Chapter Text
BARBARA
In exchange for Barbatos’s blessing and a few Windwheel Asters, I made a promise to Deacon Dahlia and Lady Rosaria. That night, I was able to decorate the sanctuary with Windwheel Asters, and every time our Archon granted the breeze the freedom to drift inside, the orange petals of those flowers spun just like windmills do.
The promise was to stay one more night in exchange for taking care of the church. And it was no trouble at all! I would never hesitate to serve my God, for my faith prevented me from ever denying His constant protection. However, when the church doors closed and Father said goodbye, leaving the psalm and the chalice of wine on the table, the memory of that night a few days ago made me tremble among the flowers and scented candles.
Since I didn’t expect to see anyone—least of all my sister's mysterious fiancé—that night, I grabbed a book that Mother used to read to Jean and me when we were little and locked myself in the confessional. I brought a small candle with me and began to read, fooling myself into thinking no one could enter or see me if I stayed in there. Because the house of Barbatos prohibited violence within its walls.
“Hello… I don’t usually come around here, but I want to confess something I can’t get out of my head.”
I raised my head, forgetting the book entirely. I hadn’t heard anyone enter, nor had I heard the creak of the wooden door opening or closing. I held my breath; my pupils contracted. It wasn’t Jean's fiancé, but I knew that voice just as well. It was his brother, Kaeya.
“Good evening…” I greeted gently. I heard movement through the wall. “I don’t know if I should be doing this,” Kaeya said. “I don’t know who else to talk to about it either, though I’m not devout myself.” “Ah… well, if you are from Mondstadt, I believe Barbatos will be able to offer you the mental freedom you seek and forgive you.” There was a heavy pause. But he answered. “Right. Let’s just say I am from Mondstadt.” I replied with a timid "mhm." Because for as long as I could remember, Master Kaeya had been from Mondstadt, and he was a very important person, too.
Kaeya moved nervously again and clicked his tongue. “Alright, out with it in three… two… one…” Another, even denser pause. It felt like six full seconds before he continued. “I buried my brother alive.” “What?” I couldn’t even bring myself to think of the spiritual advice I was supposed to offer.
I had never heard a confession of that kind. Usually, they were simple sins, like infidelity or theft. The book slipped from my lap to my feet, making me hiss from the sudden, dull pain. I brought both hands to my lips and pressed them together so hard I thought I’d be struck mute for life.
“And I don’t know what to do, because when he dug himself out, he just came home and got mad at me because I was the one who buried him and not someone else. Because he hates me. But he didn’t seem angry about the fact that he was buried at all. Even though he went completely out of his mind. He had a strength I’ve never seen in anyone. And I felt afraid. Afraid of reliving the past, back when…”
I heard him aggressively scratch his hair.
“Please don’t hurt yourself,” I interrupted him. He sighed and let out a soft laugh. “Actually, that’s all I had to say.” “Barbatos will forgive your sins, sir.”
Kaeya left a few seconds later. But another night went by where, by the time Rosaria returned at dawn, I was still unable to sleep. I prayed so hard my fingers got tangled in the chains of my cross.
The next afternoon, I explained everything to Jean. In fact, I tried to enter the Knights of Favonius Headquarters that morning, but Varka and Kaeya both showed up completely drunk, stumbling around as if they were riding spinning tops. I had no choice but to drag them into the church to prepare a mint and slime broth while they talked. My wrists were shaking so badly I almost dropped the jar of slime Noelle had given me. I realized Kaeya had gone straight to the tavern after his confession. According to the elders, he went there often to play cards with them. And Varka was always at the tavern, too.
Varka pinched my chin with one hand, sending my nerves through the roof. He let out a booming laugh, though the shadow of sorrow flickered in his eyes right after. “Why are you so nervous?” he asked me. I just smiled, shrugging my shoulders with a tight, nervous giggle. So until they were fully sober, I couldn’t return to the Favonius Headquarters to speak with Jean.
That afternoon, I finally went in. I stood frozen outside my sister’s office door for fifteen minutes until she let me pass, clutching the sacred scriptures tightly against my chest.
I walked in. I slammed the book onto her desk, my twin tails sliding forward over my shoulders as I leaned across the surface. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the dandelions resting in the vase.
“Kaeya Alberich buried your fiancé,” I said. Her eyes widened. She slammed both palms onto the table and, like a feral beast, unsheathed her sword with an agonizingly harsh metallic scrape. “He’s dead,” she said.
Jean froze, the sword held rigid in her hand as she brought her other hand to her chest.
“What a relief,” she whispered to herself. “It shouldn't have happened, but… What a relief. But how… How did it happen… Then what’s going to happen… what…”
The hairs on my arms stood on end. I bit my lower lip and frowned slightly, watching my sister stare into empty space for the first time in her life instead of at the documents piled on her desk.
“No. He’s not dead, Jean! He buried him alive! For Barbatos's sake, Jean!”
Jean sheathed her sword with a sudden snap. She pressed her hand to her brow, squeezing with all her strength while uttering a desperate, total rejection: “No.” I could tell a thousand questions were racing through her mind, alongside just as many possible answers. She had already explained it to me before—she had told me how she once found Master Diluc breathless upon the eternal snow of a Snezhnayan plain. How his heart wasn't beating, and how the cross burned his chest. And perhaps that was why I had a few answers, too.
Perhaps that was why I hadn't screamed at Master Kaeya when he confessed something so horrible.
“I will go see Master Ragnvindr in half an hour,” Jean said after a long moment, her expression hollowed out.
Jean didn't let go of her sword. She kept it sheathed, but as she put on her jacket, she strapped the weapon to her back. Her fingers drummed a stressed rhythm on the desk before she picked up a quill.
For the first time, I felt that Jean didn't know what she was about to do. And that if she did anything at all, it was going to be the wrong thing. I followed her through the headquarters until she asked me to go home and rest, speaking with a harshness completely foreign to my sister. It left me trembling even more.
“Jean… please be careful. I’ll pray for you.” “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she asserted.
JEAN
I had gathered Small Lamp Grass for Diluc. They were almost withered by now, but they were still at home, glowing softly in the dark. A thousand times I thought about going to see him to give them to him. I told Varka I would try to make this marriage work. But four days had already passed since I picked them, and I still hadn't gone. I put them in water. But that trick doesn't work forever; once you pluck a flower, there is no turning back. Death corrupts it through the foolishness of trying to please someone. The worst part is that I’m not sure I can please Master Diluc with this. Nor am I sure it will bring me any satisfaction to give them to him.
Barbara gave me an excellent reason to finally go. I set out near nightfall. I left headquarters while there were still a few hours of daylight left, but once I got to my wardrobe, it took me longer to decide whether or not to leave my sword behind than it did to choose what to wear. In the end, I set it aside. But when I put on my formal white trousers, I concealed a dagger inside them. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it, yet I held the grim certainty that even if it wasn't strictly necessary, I would end up driving it into the cold stone that man had where his heart belonged.
The night sky granted me a quiet intimacy as darkness fell. I would burn with embarrassment if anyone saw me carrying a bouquet of nearly withered flowers while riding toward the winery. But the dark veil turned the air humid and melancholy, and by the time I reached the vineyards, I could almost hear that violin melody Master Crepus used to play in the ballrooms.
The ground floor of the winery was illuminated; a warm, comforting light spilled through the windows, smelling of apple stew and mushrooms. It smelled of grapes, too… rumor had it they would soon be ripe for harvest. I didn't enter immediately. Instead, I paused to walk among the vines, a sharp pang lodged in my chest. Anguish. A few flowers lost their petals as I walked. The bouquet was a mess, but my mind was consumed by that last conversation I had with Diluc Ragnvindr.
“The thought of being with you makes me sick, Miss Gunnhildr.” It echoed in my head. Over and over.
“I feel nauseous right now just having to knock on your door,” I muttered to myself, clenching my fists.
An eagle landed on my shoulder. At first, it startled me. It was an invasive gesture, but then I remembered my father and Varka talking about how well-trained the Ragnvindr family eagles were, and the pedigree they possessed. I moved it off my shoulder and onto my forearm; its talons snagged the sleeve of my shirt, but it didn't bother me. The bird didn't cling tightly, using its wings to minimize its weight. It tilted its head downward, and I understood it wanted affection. I had the bouquet in my other hand, so I had to set it down on the vines to stroke its feathers.
“They taught it to be sociable,” I heard behind me. A deep, somewhat muffled voice.
I turned quickly. The bird took flight, brushing my cheek with its wings before landing on a thicker arm. Without thinking, I dropped low and pulled the dagger from beneath my trousers. I held it firmly, pointing it straight at the man's chest.
Diluc Ragnvindr barely shifted an inch back to avoid contact. He didn't even have to step away. His red eyes locked onto mine, unblinking, as if trying to pierce my retinas and read my thoughts. It lasted only a second before his gaze lowered to the vines.
Diluc swallowed hard and knit his brows. I could tell he was growing impatient from that gesture. “They’re a bit withered,” he observed.
My heart was pounding wildly. How was this possible? Seconds ago, no one was there, and suddenly this man was standing beside me, talking about flowers and birds. He had appeared out of thin air. I didn't drop the weapon; I gripped it tighter. And to my surprise, he reversed his retreat and stepped forward until the blade pricked his chest.
“Do it,” he told me. His eyes were dead, filled with such a complex tangle of emotions that it made me shudder.
He was a tormented man. So unnecessarily complex that he sparked my curiosity—like the problems that kept me awake for days on end in front of my desk.
I didn't answer, and because of that, he advanced a little further. The quiet crunch caught me off guard, causing me to release the hilt, though the dagger stayed upright because it had already driven itself into Diluc Ragnvindr’s chest. Yet he kept staring down at the withered flowers.
“I admire the bravery, Jean Gunnhildr. Did you come to give me flowers, or to finish me off?” He looked down at the clean steel resting against his motionless chest. “Or… did you also come to lay flowers on a grave? It doesn't… work.”
He didn't touch the dagger. But he wasn't bleeding much, either—not like a normal human would. Only a few stray drops spilled lazily onto his shirt.
“I’m afraid it doesn't work,” he said, the ghost of a smile almost forming, though it never quite surfaced. It never did. Instead, he ended up scowling, uttering the words with impossible speed.
I caught a glimpse of the tips of his fangs in that failed attempt at a smile. I recoiled, stepping back. My hands were shaking, though I wasn't even aware of it. I wasn't even sure of what I was seeing. All I know is that when Adelinde arrived, Diluc had already pulled the knife out and was staring at the ground with the apathy of someone possessed, as if he had completely disconnected from the conversation. I searched everywhere for the dagger, but I couldn't find it. I didn't know where he had put it, nor when he had slipped away to hide it.
“Miss Jean! What lovely flowers.” What was that look on Adelinde's face? She was definitely covering up that burial. “We didn't know you were coming. But it makes sense for you to be here, with only a few days left until the wedding. Give the flowers to me. We’ll put them in a vase.”
I handed the bouquet to Adelinde. She took my arm, subtly asking me to stop trembling. Diluc turned on his heel and walked away—not toward the warmth of the house, but out into the dark expanse of the vineyards.