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( past )
The Yaksha opens his eyes to the sight of a human peering at him from above.
He frowns and he stares—wondering whether or not you could actually see him. The occasions where humans are alerted to the presence of an adeptus are rare, given how simple the gods crafted their minds to be. But you are different. He knows when someone’s eyes pass through him like a wall of wind. Like he is nothing but the faintest whisper of the evening breeze.
But you are different.
“Those are some nasty injuries you have,” you observe, and he notices that he is not jumping across the shingled roofs of the village by the sea. He’s indoors, lying on a threadbare quilt that offers hardly any comfort to anyone unlucky enough to lay on it. But the Yaksha supposes his luck has all but run out when the gaps in his memory begin to surface.
The whims of a disembodied god whispering wickedly in his ear. The compulsion, the desire to bend to her every word. He can still feel the malice she emanated—curdling like ichor in his veins until his body turned to stone. How long has it been since he’d become the plaything of his fate’s marionette? Years? Decades? He does not know. And the thing about living an immortal life is that time is nothing but a vicious cycle of falling into the abyss again, and again,
And again.
(And the Yaksha knows better than to resist when the darkness begins to covet him, too.)
“Here, drink.”
The human hovering over him offers a cup with the gentlest of smiles, and the crease on his brow dips further. The warm glow of the hearth in the far end ripples across the clear surface of the drink, and for a moment, he forgets that adepti do not need water the same way humans do. All at once the bodily sensations seize him from all fronts. His throat is parched, his stomach feels like a bottomless pit, and had you not interfered, he would have swallowed the wooden cup in his momentary frenzy.
You mask a laugh behind your hand, plucking it from his slackened grasp as he shoots you a scowl. He hasn’t quite seen a human so…easygoing before.
“Are you sure you want to present yourself to a mere mortal like that?” you question him patronizingly. “I know you’re hurt and all, but—”
The words die on your tongue when sparks of light flicker by the Yaksha’s side—snatching his polearm from the dimensions in-between until the blade kisses the skin of your throat. His yellow eyes smolder like crystals in the darkness.
“How do you know what I am?” he growls.
But unlike every other human he couldn’t give a swift, quiet death to, the look you give him is devoid of the pale-faced terror he was so accustomed to seeing. You do not beg him for mercy. You do not cower in a pool of your own piss.
Instead, you grin as if speaking to an old friend.
“You’re giving me too much credit,” you say. “I don’t know what you are. I just know what you’re not. Call it a…gift, of sorts.”
The Yaksha lowers his weapon with reluctance lying heavy in the motions as it disappears into a shimmer of azure light. He knows of the humans who are more in-tune with the realm of spirits than most. It isn’t beyond him to consider lumping you in that category, but something about the way the air wisps around you tells him that’s not quite it.
Noting his contemplation, another laugh sings in his ears. The Yaksha shoots you a puzzled, albeit fully alert stare that you return with a grin. “Well, enough of that. Can you put the scary spear away and spare me the tale of your unbecoming?”
If he were in his full power, he would have smited you with a tornado for speaking to him so casually. He is an adeptus—an immortal. How dare a mere human think that you can just—
“The Elementals blasted me out of the sky,” he admits with enough acquiescence to alarm himself. He would never openly disclose his own blunders to another human.
Was this that god’s doing? Was she about to make him act against his own autonomy yet again?
…Was he going to have to take more lives?
A soft breeze carries from the open window and into the room, tossing his dark hair all over until he feels his doubts go up in smoke. It’s a gentle, soothing wind. The kind that he only ever feels at the highest peaks of the Qingyun Mountains. Yet the Yaksha is reminded that he is closer to the sea than he is to the sky once a hint of salt catches on his nose.
“Now, why would they have to do that?” You hum, getting back on your feet as you make your way to the hearth. “Unless you’re the one that’s been trailing bodies from the neighboring villages, I don’t see the reason to attack.”
It’s foolish on your part, he thinks, that you turned your back to him so easily when he can very much drive a polearm straight to your heart. What’s more is that you already heard about his crimes. What good reason do you have to nurse a stranger inside your home? An immortal one, at that.
He hasn’t always been the Yaksha. Long before the adepti were deployed to fend off the darkness that threatened to envelop their land, he had a name—one that the humans had given to him. One that he believed in.
But he’d all but forsaken it when he fell under her control.
Those Elementals had a keen eye for malignant entities when they’d shot him down. You could have just minded your own business. You could have gone with your evening without rescuing the adeptus that massacred innocent townsfolk, yet here he is—eyes trained on the star-mapped sky with the breath of the ocean drowning out whatever shadows lurked in his heart.
Wait a moment.
Her voice. That god’s voice. He can’t hear it. Why can’t he hear it? Her incorrigible whispers infected his mind for so long… Where did they—
“Well, whatever. It’s about time for dinner, anyway. You’re pretty lucky I accidentally made a meal for two, y’know?”
The Yaksha startles when you kneel by the quilt with two dishes in hand. One is a bowl of broth with a strong, aromatic scent, while the other is a bunch of cubed lumps garnished on a plate. He flickers his honeyed gaze to meet yours expectantly.
“It’s just stew and almond tofu,” you reassure. “Pretty sure I can’t poison an immortal even if I tried.”
He stares down at the bandages coiled around his summoning arm. Bandages that he only noticed once he considered how hospitable you’re being. But the more he tries to make sense of your undue kindness, the more puzzled he starts to become. You already nursed his wounds and given him temporary shelter (from both his Elemental pursuers and her). What more can you gain by giving him a warm meal that he doesn’t even need? The Yaksha is no god. He cannot grant you blessings as he gazes upon you with favor.
In fact, all he ever brings to humans nowadays is despair.
“No appetite, huh?” you sigh, setting down the bowl of stew on the floor. “At least try this, though. I bet you’re hungry from all the…immortal stuff you do.”
You push the plate of sweet-smelling lumps into the Yaksha’s face—making his nose scrunch up. What did you call it again? Almond tofu? He has half the mind to decline. To march out of (what he presumes is) your home and flee before his misfortune befalls you as well. But the petulant set of your mouth dissuades him from doing every other reasonable choice to make.
Instead, the Yaksha picks up the wooden spoon you placed by the side, scooping into the unexpectedly soft dish. In all the centuries he’s lived, he never once imagined himself submitting to the whims of a mortal. Yet, in a world so vast, there are sure to be a lot of firsts even for adepti.
“About the killer that’s on the loose,” you begin as he examines the food you prepared, and the Yaksha listens. “They say he’s nearly untraceable. No footprints. No clues. Just several people dying in their sleep all at once. Heh. He’s pretty meticulous if you ask me. Just like a demon.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” he asks, avoiding your gaze. “That your village might be next?”
A soft sigh slips from your mouth as you latch your gaze to the open window. “I’m not really from here, so there isn’t much to be afraid of. I could just pack up and leave for the next harbor once I feel a threat to my life. The only reason I haven’t is because…I’m a little curious.”
“Curious?” He casts you a perplexed stare before shoveling the spoonful into his mouth, and—
The world begins to still.
“I wondered if I could somehow lure him with my star dish. Everywhere I go, the locals always come to like the almond tofu that I make,” you tell him, a virtuous smile curling your lip that the Yaksha nearly misses. All his senses are fixated on the warm, milky dessert that melts on his tongue—just as addictive as he remembers.
“It tastes like heaven, they said.” You reach a hand out to brush the bangs from his sweat-stricken face, revealing the purple diamond marked on his forehead. And when you bring your lips closer to his ear, he feels the air around him thicken.
“It tastes like dreams.”
The ceramic plate shatters into a hundred tiny fragments when the Yaksha flings it out of your grasp. He finally manages the strength to stand with his polearm in hand—the cyanic glow of pure Anemo gathering beneath his fingertips as he points the tip above your heart.
“You’re never taking me alive,” he rasps, having made up his mind that he needed to silence you here and now.
But of course, you continue to surprise him instead.
“Now, now. I’m not your enemy,” you insist, grabbing the hilt of his spear as you directed the sharp edge away. “I’ve been looking for you because I know how long you’ve suffered.
“I am here to free you.”
Your fingers then start to skim the curve of his jaw—trailing higher and higher until he feels you press against the diamond on his forehead once more. The Yaksha’s grip tightens around his weapon, ready to launch a charged attack. But before he can even put his plans into motion, the world around him rapidly fades into black.
And the last thing he sees is a gentle smile that lulls him into the darkness.
( present )
Dihua Marsh is too bleak for Xiao’s liking.
His thoughts about the place were cemented long before he’d taken residence at Wangshu Inn, and several years later, he still feels the same way. Though the boss lady somehow diffused the stench of the bogs below by embellishing the place with silk flowers and glaze lilies, an adeptus’ perception wouldn’t be hindered so easily. Even if he prefers not to interact with them for another day in his life, these mishaps often convince Xiao into wishing he had the humans’ mediocre senses instead.
Another addition to his list of daily annoyances is the loud duo that came barging into the Inn like they owned the place. Vision-bearers were much different from the Elementals back in his day. Their auras were louder—more reactive to the presence of someone like Xiao. And, just his luck, that same Vision-bearer and her strange companion made the trip from Archon-knows-where just to see him, specifically.
He glares as the two of them marvel at the view from the highest balcony there was. What is with these humans and the appeal they find in the wasteland that is Dihua Marsh? Had they seen so little of the world that this is considered a spectacle to behold?
However, his mental barrage of insults come to a halt when he picks up a familiar trace of…something in the breeze.
Xiao appears before them in a wisp of cool air.
And when he finally sees the Vision-bearer, Lumine, up close, the frantic beat of his non-existent heart nearly splits his chest in half.
His throat bobs as he sucks in a sharp breath. Two thousand years is enough time for an adeptus to recognize a special soul when they see one. This isn’t the first instance he’s seen a reincarnated spirit, but he never would have guessed that the Vision-bearer that’s come to bother him was that person.
Memories that have decayed along with the old lands flicker in his mind at breakneck speed. They’re from a time when he was simply the Yaksha; a time he didn’t think he’d have to revisit at all.
The crackle of a hearth. The salty evening breeze. The gentle smile that he somehow superimposes on Lumine’s face just when he starts to recall what you looked like—
Xiao sends them away before they can even tell him what they came to discuss.
.
.
.
Only for them to come back with his greatest weakness in their grasp.
“Don’t send us away again, you Vigilante Yaksha!” the little entity, Paimon barks as Lumine gives him a plate of… Archons-damned almond tofu. “Quick! Tell him everything before he finishes eating.”
And Lumine does. She tells Xiao about the assassination of the Geo Archon—how Moon Carver hints that it was the Qixing behind all of it. He listens, and he listens well. This is the god who plucked him from the depths of the earth they were talking about, after all.
Though, as Lumine and Paimon continue to piece the story together for him, Xiao can’t help but think about the human that freed him from his curse. Rex Lapis gave him a purpose—a new contract to protect the humans of Teyvat.
But it was you who gave him back his freedom.
To this day, he isn’t quite sure how you undid the cruel god’s spell on him. Not even his fellow adepti could help cure his affliction, and it was for that reason that he ran with the wind—far enough that he couldn’t taint them with the darkness that swallowed him whole. Yet you managed feats not even the gods could achieve.
All because you managed to outfox him with a plate of almond tofu.
And Xiao loathes to admit that this clever reincarnation of yours remembers the trick a little too well.
The death of his liege shook him down to the core—that was certain. Chaos is beginning to brew all the way in the shores of Liyue, and Xiao thinks that it’s high time that the Geo Archon’s adepti did something about it. But he doesn’t fret as much as he expected himself to.
Strange enough, he’s comforted, even. The first time he saw you, he immediately figured that you were not quite the same as the humans of that era. The same rings true for Lumine, with her eyes like starlight and a smile that makes the wind sing all around him.
Even without Rex Lapis—the god they relied on for millennia—Xiao knows that Liyue is in safe hands, still.
When the loud duo see themselves out of the Inn, Xiao watches from his perch on the highest floor. He watches until they’re nothing but indistinguishable dots in the distance. He watches until the winds of change stop howling in his ears.