceptance, not with judgment, just understanding. 

And for the first time, she sees it. 

Not pity. Not comfort. But the barest flicker of hesitation. A breath caught halfway, a half-word swallowed. Like something he wanted to say and couldn’t. Like the truth cost him, too. 

And then, it’s gone. 

Talulah exhales slowly, her shoulders easing as the tension trickles away. The chains shift quietly, clicking in the background, but relief begins to bloom inside her. 

The first step was always the hardest.  

And for the first time in a while, she had taken it. 

“You’ve got a good eye for risk,” his wife used to say softly, with a half-smile and a tilt of her head. The kind of look she gave when she admired him, loved him for what he was worth. 

She stopped saying it last spring, just around the time the notices started coming in and he stopped meeting her eyes at breakfast. 

It was never meant to be this way, had it? 

Aleit stares quietly at the crumpled ball of paper at the corner of his desk, its edges stained with faint crimson marks. If you’d looked closer, you’d see the specks weren’t clean, instead rough and scattered, gritty like grains of sand caught on parchment. 

Just a couple of days ago, hours after he’d lost his dignity and pride in front of a hushed crowd, he’d returned home limping on crutches. An utterly shameful sight, one that made him wallow in that humiliation for hours. He still remembers that night, how long the hours stretched into the darkness. The flash of silver. The muffled gasp when it went too deep. 

Glancing at the bedside table, his eyes flicker over the sight of a glistening blade. The knife is still there, untouched. The blade’s edge gleams amidst the sunlight pouring through the window. Cold. Familiar.  

He quickly averts his eyes. 

Instead, they settle upon the messy contents of his desk. Crumpled papers and scattered receipts, ink-smudged scribbles written over half-finished calculations, desperate notes he made to himself. All of it meaningless. All of it his. 

How had it ever come to this? 

Aleit had been a shrewd businessman over the past few years, climbing amidst the squabbling older guard still clinging to their influence within Port Dornman. The city had been Mondstadt’s foremost trading center, located near the ocean, with ships streaming all the way from Natlan to Snezhnaya, just like arteries feeding a starving body. And Aleit? He had once been the hungriest of them all. 

He’d started out small. Brave. Just a boy with empty pockets and a point to prove. 

He’d seen what poverty did to a man, how it carved hollows into faces, how it transformed dignity into mere shadows. He’d watched his father endure it, and the resulting kindness waas barely anything: an extra loaf left at the doorstep, a knock from the neighbors, a passing visit from a concerned Knight. But in the end, kindness wasn’t enough. It had been enough to keep them going, but never enough for them to live. 

Kindness didn’t buy you food. It didn’t pay the landlord. It couldn’t keep the cold out. 

Money did. 

And so, when his father finally died on a deathbed lonely, on a night too quiet, Aleit made a promise. He would earn enough to matter. He would make a name for himself. He would live the life his father had been denied, not with the chronic illness that had drained his strength every single morning. He promised to win . 

And slowly, he had done so. Despite everything, his father had left some savings for him, kept behind the bed. Of course, he had. Aleit had seen his father’s sacrifices firsthand, the gifts turned down, the treats refused, the meals quietly halved so his son could eat some more. What kind of man would have let that sacrifice mean nothing? 

Aleit would have never called himself a gambler. 

But deep down, at the heart of it, he knew he’d always been one. 

Two months ago, he'd taken another risk. Just like he’d always done, his entire rise had been built upon them, one bold move after the next. He’d buried the corpses of his fears far beneath him in a place where they couldn’t reach him. Fear of poverty. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of ending up like his father, coughing into a blanket in the dark, dying quietly while the world kept on moving. 

Given his own rising reputation, he’s reached into a desolate shack and pulled out a feast, courtesy of FD Bank. A loan sealed the deal. Enough mora to commission three sleek, state-of-the-art cargo ships, each equipped with the latest technology. They would boost his business, and hence, he didn’t hesitate. They were beautiful vessels. Investments. His path to dignity. 

The debt was steep, monstrous, really, but it didn’t matter. He’d already run the numbers. In a few months, he’d turn it all around. Maybe less. He always had. 

Or so he'd thought. 

A few weeks later, a Fatui diplomat turned up dead on the outskirts of the city. The whispers started soon after, and he’d brushed them off. Mondstadt’s largest port under Fatui control? Absurd. That would never happen. Not here. 

But they came anyway. Step by step, they inched closer silently, documents in hand. Their grip tightened slowly, suffocating him and the others like nooses Every day, a little less air. Every week, a new restriction, a new toll, a longer customs delay. In a month, a general embargo, ships only being sent out on a new schedule. And the losses began to mount. 

By the time he went to FD Bank, the account manager’s voice was polite. They had told him that the terms of the contract he’d signed years ago, long before the ships were even commissioned, was binding. A minor clause buried in the paperwork he’d skimmed through, a point he had dismissed, given the stability of Port Dornman all these years. 

Not terminable. Not for another year, maybe two. 

The moment he left the bank, he just stood there, staring at nothing. The ships he’d once spent mora on were dragging him down, sending him to drown. If that noose around Port Dornman tightened any further, he’d find himself sunk, gasping for air before the spring even ended. 

And just when he thought it was all over, his body dragged down into the Abyss, he’d discovered a light. A ladder. Something that would pull him up out of his self-sustained misery.

If FD Bank wouldn’t terminate the agreement, fine. He’d bleed the account dry before they could do anything. Anything to buy time. Anything to breathe. 

That morning, half-drunk and stumbling through the back streets of Port Dornman, he’d found himself standing outside another bank. Their name wasn’t well known, the bank having been a smaller one. But they hadn’t turned him away—not yet. 

This morning, he’d managed to get out of bed. His muscles strained against the bed frame, burning, painful fire searing them Each breath rustled against the sheets, thoughts eating away at him, wrapping around his chest and keeping him restrained. 

His suit was still worn. Ruffled and messy, stale with alcohol, the fabric creased from where he’d passed out hours ago. 

The shadow of his wife’s hand lingered across his chest, a touch he hadn’t felt in weeks. It throbbed quietly, warmth long gone. She’d moved to a different room, told him that she couldn’t bear seeing him fall apart. Not with those losses, not with the long nights spent drinking. 

And today was the day. Perhaps his first of many, perhaps his last. But that last glimmer of hope, he held onto it.

A step forward, one closer towards the streetlight glare. Aleit moves ahead, a quick flick of his wrist catching his coat. Another shuffle, another adjustment, and he’s fresh. Just enough to look… whole. Just enough to pass. 

Pushing down the street, the pressure of gazes bore into him, people slowing down. Watching, waiting. Their intensity reached their peak after the… incident, subsiding after days—but those lingering gazes were still present. Still enough to make his skin crawl. 

He ducks down two alleys. A pass through the bakery, his head kept low. 

And then, there it is. 

His salvation, right there. Tucked between a pawn shap and a tailor, a new wooden sign found  between the windows. Renovations? Huh. Maybe this was real. 

Glancing at the glass door, he sees himself: wrinkled coat, dark eye-bags, a man pretending to be someone far better than he was. 

A deep breath taken in, fresh air rushing into his lungs. Then Aleit pushed open the door. Its hinges creaked in protest, the sound louder than expected, covering a shaky exhaled. Cold, musty air blows into his face, not entirely unpleasant, but stale in the way only a place like this could have. 

The bell above the doorway jingled softly as he stepped inside, the sound ringing through the lobby crisply. A second later, a voice cuts through the silence, crisp and professional. 

“Welcome to Stellwagen Bank. How may I help you?” 

Aleit turns, the soles of his boots skidding slightly against the floor tiles as his body pivots towards the voice. Standing a few feet away was a tall man, blond, well-dressed, back straight. His suit was ironed down all the way to his cuff, expression kept polished and unreadable. 

For the barest moment, Aleit caught something flicker behind the man’s eyes. Recognition? Surprise? If it was anything at all, it vanished quickly, now replaced by an easy, trained smile. The man offered a bow, then gestured smoothly to the corridor behind him. 

“This way.” 

Aleit followed without a word. His footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, each one feeling heavier as the anxiety weighed down. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t look around. Not with what was at stake. 

He stepped through the door, the young man ushering him through. A moment later, he drops into the nearest chair, exhaustion taking him. Not a collapse, but one close enough. His fingers curl in his lap, intertwining with each other. Eyes sweep the room quickly from corner to corner, desk to floor, taking in all of the details. 

The silence stayed long enough, no click of boots against the tiles, barely any chatter behind closed doors. He inhales slowly, counting his breath. One. Two. Three. Then the inner door clicked open again, and this time, a second man entered the room. Mid-forties maybe, clean-shaven, hair slicked back, eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed spectacles. No name tag, no unnecessary smile. Just a slim leather binder in one hand and an expression that said everything would be done quickly. 

“Aleit Thorne,” the man greeted flatly, only glancing up to confirm the face before crossing the room and taking the seat across from him. “Apologies for the delay. I’m Felix Harnes. Director of Stellwagen Bank’s Risk and Accounts Division.” 

He set the binder on the table between them, fingers clenching the sides before a click sounds. Inside, a stack of papers, perhaps around twenty, remained, neatly aligned. The director adjusted one page slightly, turning it to face Aleit before sliding it across the table. 

“These are the current terms you asked for. I’ll walk you through the key figures.” 

Aleit leaned in immediately, fingers trembling slightly as he drew the sheet closer. The text was too blurry at first—too small, almost unreadable—but the numbers were there. Line of credit: 370,000 mora. Term: 18 months. Interest rate: 6.1%. Collateral: liability limit not yet finalized. Still under review. An addendum: seizure of assets possible if default occurs beyond a grace period. 

It was lower than FD’s, at least. And the grace window… he could work with that. 

“You’ll note,” Felix continued, voice flat and practiced, “this package is part of our emergency liquidity tier. That tier’s availability is time-sensitive. We’ve had three similar applications in the past week, and demand is climbing.” 

Aleit’s throat was dry. He nodded, the motion quick. Desperate. “And if I… say I needed to postpone this meeting, maybe until tomorrow, or—” 

Felix didn’t miss a beat. 

“We’d be happy to reschedule. However, we cannot guarantee that the same terms will remain available.” A pause, one that couldn’t be challenged. “It’s competitive, Mr. Thorne. As I’m sure you’re aware of.” 

Of course he was. Of course. The Director applied no pressure, just folding his hands. Just waited. Just watched. The silence stretched thin, the man waiting for a response.. 

Aleit stared down at the contract again. He reread the line about collateral again, maybe even another time. His vision swam. This wasn’t how deals were supposed to feel. This wasn’t how he was supposed to feel after clutching onto a lifeline, not even on his terms either. 

But what other choice did he have? 

He reached for the pen. 

A click. The pen’s surface remains cold, fingers grasping onto it tightly. He didn’t hesitate, not visibly at least, but he knew Felix saw it anyway. 

In the small space, a box, beside the signature line, he signed his name in sharp, looping strokes. A smear of ink caught the edge of his pinky, fingers shaking, but he didn’t stop. That would come later. 

A push sends the document away, the director taking it back before sliding it into the binder, clasping it shut. 

“I’ll have the funds moved to the account by the end of the day,” he said, standing in a smooth motion. “Confirmation will be delivered by post and a receipt before sundown at your address.” 

Aleit didn’t move from his seat.  

“Thank you,” he said eventually, voice rough, barely audible. 

Felix simply nodded. “Good luck, Mr. Thorne.” And then he was gone. The door closed behind him, a click resounding through the empty office. 

Aleit sat there a while longer, staring at the faint smudge of ink on his hand. 

It was done.

Now all he could do was wait. 

Subject: Remnants found unrecoverable, contaminant concentration inconsistent.

A scribble onto paper, graphite tip scratching against the dry surface in a motion too fast, too imprecise. The handwriting was looping, erratic. Beneath the line of notes, marks of pressure bled through faintly, empty ridges etched into the paper. 

Albedo didn’t normally write like this. He was thorough by habit, patient even when faced with stress. Precision and patience were usually his disciplines. But today… the patterns evaded him. Again.

The page crumpled beneath his fingers, a motion born from unconsciousness. A crease split down the margin, another twist before he folded it flat, trying again. 

The lack of results wasn’t what made him unsettled. It was the way he’d noticed his irritation. Such emotion would only cloud his observations, and today, it clung to him like humidity did to skin on a warm day. 

It’d been hours since Ragnvindr’s departure. Long enough that even the wind outside had stilled. After braving the rough seas and howling winds, forces that separated Port Dornman from the mainland, he’d moved towards the city’s main entrance with deliberate pace. 

Buffeted by the coastal breezes, Port Dornman stood as Eastern Teyvat’s center of commerce—an economic powerhouse shaped by the exchange of goods, of ideas, and more rarely, of intentions. 

In a way, the city’s fate was his responsibility. After all, the Lionfang Knight herself had personally requested him to run an investigation. He and Ragnvindr would work together, Ragnvindr tackling the diplomatic issues head-on. Meanwhile, he’d be the one running further investigations, cataloguing any further irregularities. 

To Albedo’s relief, Port Dornman’s main entrance wasn’t busy, quiet, even. It was far emptier than usual, scattered caravans swarming in like ants, the flow reduced to nothing but a bare trickle. It made sense, in a way. Port Dornman’s sustenance—it’s lifeblood— was money. And with that stranglehold, arteries being squeezed shut by the growing pressure, the volume of trade had decreased. 

Down the road, situated to the right, a single, solitary Knight stood in his way. 

Albedo approached at a steady pace, boots silent against the worn cobblestone. As expected, the soldier stepped forward, palm out, colliding into his shoulder. “Civilians aren’t permitted past this point.” 

He’d expected that much. 

Without a word, Albedo slipped a hand into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small metal insignia. The Knight leaned closer to examine it, eyes widening in recognition. He stiffened, then stepped back. “Apologies, sir. You're cleared through.” 

The man’s stance adjusted automatically, boots clicking against stone as he turned aside.  Albedo didn’t acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he merely nodded once, the motion instinctive, before stepping forward and leaving the checkpoint behind. 

Beyond the gate, the buildings narrowed. Cobblestones gave way to packed dirt, trampled by caravans and damp from the sea air. The constructions here crumbled with age, worn by weather, the older structures' remnants of the city’s past. Shutters, beams, even the metal-inscribed signs here were corroded, flaking into pieces as salt ate away at the city. 

He moved past a row of empty warehouses, his boots scuffing over stone and dirt alike until he reached a warning line, one painted with a fading yellow, the kind used when something had gone terribly wrong. The perimeter of whatever incident had occurred. 

It was quieter than expected. 

The air, too, had a thickness he didn’t like. 

Albedo paused, eyes narrowing, and reached into the satchel on his hip. His fingers withdrew a small glass vial, this one filled with thin filaments floating within a pale-colored solution. He shook it once. No change. 

Unsurprising. Elemental contaminant density low. Either the traces had disappeared by now or something else was interfering with the reaction. 

He crouched at the edge of the stone embedded within soil, gloved hand brushing the faint, scattered marks in the dirt. No blood here. Only the disturbed remains of whatever had happened nearly a month ago. No signs of exit or entry either. Just the remnants of something unclear, just like what failing alchemical reactions left behind. 

The distance to the outer edge calls to him, drawing his eyes to the dead space between. A touch shorter than expected, the boundary merely feet away. They must have died here. Killed by something in such a small area. 

But what had caused their death? 

Another vial pulled out of his satchel, this one sealed even tighter. He twists the cork, exposing the contents to the air before turning it upside down. The liquid douses a retrieved paper, soaking it thoroughly, and Albedo waits. One minute passes. Then another. 

Blank. 

No color change. Elemental contamination traces failed to present themselves. At least that was confirmed now, the more accurate test reinforcing those results. Perhaps another approach was necessary for these circumstances. 

What would be a better approach? He could pull out another vial and test the deeper layers of sediment using a reagent. Or, alternatively, would it be more effective to draw out the elemental residue, perhaps via the generation of an alchemical flower designed to absorb the energy lingering within the ground? 

A difficult choice. 

An idea comes into mind, like a flame blooming while clawing the air above. An extraction, one designed to leverage the living. There were forms of life, ever so small, wavering in the field amidst the gentle ocean winds. A perfect test, one that wouldn’t require much exertion or machinery. 

Flowers. 

A hand snakes out into the grass, fingers wrapping around the trichomes of stem, the minuscule hairs wispy. The Kreideprinz reaches into his satchel, fingers wrapping around yet another vial, this one filled with a clear liquid with silver undertones bleeding through—a reactive buffer. 

A moment later, he grasps a petal, placing several within the liquid, one designed to bind with elemental residues and reveal their properties. Within moments, the fluid bloomed into a color he couldn’t classify. Not Pyro. Not Geo. Not any natural resonances he’d catalogued before. 

Strange. That wasn’t usual. And outside of the seven elements, the only other guesses were— 

Oh. 

Yes, he’d remembered it now. Skirk, that familiar darkness. The image came uninvited, the shadow not cast by light, the pitch-black hue growing where sense should have ended it. The notebook. Where was it? Albedo digs through his satchel once more, shoving past empty vials and samples alike. Still nothing. A worn corner. The sharpened wood grazes against his hand, spiral wire cold beneath the leather. 

He drew it free. 

The notebook unfolded in his palm, unfurling til the last page, ripped paper marking the reference he’d taken before. He reaches towards the ground, grabbing the pencil that had dropped before raising it up. It moved before he could consciously decide on it. 

Not of elemental origin. Not alchemically familiar. Possible Abyssal derivative. Requires cross-reference with classified material. Subject closed for now. 

More data needed. Will return at first light. 

He gives one final glance towards the enclosed field, clicking the notebook shut. Then, silence, his thumb lingering just a second longer on the worn leather edge. 

There would be no more hesitation. Only calculation. That was the least he could promise, the only way forward. 

Chapter Text

The world here was quiet—not dead yet—but hollow in a way that pleased the Abyss. The snowfields stretched endlessly, a desolate expanse where the sky and snow merged into a seamless, pale horizon. The wind made no sound, and the snow did not crunch, as if the land itself held its breath. It was a quiet silence, one that came just before something broke.

A soft breath released, a gentle flare of unnatural black in the air. There was no face, no expression. Only a shift behind reality’s fabric, a smile carved with intent. 

It’d been a month since all had gone to Hell. One way or another, its strength was sapped, its power had poured outward in desperate expansion. 

And it worked. 

Expansion was… a difficult process. It demanded sacrifice, strength drawn from older places, a loosened grip on the lands across the border, power dimmed to its benefactors. 

And today? Round two was ready to start. 

This… new world, the foreign expanse yawning ahead, was something it craved. Another abyss of power, perhaps deeper, perhaps darker than its own. If one frontal assault failed, a backup had already been prepared. Influence crept through unseen cracks, worming through the surface like rot as corruption flowed through the ground, slow and steady. 

It turned its head, gaze distant, sight aimed further south. A swirling corruption, one that traced swirls around trees, creeped across empty fields, foot by foot. There were no chitters, no squeaks from the fauna that had once been there—only an eerie silence, just barely past the reach of humankind. 

Just a few miles. Hundreds, thousands of feet from the artificial border. Site zero. The location where Alberich’s son had released it in his fury. Progress there was slow, but that was the nature of power. Give a certain amount and you’d receive it back. Passive processes were always on the receiving end of things. 

Far across the sea, the tendrils it left behind flickered. Weak, dying things. The cost of forward movement, it thought. All conquest demanded retreat elsewhere. Just as fate demanded- 

Another shiver across its being, sharper this time, more urgent. It pauses, awareness snapping back towards the north. It was here. 

It’d taken weeks for the Abyss to catch a glimpse. See the wondrous fracture of form, the monsters that unraveled reality itself. More and more power spent, each taking it a mile further north, traveling past mountains and army camps alike. 

And there it had been—one shard. Some return on its investment, another source of power. Perhaps even a breakthrough. It couldn’t sense the creatures that well, perhaps due to them echoing each other. Cold, ruthless efficiency, something that seeped through the bone, spread its contamination until nothing was left—an overwhelming, unending force. Kin, perhaps. Rivals, certainly. 

Just another equation that was unsolved. But in the end, all variables served the same purpose: collapse. 

The Abyss had ruined worlds. Broken them, shattered them to pieces, absorbed every single drop of power until nothing was left. What would using these creatures instead mean to it? An alternative? A creative attempt at destruction. Even if all failed, it could bide its time. Wait for its power to restore, wait for Celestia to weaken. 

A world could rot in a day. Wallow in destruction in an age. The Abyss had waited before. 

And now, it stirs. 

The flare of black intensifies, flame bleeding outward into space. There’s something in the air, something eternal that pushes it back. Black and violet intertwine with ink and crimson, each going at the other, each force attempting to make space. Smoke glides through the air, each plume rolling off the rest. 

Finally, it relents, giving it a wide berth. A space to move in, a place for the Abyss to occupy. No matter how strong, no matter who held the advantage, it’d always win. That was simply time’s nature. The alien creature stares at it, the simmering challenge within subdued. Yet, it doesn’t dare make a move. Whatever it’d do, the Abyss would come back. For it, it was simply a sacrifice. Perhaps, the incomprehensible being had taken this as a boon. 

Heat passes through it, that familiar scorch of warmth as it draws upon the energy within. It was ready now—another rift, another shattering of reality’s components, just seconds away. 

Something stirs, just beneath the surface. And then, it pulls . 

A fracture spreads through the glass mirror, the Abyss just in reach, each crack spiderwebbing outwards. Glittering metal-coated pieces fall, piece by piece, and with a high-pitched snap, they explode into a cascade of jagged shards. The boundary, broken once more. 

The inhuman creature makes no noise, following its lead. Quiet, unwavering. No questions asked—just another pawn, another trade of many it's made in its life. 

The sensation was wrong. Not merely cold, just hoarfrost, biting to the touch, seeping through it with every inch of movement. The gaping wound, the feeling of a hole growing larger, begins to crescendo, the creature finally transferring across realms. As the last remnants finally pour through, the wavering portal subsides, stabilizing. Black crystals float in the air, each shard fading away into black emptiness. 

At last, the deed was done. 

The wind returned first, the whispers slow, tentative. It threaded through the trees, gentle, the lingering stillness swallowing it whole. No resistance followed the motion—no flare of energy, no flash of black. Just a sealed portal, whatever traces have vanished into nothingness. 

Where once silence lay still upon the horizon, only the hush of an aftermath was present. Something new had settled upon this section of Terra. It did not stir. It did not howl. 

It simply waited. 

Far below, the ice let out a low groan, a new weight lying upon it. But nothing shattered. Not yet. 

And for the first time in a long while, the Infy Icefield was just a little quieter. 

The vast expanse of darkness swims below the jagged cliffs, depths left immeasurably bottomless. Just feet away from the cliffside, Valle watches, fingers clinging to his spear. 

The man was vigilant. In conditions like these, hardship and bravery went hand in hand. It fostered an atmosphere that kept them on edge, weapons always nearby, backs never turned without reconnaissance. 

And yet, in spite of that, all had been hushed. Unnaturally so. 

It’d been days since the last assault. Perhaps even a week. Time spent patrolling camps, sharpening blades, restocking supplies. Every single second filled with tension, their path warping into something unfamiliar. 

That made him afraid. 

For years, Valle had been a member of Varka’s expedition. Part of the survivors, at least. They’d made their way north, marking the boundary between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya. He still remembers that day, waving goodbye to his family and leaving Mondstadt as a one-year seasoned scout. 

It all went to hell afterwards. 

Abyssal monsters. Crimson and black alike stain the battlefield, seeping into the earth. Battered shields and chunks of armor, blades tearing through flesh. Eighty percent of Mondstadt’s forces had been led towards these killing grounds. 

When the losses had mounted, he’d been pulled from the rear. Given a spear, handed a blade. Baptized in someone else’s blood. They’d staved off the bleeding the next few years, allowed themselves to regroup, to fight back. 

Just miles across the border, the Fatui laid waste to the growing rot. Valle still remembers the first time he saw them—spells crackling through the dark, masks reflecting the blood-soaked ice. He hadn’t known whether to aim his spear at the monsters or at them. They’d been enemies once. Maybe still were. But survival had a way of forcing hands, and in that moment, they were the only ones fighting back. 

Deep below the surface, the corruption festered within, crawling out of cracks, releasing inhuman creatures from the gorge. They battled against steel and spells alike, trading resistance for strength. And with it, they’d pushed back, almost sealing that gate. Keeping everything to a standstill. 

Those hordes came back regularly, leaving both the Fatui and the Knights of Favonius prepared to fight. For years, it’d been like this. Get up, assume a defensive position. Crush any remnants leaking through the cracks. Some days required offensive maneuvers, a push deeper into the ground. Casualties were kept minimal, and even then, healers could always treat wounds, given the right tools. 

And now, the silence was eerie. 

It wasn’t entirely unnatural. Abyssal forces never poured out on a scheduled basis. Some days, it’d take three; other days, perhaps two. Perhaps this was an anomaly, an event explained only by variance. But that feeling was growing smaller with each passing day. Another sunrise, another sunset. Another day of continuing with patrols, waiting for something to emerge. 

Valle strains, peeking ahead into the gorge’s depths—just darkness. An unnatural, inhumane blackness that stained everything in sight, withering life away at the touch. An involuntary shiver passes through, fingers slackening against the spear’s hilt momentarily. Not good. 

It would be wise to report this back to his seniors. Follow the chain of command, allow older officers to deal with the developing news. Soldiers weren’t ones concerned with strategy, nor privy to it. But dealing with this ahead of time was expected. 

He swivels on his heel, moving away from the gorge, his back turned against the ice-ridden plains ahead. The smell of smoke is faint, wafting through the air hundreds of feet away—a subtle reminder of the Fatui’s power. They’d been discharging their guns in practice, waiting for the next wave to strike. Even they weren’t immune to unease. Too many days without action frayed their nerves. 

He makes his way past the winding dirt road, worn footprints marking their familiarity with the path. Years spent rushing towards the battlefield were the norm. A stretch here, the second curve there, and he finds himself approaching the encampments. 

Funny how routine the walk had become. You’d think that facing the edge of the world would still feel strange. But after three years, the human mind had a way of numbing itself. 

Still, today felt different. 

A hand raises out towards a guard stationed upfront, the gesture reciprocated with a soft nod. More sentries than yesterday. Varka wasn’t taking this lightly. As the days passed, more precautions were taken. From experience, it was better to stay on edge rather than be caught off guard. 

His shoulders slump slightly, the comfort of camp washing over him. Out there, one was left to fend for themselves or their company. But here, safety was in numbers, and that was one form of security. If one blade fell, two would take its place, crumpled shields reinforced with fresh barriers of steel. 

By the time he passes the gate, making his way, a familiar face comes into view. Brown hair falls in loose waves, framing a face that still holds gentleness, one not yet weathered by the worst of the battlefield. She lounges in a hammock, armor still strapped over her frame, a half-read book resting against the curve of her breastplate. 

Lys. 

Noticing him, the woman gives Valle a soft smile. One hand dangles lazily above the ground, fingers brushing against the grass. While the expedition demanded vigilance, it didn’t entirely erase the need to rest. The spear right below the hammock made that point clear. 

“Anything out there?” Lys murmurs, voice rough from lying down. A cough, then another before she spits ungainly into the grass. She wipes away the spit with a hand, then looks up at him, expectant. 

“Nothing. All quiet. You know what it’s like out there.” 

She yawns, mouth opening, the corners of her eyes tearing slightly before meeting his eyes, figure now upright. 

“Any news from the… other side?” 

He releases a sigh, mind wandering back to his patrol. 

“Ahh, the Fatui. Gunshots. Slight unruliness. They look more restless than ever before.” 

While they had no reason to be concerned, something about the Fatui had seemed off to Valle. From a distance, he couldn’t make out much, only the clouds of smoke billowing in the distance kept visible. But the frequency was concerning. Either they’d been afraid of something or— 

“..Think it has anything to do with Port Dornman?” Lys whispers, breaking the silence. 

Valle stumbles. Port Dornman? Why was Lys bringing that up?  “You didn’t hear?” A shake of his head. 

“I have… family in Port Dornman. Last I heard, around two months ago, the city was experiencing unrest.” Lys turns towards the camp’s boundaries, eyes unfocused, gaze narrowed upon the horizon beyond. “There’s been whispers as well, about the city. Comes from supply caravans, some guys across our encampment.” 

“…” 

Valle can only release a sigh. This was news to him. Regardless, when high-ranking officials played at peace, it was soldiers like him who stood in the frost, waiting to see if the next hand offered meant help… or betrayal. 

“Brought any concerns to Kaspar?” he asks, head swiveling in the direction of their captain’s quarters. Located near the center of camp, right on the outskirts of the officer’s pavilion, it wasn’ far from here.  “No, thought it wasn’t necessary,” she replies, cracking her knuckles with an audible pop. A subtle pause, this one shorter than the rest. “...We should probably inform Kaspar about their movements. There’s a chance he already knows, but better to avoid conceiving notions.” 

“I’m reporting back to him. Mind if I tell Kaspar?” he requests, voice soft, head cocked as if waiting for agreement. 

She simply nods. 

“See you around, Lys.” 

And with that, Valle makes his way towards the inner workings of the encampment, the sight of the brunette fading from view. The further he walked past the defensive perimeter, the more soldiers there were. Polishing weapons, sparring, practicing sets of repetitive motions. Some laid against trees or supplies, cigarettes clutched between fingers. A standard setup. 

A moment later, he finds himself face to face with a brick-surface building, a construction that had been hastily built during the first few months of this campaign. 

The barracks. 

Moving through the front door, small details enter Valle’s senses. The creak of rusting hinges, the stale smell of sweat mixed with grime, orange light filtering in through the glass windows. His eyes wander down the hall, past the sparring range and assorted bunks, noting a series of weapons lying against the wall, each placed upright. 

The corners of his lips curled faintly. Home. 

As he walks past, familiar faces emerge. He simply waves his hand towards his friends. Gestures were simply minute distractions amidst today’s report. He barely registered the noise around him—just the wall ahead, drawing closer with every step. 

The spear is first to go, sharp tip centered away from him. His breastplate is next, strap unhooked, weight tugged off of his shoulders. Then, the pauldron. Vambrace. Gauntlets. Greaves. Every piece of metal removed, the click of metal against metal audible. 

At last, the weight is off of him. One less thing to worry about. 

By the time he leaves the barracks, the sound of noisy soldiers filtering through decrescendoes, slowly fading away. Peace and quiet, in some aspect at least. That was at least something he could reward himself with. 

Captain Kaspar’s office wasn’t far away. Knights of Favonius protocol generally had a captain’s company situated near their leader. A way for them to gain the trust of their companyman, all while offering surveillance in case of any conflict. Just a push forward, a right turn a hundred paces away, and it would be there. 

A few moments later, he catches sight of the decorated building. 

Taking a stride forward, he reaches the door of the building, politely knocking against the wooden frame. Once, then twice. A step backward, hands held behind his back. When the door finally opens, a second person pops into view. Mid-thirties, with a faint white scar across his cheek, and bright eyes contrasting with his tight lips. 

The door swings open, hinges creaking with the motion. 

“Come in, Valle.” A hand swings in front, ushering him in. A step forward, this one taking him past the grass on towards mahogany-colored hardwood. Kaspar’s office was always nice. Warm and cozy, the crackle of a fireplace had hummed in the background. Just like home had been, one in Mondstadt, the other on the battlefields. 

But warmth didn’t mean safety anymore. 

He gives a bow, this one short and sweet. It’s soon cut off by silence, both of them waiting for the other to respond. At last, Valle coughs, turning aside and covering his mouth before focusing his gaze upon Kaspar. 

“Captain, I’ve come back from duty.” An eyebrow raised, gaze narrowed at him. 

“No activity on the rift. Unnaturally quiet even today.”  Kaspar drags a hand down his face, fingers briefly splayed across his brow. For a moment, they part near his eye—just enough for Valle to catch a glimpse of it, sharp and tired—before he exhales and speaks. 

“Another day…” He turns toward his desk, a click signifying the opening of a cabinet, hands rummaging through the contents. Moments later, he pulls out a calendar marked with dates, a series of red scratches covering the front. Soon, it extends further. More than a week’s worth of entries, complete. 

“It’s been a week,” Kaspar whispers, bright eyes suddenly left dim. Sapped of energy, the man seemed haunted, gaunt, as if exhaustion had poured into his body, the façade having broken. “Seven days of no monsters. Seven days spent waiting, tensed, holding on for something routine. Seven days of hoping that normality may resume, for the alternative was unknown.” 

Valle’s captain stares blankly at the wall ahead, eyes unfocused. He looked sad. Tired, even. But soon, the light in his eyes returns—still dim, but still present at least. Kaspar’s head swivels back, brown eyes glancing at him. 

“Is that all, Valle?” 

Valle clears his throat. 

“Captain… about the Fatui. They’ve been discharging weapons. Training drills, maybe. But the frequency’s strange. Restless.” 

Kaspar doesn’t answer. A breath escapes him—slow, quiet, almost inaudible. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers snagging in blond strands before falling limp at his side. For a moment, he just stares at the desk in front of him, unmoving. 

Then, the sound of wood scraping emerges. He pulls open the drawer, retrieving a battered notebook from the bottom. Its edges are smudged with charcoal. A pen follows soon, tip scratching across the page in rigid strokes. The ink leaves a dark, heavy mark. 

Another note. Another detail in a list nobody was sure would lead. 

“Noted,” Kaspar mutters, not meeting Valle’s eyes. “I’ll send it forward.” 

His tone is dry. Mechanical. But deep below the surface, Valle can see. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s hand tightens around the pen, knuckles briefly pale before easing again. His own chest tightens at the realization, thoughts flooding his mind. If his commander was hushed in the face of these developments, how should they be? 

Valle doesn’t speak again.  

There’s nothing else to add. Nor anything that Kaspar seems willing to say. The silence that settles between them feels heavier than before. No longer quiet, no longer soft, simply oppressive. The kind that stretches into the night and refuses to leave. 

The nod he gives is stiff, muted, and Valle turns to go. 

Behind him, the faint scratching of the pen resumes. Another mark. Another worry filed away following protocol. And as Valle steps out into the cold air once more, that image of Kaspar replays—the tight grip, the mask that was beginning to crumble. 

And for the first time in days, Valle realizes the worst thing wasn’t what waited in the dark. 

It was the fact that no one knew whether it was still there. 

Alberich didn’t look at the board when he threw. His arm moved with practiced rhythm, each dart embedding itself into the painted wood like a formality. There was no rage in the motion, no glee, only inevitability. The fifth one landed just shy of the bullseye.  

He exhaled slowly. Another hour bled away. Pointless. 

Alberich wasn’t like this. He was meticulous, goal-oriented, ruthless. That was his psyche. At the core was a man who sought power, steel will carrying him through Hell. Down in the Abyss, strength backed up one’s birthright. Names alone wouldn’t open up doors, give them opportunities, not in a world where might was paramount.

And here he was—dart in hand, the board ahead bristling with sharp metal. 

He threw without thinking. 

Clang! 

The sharp edge clatters onto the metal chair, burrowing itself inches deep. The force had surprised him. He hadn’t meant to do that. It had completely missed its target, feather trembling in its arc, mocking him. 

His fist slams against the table, papers sent flying. This was beneath him. There wasn’t any need for this frustration, the nagging fear eating away at his mind. Not with everything that had been. Not with everything at stake. 

He had spent days worrying. Weeks waiting for Reingard’s return. Months spent thinking about his son. A few weeks ago, he’d dispatched his lieutenant to search for Kaeya. Ordered him to drag that incompetent herald back to the throne room, the one that had made the report. He’d witnessed the panic after, the Abyss setting in, remnants of its humanity being eaten away, piece by piece. 

Alberich didn’t enjoy the process. He was simply enforcing order, fulfilling the required punishment. Failing to keep contact with other Abyss Heralds was one thing. Losing track of his son amidst the ignorance couldn’t go unpunished. He’d cultivated a fearsome reputation, but truthfully, torture was inefficient. Intimidation by presence alone, that was cleaner. More efficient. Threats were for the weak. 

Regardless, Mondstadt’s northern border situation had been fixed. New overseers had been placed, supplies diverting towards those blasted snow-covered lands. Anton and Halvar had played crucial roles. But in the Abyss Order, pieces was expendable. 

Even the King. 

His son wasn’t one of them. He still reminded Alberich of her. Soft eyes, always laughing. Hands pressing against his chest, holding him still. A beautiful face he refused to forget. His chest tightens, throat feeling dryer. She’d been… gone. Years, decades. The memory had yellowed, but never faded. 

And that’s what had hurt. 

Reingard should have come back. Shouldn’t have taken more than a week or two. Corruption wasn’t something evadable. It left a stench on the soul, something that could be tracked no matter how far you went. Halvar had explained it then. A thick lock of navy-blue hair, crimson blood matting the strands. His fingers tighten, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. 

Even then, he’d still held onto some hope. The hope that his son was still there, hidden away in the depths of the world. Alberich had taught his son well, the ties of blood measuring that. Stow yourself away in a corner and you’d find yourself still. Loneliness wasn’t a virtue Alberich had dismissed. He’d known the toll of what it had brought. Abandoning his son at the gates of Dawn Winery had shown him that.  

But as the days dragged on, marked only by the ticking of clocks in a world without light, that hope had faded. Little by little, piece by piece, the passage of time had worn away at it. And yet, he’d still held onto it. Clutched onto it, the expectation driving him rather than the weary acceptance of reality. 

And perhaps, that fading pain would make way for something else. 

The Abyss. 

It’d been acting erratically. Weaker than normal, its powers flickering from time to time. That voice inside his head had told him nothing was wrong, that he’d been imagining it. But after running several tests, those suspicions had been confirmed. Something had been going on. 

The voice in his head had grown quieter lately. Not silent—just… listening. 

Whatever had occurred, that explained their slowing operations near Mondstadt. Unable to harness power, kept to the mercy of Hell’s entity itself, assaults had been weakened. Regardless, that didn’t mean much to him. Other plans required diverted forces and diversions had been set-up. It only accelerated the pace at which they’d be carried out. 

A finger traces a path through displaced papers, hand wrapping around the edge of a chess-piece. He turns it slowly between his fingers, the horse’s head catching the light. The knight. Nimble, indirect, always striking where they least expect.  The Abyss Order fomented chaos. Sought disruption. Desired the overthrow of Celestia. The Wild Hunt had been circling around Nod-Krai, taking on the Light-Keepers head on. Alberich had sensed it himself. Something the Abyss had wanted, something that caused it to commit such forces deep in the Cryo Archon’s territory. 

The knight drags along the table, circling around the checkered board. A pause, his hand wondering where to place the piece. And with a click of his tongue, it goes, just three tiles away from the king. 

Checkmate. 

The piece had no place to move. Evading capture would only place it a step into the bishop’s path. A hidden, quiet line of death. Watching, waiting, holding on for the perfect time to strike. And when it did, the king wouldn’t even see it coming 

He knocks the piece over, watching it fall against the board, clatter as it drops to the floor. 

And he simply smiles. 

Next came Nod-Krai. And the long game could finally begin. 

Chapter Text

Hey everyone! Sorry for not publishing in a while. I’ve spent some time going back and preparing to tackle this project again, and right now I’m still deciding which direction the plot should take moving forward. The work will absolutely continue, but I want to make sure I choose the approach that works best.

As a bit of progress, I’ve rewritten the first ten chapters. A lot of them were originally written almost four years ago, so they were underdeveloped compared to where the story is now. Hopefully, these newer versions feel stronger and hit harder. This update was scheduled for this date so everyone can know about what is being done. Feel free to check them out!

For future plans, I’ll be writing a new chapter before moving on to revise chapters 11 through 15. I think chapters 16 and onward hold up fairly well, and I don’t want to get caught up in unnecessary changes because of perfectionism. The main goal of these revisions is to improve readability, cut down on heavy lore-dumping and exposition, and strengthen Talulah and Kaeya’s individual arcs as well as their dynamic together. In the earlier drafts, I think I rushed their development too quickly, so I’m working on slowing down their growth to make it feel more natural.

Once the revised chapters 10 through 15 are done, along with the Talulah-Kaeya interactions in chapters 16 through 18, I’ll be preparing another chapter update here on AO3.

Until then, thanks for your patience and support!