Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaeya was familiar with the feeling of dread.

But this? This was of a different level. Most of those other times, he’d been at risk to lose that which had burrowed itself close to his heart. Now, he was at risk of losing everything around it as well. He’d left Khaenri’ah at such a young age that he wasn’t sure he would have anything left if he were to lose Mondstadt too.

Kaeya didn’t know which clown had decided leaking such a big part of the Fatui’s internal communique and database was a good idea. To be fair, he didn’t think he wanted to meet the person either. There was only so much he could take while being sober.

And now here he was — not nearly drunk enough — in the waiting room of Jean’s office, hoping to explain things before they got out of hand. Kaeya knocked on Jean’s door for what must have been the 16th time in the time he had been there, yet never received a response, much like the previous 15 times.

He would rather not repeat what happened between him and Diluc all these years ago.

…he needed a drink.

So far, Kaeya was the only one in the Acting Grandmaster’s waiting room. He supposed he was on the earlier side; others had been much too busy sowing chaos and discord on the streets. In the absence of reason and order, not many would reach for rationality.

Not that Kaeya could particularly blame them. The leaked information was especially sensitive and Kaeya himself hadn’t even close to scratching the surface of it all. A single mention of Khaenri’ah itself now being public knowledge had been enough for him to seek out Jean.

Needless to say, the Fatui’s internal communique was vast and expanding. There was no way to go through it all so easily. However, that didn’t mean that some particular pieces of information weren’t the talk of the town.

As he’d left for the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius, he couldn’t help but overhear some of the topics. As expected, the Seven were quite the popular topic. Their aliases, actual names — the ones who had destroyed Khaenri’ah actually donned normal, human names — and history were all clearly documented. Beings so intrinsically mysterious now laid open, carefully dissected piece by piece for all to see, yet for few to comprehend. Kaeya, however, genuinely did not want to hear a single thing about any of that yet, so he’d tried to tune that out as much as possible.

However, even Kaeya couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at some of the things he’d heard. For all the things he had expected, the Geo Archon faking his death and spending his days as a normal consultant for some kind of Liyuan funeral parlor was not one of them. Honestly, having heard that, he would have expected Liyue to be in the most turmoil, but apparently the guy was so incredibly intimidating that they’re all living in peace and forced denial.

And then there was something about the sky being one gigantic hoax, but Kaeya would not even poke that particular piece of information with a 10 foot pole.

And now he was sitting there in the waiting room, all alone, on the verge of telling his biggest secret to someone he’d grown up with, dreading her reaction.

And anyone else’s, for that matter.

He was about to knock for the 17th time when he heard a noise. The door to the waiting room opened carefully, barely making any noise — though the hinges were rather old and creaky — until a second person peered around the corner.

Albedo Kreideprinz, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius, was standing in the doorway. Kaeya could get along quite well with him, as did everyone, even if he tended to be on the more silent side, so that wasn’t the problem. Other than that, they hadn’t interacted that much outside of work.

But for Albedo to turn up here now of all times? He must have something else he wants to explain, or something he wants explained. The latter seemed more logical; perhaps he’d learned about an alchemical breakthrough the Fatui had kept well hidden.

But logic often bends to emotion; Albedo looked worried with naught a trace of joy on his face. Perhaps the alchemical breakthrough was one of a more dangerous nature.

“Ah, Albedo. The hotshot of the Knights of Favonius,” Kaeya said, his voice laced with false sincerity, “What brings you here?”

Albedo’s eyes met his and, oh, he looked tired. Very tired. Kaeya wondered if he was wearing that same look on his face. If he were to look in the mirror, what would he encounter?

Albedo shook his head in disdain, his words drawling out in a sigh that had been trapped for a minute too long. “If I had to guess, we are in quite the same predicament.”

Kaeya narrowed his eyes in skepticism. The implication of such a statement was far from lost to him. “However much I appreciate being compared to one such as yourself, with what all these people have been saying about you, I genuinely doubt that.”

Albedo sat down in one of the chairs, leaving two chair empty between him and Kaeya. “If you really doubt that, then you haven’t grasped the severity of the situation. Khaenri’ah is only a part of it.”

Kaeya froze in his spot, his head suddenly feeling much more heavy. Khaenri’ah itself as a nation wasn’t necessarily forbidden knowledge, but its former existence wasn’t exactly common knowledge either.

For Albedo to know about it, he either must have known before or recently read it.

But for him to recognize Kaeya as a Khaenri’ahn? That spoke of a knowledge of a much deeper level. It was one thing to know what the nation had been and a whole other thing to know how to recognize its citizens.

Kaeya did not look Khaenri’ahn. He did not have the features associated with that heritage except for the eyes. His skin was too dark and his eyes too sharp. What a shame, then, that those eyes were the most defining characteristics to identify descendants of Khaenri’ah by.

So what had Albedo read? Had he read about the eyes themselves or had there been a file on Kaeya after all?

Kaeya’s thoughts went all ways, traveling paths both likely and unlikely, all to the point where he’d forgotten Albedo was sitting right next to him.

“That’s unlike you, Cavalry Captain,” Albedo said, his voice soft and steady. “But as I said, you shouldn’t forget about the magnitude of this information leak. I don’t know whether there is a personal file on you the same way I don’t know if there’s one on me. Regardless, we both ended up sitting here, did we not?”

Kaeya narrowed his eyes. “I guess that means we both have reason enough to talk to the Acting Grandmaster, then.”

“Indeed.”

Silence followed, covering them much like a weighted blanket — noticeable and conspicuous, yet never uncomfortable.

The silence acted as a protective reminder of what could be. Lying awake in bed, awaiting the moment he would have to stand up and face the daylight. There was only so much Kaeya wanted to deal with today, although he would rather not have been forced to talk to Jean about matters so close to who he was as a person. Matters that were closer to his heart than he wanted to give them credit for.

Kaeya Alberich had never truly worshipped the gods. There was something extremely repulsive about it, even if he did not know for certain that was the word he would use for it.

The gods were something that he was supposed to hate. To despise, even. As his father — the one who had abandoned him in Mondstadt — had taught him, their absence was his birthright. To live in a world where imperfect beings with powers could reign supreme and act to their every whim was a curse. And what was human nature if not for the search of comfort?

So no, Kaeya had never worshipped anyone in that sense, but neither had he shared that man’s hatred for the gods in the way he had.

If he had to ascribe his faith to anything else, he would only have knelt before the concept of insincerity itself. To open his heart to anyone in such a way, to leave open his every vulnerability when he didn’t even acknowledge them himself, was the only thing that had ever felt truly blasphemous.

Albedo didn’t seem to care about any of that. He took the role of the daylight itself, taking any comfort left with him, and Kaeya was exposed to the coldness of the night once more.

What more could Kaeya do than open his eyes and stare right in Albedo’s? Despite the heaviness of dysania, for all that sleeps, it is considered a blessing to be able to arise from a slumber. But alas, seldom do people acknowledge such a thing in the gentle embrace of a hallow sleep.

Maybe he should wake up.

“What are you planning to do, Kaeya?”

Truly a loaded question; Kaeya wouldn’t even dare to ask himself such things in the quietness of the night. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll leave. What’s it to you?”

“I’m still figuring out what I’ll do myself,” Albedo said solemnly, but he was hard to get a read on in any other way. “I built a life here. I consider this place a home.”

Kaeya tried to look for something in Albedo’s eyes, but couldn’t find anything. “Has Mondstadt not always been your home?”

“Has it been yours?” Albedo asked.

There might not have been anyone to know Kaeya’s exact position, but there might be others who can relate. Perhaps Kaeya was meant to wake up after all.

Kaeya took a moment before he responded. “I think it has been for a while. Its Archon less so.”

“And are you considering to leave Mondstadt?”

The question was quite audacious in Kaeya’s opinion. Albedo was prodding in matters that were not his own. It was only fair for Kaeya to be irked in response. “What’s it to you anyway? Shouldn’t you be minding your own business or something?”

“You are quite perceptive,” Albedo said. “Or so I had hypothesized. Should I discard that hypothesis?”

“Oh, why don’t you keep that mouth shut if you have nothing better to say?” Kaeya sneered.

Kaeya could have sworn there was a grin on Albedo’s face. “Why not keep those eyes closed if there is nothing for you to acknowledge? If you were to see, you would know why I asked. We are in a similar situation. At least, so I had thought.”

Kaeya’s mind came to a halt, looking for something to betray Albedo’s thoughts yet never finding it. “You claim it so, yet I see nothing.”

Albedo’s gaze trailed off to the side, lost in deep contemplation. For the first time, Kaeya sees vulnerability.

Once again, the silence returned, but Kaeya couldn’t bring himself to give into it. A formerly comfortable veil had suddenly become unfamiliar and its warmth at least twice as suffocating. He needed it gone.

Albedo seemed to think so too. He opened his mouth, yet seemed to form the words with a hint of reluctance. “Your eye betrays your heritage, yet you seemed to want to hide it desperately. Considering you had no choice to hide your eye, it would be fair for my… voice to betray mine.”

Albedo’s hand trailed off to his neck, his fingers resting near his throat. Kaeya followed the motion, gaze eventually resting on the star on his neck.

Oh.

There was a star on his throat, one much like the ones in Kaeya’s eyes. He had seen it before — he presumed most had as it was very conspicuous — but he had never sought anything in its meaning. To display such a thing so openly, it was not odd to assume it therefore held no worth in the way of either significance and substance.

But who was to say others held secrets in same veil of lies as Kaeya did? It had been unruly and wayward to assume that in the first place.

Albedo regarded him with the emptiness of a newborn, as if any of his past had been discarded, laying his foundations as a person bare. “I may not be from Khaenri’ah, but I am of it.”

Kaeya frowned, not grasping was he was saying. “What do you mean?”

“Mondstadt is my home,” Albedo said, his words soaked in sincerity. “But it has not always been.”

“You lived in Khaenri’ah, then?”

“No.” Albedo shook his head. “I have not, but my Master has. Before I came to Mondstadt, she was my home.”

“Your master, huh? You were the disciple of some great alchemy teacher, then?”

“…not only her disciple. She had a goal in mind for me which could only be achieved through Alchemy.”

Albedo stopped talking after that, clearly too uncomfortable to tell Kaeya more.

Kaeya could claim it was far from him to prod in places that were not meant for him, but he would be lying. Normally, that was exactly what Kaeya would do. But there was no further need for him to know more now. When the hidden comes to light, it can be used for him to do as he pleases. But when all becomes known as it might be now, there was no use in such things other than reopening a barely healing wound.

Kaeya might not be a good person in the traditional sense, but he certainly wasn’t evil at heart. How could he be when he had sheltered it so from outside influences?

“You might have been the cause for your mother practicing alchemy, but she must have done it out of the goodness of her heart. If it takes away your pain, know I will not share this information.”

Albedo looked at Kaeya with an odd expression. Had Kaeya known Albedo any better, he would have recognized it as fondness. “No, you misunderstand. I was not the cause, at least not directly. She is not my mother. At least, I don’t think she considered herself to be so. I was merely the outcome.”

Kaeya blinked his confusion away, to no avail. “Excuse me?”

“I was the outcome of my Master’s practices. Having achieved what she wanted, she left me alone to find an answer to her innermost question.”

The outcome of his Master’s alchemical practices? There was no way Albedo meant that the way it sounded, because that would make him something else entirely.

“Surely you are not implying what I think you’re implying.”

Albedo merely stared at him, eyes unblinking. Had he ever needed to blink in the first place. “There is a reason they call me Kreideprinz. I was born from chalk.”

A multitude of profanity left Kaeya’s mouth and from the looks of it — Albedo was wearing the funniest expression on his face — it wasn’t pretty.

Kaeya really needed a drink.

Perhaps only now had the depths of this incident began to settle in Kaeya’s mind. How could it not? It was one thing to worry about what he could see, but if something — someone — so close in proximity to him, unbeknown to Mondstadt, bore such a heavy truth with him — it, no, him — Kaeya didn’t even want to know just exactly he wasn’t even aware of.

In that waiting room, occupied by just the two of them, there was just one human. A being made of chalk of all things blinks as he looks at him, trying to evaluate exactly what he was thinking. Was there even a heart beating within him, or was it something else entirely?

How much more had he never been aware of? Is this how Diluc had felt, thinking he’d known all but in fact knowing nothing? But even that was different. Albedo was his coworker; Diluc had been his brother. They had had a bond that was strong enough to die for. Kaeya had been in pain that day, he’d lost his father and his brother, but so had Diluc.

Compartmentalizing such a thing, where would you even begin?

But Kaeya had known Diluc so well — even if the opposite had been debatable for Diluc back then — so why would Albedo tell him such a thing?

“You barely know me,” Kaeya ended up saying. “Why would you share such a thing with me?”

“Why would I not?” Albedo said, expression pained having seen Kaeya’s reaction to his closest secret. “My being a homunculus might be out there somewhere, waiting for others to find it. If so, I’d rather tell someone myself before that chance is taken for me too. That’s the reason why I’m here and I suspect it’s the reason you’re here as well.”

A homunculus — a way to coin what exactly the man before him was. The term was familiar to him, but only as a myth. Kaeya would never have thought that such a thing truly existed. It was the final nail in the coffin, the last piece of information to make what information he knew whole.

“I guess you’re right.”

Albedo had shared his own truth and it made Kaeya even more repulsed to share his own. If this is how he had reacted to Albedo — a man he’d only known in passing — how would Jean react to what he was about to share with her? Would she take the same stance as Diluc, raising her sword and lifting his chin up, daring him to face her and look her in the eyes.

With the truth bare, there was nothing left to protect his heart, yet Albedo seemed to take it in stride. Whether Kaeya would be able to do such a thing himself, he did not know. Who was to say Jean would not take a dagger the moment she saw the ugly realities hidden behind a veil of charm and elegance?

Would Jean think he deserved such a thing? Did he think he did?

“I was sent here as a spy,” Kaeya blurted out as if he’d suddenly lost control over his lips and tongue. The moment the words registered in his mind, his face went pale.

When he had gathered the courage to see what Albedo looked like, he almost regretted it. Albedo’s lips were slightly parted, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide.

It was extremely rare for Kaeya to lose his composure, especially when he wasn’t drunk. It didn’t fit his personality; it didn’t fit the walls he had built around his mind. For them to crumble to dust at just at the touch of a single finger… was he beginning to lose himself?

“I was sent here as a spy,” Kaeya said once more, the reality of the statement slowly setting in as he spoke it aloud for the first time in years. “I was sent here as a spy when I was a child.”

Albedo inhaled very deeply — did he even need to? — before he spoke. “And why do you think the Fatui know that?”

“Why do you think the Fatui know about you?!” Kaeya spat, though he regretted his outburst immediately. He wasn’t angry at Albedo; he was angry at himself for letting that piece of information slip so carelessly.

“I asked you first, but fine.” Albedo swallowed his hesitation away, leaving nothing but resolve in its wake. “I am not the only one. I don’t know where he is.”

Kaeya blinked, unable to respond immediately. Another one would imply that there was another… homunculus walking around. One with at least some degree of sentience, from the sound on it. One that could have had some sort of contact with the Fatui.

No wonder Albedo wanted to talk to Jean as soon as possible. How was he supposed to defend his actions — or the actions of another — if he didn’t?

“Another one of… you, then?” Using the word homunculus felt odd and foreign. Additionally, calling Albedo as such would only make the truth more bright.

Albedo just seemed bewildered at the proclamation. “Did you… already know?”

“Already know what, exactly?”

“Did Eula tell you? Or Amber?”

Kaeya had no idea what he was talking about. “I don’t follow. What are you saying?”

“Never mind, then. In any case, I haven’t been able to find him. Or any of the others for that matter.”

“Wait, hold on. What exactly do you mean by others?”

Kaeya really, really needed a drink.

Albedo sighed, shaking his head. “But I digress. You came here for a reason. Why would the Fatui know about your—” Albedo paused for a short moment. “—reasons for coming here?”

The answer to that question was uncomplicated. He’d heard so from the Traveler themselves. The leader of the Fatui Harbingers was Khaenri’ahn and Kaeya’s last name had once been well known among the people of that nation. There was no way that person, whoever he might be, had never known of the name Alberich.

If even information about the Archons, the Tsaritsa supposedly included to some degree, had been leaked, who was to say information related to that name was safe?

Kaeya ended up settling for a vague version of the truth. “I have never worked with them, nor have I met them, but is no question that they know. I just don’t know if that information is out in the open somewhere.”

Albeit acknowledged his words with a nod, seemingly accepting that Kaeya was not planning on elaborating any further. “You said Mondstadt has been your home for a while.”

Kaeya nodded confidently; he’d never felt so sure about anything in his life before. “I grew up in Mondstadt, yet the visage of the man who sent me on this mission has become… blurred in my memory. He never came to get me. After such a long time, how could I not grow to love this nation?”

Albedo nodded. “I see, you were left alone in Mondstadt too. But I see no reason for hostility. Would you have been sitting in this room with me if you had your doubts?”

“But I do have my doubts,” Kaeya replied. “There will be a decision for me in the future. I have to prepare for it.”

“Mondstadt has been in danger multiple times and has persevered through just as many. It will know how to protect itself, should you make the wrong one. It has to.”

“But who is to say Mondstadt's answer will be open to me?

“How could it be if they never hear the question?”

Kaeya was well aware of that. It was the entire reason he was there, after all. “A question, indeed.”

The door to the waiting room opened through a big gust of air and Kaeya nearly had to keep his eyepatch in place with his hands. Albedo was equally surprised, but did not have to make an effort in order to not make a show of it.

As suddenly as the gust of wind had arrived, it faded away into the background. Suddenly, it was as if it had never been there at all.

The door closed once again and the waiting room was met by the presence of yet another person. This time, a boy dressed in green. Two braids were hanging limply along the sides of his face, neatly tied. How the wind had not disheveled his hair was beyond Kaeya.

Kaeya had long had his suspicions about this bard in particular. How anyone else had not noticed the resemblance between the statue and this bard was almost disturbing.

He’d arrived so quickly in the city, walking around as if he knew every nook and cranny while simultaneously not having been there before.

He was the one with the eyepatch, yet it was the others who were blind to the truth.

Although Kaeya held Mondstadt dearly, the same did not go for its Archon.

If Kaeya was right in his suspicions, the person in front of him was one of the main causes behind the destruction of Khaenri’ah and every single consequence that came from it.

Kaeya looked the bard in the eyes.

He did not look like an Archon.

He looked distraught.

Venti’s eyes scanned the room and let out a sigh of relief. “My name is Venti,” he stressed deliberately.

Albedo frowned, though his expression betrayed that he had his own suspicions about the bard. “I think I knew that.”

“Venti, you gave me personal poetry classes,” Kaeya said simultaneously.

Venti took what would be considered at least three moments too long to respond. He made a goofy expression, though it was obvious he meant to go for a smile. What he ended up doing, however, was some kind of weird mix between a grimace and a forced smile. “Well, my name hasn’t changed since then, right?”

It felt odd and uncomfortable. It reminded Kaeya of a child.

“Please, just sit down,” Kaeya ended up saying, his voice drawled out in a sigh.

Venti complied, sitting at the opposite side of the room. A normally carefree gaze turned somewhat unfamiliar as every normally joyful feature contorted into something more cold, more gone.

Once again, incredibly odd and strangely uncomfortable.

Looking at Albedo, he found that he was closely watching Venti as well.

Venti didn’t acknowledge them further and placed his hands neatly on his legs, not unlike Klee when she had to sit in that exact same place after blowing up a fishpond. Reminiscent of a cloak, he’d wrapped himself in a shawl of absence.

Very, very unlike the Venti he knew. He was too silent. Not that Kaeya cared too much, though. He had no intention of talking to the bard.

During the Windblume festival, when he had handed Venti his poem, he’d known exactly what he’d done.

Mi muhe ye
Means I love you
In Hilichurlian

It does not.

“Kaeya,” Albedo asked. Venti did not turn around. “Was there someone here before you?”

There hadn’t been anyone at all before him, yet the door to Jean’s office remained closed. The clipping near the door was red, indicating she was in a meeting. A rather long one from the looks of it, but he didn’t take it personally. After all, Kaeya could only imagine just how much more work this entire incident had brought upon her plate.

Even if she had been sleeping in there, Kaeya would not be angry. He did not envy her position, but then again, neither did he envy his own. Someone else could take it far away from him if they so desired.

Not Albedo, though. He did not want to trade with Albedo either. He was quite attached to his normal, human flesh.

“No, I was alone before you came,” Kaeya replied. “The door has been closed since.”

“Then how do we know the Acting Grandmaster is inside?”

“That red thing indicates she’s busy. If she’s gone, you can’t even see it.”

“Ah, I see.”

With the echoes of their voices fading from the room, it became silent once more. The ice between Kaeya and Albedo had been broken a little, yet Venti’s arrival seemed to have frozen the whole room all over.

Or perhaps only for Kaeya, in hindsight. When he watched Venti, there was a smile on his face.

This only brought about more agitation on Kaeya’s part. “Is there something funny going on, Venti? Do you think this is fun?”

That earned a look of disapproval on Albedo’s part, but Kaeya didn’t seem to acknowledge it.

Venti shook his head like he’d been tossed in ice-cold water and that was when Kaeya realized Venti hadn’t done so on purpose. “I’m sorry?” Venti asked, genuinely confused.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“What?” Venti asked bewilderedly, his arms raised in self defense. “No, of course not!”

“Kaeya.” Albedo placed his hand on Kaeya’s arm. The only thing Kaeya could think of when he did so was how a hand made of chalk could be so warm to the touch. “Enough.”

“Well, excuse me for being a little bit agitated. Mondstadt is in chaos and he smiles. Don’t you find that odd, Albedo?”

“What I find odd is your demeanor. Is there bad blood between the two of you?”

Kaeya shot a look at Venti, then let his gaze wander off again. “I don’t know.”

At the same time, Venti shook his head. “I hope not.”

“Then why do you seem to enjoy yourself so much? Unlike you, many people have been forced to reckon with the short end of the stick.”

“I doubt there is anyone out there who didn’t grab the short end of the stick,” Albedo supplied. “The Fatui’s database was leaked and there is no use for blackmail when everyone knows everything.”

Kaeya supposed that was true, but that still did not explain Venti’s smile. “Then why are you smiling?” Kaeya prodded mirthlessly.

“I was just thinking.” Venti remained motionless in his seat, yet his smile returned on his face. “Do you think we were ever mean to see our own faces before the creation of mirrors, Kaeya? Or do you think our reflections should have remained within murky puddles and still lakes?

That question caught Kaeya off guard completely. “Venti, what on Teyvat are you talking about?”

“In any case,” Venti continued, “we always look at ourselves and never at others. But with a Kamera? It’s such a neat little piece of human technology. I can see what others see. I can see what I once saw.”

Kaeya was lost on what he was being told. There seemed to be no single thread of sense to be made from that incoherent string of words, yet Venti spoke them as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

Is that how the thought processes of a god were meant to be? Incoherent to the human brain yet easily comprehended by the gods?

Albedo seemed to have caught on to something Kaeya hadn’t, however. “Did the Fatui have pictures of you in their database?”

Venti nodded a little bit too eagerly. “It’s a weird little thing, isn’t it? Yet I’m glad to be able to experience it.”

That was quite the innocuous response; far from what Kaeya had imagined. Kameras were indeed something relatively new, especially outside of Fontaine as far as he knew. But even then, it was mostly the older folks who hadn’t been in contact with such a thing yet.

People having their first picture taken tended to react positively, but did not entirely explain the reason for his presence here. If what he’d found was something good, why would he be wanting to speak with Jean?

It could not have been for something good. He’d looked way too solemn for that walking in.

“Then why are you here?” Kaeya asked, fully intending to have his question answered.

Venti could not even entertain the thought of giving his reply before Albedo cut in. “Are you here because of your energy signature?”

Needless to say, Kaeya was incredibly confused.

Venti’s eyes widened on the spot, meaning Albedo was really onto something. “You’re as talented as they say, Mister Albedo. That is quite impressive, I’ll give you that. There aren’t many people who possess elemental sight. Usually that skill is reserved for the members of the Masters of the Night Wind in Natlan. But yes, that would be a part of it.”

“…the what?” Kaeya mumbled stupidly.

“The energy signature,” Albedo supplied. “Traces of the seven elements can be seen through either elemental sight or a mechanical device capable of detecting them. Water is blue for Hydro and fire red for Pyro. Humans do not leave one behind, usually. Weirdly enough, he has the signature of an anemo slime.”

Venti carefully shifted his gaze between Kaeya and Albedo before sighing. “Comparing me with a slime was uncalled for, but I suppose you’re not wrong entirely wrong. Regardless, I’d rather not share. It’s not something I share with a lot of people—”

It sounded like a confirmation that Venti truly was the Anemo Archon. No, that the Anemo Archon was Venti, because Venti was but a part of the god Barbatos, and Barbatos chose to walk the earth as Venti.

He was quite the lackadaisical god, but a god nonetheless. Was that the reason why his biological father had sent him to Mondstadt? Because Barbatos was unlikely to interfere as Freedom was his divine ideal.

“—but I suppose it is too late for such things now, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m a wind spirit. Not a slime.”

Kaeya’s mind screeched to a halt. Why would Venti say that so suddenly? There was only so much Kaeya could deal with when he wasn’t drunk. “Why would you just dump that information on us like that?!”

Did this mean he wasn’t the Anemo Archon after all? Had he actually falsely threatened Venti with that poem, telling him ‘I will triumph over you’ when he wasn’t actually the Anemo Archon?

He really, really, really needed a drink.

Venti’s lips started trembling as a furious green blush — yes, green — crept upon his cheeks and ears. Kaeya had never seen him so flustered before. “I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to tell someone myself as literally everyone outside was told by the Fatui!”

“I mean, it does explain the energy signature,” Albedo muttered under his breath.

Kaeya threw his hands in the air. “You know, never mind. I give up. At this point I’ll just ask. Does this mean you are or aren’t the Anemo Archon?”

Albedo alternated staring between Kaeya and Venti, his eyes reminiscent of an owl’s. Kaeya didn’t even know Albedo could be so expressive. Had he always been?

“I mean,” Albedo said, uncertain whether he should speak up, “I guess that would explain the energy signature too?”

The sudden change in Venti’s demeanor almost gave Kaeya a whiplash. He had suddenly become tranquility itself, although the blush hadn’t fully faded yet. “Is a king without a crown still a king?”

Kaeya made a face. “Am I still the cavalry captain after Varka took all the horses on his expedition?” Kaeya crossed his arms, but loosened his posture soon after. “What am I doing with my life?”

“It’s alright, oh great Cavalry Captain. I’m wondering the same thing right now.”

Albedo could only stare at Venti. “That is not very reassuring, coming from you.”

“Obviously, I will need to take action now,” Venti said determinedly. “It’s why I’m here, to see how.”

Kaeya sighed deeply. “Well, at the very least you’re doing something. I doubt that can be said for the outside. Has the situation changed for the better or worse?”

“Well, uh. It’s far from ideal, at the very least,” Venti said hesitantly.

That was too vague an answer for Kaeya. “What do you mean by that?”

Venti winced. “To begin with, someone tried to set Goth Grand Hotel on fire… twice.”

Kaeya really, really, really, really needed a drink. “I hate that that example was your ‘to begin with’, you know that Venti?”

Venti smiled happily in response. “Thank you for continuing to use the name Venti.”

“Don’t take it that way, I’m doing this for myself.”

Venti’s smile remained on his face, regardless.

Something attempting to set an entire hotel on fire at least twice while Kaeya had been in the waiting room was indeed far from ideal, but Kaeya would not have described that in that way personally.

It had probably been an act of revenge on the Fatui by someone who had been disadvantaged gravely due to the information leaks. Taking the sheer volume of the information leak into account, it was more useful to search for people who were not affected rather than those who had been duped.

There was no use in searching for the perpetrator. At this point, it could be nearly everyone. Information was a dangerous thing, some people were even willing to kill or die for it.

Either of those bore its own grievances. Loyalty was scarce these days — maybe it had always been — so the choice between the two wasn’t a problem. The question lay solely within the person themselves: did they beget loyalty or cherish it? Either way, both were a problem to deal with it.

This would-be arsonist was clearly one of the former. If Kaeya ever found himself in a pinch, perhaps there would come a time where he would consider it taking such measures too.

The door of Jean’s office finally opened. The speed at which Albedo snapped his neck in its direction was unheard of. Kaeya didn’t know how he didn’t break his neck on the spot. Maybe that was a chalk thing.

Jean stepped out of the office, accompanied by Diluc of all people. The both of them were deeply engaged in their conversation when they noticed them sitting outside of the office.

They seemed to be quite surprised by their presence. Who’s exactly, Kaeya didn’t know. Maybe by just one of them. Perhaps it was the combination of the three.

Jean quickly recomposed herself as if she’d never been caught off guard. “Albedo, Kaeya and… Venti. I hope you haven’t been out here for long?”

Kaeya blinked, the reality of his situation settling in again. He would have to tell her everything before anyone else did and sadly for him, that moment would have to be now.

He could run from it, but the truth wouldn’t hide itself from Jean. If he wanted any chance at a good outcome, he would have to take it now.

His estranged brother stood next to Jean, his eyes narrowing upon seeing Kaeya. “It is of no surprise to me to see you here now of all times, Kaeya. Ready to air your dirty laundry? Or will you be a coward once more?”

Diluc’s eyes shifted away, involuntarily falling on Venti instead. When his eyes locked into Venti’s any and all traced of hostility just seemed to melt away on impact. “Why on Teyvat are you green, bard?”

Kaeya didn’t look at Venti himself; he could hear that he was trying to hold back his laugher. The kind of awkward laugh that just happened to float to the surface when you were immersed in your most embarrassing moment of the day.

Laughing now would be an incredibly bad timing. Kaeya couldn’t risk looking at Venti at a moment like this. He would laugh too.

Diluc’s scowl grew deeper. “I don’t see why you’re laughing, bard. Do you think this is funny?”

Maybe he and Diluc were much more alike than he would like to admit, but such thought were immediately dismissed and locked inside the most dusty corner of his mind, never to be acknowledged again.

Kaeya was secretly glad when Albedo had decided to speak, yet regretted ever feeling such a thing when he heard just what Albedo had decided to ask. They had hit rock bottom and Albedo had decided to wield the metaphorical pickaxe and dig even deeper.

“Diluc Ragnvindr,” Albedo suddenly spoke out of nowhere. “I could see him do it.”

It didn’t take long for Kaeya to realize Albedo was talking about the attempted arson of Goth Grand Hotel.

Venti had quickly brought his hand to his mouth to cover it, clearly taken aback by the idea, yet the creases of his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Diluc, attempting to set the Fatui’s headquarters in Mondstadt on fire? It couldn’t be anything but an act of recalcitrance by some impulsive and thoughtless zealot.

The worst thing about that notion was that he could see it happen. It wasn’t just the idea of it, but the delivery too. Albedo had said it with such a deadpan expression, with such a monotone and genuine tone that Kaeya couldn’t do anything but think Albedo was fully earnest in his suggestion.

He could see the scene right in front of him. Diluc, obstinate as he always was, wearing that stupid mask at night, using his pyro vision to ignite a starter at the base of the hotel.

Kaeya couldn’t help it. The absurdity of it all had finally claimed its toll. A boisterous laughter escaped his lips before he could even get ahold of it. It echoed violently through the room, as if it were calling for every single thing capable of doing the same in its vicinity to join him.

Jean clearly did not know what to do, but even she couldn’t help the smile that grew on her lips.

Diluc on the other hand was downright perplexed. A wide eyed gaze so similar to the one he’d worn as a child once again stained his features in bafflement. Like he’d been brought back in time, back to a place where he had been happy.

This entire situation was a joke; no amount of preparation could have readied him for this moment. Here he sat in the waiting room of Jean’s office together with his coworker — who was a homunculus made out of chalk — and the Anemo Archon himself who was blushing like a young maiden because he was embarrassed by his own outburst.

There was no amount of alcohol that could wash these emotions away and no amount of glasses he could use to drown them to death with.

His walls had been brought down by the mere mention of his last name. It would not be long before everyone would know just exactly what his name entailed.

His shrine of deceit had crumbled to the ground and his heart was sprawled out on the ground for all to step on it as they pleased.

His deepest secret was out in the open, baring itself to the world, its presence begging for the world to spare a look as it scavenged all other ones the Fatui had left in its whirlwind of destruction.

It was horrible. An absolutely horrible thing. He hated every single aspect of it.

Amidst it all, Kaeya’s laughter continued ringing through the hallways.

It had been years since he had laughed so earnestly.

Chapter Text

Zhongli bears no worries, for Rex Lapis is dead.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to be. Oddly enough, he had woken up with a bad gut feeling. Soon after, the ear-grating sound of someone continuously knocking ricocheted through his normally quiet home. This kind of knocking wasn’t anything like the silent type of knocking that’s barely audible when one was at the other side of the house, nor was it the impatient knocking of an officer without a warrant to show.

This kind of knocking was brought forth by the kind of panic reason could never have a grip on.

Inappropriate, inordinate and above all, inconsiderate.

Zhongli opens the door anyway.

The visage in front of him is not unfamiliar; he sees his employer on a regular basis, both during and after working hours—though he supposed seeing her before working hours was an option too, now.

No rest for the wicked; not that Zhongli is a wicked person, but he has certainly been perceived as being wicked by many a god. Despised, hated, and agonized over. With so many fallen and some living souls cursing the name he once bore over and over, who was to say he had never been wicked in the first place? An opinion is called an opinion for the people who hold one flicker and waver in their thoughts, yet some remain steadfast in their resolve to loathe him.

Maybe there would once come a time where Zhongli, too, would look at his deeds and think himself wicked—much like a mother seeing her teenage daughter fuss over the same insignificant little things she had once perceived as being world-changing herself.

He has been thinking a lot about his actions—not only as a god, but as a person as well. If the many would ever come to know what he has done as a person, irrespective of the names he had donned. If the common folk were to see what the body behind the name Zhongli had done, their perception of him would most likely change.

But would he change with that perception?

An irrelevant notion; they would never know. They couldn’t know, for the consequences were simply too great to bear. And even if they did, Zhongli and all he had ever been, could never allow such a thing to happen.

Rex Lapis was dead. The truth had died with him. And in the case it hadn’t, he would have to choke it until not a single soul on this earth would remember it.

“Ah, Mister Zhongli. You’re here, that’s…” Hu Tao paused for a moment, which was very unlike her, “a good thing, of course! No worries here!”

Hu Tao was visibly uncomfortable, though Zhongli couldn’t fathom why. As golden as her heart was, Zhongli was seldom able to decipher the girl in front of him—if he tried to take what she said at face value, that is.

“I am always here, Master Hu. You know this.”

Hu Tao grinned as if she had difficulty keeping the corners of her mouth up. “Ah, I suppose that’s true. Mind if we talk a bit? Inside?”

“Inside?” Zhongli asked, somewhat confused. “Is the situation that dire?”

Hu Tao sighed deeply, as if she were trying to get Zhongli to let her inside. “Aiya Mister Zhongli, do you think I would be standing here at seven in the morning if it wasn’t dire?”

Zhongli stilled for a short moment before he responded. “I do not, but your definition of dire tends to be… different from your peers.”

“Well,” Hu Tao drawled out in a long breath, “I do find it very particular how quick you are to put the blame on me, and not on my peers. Just because the general public tends to view the majority as the norm, suddenly they are the norm? Where am I in this picture of yours? Unbelievable. Am I dead to you, Mister Zhongli? Do you kneel before the altar of Statistics more than you cherish the employment contract I had you sign?”

Zhongli found that his eyes had narrowed before he could make the conscious decision to do so. Although Hu Tao is still a child, she is far from foolish. He simply would have to trust her judgment. In some ways, he supposed he already did.

He wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint the exact moment it had started, but he had grown fond of her and many other mortals in his time as Zhongli. He had never been so close to his people now that he was dead.

It was quite ironic, but that didn’t stop him from cherishing this moment. For her to come and warn him as if she herself was affected brought him a warm feeling he had long forgotten.

He was glad he had died.

Not just for himself, but also for the people that once used to be his. The person Zhongli once was may be dead, but the responsibility that person had once held tightly to his heart and soul was still lingering in background.

Ignorance is one of the boons he had bestowed upon them. He would have to preserve that ignorance, should he wish to protect them.

Even if that meant he had to protect them from themselves.

oOo

Hu Tao supposed Zhongli was finally convinced when he gently put his hand on her back, guiding her inside with a soft push from behind. The very moment she had stepped inside, he closed the door with a force that betrayed that he felt like something was off.

How could he not?

Word’s on the street that he is Rex Lapis. Worst of all—although she doesn’t want to be fully convinced—she cannot help but believe it.

She has always thought Zhongli was an adeptus. He speaks of the knowledge he has accumulated in his years as if he had been a witness to all of it. He spoke about historical events as if he were her grandfather. Sometimes, he even reminded her of him.

“What is is you want to tell me, child?” Zhongli asked sternly, though there wasn’t a single hint of ill will in his voice.

“Child?” Hu Tao questioned, “I am your boss. You didn’t forget, did you?“

“As stipulated in my employment contract, I am to fulfill my duties as your employee strictly during working hours. Outside of working hours, I am an adult while you, Master Hu, are still a child.”

Hu Tao sighed deeply. Any normal person would have taken that as a rhetorical question, but she supposed anyone who could be mistaken for the Geo Archon wouldn’t quality as one either way.

She shuddered involuntarily; thinking of him as the Geo Archon made her feel somewhat uneasy. It wasn’t an emotion she was very familiar with and people often thought their conversations with her were awkward, not the other way around. Having set foot into the business of the dead, that was one of the hurdles she had to throw into the fire first before she could even begin to think about proceeding further.

Facing Zhongli should not have been as hard as it felt, but as his boss—and above all, as his friend—she felt obliged to inform him of the situation. Zhongli was her friend. She had spent many hours with him, both business and non-business related. He has been the person she knew for as long as she had known him. Whether she was aware of the things he hid did not change the person he was.

Knowledgable Zhongli.

Patient Zhongli.

Financially unstable Zhongli.

Come to think of it, how was the supposed God of Mora so incapable when it comes to matters of finance? She could believe—did believe—he was an adeptus. But Rex Lapis himself? Hu Tao was wholly convinced worshippers of Rex Lapis would find the notion itself blasphemous. Some would wage war over such things.

“Master Hu? Are you alright?”

Hu Tao blinked owlishly, almost as if opening her eyes wider and wider would wake her up from the task she had assigned herself. “Ah, me? I’m a-okay! I just… Mister Zhongli, I need to tell you something.”

“Well, you did hint at something.”

Hu Tao spoke the words determinedly, each single letter articulated with a level of care Hu Tao normally didn’t give her words. “They… believe the Geo Archon is alive.”

Zhongli merely frowned.

“That is impossible,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Rex Lapis is dead.”

“Not everyone believes that anymore.”

“Certainly an odd development. What managed to convince them a fallen deity has risen again?”

“It’s more of a doubt towards the death itself.”

“You mean to tell me they think that Rex Lapis was not resurrected, but instead alive to begin with?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Preposterous. Rex Lapis is dead. No ice can outlive the heat of the skies. There isn’t much else to discuss.”

“Mister Zhongli, you haven’t heard the biggest part.” Hu Tao sighed deeply. “They think he is you—please don’t take it to heart.”

Hu Tao genuinely believed that moment was the very first moment she had seen Zhongli’s eyes widen that much. It was odd—unsettling, even. Much like biting into a red apple and discovering it’s sour. Experience states a red apple is sweet yet the sourness of the fruit disrupts the perception of its flavor. It challenges what you know about something, forcing you to broaden your definition of a concept you thought you had mapped out entirely.

A red apple is sweet, yet it can be sour too. What does that mean for other flavors? Will there be a day where you bite into a red apple, only to discover it’s bitter? Are there any apples out there that are more salty than even the ocean itself?

Hu Tao looked Zhongli straight into his golden eyes, trying to find the answers to her questions within them. This is much more than just a red apple. She hadn’t known that Zhongli could make an expression like that.

What else had she not known about? She was fairly certain he was an adeptus, though the notion that he could be the Geo Archon himself was nothing if not bizarre. Was there something far beyond that scope that could explain why this rumor had stared? Which person was hidden beneath the name Zhongli other than the few years he’d spent as a consultant?

“Me?” Zhongli asked, his voice stained with surprise, “They think I am the Geo Archon? The Archon who is dead?”

“I just wanted to tell you so you were prepared.”

Zhongli gently smiled and suddenly, Hu Tao found all her worries melting like snow. “That is very thoughtful of you, Master Hu. Let us go out for tea. That way I can thank you, as well as assess the situation myself.”

“I think I’d love that, Mister Zhongli.”

oOo

Hu Tao has seen many eyes in her life, but the amount of eyes turned towards her and Zhongli was downright bizarre. She is more used to eyes staring past her, never blinking and never changing.

Cai Xun, a Millelith guard, stands at the end of the street, eyeing the restaurant with a suspicious gaze. Fan Er’ye of Henyu Teahouse walks by with an unusually slow pace. Yanfei and Yelan sit at a table on the other side of the restaurant, quietly observing them, only looking away when Hu Tao looks them in the face.

Hongdou, a chronically sick child whose mother had recently arranged a monthly-paid insurance plan for her daughter’s funeral in preparation, looks around the corner, lips apart in awe. There is a hopeful glint in her eyes, as if she’s entertaining the thought that Zhongli can cure her of her illness. As if he can make years of what used to be days.

Those are just a few of the people she recognizes, let alone the ones she doesn’t.

“I… see.” Zhongli nodded. “There is no need for worry, I am not the Geo Archon. No flame burns eternally, Rex Lapis is dead. I am an ordinary person who just happens to have been granted a geo vision.”

Xiangling looked somewhat stunned and the smile on her face was a lot more frozen than Hu Tao was used to seeing on her. To be fair, it was a ridiculous rumor. A while ago, there had been a rumor going around with herself as the subject. Apparently, people were suspecting she was killing people herself to elevate her business. What a ridiculous notion. Enough people died already; she wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand. Talk about an unsustainable business model—she would practically be giving birth to competition that way.

“Ah,” Xiangling stammered, “Of course! I didn’t believe it anyway. I don’t think anyone does!”

“It is not often I come across sensationalism of this kind, much less with me in the center. It makes for a… unique experience, to say the least. I cannot fault you for taking interest in such a thing.”

Xiangling sheepishly shook her head. “Oh, you know how it is. They’re saying lots of things, now. Apparently the Electro Archon had an emotional breakdown during a speech or something? Not sure what they meant by emotional breakdown, though.”

“It’s what Chongyun has every time he eats spicy foods!” Xingqiu, who was apparently also eating at a different table, interrupted loudly.

“Shut up, Xingqiu!” Chongyun whispered so loudly it might as well have been screamed.

Hu Tao quietly suppressed her smile, or tried to, and utterly failed because Chongyun’s angry scowl was now directed at her instead. “Someone’s hotheaded today! Did you eat a basket of jueyun chilis for breakfast or something?”

“Just drink your tea, Hu Tao! I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

Hu Tao side-eyed him, leaning over the table to whisper in Zhongli’s ear. “Yeah, I really don’t think it’s going to take a long before he gets… you know. We should really finish our tea.”

Only after she had finished that sentence did Hu Tao realize that Zhongli did in fact not know how he gets.

Despite that little error, he simply smiled. “The heart of tea-drinking lies in its timing. The longer you wait, the stronger its essence within the hot water. Wait long enough and your patience will be rewarded. I see no need to rush.” He took a small sip of the tea before reluctantly placing it back on the table. “Besides, we should let it cool off for a while, Master Hu. The tea is quite hot.”

Hu Tao sat back down—when had she gotten up in the first place?—and took a sip of her tea. Before long, she spluttered, a white hot burning sensation left on her lips, her tongue and deep in her throat. “Aiya, Xiangling! This is boiling hot!”

“That’s what you get!” Chongyun yells, an uncharacteristic kind of amusement creeping up his eyes.

Hu Tao’s tongue is on fire but she laughs anyway.

Chongyun’s glee melts into annoyance immediately.

Xiangling quickly put down the plate of dumplings she was holding on another customer’s table and came running towards her. “Oh, I am so sorry Hu Tao! I must have used the water I had prepared to steam another dish! Here, let me take them, I’ll bring you two a new one.”

Hu Tao laughed, shaking her head. “No need! I’ve got enough entertainment here.” She eyed the red-faced Chongyun. “Besides, Mister Zhongli is right. No rush, no rush!”

Xiangling nodded apologetically, then ran off to another table to take their order.

Hu Tao leaned over the table as soon as she had left. “Hey, Mister Zhongli? Did you burn yourself, too? My tongue feels like I licked a pyro slime.”

“…you mean to tell me you licked a pyro slime before?”

“That’s a figure of speech you dolt! Can’t believe you are a consultant of all things. For all you know, sometimes you know nothing. I bet you didn’t even bring your wallet, did you?”

Zhongli smiled. “I did bring it.” He brought out his wallet that suspiciously matched his robes, scale motif and all. “Here it is.”

Hu Tao quickly took the wallet from him, though others would have called it snatching, and opened it without breaking eye contact with him. As she opened its zipper—was that made with actual gold?—she held it upside down. Eyes drilling deeply into Zhongli’s own, she shook the wallet violently. Not even a single coin fell out, as there was nothing inside.

“You might have brought your wallet, but there isn’t anything inside!”

“Well,” Zhongli began, “I needed the money to buy the wallet.”

Still without breaking any eye contact, Hu Tao shoved the wallet back to Zhongli. “A custom made wallet for money you don’t have. How are you even alive? Didn’t your parents teach you?”

Zhongli stopped for a moment, thinking deeply. “My… parents?”

Whatever was hidden within that question Hu Tao did not want to touch with a ten foot pole—especially not in a public restaurant. They were meant to have a good time together. She couldn’t ruin this by making such a stupid remark. “Never mind, forget it. And, oh! Hey, do you have any idea why they think you are the Geo Archon? Frankly, I didn’t really look into it myself. Maybe because you have a geo vision?”

“I suppose that could be the case, yes. A very superficial reason, but a reason nonetheless.”

“But then again,” Hu Tao continued, “Yun Jin has one too… and the Tianqan as well, I think? And something with vision holders and allergies or whatever. Didn’t really know what that was about, but I just wanted to tell you first because…” Hu Tao paused, trying to find the right words. “Because supposedly, a lot of people believe these things so easily, you know?”

“…allogenes?”

Zhongli frowns, his eyes narrowing in deep contemplation. With the way Zhongli’s face begins to contort into deep confusion, Hu Tao was left with a sour taste in her mouth.

“Master Hu, did you ever tell me what the source of this information is?”

Hu Tao shook her head. She hadn’t heard enough to know where it came from.

“Oh!” Xingqiu interjects once again, as if he wasn’t shamelessly listening in on the conversation. “You don’t know? They’re saying it’s the Fatui. Most of the information seems to be centered around them. Negatively, if I might add. It’s quite fascinating, actually. It reads like a non-fiction novel.”

“I did mention the Electro Archon earlier, right?” Xiangling said, suddenly having appeared next to them again. “They’re saying she replaced the previous one.”

“Exactly!” Xingqiu added. “So, if it wasn’t truth, why did she react so weirdly?”

Hu Tao watches Xingqiu’s eyes do the thing. It’s a dangerous spark of curiosity that glints in his eyes whenever he’s reading a book that’s caught his interest. She’s known Xingqiu for a long time now, nearly her entire life, and every time he grabs onto something, he is very reluctant to let go. It might be because of his noble upbringing, she reckoned, but the truth remains unchanged…

“My liege, is it true? Are you… Rex Lapis?”

…curiosity at the wrong moment in time is a very, very dangerous thing.

Xingqiu was simply someone whose curiosity matched a Sumerian scholar’s, which was both good and bad. In this specific scenario, it was mainly the latter. This was not the moment to confirm whether the rumors were true or not. Maybe he knew that, maybe he did not.

Yet Zhongli did not reply. Hu Tao didn’t know exactly what reaction she was expecting, but she was at the very least expecting one. Instead, Zhongli stopped everything he was doing.

For a short moment, he was silence itself. He did not blink, nor did he move. The stillness of his chest was what grabbed her attention the most, however. This complete lack of movement, this stillness, she had only seen in either statues or corpses. Someone who lives cannot remain still like that.

It’s what sets them apart from the living, or so Hu Tao thought; they do not move for they cannot move, nor can they make the intention to move to begin with. Never in her life had she seen such silence in a living human being except for now.

The moment Zhongli stood up, the spell was broken as if it had never been there in the first place. His hands slam on the stone table, and to Hu Tao’s absolute horror and astonishment, cracks were forming across the tabletop, all of them reaching the very ends of the table yet undoubtedly originating from his hands.

“Rex Lapis is dead,” Zhongli nearly sneered, something Hu Tao had never heard him do. “So head my advice. No drop of water holds the same form twice. I believe there isn’t much else to discuss.”

Then, Zhongli does something that shudders Hu Tao to the bone. He takes his scalding hot cup of tea, the same tea that had left a burn so deep in her mouth that it would take days to leave, and downs it disgracefully… and all in one go.

Whatever positive feelings Hu Tao had had, had now soured. Her appetite was gone. She cast her gaze away from Zhongli, only to be met by the consequences of his actions.

Yanfei’s eyes are wide like saucers, though she seems to be debating whether to close her jaw or pinch the bridge of her nose. Yelan takes another sip of her drink, eyes furrowed but never unfocused, like what she saw confirmed the details she knows. Lan of the Adventurer’s Guild tries desperately to see what’s going on over at Wanmin Restaurant since she isn’t quite as close.

Keqing, whom she hadn’t noticed before, averts her eyes with a painful expression staining her features. Her hand is clenched around her teacup, fingers tense and clammy. She stands up and leaves the restaurant, though she seems to have forgotten to leave her cup on the table. How could she notice when exposed to something so grandiose?

In her peripherals, Hu Tao spotted Xiangling frozen in her spot, her fingers gripping the tray in her hands tightly enough for her fingers to turn white.

On the other end of the spectrum was Xingqiu, a gaping mouth so wide Hu Tao feared the muscles in his face had stopped working altogether. Even Chongyun next to him had stilled.

Only when Zhongli looks those three does he notice his handiwork. He rigidly inspects the damage for a good moment or two, stares at his hands, and then simply closes his eyes. “I apologize, Xiangling. It has been a while since I have given into… rage so easily. And Xingqiu, I feel no anger towards you. The Fatui have done something I fear I will be unable to forgive. It is simply a slight towards justice itself.”

He turns around after that, walking away with a kind of grace that didn’t in any way fit the action he had just taken. “Nevertheless, the Geo Archon is dead. There isn’t much else to discuss.”

Hu Tao did her best to keep looking forward and never back as she scurried after Zhongli. She wasn’t sure she would be able to follow him if she kept looking at the faces of her friends for even a second longer. In some twisted kind of way, looking forward wasn’t as hard as she thought it was.

“Mister Zhongli,” Hu Tao asked, fighting to keep her voice from trembling, “Are you alright?”

Zhongli stops in his tracks, yet does not turn around. “It is not I you should be worried about, Master Hu. Save your concerns for yourselves.”

Hu Tao didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so before she could reply, the time to do so had long passed.

She kept following his lead anyway.

oOo

“I care not for his location, get that rascal here this instant.”

If Liyue was on the verge of chaos, the Northland Bank was in its climax. The lady behind the desk—Ekaterina as her nameplate indicated—looked like she hadn’t slept that night. A few others walked in and out, not even trying to hide how distraught they were. Hu Tao doubted they knew what they were supposed to do at all.

Burn-out, excessive stress and reckless behavior were technically a good thing for her business; it kept it going. Especially foreigners such as Snezhnayans were an important source of income but if she ever were to speak those words with the enthusiasm she felt for them, she would likely be taken into a psych ward. Being admitted to a psych ward was admittedly not a convenient course of action at this point in time, so Hu Tao chose to keep that particular thought pattern to herself.

“Mister Zhongli,” Ekaterina said reluctantly, “I do not know who this rascal you speak of is.”

“I speak of the Eleventh.”

“The Eleventh is not available at this moment in time.”

Zhongli narrowed his eyes. “Then the ninth will do.”

“The Ninth is currently in Snezhnaya.”

“Then give me the Seventh.”

Ekaterina shook her head. “The Seventh is
in Nod Krai at this moment in time.”

“Then let it be the Sixth,” Zhongli said.

Ekaterina gave Zhongli a funny look. “There is no Sixth. There hasn’t been in a while.” She paused. “Though that still needs to be confirmed, taking recent reports into account.”

Zhongli crossed his arms. Hu Tao could see how he began getting increasingly more irritated. “Where is the Fifth?”

“Likely in Snezhnaya.”

“The Fourth?”

“Fontaine.”

“And the Third?”

“The Third is not with us anymore.”

“I see, my condolences. Well, where is the Second?”

“She didn’t die, she… nevermind.” Ekaterina stills, her hands suddenly having found a fidget toy in the worn-down pen on her desk. “As for the Sceond, you do not want to meet the Second right now. Nobody does.”

“The First remains in Natlan, does he not?” Zhongli questioned, not expecting an answer back, “Then the only one who remains is in fact the Eleventh. If the Eleventh is unavailable you’ll bring me the Ninth. If the Ninth is unavailable, I will be brought the Seventh.”

“The Seventh is in Nod Krai.”

“Then bring me the Sixth, Ekaterina.”

Ekaterina sighed as if all her stress and worries would leave her body with that single sigh, tiredly standing up from her desk chair. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Not a single word was spoken until the clicking sounds of her brown heels had long left the room.

“So,” Hu Tao began, “Mind telling me what this is all about?”

Zhongli looked her in the eyes, yet Hu Tao couldn’t quite unravel what was going on with him. She was more focused on the fact that she hadn’t seen him blink in a little while now. “You needn’t worry about this.”

“Well,” Hu Tao said amusedly, “That’s not a good enough reason, Mister! Was the other reason unavailable by chance?”

Zhongli looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“That isn’t even a reason, Mister Zhongli. Give me the next.”

Zhongli sighed deeply when he realized what exactly she was doing. “I… see. Master Hu, this is not the time for your jokes. I also want to tell you that you do not have to accompany me here. I know the parlor is busy enough.”

“Nonsense!” Hu Tao shook her head. “I think it’s best if I stay here with you.”

“Why?”

Not to say she wasn’t curious about who exactly Zhongli was—or had been— but Hu Tao had always been someone to follow her gut feelings. Perhaps it came from the profession she had observed since she had been very young. Being around events that most would see as a tragedy and guiding those experiencing it to the small flicker of light in its darkness had partially taught her when something was peaceful and likewise, when something was not.

Death itself, regardless of the circumstances surrounding it, was peaceful. It’s silence, rest and nothingness, as long as the person themselves passed on. Die once and the body decays, die twice and the ghost fades, die thrice and not even a single memory of the soul remains.

This was not the death of something peaceful; it’s the birth of something that Hu Tao suspects is anything but. Many people saw Hu Tao as an unlikable person, and she was fully aware of this, but if there was something she was not, it was a flake. If she was handed a responsibility, she was willing to die for it. If she had taken on a responsibility, she was willing to die for it twice.

She didn’t know why she felt responsible for guiding this course of action. Maybe because she had been the one to deliver the news, or because she respected Zhongli as much as she did. Maybe she couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him.

Maybe she couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

“Master Hu? Are you alright?”

Hu Tao blinked, having been shaken out of her thoughts. Right, Mister Zhongli. “Must have dozed off for a second! You were saying?”

“Why stay with me?”

Hu Tao’s response is both instantaneous and superficial. “Oh, why not?”

“But your work—”

“All hours are working hours when it comes to death, Mister Zhongli. That simply means I must cherish every second I am not needed, now doesn’t it?”

Zhongli nods. “I see. You still continue to surprise me to this day.”

Hu Tao blinked, not quite sure what to say, but when she spotted the fond smile on his face, she couldn’t help but smile herself. “Surely in a good way, ri—”

The door would have opened silently if it weren’t for one creaking hinge on the top of the door.

Ekatarina returns with a red haired man that Hu Tao cannot imagine is not the person who freed Osial with the purpose to attack Liyue Harbor. She has never personally talked to the harbinger and had only seen him a few times around the harbor; most of which had been together with Zhongli.

Why did Zhongli even have those connections in the first place? Didn’t the Fatui’s interests clash directly with the Adepti’s?

“Mister Zhongli! If I knew you’d come to visit, I would have been here yesterday! You still owe me a fight!” The Eleventh observed Zhongli with a big, unfaltering smile that eventually did end up faltering after a long enough silence, leaving space for just a small and awkward one. “Though seeing as you’ve brought funeral girlie with you, I guess I’ll have to pass on that. What a shame, but I don’t think Her Majesty would like it if I died today. My siblings wouldn’t either, I reckon. I just promised Tonia I wouldn’t have a single injury when I go back in a week.”

Hu Tao laughed mirthlessly. “Funeral girlie? You have guts! Shouldn’t you be flooding another harbor or something? I personally recommend Bayda Harbor, because I don’t have the resources to properly arrange more funerals. The fact that my order was lost in Bayda Harbor last month has absolutely nothing to do with this. About 1600 kilos of coffin wood from Serai Island, gone just like that.”

“Master Hu,” Zhongli said, “Why would you order from Inazuma through Bayda Harbor? You’ve likely been scammed.”

“What a shame. The risk I took was calculated, but I suppose it’s my fault for taking that two percent succes rate to heart. Well, all the more reason to flood Bayda Harbor, isn’t it?”

Childe blinked. “Well, they certainly didn’t exaggerate the rumors about you.”

“Same goes for you! Hey, why don’t you commit arson this time? You know, just to switch up what you usually do? I once again recommend Bayda Harbor.”

“That would be enough, Master Hu, Childe,” Zhongli said tiredly.

“Why did you say my name first, Mister Zhongli? Playing favorites? I can give you more money than him, provided you work the hours of course.”

Zhongli rubbed his temples, clearly having had his fill of this particular conversation. “Back on topic. Childe, explain.”

Childe simply stared. “Explain what?”

“The fact that, based on the Fatui’s leaked internal communique, people have come to learn—” Zhongli paused. “Falsely,” he stressed, “come to learn that I am supposedly Rex Lapis.” He paused again, this time a little bit longer. “Falsely.”

“They…” Childe couldn’t even finish that sentence, confusion splattered over his every feature. “I’m so confused, Master Zhongli. I only just arrived in Liyue earlier this morning from Inazuma of all places. Honestly, I’m surprised Liyue is so… peaceful? I mean, how did they take the news so well—”

“Rex Lapis is dead,” he spat. “No plant will be able to withstand its rot… wait. No… no plant can withstand…” Zhongli locks eyes with Childe like an animal eyeing its prey.

Hu Tao couldn’t imagine a single person in the world developing a sour grapes mentality over Childe’s position at the moment. She wouldn’t want to stand in his shoes now either—in part because he looked like he’d just gotten off a ship and hadn’t had a shower yet.

Zhongli crossed his arms tightly. “Something is wrong with Sumeru. What’s happening over there?”

“Look, Mister Zhongli, I can’t really disclose that, but it’s for a similar reason I just came from Inazuma. I can tell you the Second has issues, though. Go to Inazuma, he said. It will benefit him, he said. The island was deserted, what a waste of time. Who does he think he is to boss me around like that? I don’t like the guy—don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“The other nations, then?”

“Ehh, I guess Mondstadt is doing better than expected. Just gathered a Fatui building is on fire at the moment but otherwise? Not a lot of info on my side. Other than that…” Childe crossed his arms. “From what I’ve gathered Natlan’s doing well. Meanwhile, the Fourth requested to stay in Fontaine because the woman apparently grew a conscience—whatever that means.”

Hu Tao smirked. “You sure you didn’t set that building on fire?”

“Lady, can I get through a conversation without you criticizing me?!”

Hu Tao was somewhat amused by his irritation until she felt the temperature drop. Not in the literal sense, like she had noticed in some Cryo vision users, but more in the sense of a dark blanket covering any and all light, except for the light in Zhongli’s eyes. She couldn’t help but stare into them, the way they seemed to glow. It is unlike anything she had seen before and if she had to ascribe a single word to it, ironically, she would have used the word ‘divine’.

“Childe, to the point. Was this false information leaked by the Fatui?”

Ekaterina shook her head disdainfully. “You would do well to treat the Lord Harbinger with more respect.”

Zhongli opens his mouth, and despite the fact that just two sentences spilled from his lips, Hu Tao couldn’t help but tense up from the tone of voice used. “You are far beneath this matter. It would be wise of you not to interrupt me.”

Something changed in the air. Hu Tao couldn’t say she was content with the tension that had suddenly appeared without any kind of noticeable build up to prepare her for it. Though she didn’t feel like she was in any danger yet, there was something weirdly primal about the silence his command had instated. No murmurs from the workers in the background, no discussions between the distraught bankers. There wasn’t any sound of substance. In fact, there were no sounds at all.

“Hey, comrade? Don’t talk to her like that?” Childe half-asked and half-demanded, putting his hands on his hips, his face irritated and tense. “Do you even know how long I’ve been here, Mister Zhongli? 40 minutes. I got here not even an hour ago and you’re already threatening Ekaterina. Not to say a Fatuus can’t handle a bit of a fight, but she just lost her younger brother yesterday. Give her a break.” He paused, pursing his lips. “I wouldn’t even be working if I just lost one of my siblings. You should be grateful she even brought me here in the first place.”

“Childe, this is business. I simply cannot care for what kind of the bond Ekaterina has with the Third at this moment in time. There are graver matters at hand, so state your answer.”

Ekaterina does a double take at the same moment Hu Tao does. “The Third is not my brother…? Nor is she,” Ekaterina stressed, “dead, like I tried to tell you earlier.”

Hu Tao felt that she had to say something to deescalate whatever was going on, but she didn’t have the words. She didn’t know what was happening, nor would she have been able to describe it to an outsider if one were to walk in. It was far from her place to talk, yet she had to. But she couldn’t.

“Comrade, what are you on about? Since when have you ever been so… irascible?”

Hu Tao was surprised that he even knew the word ‘irascible’ to begin with but for the sake of not escalating the situation even further she chose to keep that particular comment to herself.

“Childe.”

Childe’s face tensed. “That would be my name, yes. Now, go on and apologize to her. You could be a sewer rat or a deity for all I care, you don’t treat my subordinates this way!”

“Just answer my question, Childe.”

“Maybe I’ll think about it if you apologize.”

Hu Tao finally finds it in herself to open her mouth. “Aiya, why don’t we calm down a little? Maybe drink some tea?”

Hu Tao regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth. When she looks at Zhongli, there is a subtle twitch in his eyes. Right. The tea incident in Wanmin Restaurant.

“Calm down?!” Childe asked, his nose scrunched up in disdain. “How dare you tell me that I have to calm down? You know what, funeral girlie? Why don’t you apologize to Ekaterina too, now? That’s something us adults call joint liability.”

Zhongli’s breathing has become more unstable. Hu Tao doesn’t know what to make of it. “Childe.”

“You really think you can talk to me like that after the stunt you and the Eight pulled on me?”

“Childe.”

“You’ve always talked too much. Why is it so hard now, Mister Zhongli?”

“Childe.”

“It’s just one sentence, how hard can it be?!”

“Childe.”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology!”

“Childe.”

“Apologize to her!”

“Childe.”

“Apologize!”

“Childe!” Zhongli roars in a way Hu Tao didn’t even think he was capable of.

That’s when it happens. Zhongli throws his right arm outwards. The stiff movement doesn’t seem like it means much, yet what happens after brings about an upheaval of what Yanfei would likely call an egregious case of property damage in legal terms.

That term doesn’t even begin to cover what happens to the wall. It splinters at first, then explodes in what Hu Tao thinks is the most excessive force of vision-use she’s seen from a person since the Osial incident. Shards, chips and pieces of rock blasted away from the wall, every last one of them launched not towards them, but outwards and towards the ground.

The wall had blown up, leaving a big, gaping hole out to the street.

Childe himself doesn’t even seem very impressed. He just casts a look at the now open wall, through which people from outside could now clearly see, then looks back at Zhongli. “The answer is yes, okay? Now, go and apologize to Ekaterina.”

Ekaterina looks rather composed but the tightened muscles in her jaw tell otherwise. Oddly enough, instead of looking away, she barely blinks. Hu Tao didn’t even think she could get her eyes away from him if she walked up to the woman and clapped her hands in front of them. Ekaterina’s eyes were too focused on Zhongli’s own—no, just below them.

Oh.

Hu Tao could barely look away from the golden scales herself once she’d seen them. His eyes themselves were conspicuous as well. There was a set of golden eyes which Hu Tao had grown familiar with in the past few years, and then there is this. She had seen those eyes before. She had seen them yearly since she was a child, in fact.

For the first time since meeting him that day, Hu Tao entertained the thought that was she had heard may not be entirely untrue.

That’s when Zhongli notices something is wrong too. He raises his hand to his face, his fingers gently touching the skin until he, too, feels there is something that shouldn’t be there.

“My… apologies, Ekaterina.”

Ekaterina stands there, clearly stunned, yet her words seem to find her relatively easily. “It’s quite alright, Mister Zhongli.”

“And Childe, the damage I will pay for via the Northland—“

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Childe interjects determinedly. His face is blank, save for a small crease between his eyebrows. “You had better have your weapon ready next week meet.”

“I—”

Childe stops him in his tracks again. “Whatever this is, okay? Go fix it.”

Hu Tao hears Zhongli respond affirmatively, but when she turns to face him, he’s already gone. Suddenly, she’s all alone in the Northland Bank together with Childe and Ekaterina.

Her hand fumbles with a piece of paper in her pocket and without giving herself the room to think it over, she steps forward—trying to bring herself to smile.

“Here,” Hu Tao says as she hands over the piece of paper. “It’s a coupon for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”

Childe looks at her as if she’s just stabbed him in the stomach with her polearm.

Hu Tao ignores his reaction. “Whether you wish for a burial or cremation for your brother doesn’t matter. We’ll be able to fulfill your wishes. Free of charge if you show me that coupon. Even if that means I’ll have to leave for Snezhnaya. So hold on to it, okay?”

Hu Tao never liked it when things ended on a sour note. Knowing when someone might die is impossible and although a lot of people die of old age, many die long before that. As a consequence, Hu Tao had always treated every goodbye as a farewell.

Any possibility of regret faded away when she met Ekaterina’s gaze. She doesn’t see such appreciation untouched by sadness often in this line of business.

“Funeral girlie, maybe I misjudged you.”

Taking Childe’s unexpected compliment wholeheartedly, Hu Tao leaves the Northland Bank to find Zhongli.

oOo

The sun has nearly gone down by the time she found Zhongli. He was sitting near the pier, gazing over the water, though she couldn’t see his face as she was standing somewhere behind him. The workers have already set out to rest. Any other people might have felt they had to leave the moment they laid their eyes on Zhongli.

Before she can announce her presence, he’d already begun speaking.

“You shouldn’t have seen me like this. My sincerest apologies for what you—“

Hu Tao doesn’t allow him to finish. “What does it matter, Mister Zhongli? Rex Lapis is dead.”

Zhongli doesn’t respond for a while, yet Hu Tao does nothing to make him. By the time he speaks again, the sun has nearly faded beneath the horizon.

“No lightning remains after its strike.” He nodded, though he didn’t turn around to face her. “Master Hu, would you humor an old man?”

Though Zhongli wasn’t the epitome of youth, he certainly didn’t look anywhere close to being old enough to refer to himself as an old man. She supposed that this was a different matter for the gods, as nearly everything and everything was far younger than them; never being able to outlive them

“Yes, I guess?”

“Pretend I am someone—no, something else and talk to me. Would that be possible?”

Hu Tao nodded, brows creased. Although Zhongli was unable to see her, he seemed to sense her answer anyway.

“I have roamed these lands for what most would consider an eternity. Recently, I… ceased to be, you could say. My presence cannot be traced for I have made sure there is nothing left to trace. Convincing the people I died was hard, but convincing them I’m dead is… harder, oddly enough. So would you be so kind as to answer a question for me, Hu Tao?”

Zhongli never called her by her full name, no matter the occasion and no matter if they met during or beyond working hours. It had always been Master Hu to him, and nothing else. So for him to call him by her full name for the first time felt… warm. Like he had lowered one of his many masks and allowing her to feel the warmth of his smile.

Hu Tao nodded. “Ask your question.”

Zhongli doesn’t skip a beat the moment her response leaves her lips.

“Why did I die?”

Death is never a choice. It has never been one. Oftentimes, it could seem like one made a conscious decision to find death, yet it never was. It was the conclusion of circumstances one had no premeditated control over. Should a soldier choose to end their suffering early by a coup de grâce, their conclusion is death. Had that soldier dodged the attack, their conclusion would have been life. Had that soldier chosen not to enter the battlefield, their conclusion would have been life. Had that soldier never become a soldier in the first place, their conclusion would have been life as well.

It is one’s most primal desire to live, yet circumstances can drive one to death, instead. So what circumstances had driven Rex Lapis to his death out of his own volition?

Hu Tao scrapes her throat. She has no definite answer, but what she does have is a sense of direction. “There are only two possible conclusions. Either it was the body that couldn’t hold on anymore, or it was the mind that concluded there was something more necessary than holding on to life. It could be anything. If the latter is the case, maybe you needed something good outside to be preserved. Maybe you needed something bad inside to wither.”

Zhongli shakes his head. “Preservation is a rather adequate word, yet does not fit the concept I mean to describe well enough. The opposite of preservation might apply more in this case.”

“Destruction?”

“No,” Zhongli says, “It’s release.”

Hu Tao blinked. “Isn’t the opposite of releasing to hold on?”

“To preserve means to cage. In turn, to release means to grow.”

She understood what he said. To die meant to release a soul, allowing it to be set free from the soul. Hu Tao had never feared death; there had to be something beautiful in eternal rest. If not, surely her grandfather would have chosen to remain. Painfully enough to Hu Tao and Hu Tao alone, he had chosen to leave her behind. But as a direct consequence, she had taken over the funeral business at a very young age. She’d been granted more time to grow at the cost of her grandfather’s soul. Hu Tao would have cancelled the deal—had she been able to. Alas, thus rings death; never-changing and everlasting.

“So you had to let go of life in order to let something else grow? What was it?”

“You.”

Hu Tao looked at the back of Zhongli’s head. “Do you mean Liyue?”

“Correct. My presence prevented your growth. You need to be strong and you cannot grow more strong when I am protecting you. I need you to be able to protect yourself.”

“From what?”

“Do you see what has happened, Hu Tao? Space is unrelenting yet ever expanding, yet all of us were born within this small piece of space. Is that not the greatest blessing?”

“I suppose?” Hu Tao questioned quizzically, “But I don’t understa—”

“Every boon is bound by a bane. You have answered the fate woven for you in the skies and in turn, you have granted them not your eyes, but the vision you are given by them. There needn’t be two of them.”

“Mister Zhongli, I don’t understand.”

“Tut-tut,” Zhongli says, an amused ring to his voice. “No Zhongli was born within this piece of space. There is just me.”

Hu Tao smiled, a little bewildered. “Ah, sure! Yes, of course, Mister Zho— I mean Not—Mister Zhongli.”

Zhongli turns around this time. The scales have started to vanish, but they haven’t entirely yet.

“It matters not, though I have another question. Though you may know the answer to this question better than the answer to the previous one, it may be harder to speak of it.”

She nods instead of answering verbally, as if his very question had instilled the fear to speak.

“Why were you granted a vision, Hu Tao?”

Because she did something that was true to herself. She’d been awaiting her grandfather’s soul to seen him one last time—that desire must have been the fuel. That aside, she did not know the exact moment she was given her vision. It could have been a lot of things. Perhaps it was her patience as she waited to his soul to arrive. It could have been her resilience for staying close to the barrier for so long. The acceptance she’d shown towards his death as she headed home could have been a possibility, too.

She doesn’t know what fuels this decision, nor did she know who made the decision in the first place. Maybe it was the Pyro Archon as she commanded the element that she’d been given power over. Otherwise, it could have been the Geo Archon because she was born and raised in Liyue.

A lot of speculation on a question she would never have the answer to.

“It’s Passion.”

Hu Tao stares at Zhongli, wide-eyed. A difficult question is brought to flourish and live. “How do you know that?”

Zhongli sighs. “All the things that have happened on the earth below our feet… I have been a witness to a great many of them. So imagine if you were forced to let go of your passion for your craft. What would be left?”

Death was her life. She didn’t know if there would be anything left if such things were taken away from her.

“I see,” Zhongli responded, though Hu Tao had never spoken her aloud. “A vision is a fragment of a gods power, received when one walks the same path an Archon once walked. Simply put, one is entitled to power if their ambition matches the ambition of an Archon.”

Hu Tao laughs. “You’ve always been so verbose. What is it you want to tell me, Not-Mister Zhongli?”

Hu Tao could have sworn she saw Zhongli suppress a smile, though the suppression of it was not needed for a long time. His expression turned grave.

“What does that mean for an Archon?”

The same as it does to Hu Tao, if not stronger. She does not need to be told the further implications—she likely understands enough. “Everything. Does it not, Not-Mister Zhongli?”

“Ask the God of Freedom to cage his people. Beg the God of Eternity to destroy the very foundation of her nation. You will receive no response. Their hearts will be too pained to answer you.”

“What does this mean for you?”

Zhongli scoffed. “May no soul ever call you foolish; they will be met by my name.” He blinks quickly, then shakes his head. “Zhongli’s name, I mean.”

Hu Tao laughed. “Oh, I know that already! Just go on. I’m dying to know what you’re trying to tell me!”

The smile on Zhongli’s face falls. “Ah, right. You could say I am beholden to my principles.”

“Forgetting your wallet and hoarding everything you set you eyes on?” Hu Tao paused, a realization settling in. “Wait a minute, are you doing that because you take the form of a drag—”

Zhongli does not let her finish that sentence. “A wide-eyed child you are, looking for everything in every single place. Had Passion not found you, Erudition would have.”

“And stubbornness has found you!”

“Once again, may no one call you foolish.”

Hu Tao felt like she’d just uncovered a state secret by accident. In fact, she’d done more than that. Passion for Pyro and Stubbornness for Geo. Erudition for yet another. She wondered what was hidden deep in the hearts of other Archons.

“But again, my principles bind me for as long as I live. Another party has done me a disfavor which was promised not to occur; the consequences of which I must carry out myself at the cost of not only them, but also—”

Zhongli lookes pained as he forces the last word out. “You.”

A being that was not Zhongli had made a contract with a foreign faction. This foreign faction broke the contract, which means the Wrath of the Rock will need to be carried out. Zhongli’s enormous discomfort this day suddenly made sense. The Anemo Archon cannot cage, the Electro cannot destroy and the Geo Archon cannot break a contract.

As the Geo Archon was dead, he was unable to abide by a contract. It would simply be void. But if he lives…

Hu Tao did not know the details, nor did she know why Liyue itself was involved, but the details were unnecessary. Once again, death was no choice: something good outside had to be preserved—no, released.

There was only one solution.

“Rex Lapis is dead, Not-Mister Zhongli,” Hu Tao said, a wide and genuine smile reaching her eyes in what had felt like a while. “Rex Lapis died, yes. But he died only once, did he not? It is but his flesh that withers and rots. His ghost simply stayed, and as his body decayed, he saw all his people and stepped away from the shade. He took on another form not once, but twice. A new person was formed due to an Archon’s demise. And I believe granting that person his freedom is not only right, but also wise.”

Zhonglu seems appreciative, the way a parent is when a child offers a childlike solution for a decidedly adult problem, and disagrees regardless. “Your fate is merely to usher in a new era of peace, enjoyed by humans and adepti alike. It is not you who bear the responsibility to put the past to an end; that belongs to the god that ruled over it. You have climbed enough and earned your place on top of the mountain—a place without any gods ruling over you. ‘Tis but I who must descend these desolate steps of fate, alone.”

“Oh, Not-Mister Zhongli, I see where Adeptus Xiao gets his gloom from! There is no need to descend any stairs—just stay with us!”

“There is no room for one such as me.”

“A random person from another nation can settle yet our very own resident funeral consultant cannot? Don’t be such a hypocrite.”

Zhongli ponders for a moment, then answers with the most vulnerable tone of voice she’s heard him use yet. “Will they understand?”

“Aiya, Not-Mister Zhongli! Underestimating your own people? That’s a new low.”

“So you believe they’ll understand?”

“They will understand, Not-Mister Zhongli.”

Zhongli shook his head. Hu Tao feared he didn’t agree until he opened his mouth. “I am not Not-Mister Zhongli. Not-Mister Zhongli is dead. I am simply Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.” Zhongli said with a smile. “No wind will blow on forever.”

“And the wind brings about many voices, does it not Mister Zhongli? I would think you of all people would know the walls in Liyue have ears?”

Hu Tao wasn’t the one who said it and Zhongli seemed to realize that too. The other woman’s voice was deeper than Hu Tao’s and certainly more mature.

Yelan stands next to them. Hu Tao hadn’t noticed her presence. How could she have when even Zhongli hadn’t. Or had he?

“State your wishes,” Zhongli states.

Yelan blinks. “Oh, I’m not here for mine. You could say mine have already been fulfilled. Quite the interesting day, I might say.”

“I can imagine,” Zhongli says. “What do you wish to propose?”

“You have a lot of knowledge on human interactions, as expected.”

“Why would I not as an ordinary mortal?”

Yelan grins amusedly. “Maybe I should take that back now that I’ve heard you say that. But back to the matter at hand. You need Liyue to understand, yes? The Yuheng asked me to assist you if there was anything you needed. I believe the Yuheng herself can arrange such an event better than I can.”

oOo

A crowd is gathered at the very same place the rite of Descension usually takes place. Zhongli stands in the middle of the place, his gaze reaching so far and wide most would think he’s seeing right through them. Hu Tao stands there too, but her gaze doesn’t cross his in the enormous crowd.

“I have been thinking these days. About death. About contracts. About life. And there is but a single conclusion to his pondering: until recently, I have failed to acknowledge Liyue as my guiding light. You are what gives my existence… meaning.”

He speaks like a leader ought to speak. In fact, he speaks like he has been speaking for his entire life. Or more fittingly, Hu Tao’s life many times over”

“I can no longer allow myself to deceive you, thus I need to share with you a piece of information which is instrumental to your future. You have the right to know it—I should never have kept it from you, especially seeing the circumstances in which we are now.”

Hu Tao thought this would be the best time for a crowd to quiet down, but instead, they speak even more than they did before. She shook her head with no one in particular in her mind. If they wanted to miss what Zhongli was about to tell them, that was entirely their problem. If anyone were to ask her later, she could simply tell them whatever she liked most.

“A few years ago, a contract was signed with the Cryo Archon of Snezhnaya. Within it is a simple, yet very decisive clause: Should any single part of this contract be leaked to the public, Rex Lapis will enact the Wrath of the Rock upon Snezhnaya. Do you understand what this means?”

Zhongli took a breath, his posture rigid and his expression grave. “It means war. Rex Lapis, as ordained in the contract, will need to declare war on Snezhnaya. His people will be forced to go with him. However, if Rex Lapis has passed, that means the contract is void.”

The final piece of the puzzle settles easily for Hu Tao. Though he may have stepped away from his title as the Geo Archon, he is still the God of Contracts. The pain he had felt was pain as he could not defy the one role he could not or was not allowed to forfeit.

“I could say what I have been saying since the beginning—no stone can withstand erosion; Rex lapis is dead. But I cannot force you to believe what I say, nor can I force your hand towards I conclusion I do not know you desire.”

Zhongli steps forward, addressing the crowd. There is not a single hint of reluctance in his posture and his voice doesn’t waver. “Therefore, allow me to pose to you one question that I hope will be my last as a being that wishes for peace.

“Oh Liyue, diligent and prosperous nation. In my eyes, you are worth your weight in gold not twice, but thrice. And thus, I ask you this—“

Zhongli locks eyes with every single person in the audience. They’re completely silent as they await the final question the one in front of them is about to pose.

One final question, to which they are expected to give an answer. People held their breath in fear it would obstruct their hearing, yet their hearts beat faster against their desires, begging for every single question inside to leave their lips in an attempt to quell their anxiety.

—Do I live still?”

An easy answer is left to wither and die.

Everyone fights to keep the unease inside as to not show the people around what bothers them. Tears do not flow and cries are buried in the throat. Not a single sound escapes. The silence is much like those during funerals.

The silence brings her back to memories of the past. Funeral parlors took on the obligation of preparing for and executing a funeral; both burials and cremations. Within this space of work was just one principle that stood in the center of it all: the wishes of the deceased. It didn’t matter what they wanted, whether they wished to include or exclude something or someone.

A funeral was brought forth purely on wishes, but it did so for only one reason: death. Funerals are striven to be perfect, because death has left a gap open to fill. And to fill the gap the person left behind, the funeral becomes the very personification of who that person had been.

A bunch of boons to cover up for a bane, but unlike what Zhongli had said before, not all banes are bound by an equal value of boons—it’s why sadness remains prevalent after the funeral.

So to say, death is rest. Death is peace but painful nonetheless. It’s a piece of knowledge Hu Tao has always put below layers upon layers of happy memories and many years’ worth of happy smiles that do not reach her eyes. Though the eyes crease, they do not smile for the pressure of the tears threatening to come out will be far too much.

She remembers vividly the hands of her grandfather turning paler. Warm hands that had once cupped her face so tenderly had become fixed and cold. A temperature that had never harmed her before made her sick to the stomach, like a toxin rushing through her blood to poison every last healthy cell in her body. Like death was asking her to die, too.

Hu Tao had hated death ever since her grandfather died. Even worse, she despises it. Why must one live just to die? If being born in a space with many people at the same time was a blessing, then time was its curse. A bane for a boon, and a boon for a bane. Had time not taken enough, or had space given too much and demanded a refund? In the end, it didn’t matter why death was a part of life.

Because it simply was; there was nothing unnatural about it. It didn’t matter what her feelings for the occurrence—and not the aftermath—were if it was just a part of the reason she lived. Though she would sometimes claim to love it, she never did. The only thing she did was acknowledge its existence and respect it.

So she had her entire life, and so she would now.

“Oh come on!” Hu Tao yells at the top of her lungs, attracting every single set of eyes in the crowd. It’s different this time. They don’t seek to see what’s hidden inside this time like they did at the restaurant. They’re awaiting the words she is willing to let out—and Hu Tao clearly prefers what’s happening now.

No more need to guess the truth, for the truth unseen by others will be spoken by her very tongue. “Just give him your answer already, it’s not that hard. Hasn’t Rex Lapis done enough for us? Why not look at it from his perspective for a change instead of your own. He’s as stiff as he can get, look at him! That god is dead tired! Let him rest!”

Hu Tao heard another voice call out, but she was surprised to see it was the Yuheng of all people. “She’s right! Rex Lapis will be with us in his own way. Let this be our final contract—no, promise to him: Rex Lapis is dead. Let us never speak of this moment again!”

It’s different this time. As the people began talking, they began speaking of one thing and one thing alone: Rex Lapis was dead—and he’d been dead for a while. And as soon as those words reached his ears, his stiff body suddenly became more relaxed. He stood there, watching over the crowd, and smiled the warmest smile she’d ever seen on him. People see it happen and smile back, like the god they had worshipped had suddenly become a person in their perception. Not just someone to rely on, but someone to cherish, too.

Xiangling cheers, her smile growing bright. Xingqiu pulls Chongyun in a dance of delight. Yelan just waits, posture polite, until Yanfei takes her hand and embraces her tight.

Keqing claps happily—it’s quite the weird sight. It’s odd since she’s always been so hard to excite.

Hu Tao simply see it all unfold, watching from the sidelines. She raises the green apple she’d brought to her lips, eagerly biting into its flesh. The fruit in her mouth is soothing to the burns on her tongue.

How odd for a declaration of death to be one of the sweetest things she’d ever born witness to.