Chapter Text
"There you are."
Wanderer turns his head.
He's found a quiet spot among the Akademiya's domed rooftops. Nestled between sturdy branches and shrouded in foliage, this place is secluded.
It's not so ideal when Nahida comes trotting through, leaving sprouts behind where she steps.
"Leave me alone," Wanderer says. "I need to think."
"Two heads are better than one." Nahida sits on the roof tiles near to him. "What's on your mind?"
She could look for herself. What a nuisance. He turns his gaze outward. Sumeru City lies sprawling beneath him, circular paths and curved architecture, roots making way for life.
Up here, it's slower. Birds chirp; in the distance, an Aranara's song drifts on the wind.
"How is he?" Wanderer asks.
"Upset." Wanderer's scowl stays firmly in place. "Sethos is trying to comfort him. I'm not sure it's working."
Wanderer sighs heavily.
"And what about you?" Nahida wonders. "What are you thinking about?"
"You had no right to tell him."
Nahida tilts her head.
"Before, you said your stories were alike. I assumed that meant you were close enough to have shared them."
"You assumed wrong."
Nahida hums. "I apologize for overstepping. But," she adds, "I only shared a fairy tale. By design, it is not the whole truth."
"It's enough of it."
"You're afraid."
"I'm angry," he clarifies.
"At me? At Durin?"
He thinks of hollow hearts. Swords, blood. Licking flames, scorched earth. And then: a child's laugh, weak — but there is a soft sort of warmth to it.
The rustling of the treetops settles around them before Nahida speaks again.
"When we first met, I thought you'd always hold on to grudges."
He blinks back the burning things at the edges of his eyes. "I don't forgive you."
"Even so." Nahida pats his knee twice, retreats before he can slap her hand away. "I think you understand the root of the issue."
He does. Durin pushed too far. But…
Begrudgingly, Wanderer stands up.
"Send that buzzy bee away. He'll only teach him to be a pest."
"You're in luck," Nahida answers. "He just left!"
Durin didn't mean to make Hat Guy mad.
When they fought, something bubbled up inside him. Iron-hot. And when it burned him, he did what any dragon would: he flew away. The hanging lights shook when he roared. But he didn't look back.
Hat Guy was right: Durin is a terrible friend.
Featherless wings envelop him, but they cannot lift the weight holding him fast to the ground. Beneath the Great Tree's gnarled roots, the view of Sumeru's river stretches to the ends of the earth.
Everything here is bigger than back home. There's only so much space inside a storybook. Why, if he was perched on the highest branch and looked down, Durin thinks he wouldn't be able to spot himself at all.
His ears pick up familiar footfalls.
There, haloed by Sumeru's endlessness, Hat Guy pushes past the hanging roots, comes to a stop, and crosses his arms.
"We're going for a walk," he says. Clipped. Familiar.
Durin wants to move. Say something. But his mouth is dry.
What melts the ice keeping his wings still is the way Hat Guy's eyes soften, ever so slightly. "Come on."
Durin unfurls his wings and flits towards Hat Guy, but then he retreats out of arms reach. The other eyes the distance between them, frown dipping for a fraction of a second — then he ducks his head, hat obscuring his face, and turns on his heel.
He walks. And Durin follows.
They step off the well-marked path, with all its vines and green things. Instead, Hat Guy follows the river. Mud cakes his sandals; he continues like it doesn't.
The light, like glitter, catches and shifts along the surface of the water. It draws Durin's attention.
Hat Guy must catch him looking. "Pretty, isn't it?"
Those words make Durin wince. But when he sneaks a peek from the corner of his eye, Durin finds Hat Guy isn't watching him. No, he's also observing the water lapping at the the riverbank.
All at once, the tension in his wings returns. He glances again at the river. Running water is strange, he decides. In Simulanka, water stayed completely still unless someone disturbed it. But here, it ebbs and flows. Even the light, skipping across the river, never gleams the same way twice.
Durin can't be still water.
"Hat Guy," he says, voice wobbling, "are we still—"
"I'm sorry," Hat Guy interrupts, and it's so sudden that Durin can't help the way his wings catch mid-air. He practically falls out of the sky, but a gust of wind tosses his little body upright again.
"What?"
Hat Guy's brows furrow. "For how I… acted." The words come out stunted, punchy. "You wanted to explain things. I was angry and I... didn't let you."
"I'm the one who should be saying sorry," Durin replies. "I should have let you leave first. I…"
Hat Guy waits, eyes trained on him. Durin remembers the dim light in the library, how the iron-hot feeling tore through him.
"You don't have to finish." Hat Guy steps closer. "I get it. Like it or not, we are alike. The good and the bad."
"I don't want to be bad," Durin whispers.
"If you were," Hat Guy interrupts, "you wouldn't feel a shred of remorse over what happened."
Durin looks at the water, hoping it will help. But all he sees are blues on greens. No edges.
"I'm sorry," he says anyways. And then hands creep under his flurried wings and pull him against something sturdy. He burrows into Hat Guy's chest.
"Me, too."
Durin stays in the safety of his friend's warm embrace until he isn't shaking anymore, can will the tears back.
"I'm not a good friend," he admits. "But I want to be."
"You're still a child. You're going to make mistakes."
Durin shakes his head. "But I want to grow up." He hesitates. "That… means I have to leave. Eventually."
Those arms around him tighten. Durin grunts but doesn't complain. Gradually, Hat Guy lets him loose.
"When you do, where will you go?" his friend asks, dipping his hat. It hides his eyes from view.
"Mondstadt," Durin says. "I don't want to run anymore. I didn't like how our fight made me feel.
"That feeling was anger. Everyone gets angry."
"But I don't want to leave like that." Durin taps one of his wings against Hat Guy's shoulder. It makes him look up. "So I'm going to stay for as long as I can."
Hat Guy's eyes search him for something. "Why?" he asks.
"Because it's what you did," he says. "You didn't go. You came and found me."
Hat Guy's breath catches. The look in his eyes is like the river. Durin looks away; he doesn't think he has permission to see it.
"So you want to be human."
"Yeah." Hat Guy really does get it.
"Are you sure you can handle it?"
"I don't know," Durin answers honestly. "But I still want to try."
Hat Guy takes in a deep breath, then releases it.
"Promise me something."
"Okay."
"One day, you'll have to choose between two fates. When it happens, don't think about what's 'good' or 'bad.' Choose the path you want."
Durin doesn't really know what Hat Guy means. But still, because it's him — because he asked — he nods. "I promise."
The river is endless. But this is how it feels to gleam.