Chapter Text
"Still, the winds change direction.
"Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future…
"Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."
—description of Vayuda Turquoise Gemstone
The one thing that could be agreed upon about the Visions was that they came with no instruction manual.
Although some stories might love to claim otherwise, there was no divine voice from above that accompanied the shining pendants as they materialized, no letter of congratulations that told the users what they got and why. If one were to interview a hundred Visionholders, it would be hard to find a surefire commonality that could tell the many Visionless how to get one of their own. Depending on how you saw it, the selection could very well seem almost random. It was no wonder that no one could agree on what the Visions even meant. Was it to be seen as a welcome gift, a mocking or gracious sign of ownership by the archon of the element in question, or as merely a tool? Were they given as a reward for deeds done, or as a lifeline for greater trials to come?
The answers to those questions might lie in the question of which deity did the giving and why, but no one could decide on that, either. Humans would frequently thank the beloved archon of their homeland, or they might equate it to the lord of that element. Either way, it was easy to forget that this power long predated the age of the Seven entirely. One didn’t talk about the centuries of warfare leading to the Archon War except to tell grand tales of warriors and legends who shaped mountains in their power. But how that power came about? That was a question that might only be known by those who lived it.
+++
To Xiao, the Vision could be likened more to a curse, or at best, an item of indifference.
He didn’t remember how he got it, mostly because he has very few memories left at all of the last time he was truly free. He was only a wild spirit of the forest then, a being without a name, aimlessly wandering as he pleased, eating and sleeping as he pleased, and fighting hostile creatures if he must. There wasn’t much to remember, really. His life was pleasantly meaningless. It would be of no surprise that after a few years of service to his master, he would forget nearly all of it.
The world of Alatus’s youth was a world at war, and his first purpose in life was to fight in it as his master willed. He wasn’t the only bloodhound in his master’s collection, but he was, to his detriment, a favorite, and the only one to survive until the end. He slayed everything put in his path, and he was forced to devour the dreams of his victims.
Thus his Vision became simply the beginning of his endless battle.
Alatus, slayer of armies, paused before two dragon children before him—twins, from the looks of it. They pressed close to each other in fear, crouched against the rock, already too injured to run away quick enough.
“Finish them and we move on,” his master ordered, already walking away.
Alatus didn’t move.
His punishment came swiftly, as it had through the grueling days and nights following his initial capture when his wild spirit still dreamed it had hope of resisting. The seal on him shot pain through his body and clouded his mind. If he didn’t move, it forced him to. He couldn’t tell if it was his doing by which he took a step forward and raised his spear.
The children didn’t die quietly. They tried to fight him with whatever power they had left, and to protect each other. It was still a losing battle from the start.
“They would have grown up to be warriors,” his master told him as Alatus stared blankly at the child’s severed head that lay before his feet. “Now, don’t question me ever again.”
Alatus’s seal broke the moment his master was slain, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about it when he had the chance to, if there was a chance. He had no instincts to tell him what he wanted. He forgot what freedom felt like. He just felt with fearful widened eyes the strange release of that tight invisible cord that bound him for many, many years as he witnessed his master fall to Morax’s spear on the battlefield he too was supposed to be fighting on.
His master’s army fell back immediately, and his right hand took Alatus away before he could make a second thought to process. Hastily applied magic dulled his senses before they dragged into the cave at base camp where his bonds were waiting. Every night they bound him with shackles on his wrists and ankles and chained him to the wall to keep him from leaving or killing them all while they slept. Now they needed to hold him in place before he figured out that the seal was gone, and there really was nothing stopping him from slaughtering their army.
Morax lived up to his reputation that day. He pursued the army and fought them and their reinforcements. The Dragon of the North that allied with his master came and should have been the one to hold Morax back, but he too fell in the fight.
Morax walked alone into Alatus’s cave in human-esque form that appeared no less imposing than his dragon one, with dark stone-like arms laced with marks of golden geo energy, holding a bloodied spear and possessing similar stains across his white garb, the shadow of a hood obscuring the expression on his face. Alatus didn’t need to prepare himself in the face of this moment; he had already made peace with dying in the hours preceding it.
Except, Morax didn’t kill him.
It made little sense. They were literally fighting on opposite sides of a battlefield just mere hours earlier. There were members of Morax’s clan that he most definitely killed personally.
Instead, Morax silently used his spear to break his chains, a vague sadness in his hardened eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked him, his eyes and his tone somehow turning softer in spite of the battle he just walked out of. “I do not sense the magic on you anymore; can you move freely?”
Alatus said little besides a few short nods in the affirmative. He said nothing on the short journey that followed, in which he consented to come with Morax in spite of not knowing why. He still couldn’t get used to how it felt being free from the seal. He wondered if Morax or some mage in his employment planned to do something similar, if Morax would become his new master. That was probably what would happen. Still, he followed anyways, because he forgot how to consider what other options he had.
Morax took him to a realm, and Alatus felt his eyes widen with something in between awe and shock as he was confronted with the scenery. The realm was very large, dotted with a few elegant structures and many wide, twisting trees amidst flowers. On the platform where he now stood, there was a small workshop-like house seated beside a wide display of completed and in-progress weapons and weird machinery like Alatus had never laid eyes on before. “You… built this?” he questioned, his first ever complete sentence spoken to his liberator.
“Oh, no,” Morax laughed. “Not in the slightest. This is Guizhong’s work. This is her realm, actually.”
“Who?” He had no idea who that was. Then again, the only name he knew of this clan was that of the warlord Morax. Or was this another clan he took him to?
He didn’t have to wait long for his answer, because almost on cue, there she was.
“Zhongli! Who is this?” She rushed to their side, a young woman with long dark hair and billowing sleeves, looking concerned for some reason.
“A yaksha. He has sustained injuries in addition to the effects of malevolent magic…I thought that perhaps…?”
“Say no more.” She was already looking Alatus over as Morax spoke. “Although I might question why the yaksha has no name and why you got the idea that I am a healer now, I’ll help.” She turned from Morax to look into Alatus’s eyes directly. “Are you alright?” She spoke as if he were a lost child. “What is your name?”
He didn’t answer.
“Alright, that’s fine.” She nodded, acceptance his silence as her answer. “Please, come. I’ll give you a place to lie down while I get what I need.”
“Did you have any other names, before Alatus?” Morax (Zhongli?) asked him sometime later, sitting outdoors among some glaze lilies. It was an odd question, but hardly unsurprising, since Alatus already got the picture that Zhongli and Guizhong both were very, very strange. Guizhong treated and bandaged the wounds that Alatus frankly forgot he had, also applying salve to the old but oft-reopened scars on his wrists, as well as giving him some strange tea that was supposed to alleviate the lingering hold of the magic on him. And all the while, Zhongli followed her around and did small tasks as she asked, as if he were some quiet homemaker and not also a slayer of armies.
“I’m very sorry for the trouble,” he overheard Zhongli talking to her. “I…wasn’t sure how well he would be received by my men. If I’m given the choice, I try to avoid killing slaves who had no choice but to fight, but his is a name that would be well-known, I’m afraid.”
“Another name?” Alatus raised one eyebrow at the gentle-speaking warlord. He was starting to wonder if these people were fully aware of what he even was. For one thing, he had never been treated for his wounds before; that was a luxury for other soldiers, not a yaksha. He’ll be fine. He wasn’t fragile like humans were.
He didn’t need a name like humans or other adepti did, either. That only existed for the purpose of his master, to make his warrior sound more formidable. “I don’t,” Alatus finished his answer with a shake of the head. “Before Alatus, I didn’t have one.”
“Would you like another, then?”
Alatus answered him with another raised eyebrow of incredulity. Why did this matter, again?
“It would simply be for your own protection, if you wish to receive it. Going by a new name could shield you from some of those who wish to seek revenge on the one named ‘Alatus,’ as well as the allies of your former master,” Zhongli explained.
“Hmph, I suppose,” Alatus grunted, thinking it to be an unnecessary measure, as surely his enemies would be many no matter which name he went by, but Zhongli already went threw this much trouble for him already, he might as well humor him. “I don’t have an idea on what that name would be, though.”
Zhongli thought about it for a moment. “How does Xiao sound to you? In the fables of another world, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have.”
Alatus wasn’t sure why the story mattered, although he also knew nothing of the stories of other worlds, anyways. He shrugged. “Fine.”
Zhongli smiled, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Then, use this name from now on.”
Xiao stayed with them, although they never made an attempt to seal him or otherwise force him to stay. In the years to come, Morax and Guizhong, the Lord of Rock and the Lord of Dust, would make their alliance official by combining their peoples into one civilization on the plains in the shadow of Mount Tianheng—the soon-to-be-named Guili Plains, born of the farming towns sheltered by Guizhong joined by the warrior people who followed Zhongli. Not that the latter was always necessary to shield the farmers from the many warring tribes to the west. One would be a fool to mistake Guizhong’s gentle nature for weakness, because her defensive technology was unparalleled. Xiao once watched from Mount Tianheng an entire invading army become reduced to corpses littering a field of blood due to the Ballista alone before a single soldier was sent into the fray.
This didn’t mean there wasn’t still much need for warriors to be Guili’s protectors. Xiao would consider himself to be one of them. He knew nothing but bloodshed, so in bloodshed he continued—whether his foe was a human, adepti, demon, dragon, beast, or archon. Still, it was different now. Guili was home to him, even if he lived at a distance from the farming communities rather than among them. He was free to leave, but he wouldn’t. He chose to stay.
Not that it would last.
The Archon War wasn’t an event for Xiao; it was his entire life—they just hadn’t given it a name yet. He never dreamed of it coming to an end, nor that the hundreds of “gods” who walked the earth in his youth would ever be brought down to a mere seven.
Zhongli was one of them. Guizhong was not.
“Hey, you doing okay?” Menogias, a hydro-wielding yaksha who was one of many to join Morax during the war, asked him as Xiao found himself staring at a stone tablet.
There wasn’t a grave. Not much remained for there to bury. Zhongli thought a record of her legacy would be the most fitting thing to leave in this place, before he moved his people further south to build a new city apart from the old.
"Guizhong's Four Commandments are: "Teach with wisdom, be bound by virtue, fortify the bones, unite in ambition — the convergence of these four shall be known as the ‘Guili Assembly,’” the tablet read.
“I’m fine,” Xiao answered, the short words somehow coming out stiff and laborious, his feet rooted in place like they too were stone.
“No shame if you’re not.” Menogias smiled sadly. “You knew her the longest out of any of us.”
She wasn’t the only one he lost, though. He watched so many others die, especially in those few final years, that death should mean nothing to him, anymore. “Rex Lapis shouldn’t have left.” Xiao stood there with stance unmoving, arms crossed. “Humans forget things. They’ll forget she ever existed.”
Menogias put a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort. “Well, those humans are still her legacy regardless, right? Hers and Rex Lapis’s. So, by protecting them, we can still protect what she left behind, yes?”
Xiao hummed in acknowledgment but gave little else. He never was good with words.
“The demons have congregated on the west side of the Chasm,” Bonanias spoke with a hand on his chin and perfect attention on the map laid out on the rock in front of him. The Geo-wielding yaksha probably didn’t need to study the map so much though, as he knew the landscape intimately enough to run through it blindly. “We could surmise that they’re expecting an attack. Bringing further corruption to the chasm’s ore deposits there would only support their defensive position. I say in that case we should focus on drawing them out of their corner while fighting back directly against the corruption. Spirits never last long in a siege without something to latch onto.”
“Yes, true, or…” Menogias countered with words ending in a drawn-out trail-off. “We fight them head-on, since that’s what Indarias is probably going to do anyways.” She shrugged with a playful smile.
Indarias, the Pryo-wielder, put a hand to her heart and blinked rapidly in a show of great offense. “You say that as if you think I’m going to split from the group and do something reckless! Surely you jest?”
Menogias laughed. “Would you like your history recalled in a short list, or the greatly detailed one?”
“It’s only reckless if it doesn’t work.” She shrugged lightly.
“Yes, only if we aren’t there to shovel you out of danger, hmm?”
“You’re just jealous because my kill count is larger than yours.”
“Oh, we’re counting, now?”
“I agree with Indarias’s plan,” Bosacius interjected, the Electro yaksha casually motioning to his teammate with one of four arms. “A siege would simply take too long. We can handle the horde all at once.”
“It wasn’t even Indarias’s plan…” Bonanias countered weakly, giving that look of resigned despair he usually had when his plans crumbled before his eyes. “I mean, we have to consider, that a frontal assault would allow for escape.”
“We surround them,” Indarias proposed with certainty. “Bosacius and I take the top of the Chasm; you, Menogias, and Xiao take the base. How’s that?”
“It’s…a start of a plan, I suppose…” Bonanias sighed loudly into the map.
“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Indarias laughed. “So hey, Xiao, what say you?”
“I think you’re all one step from insanity,” Xiao responded with his attempt at a straight face, although the corner of his lips still upturned into a smile before turning away to look out at their mountainous backdrop, a symbol of the land of Liyue they all swore to protect. With this team alongside him, still somehow here after all this time, Xiao had finally started to believe that they really could.
The end of the archon war left hordes of vengeful spirits in its wake. The gods never truly died; they remained as restless but powerful remnants, unleashing curses, plague, and the stain of dark miasma on Liyue. It was the duty of the yakshas to quell these spirits, but that didn’t mean the yakshas were immune from that stain. Every being they slaughtered, from the spirits infesting the Liyue of the present to the numerous people brought down in the Archon War of the past, left a karmic debt on them, a vengeful trace they could never be truly rid of.
Xiao was no stranger to this debt. The karmic debt had always been his burden, and for centuries, it was a burden he simply accepted. None of them realized back then just how high of a price that karmic debt would demand.
“Indarias!” He felt fear that for centuries had been forgotten to him, his heart seized and his breath numb as he felt Menogias hold him back.
“Xiao, stop! Don’t touch it!”
Fire mingled with dark miasma that rose high from the newly formed crater with the sound of screaming spirits that were almost indistinguishable that Indarias’s own anguished screams in the center. Her eyes were crazed, a hollow burning of white flame that shone while the rest of her body crumbled.
They had to fight back against the miasma from the outside, to consume the darkness before it spread across Liyue. But when the flames died, there was nothing left of Indarias in the center of it.
Xiao only knew of Menogias’s and Bonanias’s fight until it was nearly finished. He had seen their mannerisms change, seen the signs of them fighting madness in the weeks before this and thought of Indarias the whole time, but Bonanias avoided them all and Menogias smiled at him with a “don’t worry about me; I just need rest, that’s all.”
Xiao found her in a pool of water and blood. He watched Bonanias’s stunned and dead eyes in the distance, as if this horrified him, but he never told the rest of them what really happened that day. Xiao rarely saw or talked to him again at all until the day he died in the cataclysm in defense of the Chasm.
Bosacius left them without a trace. Xiao never could be sure if he lived or died after that. He knew that he wasn’t himself anymore, when he did leave. He was never one to hunger for violence like that, to look at him with eyes better resembling a feral beast than a person’s, as much as he held fast to his ability to think, and to remember, at some moments calm in a persona entirely opposite from the moments of cold cruelty that overtook him maybe days or hours before. In the words on the tablet he left behind, he wished for death, and he called Xiao “Alatus.”
Though he never uttered the words out loud, Xiao had known for years that like them, his time would come.
His last conscious thought was that he needed to be alone. He needed to get away—away from Liyue Harbor and from people, away from all the innocents he might slay by accident or by purpose the moment he lost the ability to think or remember.
He legs gave out as his gaze went black. His ears heard nothing but the soundless screaming and wails of pain and of hate that he could feel—hate he could touch, hate which wrapped around his heart and neck and held him like a rope of thorns. His breath went still in his throat. He was bleeding—his nails dug into his skin, the pain blinding him so he had to tear at something, clench to something.
Stop.
His thoughts pressed weakly in the midst of thunderous cries.
You are ours. Thief, thief, murderer, feed us.
I’m next.
Pay the price.
He screamed into the nothingness though his own voice felt as wholly drowned out as Indarias’s. The spirits and the pain felt like they would rip his body to pieces—he hoped they would. He hoped to die. He needed to go quickly and not slowly. He hoped that if he would go mad, Rex Lapis would be there to spear him through the middle like he should have done two thousand years ago.
Black cords strangled his heart and reminded Xiao of his sin. He had never been free, not since the day his old master made him his own. Whatever he had in Guili and Liyue was stained by the truth that he was a fighter as well as a monster. Under his master, he slaughtered thousands in the Old Liyue: soldiers, civilians, children—it didn’t matter. Nothing he ever did could erase that. Even as a protector he never could stop being a killer. He would always cause waves of destruction in his battles, even to the point of making the innocents collateral.
The Cryo Vision spared her life, but it didn’t save her. The child went berserk when she awoke, unable to control the adepti energy coursing through her. Mountain Shaper had to seal her in amber to both rescue and stop her. Xiao could only stare and remember the face of a small dragon child years ago who looked up at him in fear and hate.
Pay the price.
Xiao felt the miasma overtake him fully. He would die here. They were right; this was the price he had to pay. He had to die here.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent enveloped in screams before he heard music instead.
The sound of a flute drifted through the breeze, cutting through the thickness of the air like the gentle hand of a weaver spinning thread. Xiao thought at first that he had passed from this life to the next and was grateful that more torment wasn’t given to him in the afterlife, until he realized that the grass he lay on and the lake resting quietly beside him still belonged to Liyue, and that he could feel it, so he was not a ghost.
In his slowly returning wakefulness he remained there, listening to the music, never once thinking that he should get up and find out where it was coming from. It was peaceful in a way he never thought he would be able to feel again, its effect soothing and cleansing like the special teas Guizhong prepared for him used to be. It cut through and unwrapped the dark cords and thorny binds, to the point that Xiao almost forgot what it felt like to have them there.
His Vision, as if also soothed by the music, let out a warm glow in response.
The elements carried different meanings, as the ages of time continued to change. The elements today were a reflection of the seven archons who wielded their power. To the archon of Anemo, to fly with the wind was to be free. Xiao never equated wind to freedom before, nor did he start to in this moment, but he was grateful for the way his soul felt lifted even if he didn’t understand it. His burden did not vanish, but he would live. If only to live on as Liyue’s protector for the sake of those who died in that same mission, it would be enough.
Xiao stood back up from the grass with traces of blood across his clothes, but no other desire than simply to walk along the shore of the lake and appreciate Liyue’s mere existence. He was always good at ignoring his injuries, anyways.
+++
Barbatos was known by many as the ‘Absentee Archon’, a title generally given with a scoffing tone by people of the other nations who naturally thought their own archon to be far better. But although Venti kept his distance more often than not, it didn’t mean he never noticed things.
Take now for instance, when he couldn’t help but watch and think about just how much Jean reminded him of his old friend Vennessa. They were both strong fighters, yes, but that wasn’t the thing that truly made them special. What set them apart, if Venti would attempt to pin down a guess, was how they shouldered the responsibility for their people without growing aloof in the process, a firm protective presence that also knew kindness. The gentleness of the Dandelion Knight and the fierceness of the Liontooth Knight—so different in concept, but so perfect in unity.
Venti smiled from where he hid on the top of the cliff near Windrise, already imagining the songs he would sing one day about Jean and her companions after their time had come and gone. But that smile had a sadness to it as well, because one didn’t shoulder responsibility without also feeling burden. So many years ago, he offered a hand to a certain red-haired Muratan with conviction in her eyes, shackled in a dungeon she did not deserve in the slightest. She didn’t take his hand then, because if she escaped, her people would perish. She would rather die if it meant she could earn their freedom. So how could he not step in and help when they threw her to fight a battle she was meant to lose?
But even after so long, Venti still never knew the best way to help. He didn’t know how to keep Mondstadt from falling into bondage again and again at the hands of the corrupt. And he didn’t know how to give rest to the burdened souls who strove to help the city they both loved.
The moon shone with benevolent clarity over the statue at Windrise, marking for itself another calm and peaceful night for the people of Teyvat, but even if it was that way for everyone else, it did nothing to help the young Gunnhildr sitting at the statue’s foot, small in the presence of the symbol of the Anemo Archon and the tree that was the symbol of the founder of the Order she had devoted her life to, Vennessa. It wasn’t merely a matter of being too restless to sleep—she couldn’t. The stress she had handled for so long in stride tore at her nerves, threatening the coherence of her thoughts. She struggled with knowing she had the power to do something but also feeling that she could do nothing. What happened if she failed, and more people suffered as a result?
It was supposed to be fixed when Eroch got exposed and ousted. But then, everything just seemed to get worse.
“For Mondstadt, as always.”
Young Jean listened with wide eyes and an eager heart as her mother repeated the famous family mantra, followed as it often was by a story about the legendary Gunnhildr leaders and warriors of old. Jean didn’t notice then how her dad hardly joined them for these talks; she was too busy thinking of all the ways she could be the best Gunnhildr ever right now. She rescued cats from trees, helped shopkeepers carry heavy stuff or with a host of other things they might need—and when she wasn’t doing that, she took the time to practice her sword fighting. There weren’t a lot of kids her age in Mondstadt who were nearly as eager to seriously train like that, so that’s why Jean found herself often paying a visit to the Ragnvindr brothers, practicing her skills with a friendly spar or just going on an adventure.
“I’m going to be a knight,” Jean declared to them on the top of Snarsnatch Cliff that day, as if that wasn’t already obvious. Still, the small sword-wielding girl, blonde ringlets tossing to and fro with the seaside breeze, said it proudly as if this time were the first. “And then, I’m going to protect Mondstadt from all the monsters! Ooh, and you can come with me!” She spoke excitedly, as if the brothers weren’t both older than she was. “Maybe we’ll beat a real dragon together some day! Like Durin! We can do that, right?”
“Out on a stroll?”
A familiar voice jolted Jean from her thoughts. She would have been absolutely mortified to have been found here like this had it been any voice other than the one it was.
“Oh, Kaeya!” Jean tried to regain herself quickly, standing up from where she was due to pure instinct telling her there was something that had to be done. “I…I was…just thinking, that’s all.”
“Ah! Well, don’t let me stop you.” The blue-clad cavalry knight appeared into view as he rounded the corner of the well-worn path at the base of the hill to her left, appearing to come from direction of the river, out here in the middle of the night for reasons entirely unknown. Although he was a distance away still, Jean could tell that he too had tell-tale lines under his eyes, hosting a deep weariness that most people would never get to see, if only because he did such a good job at hiding it. Jean wondered if her methods were nearly as effective.
It had been a little over a year since Diluc left. It was an instinctive habit Jean had many times upon seeing Kaeya to mentally count the months. Even now, his absence could still be felt. Sometimes Jean found herself wondering how it would have been if he was still around, if she could have just one more person she could trust without a doubt. She also wondered if it would have just made things worse, knowing how inclined the former knight was to respond to every problem with attacking it. As tempting as it was to show the Fatui exactly how welcome they were in Mondstadt, Jean knew some things required finesse. Still, it would have been good to have him here. Jean couldn’t help but feel a slight bit of resentment at Diluc for leaving so suddenly, although she could understand why. Kaeya told her what happened—the real story behind the attack by Ursa the Drake, not the tale that Eroch told all of them about how it was the knights, not Crepus, who defeated the dragon that day. Jean shudders to think that she would have believed the former Inspector had Kaeya not said anything. It was all a coverup and a lie, but nothing in Jean’s training as a knight prepared her to see through lies. Believing people was her default. But, that didn’t mean she had any doubts about taking Kaeya’s word over his.
“No! You may stay,” Jean spoke quickly as she realized that Kaeya appeared to be halfway ready to leave. She wanted—no, needed—to talk with him. Actually, this alone might be the perfect time, although Jean was ashamed to think that things had been reduced to this. Thus, the meeting presented itself almost as if they planned it. Honestly, Jean was grateful—maybe this was a sign that Barbatos really was still looking out for them. “We need to talk. There’s…more of a chance of being overheard at headquarters.” She was sorry that she had to say it. If only she had done better…
But predictably, Kaeya was unfazed. Everything she said appeared perfectly within his realm of expectations, so he didn’t waste another moment. “I assume yesterday didn’t escape your notice?” he started as he came within proper talking distance, eyes very subtly taking in the whole of their surroundings.
“No,” Jean agreed. “But…I don’t think the other knights thought anything of it. No one would be inclined to believe the word of an Abyss Mage.”
“Prepare to die, humans!” A Hydro Mage screeched at them as the ambush descended. Jean could feel the fear of her knights like a palpable force, the mere seven with her who had been dispatched to deal with two abyss mages spotted near Springvale terrified by the sudden appearance of six mages with a small army of Hilichurls supporting them, crowding the knights like a pack of rabid wolves.
All Jean could think of was what would happen if this army moved past them and into Springvale.
Jean threw herself into battle and led the others to join her, although it was at a price—every knight with her got injured in the fight, some very seriously.
“What is your purpose here!?” Jean, not usually one to talk about to Abyss Mages, found herself shouting the question anyways, a trickle of blood streaming down her face.
“Oh human, we know all about your plans from your little knight friends,” a Cryo Mage responded in kind, displaying a sudden show of overconfidence as he attempted to freeze Jean in her tracks, a plan instantly thwarted as she sprung at him instead, dodging the blast to plant her sword in its chest.
But the worse part was, part of her already knew.
Kaeya’s expression went dark with a cold fury at the reminder. “I can expect the others wouldn’t.” He lifted his gaze to her with conviction in her eyes. “We’re going to find the people who set you up.”
“But, it doesn’t make sense.” Jean shook her head with a persisting unwillingness to believe it. “Working with the Abyss Order, of all things? Even if they aren’t on the same side, why risk hurting their fellow knights?”
“It wasn’t the other knights they were after.”
The words struck hard, but Jean knew it. “I’ve…really done badly, haven’t I? If only—”
“No,” Kaeya negated quickly, shocking Jean by his fierceness. “You’ve done fine. The people of Mondstadt love you—you realize that, don’t you? The traitors are only upset because they stopped getting kickbacks from Eroch the moment he was removed.” Kaeya paused a second, breathing out slowly as his expression flashed regret. “But…I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you yesterday.”
“Don’t be.” Jean shook her head. “It was a sudden attack, but…I’m fine. And the others will recover. We had to retreat, but no one died. Barbara—the Church took care of me yesterday. The wound on my leg is still sore, but I can fight.” Jean paused as she thought about what came next. “But, I don’t want to accuse anyone too quickly,” she shifted the subject back to the matter at hand. “I can understand why some knights were angry with Eroch’s removal; most never suspected him of corruption at all. Would all of them really be so angry that they would betray the knights?”
Kaeya shook his head in quiet correction. “If they were, they’d be doing a bad job of it. Assuming they were smart about this, our better suspects are the ones who didn’t get angry about Eroch. Their best strategy is to pretend to be on your side outwardly and keep their true intentions a secret, so as to not draw attention.”
Jean sighed, knowing he was probably right. Still, the language of it felt like it should be very wrong. “But, it’s not my side!” she protested. “Varka is the Grandmaster; he’s the true authority, I can’t just—
“And where is he?” Kaeya challenged in turn.
“Fighting the Abyss Order. He’ll…” It was, admittedly, hard for Jean to make a good justification. She as well had felt quite exasperated with the absence of her superior lately. His response to the rising Abyss threat was to take people to seek out far-off domains and fight them at the supposed source. But in the meanwhile, Jean was left trying to protect the Mondstadt citizens from said Abyss Order and everything else, as well as having to be the one to talk to the Fatui while dodging the plans of traitors within her own ranks. She didn’t doubt Varka’s capability as a fighter, but somehow, that didn’t seem to be helping her anymore. “He’ll be back. I really shouldn’t make any drastic decisions without consulting with him first.”
“But right now, you’re the one that is here,” Kaeya countered, seeming to be encouraging her to do something, though Jean couldn’t yet guess what. Despite the tiredness trying to gain control of his features, Kaeya’s gaze was steady and resolute. Almost like a true Gunnhildr’s would be. “So tell me, Master of Knights, what do you want?”
Jean gave a tired smile in turn, as she was sure she was about to disappoint him. “To protect,” she replied simply. “The truth is, all I’ve dreamed of, even since before any of this happened, is to be Mondstadt’s shield, protecting freedom and song. For all my talk of fighting back when we were kids, I don’t think I’ve seen myself as a ‘sword’ for a long time now. I’m not inclined to seek out corruption and darkness. I don’t think I even know how. In that respect, I don’t think I’m anything like the knights of old.”
Kaeya paused, considering her words. “Do you have to be?”
Jean wondered at what exactly he meant. “Maybe not, but that won’t help me here.”
“Ah, now that is odd,” Kaeya mused with just a hint of a smirk. “I never thought you’d be one to give up so easily.”
Jean blinked, not knowing whether to be offended or inspired. “I’m not,” she negated, but then, wasn’t she? Jean was at an impasse. She had no ideas. She could barely drive off one ambush on her own, let alone fend off the entirety of the Abyss Order that seemed determined to pick them out. She couldn’t make the Fatui take her seriously. She had no allies…
Wait, she thought as she took in again the simple sight of the one knight standing before her, smiling as if he was just waiting for her to figure it out. She had one ally. And she knew him well enough to know exactly where his strengths lay.
“How soon can you find out?” she asked suddenly, knowing that he would know exactly what she was talking about.
“I already have an idea.” Kaeya tapped his chin in thought. “To be sure, I’d say…two days? How does that sound?”
Jean nodded, her gaze turning to steel with the words that followed. “Then by the morning of the third day from now, I need a list of knights I can trust. I’m taking the fight back to the Abyss Order, and I’m going to do it with the Fatui watching.” The days to come will give her plenty of time to figure out exactly how to pull it off. “The Fatui representatives are asking for influence on the grounds of Il Dottore defeating Ursa the Drake, and some people in Mondstadt are inclined to take their side for that reason. They don’t believe the knights are capable of protecting them. So I will show them. I may not be able to keep the Fatui out entirely for diplomatic reasons, but I can at least bar them from opening a branch of their bank.” Jean exhaled, steadying her heart with the idea. “Kaeya?” she addressed her friend with an air of apology. “When I leave on this raid, can you stay in the city? If you can make a move against the traitors then, do it. I’ll leave this matter up to your discretion. I just don’t want to leave Mondstadt alone with them. But, I apologize that this puts you in a dangerous position…”
Kaeya shook his head readily. “I’m only sorry I can’t join you in arms that day, Master Jean. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.”
Jean noticed how changed Kaeya’s expression was from the beginning of their conversation, from an obvious show of fighting exhaustion to gaining a satisfied smile alongside a savage glint in his eye. Jean wondered if they were making a mistake, but that wouldn’t stop her path forward. Mondstadt had suffered from the hands of a corrupt knighthood for long enough. All those people who lost money to Eroch’s machinations, all those people who could have been saved from danger but weren’t…this was for them. As long as Jean was alive, it would always be.
For Mondstadt, as always.
Few people knew that the Temple of the Lion and the cliffside around it would turn into a raging battlefield that day—not the knights who were sent to accompany their Second in Command to this location for some undisclosed reason, and certainly not the Fatui representatives who thought they were going to get an audience with the Master of Knights before the “unforeseen ambush” that was the Abyss Order. But the woman standing in the midst of the chaos now, easily distinguishable from all the others present by the grace and fierceness with which she handled her sword and her unique light attire that emphasized mobility over personal protection, knew exactly what would happen. She knew that the Abyss Order were gathering in this temple specifically, and she knew that they would know she would be here, thanks to Kaeya and his well-placed details “leaked” to the suspected traitors who had been working with the Order. She and Kaeya both knew that they would be upset at being thwarted in their prior attempt and wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to try to kill Jean a second time. But they wouldn’t know that this time, Jean would have such a considerable army with her.
Even so, it might not be enough. Jean fought breathlessness as dodged another cryo blast with sword in hand, her vision flashing with many competing shocks of elemental energy as her white clothes steadily grew red with her blood. In the face of fire, water, and ice being thrown at them at every turn, the knights were struggling. Even with as many as she had brought, their damage against the Abyss’s ranks was quickly turning to be far too little.
Jean wondered if she was about to regret her recklessness. Still, she didn’t stop moving.
She caught a glimpse of fire bursting, a blow directing towards three helplessly frozen knights, and she ran for them to help, not even realizing, in that moment, that she had no idea how. Her body moved before her mind could react, two pyro Abyss Mages in her sight…
She would never forget that moment, when time slowed and the world went quiet save for the wind in her hands. She didn’t feel pain; she forgot to feel fear. Amidst the shouts, the screeches, the explosion of elements…she heard nothing. All that remained was the sight just in front of her, and the cool, gentle breeze flowing through her hands, welling like a song of freedom. Hopeful and joyous, fierce and unrelenting.
In the seconds that followed, two pyro Abyss Mages were caught up in a whirlwind with the fire that had attempted to spew, thrown back sent to react with the cryo mage behind them and landing all three in a heap on the ground.
Jean spared only a moment of shock, only a brief second to glance at the shining green pendant dangling on her belt as if it had been there always. With the startling new sensation of wind at her fingertips came a prevailing breathlessness at what just happened, but it wasn’t something to dwell on for long. She had a battle to win.
Jean sent a silent prayer of thanks to Barbatos as she threw herself back into the fray. From somewhere far off in the distance, Venti smiled. As sad as it made him to see Mondstadt get so burdened by corruption yet again, the events of today gave him faith that they could handle it. There may be many things he could have done better, but he would forever be proud of himself for his timing. The look on those Fatui’s faces when they saw Jean suddenly wielding Anemo was priceless. And it really helped that she was such a natural at using it.
With a wistful sigh, Venti sat down on a hilltop and mused, taking out his lyre as the inspiration came to make a song about this. Maybe one day, he thought, he would get a chance to meet Jean in person.
+++
It was a much calmer, more peaceful Knights of Favonius that Sucrose found herself joining a few months after the events surrounding Master Jean gaining her Vision, the details of which the young bright-eyed alchemist may never know. Her arrival came in fulfillment of what one may call a “niche” position, a practician of a craft that was by no means not well known, but it wasn’t that widely learned, either. It had been said that in the eyes of the populace, alchemy was nothing more than learning to fix an item slightly better than simple glue could.
But Sucrose never took the time to worry about anything as mystical as public image and job security. She was far too busy either engaged in a problem to solve or looking for the next one.
“Thank you so very much for your help, sir!” The young teen with the fluffy green hair bowed twice in rapid succession to express her profuse gratitude to the random boy her age who helped her, someone by the name of Anthony, but Sucrose feared the name might be quickly forgotten.
“Uh…you’re welcome?” The black-haired boy appeared confused and slightly nervous, scratching the back of his neck as he regarded Sucrose’s giant cloth sack swung over her shoulder. “And…why do you need dandelion seeds, again?”
“It’s for my experiment! I must be going now!” Sucrose, spurred into renewed vigor by thoughts of all the ideas she wanted to try next, raced back into the city walls, making a beeline for the Knights of Favonius headquarters to make her way back to her lab. Or, the Ordo’s lab, more specifically. She was merely an employee—the only one, at this time, although the lab itself, much like the rest of the building, was far more ancient than she was.
Sucrose took a deep breath as she reentered the dark lab space and lit a lamp. It was time to begin her forty-second dandelion-seed-simmering experiment. She had run out of seeds before, which prompted her to spend far more time outside than her usual allotted excursions of once every three days would generally allow to stay and pick more. She had plenty now, so she should be able to stay in the lab for a long while without having to make another trip.
The sun did feel nice out today, she would admit. But, it was far from necessary.
“Come on, Sucrose, if we’re going to go, we got to do it now, while the sun is out! Doesn’t it feel great?” Barley, a twinkle of amusement in her dark almond eyes, fairly yanked on Sucrose’s arm as she tried to prompt her out of a sitting position, forcing the other girl to drop her book in the process.
“Okay, yes, of course! Just let me finish this paragraph…”
Cana was already waiting for them at the bridge, perched precariously cross-legged on the railing without a single fear of falling off. The redhead strummed her fingers against the railing’s surface in impatience as she watched them come. “Hey, took you long enough. So, Barley, where’s the big amazing thing we get to see this time?”
It was nothing much, but then, it never was. None of them minded that at all. It was enough just to spend a free day exploring the Stormbearer Mountains, wondering at what might lie beyond. Some days, they spent hours upon hours talking about what they would do once they were all grown, and they could be free to adventure together outside of Mondstadt, to explore all of Teyvat until one day, they found the paradise spoken of in their story book.
For now, Sucrose was happy just to observe Barley’s particularly large and gnarled tree. It may not be anything much, but it was interesting. Sucrose wondered if, one day, she could look at a plant like this and know exactly how it got this way.
Sucrose was determined, for reasons, to make a solution out of these dandelion seeds. If only she could reliably produce an extract, she could use it in future experiments. She wanted to know what it would do. But…it was easier said than done. The dandelion seeds were very small; it was a good reason why no one had tried this yet. Apply heat and the seeds would burn to a crisp before any chemical reaction could be made. Crushing did not produce desirable results, either. To many, this would be a worthless endeavor. Dandelion seeds had no known benefit outside the making of wine, which could be done more easily because of the multiple ingredients it was cooked with. In other words, adding impurities. Sucrose wanted a pure extract. The seeds alone may be small, but a speck in the wind, but it could be worthwhile, still.
Test #82. Sucrose tried a slower application of heat. The seeds still burned. She thought about the results for a minute—she still had seeds, but she needed ideas. How many hours had it been? Never mind, that didn’t matter so much. Sucrose sighed, wondering how it would be if only she had advice. A teacher would be nice. She was self-taught, thus far. Timaeus was the only other alchemist in Mondstadt; he was also nice to talk to, from time to time. But sadly, they were of similar experience levels. Not to sound haughty, or anything like that! That was…merely her observation.
Test #105. Perhaps, she underestimated the extent to which alchemical techniques could be useful in this application. She tried using a solution and accompanying technique to change the state of the seed itself—without tainting it, that is. It almost worked, but…not exactly. The seeds turned into sludge, an amorphous equilibrium between the solid and liquid states. It was…not pleasing to the eye, to say the least. But there was potential in her direction; she’ll just try another technique! Oh…why was doing this, you might ask? Curiosity—that was all.
Test #134. Sucrose felt her eyes growing heavy. She might be hungry, as well. But surely, it hadn’t been that long? She’ll wait until later. She needed to finish this…somehow. What was her next idea, again? Perhaps…a break was in order. But, she didn’t want that. She wanted to keep moving—needed to keep moving. What would she have to think about, if she wasn’t dedicating herself into this?
“C-Cana? Please? You…we can talk, if you’d like…”
Cana stood at the doorway with heavy-lidded eyes, her hair unbrushed and her features pale—but not in the usual ways, like pale with cold, or pale with fear. She was pale in a way Sucrose couldn’t understand, because she hadn’t seen such an effect ever before.
“Sorry, maybe later.”
‘Later’ never came. Sucrose wondered if she should have tried harder, done better, but the simple fact was, after her father died, Cana didn’t want to see her anymore. The more time went on, the more daunting the idea of approaching her old friend became. Sucrose hadn’t seen Barley in many years, either, ever since her adventurer parents left with her for some far-off quests. She used to send letters, but not anymore. Sucrose hoped she was okay.
Test #159. Sucrose hesitated before pouring the solution, hoping that she was getting this right this time. Why was she doing this, again? Simple—it was to create paradise. It was…a reason far too layered and embarrassing to speak to anyone about out loud, but in her heart, it still burned true, all the same. She remembers spending a childhood dreaming of a paradise with giant pink flowers and fairies living freely, but while, objectively speaking, that story probably held little truth, it didn’t mean she couldn’t create a wonderland of her own design, one experiment at a time.
She turned on the heat, carefully pouring in her alchemical solution. The cauldron hit its boiling point, and to her delight, the entire room filled with steam.
Coughing on the vapor, Sucrose rushed to the cauldron. Could this—could this be it? Did she do it? Did she create a transmutation like the one she desired? But alas…it wasn’t meant to be.
The seeds were burnt, yet again. Sucrose felt her spirits start to deflate, but then, she stopped on something that in her excitement, she almost missed.
A shining green Vision with an inscription of Anemo symbol lay at the bottom of the cauldron alongside the seeds. Sucrose’s eyes went wide in amazement and wonder. Was that really…hers?
In her moment of excitement at this gift, Sucrose rushed to turn the heat back on. How would the Vision react with the dandelion seeds? She had to know! She never had the chance to experiment on a real Vision before! This was such an opportunity!
Sucrose sat down on the bench, feeling a rare moment of…she wasn’t sure what it was. Quiet—yes, that might be it. She almost forgot about her first chain of experiments—but, she’ll start back at that later. What was she doing again? She was…oh, right, she should probably eat. But now she needed to watch the cauldron. She’ll ask someone to go get food from the Good Hunter for her, and she’ll pay them for the trouble. Yes, that sounded good.
Apparently, the Good Hunter wasn’t open at 3AM, but she still had a chance to eat, because Noelle woke up to make her Fisherman’s Toast. Sucrose was incredibly sorry for the trouble, but she was grateful, all the same.
After three hours of simmering, the Vision proved no results, but that was okay. Sucrose would simply have to start a new inquiry where the last ones left off.
+++
Kaedehara Kazuha walked alone up a small mountain path, enveloped by the morning mist, the taste of imminent rain heavy on his tongue. He felt weary even though the day was young, as he had not slept long the night before. It simply took a bit of time to find an evening meal last night, that was all. Though he could have stayed in place longer if he so chose, he held out to hope that his fortunes would change before the rain came. In his over three years of wandering, he had certainly spent many a rainy day exposed to the elements, but…he would prefer not to, if he could help it. He came down with a cold the last time he did, and being reduced to a red-nosed, sneezing state was far from ideal when you were alone in the wilderness.
Turns out, fate would be kind to him today, after all. Kazuha spotted a plume of smoke up ahead, with a cluster of several small straw huts below it. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that this meant he could have a roof over his head today. All that remained was to talk to the villagers. He had grown very accustomed to such interactions in his years of wandering. He had stayed temporarily at many a villager’s home over those years, often performing some favor for them in exchange for lodging or food or some other need, from something as benign as helping with a harvest to a weightier task like tracking down the treasure hoarders that robbed that village some time earlier. Although still, many times, the owner of a house would be happy to simply let him stay the night, no strings attached. Whatever the case may be, it was easy for Kazuha to be content with it, as he never planned to stay in one place for too long. Nature itself was enough of a home for him.
However, he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed with outcomes that led to nothing…
“Rain?” the middle-aged man who opened the door for him raised an eyebrow that made his disbelief all too apparent. “It’s barely even that cloudy, and you’re telling me it’s going to rain?” He let out a loud huff, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “If you’re going to go making up stories, you can at least do better than that.”
“It’s not a lie,” Kazuha countered, but a tone that was barely assertive at all. Perhaps he could do better…he told himself that he was good with communication now, but yet, this man had barely started talking when Kazuha felt himself grow overwhelmingly tired. He wasn’t looking for a fight.
“Hmph, don’t give me that. Whatever stunt you’re trying to pull, it won’t work on me. Just scram, okay?”
Kazuha didn’t need to be told that twice. With a sad smile, he thanked the man for his time anyways, and walked away, figuring that it wouldn’t go over well to linger there to try asking the rest of the villagers. He didn’t go far, however. He stayed in the woods nearby, finding a tree to rest against, sinking to the ground with a heavy sigh. The tree cover would be good enough. He wasn’t familiar enough with the area to know of any cave or enclave within walking distance. This would be fine.
It seemed it might be both a blessing and a curse, getting older. The older he was, the more strangers would trust him with a problem that required a warrior to handle. But also as he got older, the more he risked being mistaken for nothing more than a wandering thief.
It would be okay. He would simply learn to be content, yes? As long as he had his sword by his side and the sky above his head, he needed nothing else. This life of a wanderer was one that he chose; nobody forced him to leave. He was happier out here.
When the creditors came to repossess the Kaedehara family home, the first thing Kazuha felt was relief. It was like a burden lifted from his shoulders, not having to pretend anymore. Not having to fret about what it was his duty to do to protect his family’s future. Not having to live with his helplessness.
Kazuha was twelve years old then, and he watched from a hidden spot in a tree as much of the event transpired. His mother’s sister argued with the creditors every step of the way, following them in and out of the house as one by one, they dragged each of the most valuable pieces of antique furnishings out to be auctioned off. She spoke to them irately as if they were either heartless thieves or peasants that were incapable of holding the valuables correctly or understanding what they meant. It made for something of an amusing revelation that for Kazuha, they all meant absolutely nothing.
“This house is yours to inherit,” she told him once with immense gravity and a stern gaze. “You must be up to the task; remember that. So, you can go outside once your lessons are complete, understood?”
It was an elegant house, built on a spacious estate encircling a wide courtyard that he was told once held the most beautiful garden, though it had fallen into disrepair, since gardens required people to maintain it and plants to put into it, and both required money, or so he inferred. There were only two locations on the estate in which appearance mattered: the walkway leading up to the front door, and the sitting area just on the other side of it. That was where the most exquisite furniture was held and where the brightest flowers bloomed, for that was where all the guests would visit. They would come to speak formalities to the adults and share greetings with the estate’s so-called “young master” and sometimes express condolences for the parents he never knew, assuring him that they were very fine people indeed.
Kazuha was the last and maybe final son to be born of his clan. The hopes of his family rested on him, so it was difficult to be glad for the promise that he would inherit whatever material possessions that were left of it and for the assurance that he would have no trouble marrying wealthy and producing additional sons and daughter. Not that to say that he resented his family or his upbringing, however. He was taught the way of the sword from the day he was old enough to carry one without falling over, and he would forever be grateful for the skill that training ingrained in him, just as he was also grateful for the extensive library his family possessed that he could lost in through long nights and rainy days.
His grandfather, before he passed, would tell him stories of the warriors of old who bore the Kaedehara name and accomplished great feats: who fought alongside the Raiden Shogun herself in the face of great evil, who defended Inazuma from a horde of abyssal monsters in the time of the Cataclysm, who would be the first that the villages would call upon to help them in their hour of need from a threat greater than themselves. Kazuha had no such dreams of glory even then, although he did appreciate the time his grandfather took to tell him the stories, and he was sure that he too would take up his sword for Inazuma and the Raiden should the need arise. Battle was simply not the thing he most sought, and fame even less. Really, he was most fascinated by the stories of his ancestors from a time before the clan’s prestige, who would travel aimlessly as wandering samurai, living as one with nature, and appearing just at the moment needed to provide aid.
In the present day, the Kaedehara clan really did not seem to be either needed or wanted anymore, as they weren’t affiliated with any of the Commissions, so, why were they still pretending?
Kazuha finally made an appearance in his ancestral home as the creditors were finishing their task. His mother’s sister was still upset and told him to leave her.
Kazuha had already dreamed of this possibility for years beforehand, perhaps ever since his grandfather died, but now, as one by one, the attendants who served the foreclosed-upon estate were being dismissed, he was decided: he was leaving. He still had a few distant family members here and there, and he saw that his mother’s sister was packing up to leave to stay with her own family in Inazuma City, but Kazuha wasn’t invited to join her, so he didn’t ask. He probably wouldn’t be wanted there anyways, and he wouldn’t want to be there, either. His plan to leave this place and become a wandering samurai like his ancestors were was much better than that, he believed. He didn’t need money, nor did he need comfort. All those things brought only stress that mattered nothing in the end. Although he would hold tight to his family name for the honor of his parents and the ones who came before him, he didn’t expect or need to receive anything because of it.
With nothing but his sword, the clothes on his back, and a few items of food with which to start his journey, he left before the sun rose the next morning with just a short note to leave behind, consisting of a gracious explanation in case his mother’s sister thought to wonder where he went and a few lines of poetry to end it.
Three years later, Kazuha sat beneath the shade of a cuihua tree as the rain very suddenly began to pour. It didn’t take long for him to be thoroughly drenched, but he tried not to think much of it. This downpour would pass, as all things did. He could just sense that this rain would not be short as far as downpours went. Perhaps he should still leave…
“Hey, I see him! That weird guy Dad was talking about! Hey, you!”
Kazuha looked up in a moment of brief surprise to see a boy about his age running through the forest with a lantern, accompanied by a girl perhaps just slightly younger than he was.
“I told you he might still be out here!” she elbowed the boy, then running up to meet Kazuha. “What’re you just sitting out here for!? You’ll catch a cold or something! Come on, you can come inside!”
Kazuha was still slightly dumbfounded by the duo’s sudden appearance, but he thanked them and followed as they asked. He feared for a moment that the two might be circumnavigating their parents to come to him like this, but upon entering the inside of their home, he was relieved to find that his fears were unfounded.
“Oh my, you found him, and he’s soaked through!” A woman rushed over to deposit a blanket in his arms that he might dry off with before doing the same for who he presumed to be her own children.
“I can’t believe it,” the man that Kazuha had spoken to before shook his head in disbelief. “You actually predicted the weather, when the day was still sunny and there was hardly so much as a breeze. How did you even do that? You’re…not a spirit or something, right?”
Kazuha laughed at the suggestion as he dried the water from his face with the blanket. “I am but as human as you are.”
“Saboru, I can’t believe you almost left this poor boy out in the rain like that!” the woman scolded. “And what do you mean, ‘spirit or something’? By the archons, you’re going to bring a curse on this house one day…”
“Hey, but how could you tell, anyways?” the girl who met him in the woods asked as she wrung out her own hair. “Is that some sixth sense?”
“Simply observation,” Kazuha replied. “’Winds grow quiet, scent of heavy air on lips, rain waits for its time.’ It’s a matter of practice.”
“Brilliant, he’s a poet.” Saboru let out a heavy sigh. “Come on kid, we’ll get you something to eat.”
“You found the traveler person!” Another voice came followed by light and nimble running steps as small girl of likely about eight or nine years came into the scene. “Who are you? Did you get wet? What’s your name?”
Kazuha smiled as he crouched down to better meet her eyes, a hand over his heart as he extended the greeting. “I am Kaedehara Kazuha, a wandering samurai. And who might you be?”
“I’m Aika! And that’s so cool! You’re a samurai! Do you have a sword? Can I see it?”
“Only if it’s alright with your parents.”
The woman nodded. “You may show it.”
He materialized the blade and paused as the two teenagers also caught a glimpse with eager curiosity before making it disappear again.
“So cool!” Aika’s eyes were wide. “Have you fought anything really big before? What about those Hilichurls that are not a Hilichurl but they kind of but they’re really big, even bigger than the shield and axe ones?”
Kazuha laughed. “A Lawachurl, you mean? Indeed, I have.”
Her eyes widened further. “Wow…did you get elec-to-do-cu-ted? Tell me the story! Please?”
Kazuha conceded readily and talked for a long time to both her and the others, answering whatever questions they had, and sharing a few of the stories he had to tell. The rain continued on into the night, so they offered him a mat to sleep on that night, as well as graciously sharing with him a noon and evening meal.
Kazuha lay awake listening to the sound of the rain for some time that night, thinking about this family that he had the pleasure of spending the day with, being grateful both for the roof over his head and for the company. It was…nice, talking to them, and listening quietly as they spoke to each other, but somehow, he felt a small ache form in his heart as a result. It was always odd, in a way, whenever he felt like that. He was not unhappy. The endless earth was his home, and all living creatures were his companions. He was content to wander.
Still, it may be true that even nature in its purest form could do little to quell the loneliness of the heart.
Kazuha wasn’t sure how he could miss something he never had. He didn’t have attachment to his old home like most people did. He couldn’t miss his father or mother because he never knew them, and he had no siblings to be separated from, either. Perhaps he might be able to miss his grandfather, or his old nursemaid, maybe? No one else’s departure affected him, really. Most of his teachers and attendants treated him only with stilted respect or embellished formalities, and then complained to each other about delayed pay or meager resources when they thought he couldn’t hear. He didn’t miss that house at all; maybe only the books (although he already read most of the good ones twice, anyways).
Sometimes he had the fortune of walking alongside some other traveler for a time, such as a merchant bringing their wares from one city to the next or a person journeying to pay a visit to a family member or friend. As much as Kazuha treasured his time alone with the wind and trees, it was sometimes a very pleasant experience, journeying by another’s side, although it never lasted more than a short time. Maybe, in the future, fate would be kind enough to allow him to find a friend in his travels by whose side he might be able to walk for longer, even if the day still came when they must part…
The rain continued to fall outside in a roar, accompanied by the occasional crash of thunder. He thought to the times he had to weather a storm in a small boat when in between one island and the next, and he had to wonder if he really was capable enough to make it to the other shore alive. Were days such as those really all that would come of the path he chose…?
No, it wasn’t. Kazuha pushed his more forlorn thoughts aside, replacing them with gentler if not still solemn words he might use to describe the world he traveled through, which might be woven into poetry if his heart so allowed it. The world through which he walked…that was all he needed, no matter what these ever-present doubts that creeped into his mind might say. Just as he needed no glory in his journey, he needed no meaning, either. The fascination of observing living things great and small, the sky above him and the wind around him—that was all he needed. He only needed to align his heart to think of his journey in such a way. If one's heart is empty, all under heaven is empty. But if one's heart is pure, all under heaven is pure.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of Aika in the next room over waking her sister up, asking to sleep with her because the storm was too loud. Kazuha smiled as he listened to the sister agree despite her drowsiness, whispering so as not to wake anyone else up in their small but very full household. Very full of love and life, he would think, just as a home should be. He was happy for them.
Kazuha finally let his thoughts rest and his mind drift into sleep. Amidst the small ache, there was a subtle peace that came to him which he hadn’t experienced for several months now. Yes, this life would be enough for him, wherever the wind may lead. At least, wherever he went, he had the assurance that in his sojourn, he was free.
The next morning, he awoke to the warm glow of an Anemo Vision lying peacefully on his chest.