Chapter Text
As far as resemblance goes, Albedo only shares a genotype with Rhinedottir. The same pinstripe blond hair, dry and coarse leading to the tips. Similar eyes, lazuli blue and sheenless from the tempering in their growth. The same posture. The same shadow. And the brain, cognition, prodigiousity - which in their world, everything.
Rhinedottir was a natural element.
Her existence hinges in the fact that there is nothing else like her. As if she wasn't human entirely, but a part of Teyvat's core that pulsed so vigorously that the gods could not waste a minute breathing life into her lungs, so that she may walk this world in substitute of a landfall. She was organic. She was chemical herself.
She was so exceptional that people feared her.
Albedo, on the other hand, is perfectly artificial in the way that he was always just a carbon copy of what Rhinedottir is. Another attempt. Legacy created just so someone else may lengthen her existence way past her due. He wasn't feared, he was scrutinised. If Rhinedottir was gold, Albedo was limestone.
And yet that was enough, because to be Rhinedottir's offspring all Albedo needed to be was similar. He might not have been born as the same gold, but he was a sediment enough to contain the properties of his mother's pride. The mind, and the weight of his cranium; Rhinedottir's generosity came from the fact that she doesn't ask for much but a potential.
Which was all there is to it.
Throughout his childhood, Albedo knew nothing but the cold arms of his own mother. She was always away in her Labs, staving away in her grand projects. Relationships to Rhinedottir was shapely, in the form of results. The Madame did not understand what could not be read through data and endproducts. Albedo himself was data and product.
He was only ever a child when Rhinedottir's friends were involved, visiting them on their monthly meetings and whatnot. His mother never truly taught him the importance of socialisation, nor did she ever truly taught him anything, but he learnt through these interactions that he wasn't privy to. Fact is Albedo was a fast-learner, he didn't need instructions to understand nuances of the world around him.
Just around the corner, he would peek into his mother's office, watching and listening to great women mull and discuss things his young head couldn't fathom. They were always busy with documents, so many documents, and their fondness of teacakes. Sometimes they would invite Albedo in, especially when he rebelled against Rhinedottir's orders and purposefully made his presence known.
Albedo knew she had always pretended to be angry about his streaks of rebellion, because what is a son that doesn't know his own mother? Rhinedottir excused it for she knew that Albedo was better in the hands of her friends anyway. Expose him to the warmth that she can't give.
"It's not right to isolate him from children his age, Gold."
Even today, Albedo remembers that particular conversation.
He was perched on a lap, face caressed by a pair of soft hands that spoke to him of foreign reassurance. It wasn't his mother for sure. She didn't look at him, nobody in the room did - all he remembers are distinct, concerned voices.
"Boys his age needs companion, friends! You're not even home most of your days. Who is he going to speak to?"
"We have maids and household caretakers. Albedo can just talk to them, or better yet, to the Educational Teaching Apparatus I built specifically for him. 'Friends' would only corrupt him with needless paradigms that I don't want my son to believe in."
"Even from an evolutionary standpoint, all infants need peer to peer socialisation, Gold. It's for his own good. What if he's unable to speak? Nicole, no offense. Albedo, dear, can you tell me your name and age?"
He remembers six faces, all darlings in their own respective ages, staring at him. Marie Andersdotter had him propped on her knee, gently smiling and encouraging him to let out his little voice. They were talking over themselves and jumping around topics but when it came to his welfare, everyone got quiet.
He also remembers Rhine sitting afar, narrowing her eyes like a hawk at his direction. She might not have said anything in the moment, but she might as well. Less gentle than the others were, supposedly saying, 'go ahead, speak,' in her silence, as maternal as commanding a pet.
He has vivid memories.
Albedo could still feel his throat closing, how tight it scrunched and how not a single sound coming out of his mouth. And the moment he did, he began to panic. His lungs felt like collapsing. Suddenly all his organs were failing to work. Albedo whimpered a broken plea to his mother, but all Rhine did was stare at him from her seat. She was disappointed.
Marie Andersdotter took him into her custody right after that day, only momentarily however, though always around the time that Rhine wasn't home, which was never. If she had hated being confined within walls of a home then, the Madame seemed to develop an even stronger distaste afterwards. Perhaps she couldn't bear breathing the same air as a son who wasn't as perfect of an alchemical reaction as she was. Albedo didn't understand too.
He knew that he might have been made in the picture of the Madame, but it was never thanks to her that he lived at all. Genius as he was, prodigious as he was; him, his many talents, and all the achievements he earned to make the Madame take a single gander at him.
The one detail he couldn't remember from that particular day was his age - it felt like it happened throughout his childhood.
Rhinedottir was only ever proud of him the time that he got old enough to speak upon his resentments.
"I'm done becoming your replica. I'm done playing in your pygmalion experiments. From today and onwards, your son is dead. He's just 'Albedo' now, and you are not going to interfere with his life any longer."
It was the first time the Madame had ever flashed him her most sincerest of smiles - even grinning. Albedo caught a sparkle in her eye, brilliant as it was ephemeral. Something crazed behind those pupils of hers, manic enough to make him shiver at the thought of her being his mother.
"Creating a life of your own? You're exactly like me after all."
Five years later, Rhinedottir passed on.
He spent hours on the snowpiled roads of Mondstadtian outskirts just to figurehead his Lab that was doing perfectly fine without him. Because in this big, modern day and age, some people still haven't moved on from their prehistoric understanding of the world, demanding that the man in charge come talk and appease them, instead of listening to the various women Albedo had delegated his authorities to. Their smiles blossomed just watching Albedo approach the office wing, excited to finally get their needs discussed, as if his assistants hadn't been telling them the same things Albedo would have. This is a waste of time.
If it were some other investor, Albedo would've been less gentle. Hate to admit it, but he had several ideas on how he could have reacted, being needlessly dragged into this, this late in the evening especially. He has been storing his rage in a deep pocket somewhere, just dormant enough until he finds a victim.
Just his luck that he's not terrorised by someone worth the trouble.
He's obviously not happy, every set of eyes can see that. He's supposed to be at home, taking his time waiting for his boy to exhaust himself in his new hobby. This pointless meeting costed him his relationship with Durin, and yet he's in no position to act more in the way he wanted due to corporational best interests. The remaining roster of employees standing by made space for him as he finally concluded the pointless meeting - their boss' in furrowed eyebrows and a frown isn't something they'd want to mess with.
Then that face comes to haunt him again. She's never going to let him off, not when she's quite literally the bane of his existence.
Rhinedottir would have no problem kicking them out.
She's always so much more about her academic integrity to the point that nothing else matters, a personal conduct that Albedo cannot even begin to be. Hexenzirkel Labs could lie broke with investors pulling out of their deals and she'd be fine. She could be the last woman standing in her projects and she'd be fine. It could cost her her relationship with his only living son and she'd be fine, and she was fine.
Albedo can't do that to Durin. He had took up the responsibility, regardless of motive wanting to prove himself to a dead woman. What kind of brother-father would he be?
Hours after delivering his opponents home, Albedo sat down in his, Rhine's, office. The massive painting of her face pointedly stared him down. 'You don't have the edge,' it practically seethed. He doesn't have what it takes.
Albedo sighed and turned away from those watercoloured eyes.
Behind him is a large, ceiling to floor venetian window, panoramic to the direction of Mt. Dragonspine. He deludes himself thinking that his home is visible from the city, when all he sees is a set of obscure twinkling lights, unsure of where it is in the valley. Durin is there. He left Durin alone in there, somewhere in the blizzard-infested glens.
It would take him another two hours getting back home in this weather. But he's escorted the boy home, and made sure that all the openings are locked. His gut does stir in worry, but his mind knows that Durin is perfectly safe, all he needs to do now is to steamroll every portrude of anxiety that springs up.
"Mr. Albedo," his assistant calls. If she knocked on his door earlier, Albedo didn't hear. He jumped at the sight of her already so close to the desk.
In her arms are nothing but her bag. Tablet kept, and she's holding her car key, jingling in the air. She looks concerned - as she always does, Albedo notes. But there's a hesitancy in the way that she carries herself right now, talking to her own boss like they've never did.
"Hi, Sucrose. Anything to report?" Albedo slides his hands into his pockets. Maybe nonchalance will get her to relax.
Sucrose fixes her dainty little specs, hitting herself on the head with the jangle of her car key. She's trying her best not to wince but Albedo knows that hurt. "Yes, I've finished all the bookkeeping you wanted me do earlier. Written your cheques, filed project reports… and oh, I've also emailed correspondence to the investor's company earlier, telling them to only return in 10 days time from their meeting today. That should give us plenty of time to work on the medicine, sir, and hopefully they won't be bothering you again anytime soon." She nods.
Albedo wants to clap for her diligence, though he knows it'd only come off as patronising to her skills as his assistant. "Their very abrupt meeting today. We should expect an apology in a few days. Good job, Sucrose."
But she doesn't move.
Her eyes droop and gaze right into Albedo's own, lips pursed in an unspoken question. Normally, she would have excused herself home. Although competent, she's told him that she suffers from clumsiness and naivete, and that she'd hate to offend her boss with things she shouldn't say. Yet her eyes betray her all the same. She might not say it, but everyone can read what that look means.
"Okay, I know you have something you want to say. What is it, Sucrose?"
"No, sir. It's just… are you alright? You've been staring out the window for a while. It was a good five minutes before I called your name, so I thought…"
"I'm fine." That's a lie. He sighs, then pushes himself away from the glass. It's a real mess when others can see his problems when he's someone known to hide away the heart from his sleeves. Albedo is new to being found out like this. "Family things," vaguely, he explains.
He doesn't know why there was a step of hesitancy in his mouth, like his vocal cords suddenly lose the guts it had to deliver his words. Because he is thinking about family. Rhinedottir is family, Durin is family. There shouldn't be reasons why he trembles facing that fact.
Sucrose approaches a bit closer to Albedo. "Is it Durin? Sorry if I'm prying…"
"No, no you're not. And I don't know, maybe it is Durin. I have a feeling that it's me instead."
"Sir, you've done the best you can in this situation…"
Going around the desk, the girl touches a gentle hand over the tautness of his shoulder. She doesn't resort to skinship often, nor does she offer pieces of her mind about things that normally is out of her concern, and it's all due to the nature of their relationship as boss and employee. Deep down, Albedo swallows a pang of guilt having to see her in such a way, but he thinks her concern might've come from her inclinations as a woman. He knows he shouldn't patronise her that way, she's more than just her place as a woman.
Sensitive, and attuned to her emotions, Sucrose, despite being younger than him, knows how to console another person. Sensitive, and attuned to her emotions, Sucrose, tries her best to make him feel better. He gives her hand on his shoulder a light squeeze.
Maybe if he weren't such a man, incapable of facing his own misgivings.
"I know, Sucrose. I know. Just a lot on my mind."
The office eventually empties out from having guests, leaving an open, hollow, room full of Albedo himself. Darkness then comes flooding in and filling every crevice, because he'd rather have apparitions waiting on him than roast under the ceiling lamps. His open windows suffices lighting enough from the moon, and to compete it with LED feels like an insult to the order of nature, however strange that is for an alchemist to say.
Feelings brought him to strange thoughts and places lately. The internal turmoil of settling into a new life routine makes him wander to things that he'd never have in the past, learning new paths and creating fresh solutions.
He wants to apologise to Durin, but it's pointless giving a teenager measly words. They'll point out the holes in his attempt at closure and forever begin to doubt the sincerity of anything you do for them - he knows this, very well, for it was himself a decade ago. On top of which Durin is an intelligent boy that Albedo is trying his damnedest to always keep upon his good side, he also would rather lodge a spear into his own ego than having to disappoint him.
For the most certain thing he can infer is that he has zero choice but to let Durin down. Because, again, that's what parents do, unfortunately.
That, and because Mondstadtians are famously superstitious about ice, the ice. That's why they live in a ghost town in a dead snow-barren valley, deep in Dragonspine where bodies don't even rot. Citizens of this holy city believe that anything the wind can't decay, it must go against the occult god they believe in.
His blue eyes are beginning to shrink and dry from the hours he's been spending, navigating through the internet for a skating coach, any skating coach, for Durin.
Albedo wants to apologise to the boy, and as a show of his regret, he plans on finding anyone that will actually teach the boy the sport. Not just empty words but a solution. But most if not the entire population of Mondstadt believes in mumbo-jumbo, and they think to be in proximity of cursed rime would bear them wrath from their god, hexing them to cryo-immortalisation if they so much as do anything in range of Dragonspine.
So teachers are scarce, in spite of their proximity to the snow. Even thinking of this is frustrating. He wipes his face with a palm. All he wants is to show Durin that he does care - perhaps a bit convoluted, and micromanaged, because that's the only way he knew how.
After scrolling through names after names on his searchbar, a familiar face showed up.
Kazehaya. And on the screen, a big headline in all bold, Ex-Olympian, Figure Skating champion of five years until he wasn't. Albedo clicked on the hyperlink.
"Huh," Albedo whispers to himself. Reclining on his chair, letting the light of his screen engulf his whole face in white illumination. Maybe his solution isn't so hard after all.
"Interesting."