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Throughout the centuries, alchemists struggled to find a metal purer and more precious than gold. Just like human beings, some metals are considered to be nobler than others, and it is so for a reason. To achieve the united perfection of body, mind, and soul represented by gold should be an alchemist’s goal. (...) In Alchemy, gold represents eternal life.
Master Rhinedottir’s Diary: Entry 1
In Albedo’s dreams, everyone he’s ever come to know turns into statues.
Almost every night he finds himself in an oval room made of stone. The only source of light is coming from the stained-glass windows—not unlike the ones at Mondstadt Cathedral—and the faint glow of the statues themselves. There’s one window for each statue with plants decorating the glass, a different flower for each of his companions.
From his previous visits, Albedo came to understand that if he were to touch any of the statues, they’d immediately crack under the lightest brush of his fingertips, and every time the act makes him wake up as if astounded by the horror of his deed. The statues become whole upon his return as if someone meticulously cleaned up the mess during his absence. Last time, he watched Klee crumble to dust in a flash of golden light—a sight he couldn’t get out of his mind whenever he spoke to her outside of his dreams.
It’s not that he visits the room on purpose—he has little say on the matter. The room manifests itself now and then, etched somewhere in between dreams and reality, and by now Albedo has confirmed with utmost certainty that whatever happens in the cathedral of his mind, will somehow reflect on the reality. As far as he knows, he’s the only one to notice the consequences of his acts within the realm of dreams, which is hardly surprising—he spent a good chunk of his life honing his senses, training his instincts to pick up on the smallest shifts in power, ever vigilant with eyes trained on the doom he was bound to bring to the very land that nurtures him.
The changes are always small—a strange light in someone’s eyes that wasn’t there before, an apprehension during casual conversations that cannot be explained by those close to him, who suddenly finds himself inclined to keep their distance. It’s only natural for them to fear the world’s future destroyer, after all.
Except for one person, who stubbornly decides to remain by his side.
Albedo looks around the room. His master stands right in the center, higher than anyone else, and completely out of Albedo’s reach. Her face is obscured by shadows, growing darker and more distant with each passing day. He briefly wonders how long it will take him to completely forget her face.
Ha passes through the room, suddenly feeling uneasy. Klee, Alice, Timaeus, Sucrose—their faces gaze upon him with the kindest smiles, oblivious and trusting, unaware that he can destroy them with a single touch.
There’s one more statue he hasn’t touched—a statue that manifested quite recently. Albedo stops to admire the handiwork of a nameless sculptor. Aether feels more realistic than he ought to be being made of stone—Albedo is quite sure he can see a small rise and fall of his chest. Unlike the rest of the statues, Aether is not smiling. His eyes are closed, lips frozen in an inexplicable expression of sorrow, both his arms stretched out in front of him, like he’s waiting for Albedo to step forward, and close the gap between them. His long braid—longer than it would be in the real world, Albedo notes— twirls around his body like a grapevine, reaching as low as his bare feet. Instead of his usual outfit, Aether’s wearing a long robe, similar to the one donned by the Statues of the Seven across Teyvat.
Perhaps, his purpose is to answer Albedo’s prayers. Albedo doesn’t know how to pray, he never tried. He bows his head, and without breaking the eye contact, he steps closer towards the statue.
“There’s only one thing I want to say to you,” he says out loud. The statue doesn’t reply, but he knows better than to feel discouraged.
“Will you be there to escort me when the time is right?” Albedo asks, no doubt in his mind that he’s going to be heard. As expected, a faint light flickers from inside the statue in a silent answer. “Very well. When all is said and done, I will trust you to be my guiding light. I’m not asking you to save me. I’m asking you to stop me—to stop him.”
Another flicker. Albedo lets out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant.
He wonders if chalk has as much value as human remains, and when his time comes, if there will be anything left of him to bury.
When most people think about death, they typically think about heading towards the skies, to unnamed heavens, or a paradise promised by a benevolent god. Albedo—like his master— has always kept his eyes pointed downwards, towards the very soil that gave him life. Even if his flesh turns into chalk, even if there’s nothing left of him but a speck of dust for Barbatos to play around with, he has to believe that the wind will someday end. In the end, they will all return to the soil. Somehow, the realization brings him all the comfort he needs.
Having analyzed, and thus confirmed, all the possible outcomes of his passing, Albedo makes up his mind. He doesn’t have much time left. His doom came quietly like a thief and even became his friend. Albedo made sure to study him to understand him better, and equipped him with a powerful sword that only he can wield. With time, Albedo grew fond of his doom—after all what is doom if not somebody else’s salvation?
Albedo touches Aether’s outstretched hands, warm and kind despite being made of stone, the palms of his hands facing upward, like he’s welcoming him into an embrace. Humbly, Albedo accepts the invitation.
Immediately, Albedo feels his body crumble. In a flicker of purple light, his skin and bones slowly evaporate, growing light, so light they can be scattered across all of Mondstadt. He can’t see the sword in the statue’s hand, but he can still feel it piercing through his chest, painless and merciful as only death can be.
He now understands the sorrowful expression of the statue. If it wasn’t made of stone, it would surely shed plenty of tears—ever the kind killer, ever the compassionate hero. Albedo could never find a better executioner.
With one last dying breath, Albedo finds himself wishing he could bring the statue some comfort—his death isn’t all that unsatisfying. It’s all means to an end. Albedo will fulfil his role, like his master intended him to. Through destruction, he’ll achieve peace. Where he’ll bring death, he’ll make sure to turn it into life. Through the purest acts of creation, he will bring enlightenment.
And in the end—he will discover the truth and the meaning of this world.
***
“Paimon thinks Albedo is dead.”
Something tickles the tip of his nose. Albedo first tries to ignore it but eventually, the itching grows unbearable. Albedo tries to swat it away like a fly, but for some reason, his muscles refuse to listen to him. Finally, he stirs and sneezes—the tickly perpetrator immediately withdraws with a loud gasp, and a sharp intake of breath. “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry!”
“You really should cut your hair shorter,” the first voice speaks again. “Paimon did tell you! It’s only getting in the way, now you’re bothering Albedo!”
“Albedo likes my hair the way it is,” the second voice defends. “Right, Albedo?”
Aether, Paimon. He’s still alive then. A dream is just a dream.
Albedo opens his eyes, Aether’s presence immediately becoming the only thing on his mind. Ever since they met, Aether replaced the place in his mind normally occupied by research, filling every cell of his body with aching longing. He tells himself it’s because Aether has virtually become his research, swallowing his remaining energy like a hungry vortex.
He lifts himself on his elbow carefully, every fibre of his body hurting as if it were ripped apart, and then put back together. With a single shaky breath, the pain subsides, the last memories of his dream slowly removing themselves from his mind. Aether’s golden hair flickers in the sunlight, and Albedo finds himself successfully distracted by the matter at hand. “Taking into account the number of fights you seem to be getting into on a daily basis, I would imagine it might be troublesome if your hair keeps getting in the way.”
Paimon lets out a triumphant Ha!, but Albedo isn’t done. “However speaking as an artist, I would say your hair is most aesthetically pleasing, so I’d advise against cutting it short.”
He can see the flush blooming on Aether’s cheeks like a crimson flower, and the sight alone makes something warm rise in his own chest. Paimon looks between the two of them for a moment and then moves to feel Aether’s forehead with her small hand. “Are you feeling alright? First Albedo passes out, and now you’re the one looking feverish. Just so you know, if you get sick, Paimon knows the best cure there is! But maybe we should go see Barbara just in case.”
“I’m totally fi—” Aether pauses half-way through the sentence. “Actually, you might be right. We shouldn’t bother Barbara after the last time, though. The cure might just be the solution we need. You should look for the ingredients while I wait here with Albedo in case he feels sick again.”
Paimon puts her hands on her hips, sending him a suspicious glance. ”Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?”
“You’ll be fine on your own, Paimon.” Aether says with more authority than he’d normally use when talking to a stranger. There are no monsters in the area. Out of three of us, you’re the most qualified for the task.”
Paimon tries to look offended but Albedo doesn’t miss her chest puffing out with pride at the praise. “Got it! You can count on Paimon! Paimon knows these parts since we passed through here a couple of nights ago! She will nurse you two back to health before you know it!”
She disappears muttering something under her breath with newly found determination. Aether watches her go with a smile, while Albedo keeps his eyes peeled to every twitch of muscle on Aether’s face. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, he concludes. “You shouldn’t try to manipulate your friends.”
Aether’s eyes widen for a moment as if such an interpretation of his acts has never occurred to him. “I’m not trying to manipulate her,” he defends weakly. “I just thought you might be more comfortable talking about what’s going on when it’s just the two of us.”
Always considerate. Always sincere. Aether has a rare ability to look past anyone’s mask, even if he doesn’t always share his conclusions. He likely understands Albedo better than Albedo understands himself. Trying his best to sound honest, Albedo’s lies slip from his tongue, as easy as breathing. “Nothing is going on, I assure you. I must have been more tired than I realized. My research has kept me awake long after you and Paimon fell asleep.”
“Alright.” He can tell Aether doesn’t believe him, but he’s smart enough to let it go. He probably figures it’s what Albedo wants. “So any interesting theories you came up with?”
“Quite,” Albedo nods, gathering his things. “If my calculations are correct, I have found the location of our mysterious object. It should be somewhere around that hill over there. I’m quite sure we can find what I’m looking for around here—with your help, of course.”
“Quite sure?” Aether repeats with the face of a man who’s exclusively used to hearing disappointing news. “We came all this way just for that?”
Albedo secures his backpack with a frown. “I used to travel further distances for less.”
Everyone in Mondstadt knows Albedo tends to drop off the face of the earth whenever a new research subject catches his fancy. A few days ago, when he left his study to accompany Sucrose with her errand, he saw a strange meteor falling from the sky. While small and seemingly insignificant, the trail it left was curious enough—not to mention that it felt somehow familiar. The small size would likely become an obstacle, and so Albedo had to call for the help of someone who has more experience tracking things than he does. Hence, Paimon and Aether’s presence during his normally lonesome venture.
At Albedo’s request, Aether closes his eyes, focusing on the elements surrounding him. “I can’t feel anything.”
“I figured as much,” Albedo eyes him for a moment. Then, he moves without warning, leaning forward to pick up a stray hair on Albedo’s clothing. Aether freezes under his touch, but he doesn’t say anything, at this point used to Albedo’s antics. Albedo takes out a potion he prepared last night, adding Aether’s hair to it. After a moment, it changes color from purple to gold, and Albedo furrows his eyebrows. “I thought as much,” he comments with a hint of satisfaction. “As you probably expect, I’m now going to ask you to drink it.”
Aether looks at him with disbelief but he hesitantly accepts the potion shoved straight into his open hands. He lifts the bottle carefully, watching the content glimmer in the sunlight. “But my hair is in there,” he says, somehow deflated. Albedo just watches him unblinking until Aether realizes he really doesn’t have a say in this. “Well, here goes nothing.”
He empties the bottle quickly, wincing at the taste. “I taste awful. I could definitely live without that knowledge.”
“More importantly,” Albedo can’t keep a small smile off his face. “Has anything changed in your perception?”
Aether closes his eyes again. He remains unmoving for so long that Albedo starts wondering if this time he’s the one to fall asleep. Finally, Aether opens his eyes, wearing a rather pensive expression. “I think it’s working. I can feel it from the hill over there, but I think it’s... fading?”
“That’s to be expected,” Albedo rubs his chin absentmindedly. “It’s either that the potion itself wasn’t as strong as I originally intended, or the object itself is losing its power.”
“You mean it’s dying? Because that’s what it feels like.”
“It’s not the most far-fetched theory to come up with for sure,” Albedo gets up, helping Aether on his feet. “Let’s make haste. We have to see it before it fades away.”
Aether looks hesitantly in the direction Paimon disappeared to. “She’s going to have both our necks when she doesn’t find us here.”
“I suppose we’re going to have to make a run for it, then,” Albedo offers. He detests running but he’ll do anything for the sake of his experiment. “Shall we?”
“I really don’t think running is necessary,” Aether rolls his eyes. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m as healthy as can be,” Albedo interrupts him, crossing his arms. “Unlike you, I’m not coming down with a fever.”
There it is. The beautiful flush yet again. Albedo could get used to seeing it. “You’re right, I shouldn’t lie to Paimon anymore. But you shouldn’t lie to me either—it’s not like you to doze off in the middle of an experiment.”
Albedo ponders his words for a moment. “Who’s to say I wasn’t in the middle of one? For a keen scientist, sleep might be seen as a most fruitful experiment, Aether.”
“Even for an alchemist?”
Albedo lets out a laugh, short and quiet, like he’s afraid of being heard. Aether and Klee are probably the only people apart from his master who've ever heard him laugh. “Especially for an alchemist.”
With Aether following the elemental trace, they take off towards the nearby lake, treading through the shallow water until they reach the steep hill that Albedo mentioned before. He can sense Aether’s eyes on him, watching his every step, likely ready to catch him should he stumble. On his part, Albedo feels fine. The fact that the dreams he’s been having have grown more frequent and intense is troubling enough, but his troubled mind can wait until he’s done with the task at hand.
The grass on the hill is so tall he can feel it tickling the bare skin around his elbows. The wind gusts around them, sounding more and more like a cacophony of whispers as if Barbatos himself grew curious about their discovery. Despite not being overly religious, the thought somehow makes him smile. Finally, they reach the top of the hill, and Aether stops so abruptly that Albedo almost crashes into him. “There it is. Wait, that’s not a meteor, it’s a...flower?”
Albedo stands next to Aether to see the sight with his own eyes. It seems like they made it just in time. The strange flower seems to be using the last of its strength to keep itself grounded in the foreign soil. If it wasn’t for the faint glow around the petals, maybe someone could mistake it for the local flora, and yet even without it, it seems oddly otherworldly.
“Do you recognize this flower?” Albedo asks just to confirm his suspicions.
“Anyone would,” Aether leans in to take a closer look. “It’s just a sunflower. Quite different from the ones you can find in Teyvat, I believe.”
“It’s not going to survive in this climate,” Albedo observes. “It’s a shame. I’d be most happy to capture it in my art. Alas, it seems we don’t even have this much time.”
Aether clenches his fists at his sides. “Can’t we do anything? Maybe we could try to put it in richer soil? Surely, we have the means to transport it safely.”
Albedo can’t help but smile. The hero of Mondstadt—always happy to conduct a rescue mission, even for a lonely flower. “We could try and fail. Or we could enjoy its beauty while it lasts.”
Which doesn’t seem to be a long time. They stand in silence, watching the petals fall to the ground one by one. It happens fast, as if the flower became aware of being watched, and decided to put on one last final spectacle. With each passing minute, Aether looks wearier, his shoulders giving under some invisible weight. Albedo could never comprehend his sadness, too busy trying to commit the sight to his memory before it disappears. “A sunflower from another world,” he muses, meeting Aether’s eyes. “What could it possibly gain from travelling to the edge of another world?”
Aether looks away, gazing at the sky for a long time before answering. “Maybe it wasn’t satisfied with the sights it saw back home.”
“Sightseeing?” Albedo can’t help but smile. “Is that good enough of a reason to travel across the galaxy?”
“I’m sure it traveled further distances for less,” Aether teases, looking back to Albedo. “Besides, some sights are simply worth seeing.”
For some reason, Albedo’s heart skips a beat. “Is that so, traveler? Can you think of one?”
“Seeing you blush, for example.”
Aether touches his hand. Albedo can’t feel his warmth through his gloves, and yet the image of the warm statue filled with light stands before him as clear as day. Albedo itches to fall apart in Aether’s hands, and yet—
He takes a step back. Aether withdraws his hand, looking more defeated than offended. It’s just how it is with them—with every step Aether takes toward him, Albedo takes two steps backward. They shouldn’t get close, after all, his master didn’t create him for the purpose of falling in love.
Albedo freezes at his own choice of words. Aether’s voice reaches him from a distance, muffled and quiet as if coming from under the water surface. “...familiar, don’t you think?”
“Familiar?” Albedo repeats, directing his attention back to the flower. “I was hoping it would be. It comes from your world, doesn’t it?”
“You knew from the start,” Aether states. “Is this why you added my hair to the potion? Is this why I was able to track it?”
“I took an educated guess,” Albedo kneels to touch the withering petals. The sad outcome is hardly surprising with the distance it traveled. Still, maybe something can be done—it’s hardly difficult for someone with his expertise. Truth be told, the flower’s fate matters little to Albedo, but it’s not just his own interest that matters anymore. He takes off his gloves, some sentimental part of him wishing to be closer to the otherworldly plant—closer to Aether’s world. Albedo has never asked about Aether’s life prior to coming to Teyvat, and he knows Aether holds the same respect for his past. He would never betray his confidence by asking.
A flower is just a flower. Even one of such extraordinary beauty. Albedo can’t help but think it reminds him of someone. He gently touches the plant, feeling the white specks of dust gather between his fingertips. Soon he might—
The power of life, or revitalization, flows through Albedo’s fingertips into the dry stem. The soil answers to his beckoning, transforming and shifting until the sunflower blooms once again. Somewhere behind him, Aether lets out a quiet gasp. The smile that follows can easily rival the flower’s beauty, and Albedo has to force himself to look away. The light of the sunflower is the same as the one he saw within his dream, he realizes promptly. He decides to think about it more later.
When Aether speaks again, he sounds concerned, the kindness of his tone digging into Albedo’s heart like an icicle. “Something on your mind, Albedo?”
“Nothing in particular,” Albedo replies lightly. He puts the gloves back on, hoping Aether doesn’t notice the slight shake of his hand. “We should head back, lest we allow Paimon to be worried.”
“Since when are you so worried about Paimon?” Aether reaches out to the only bare skin he can reach—Albedo’s elbow. Albedo wishes that touch could purify him, the way Aether purifies everything else as easy as breathing. He wants Aether to un-taint him, unbreak him, to undo every fibre of his being. Perhaps, someday when he loses control. Someday, when someone finally has to put an end to him. He shivers in the hands of his future killer. Aether smiles, oblivious and pure, the warmth in his eyes stretching out greedily towards him like a sunflower chasing the sun. “I think I know your secret.”
“Do you now?” he takes Aether’s hand into his own. He wonders if he can ever bring himself to take off his gloves to touch him—to feel the warmth of Aether’s skin and his steady pulse under his bare fingertips. “I realize I may come off untrustworthy, but I don’t believe I’m a particularly secretive man. There are simply some truths I’d rather keep to myself—some stories are not mine to tell, after all.”
Including his own.
Albedo sits on his pillar of lies. He hopes Aether will never reach him on the throne he’s built for himself.
“How about telling my story then?” Aether asks, lacing their fingers together as easily as he does anything else—striding towards the danger with his head ever held high. If he only knew that the most dangerous beast he’s ever faced is sitting right next to see him with an unsteady heartbeat, like the prey he’s itching to become. Albedo doesn’t withdraw his hand this time, and Aether squeezes his fingers, waiting for an answer.
Albedo ponders the question for a moment. What a strange idea. Wouldn’t it be glorious? To document Aether’s life in case he’ll be the one to take it?
Albedo’s not a storyteller—he’s an artist, a crafter, an alchemist. Even so, deep within his heart, he wants to paint Aether’s story—with paint as gold as the sun. To make sure everyone knows his light for ages to come.
For now, he will do his best to recreate the flower through his art. Albedo has always loved painting flowers, more than anything. Through the flowers, he can express his love for this world. For everyone he holds dear. For Aether.
“Let’s leave it here,” Aether says suddenly.
“The sunflower?” He knows better than to try to change Aether’s mind once his mind is set. “Very well. It seems like it chose this place for a reason, perhaps it wants to be left alone. Is that what you mean?”
“There is that too,” Aether plays with the stray ends of his braid. “But also, I don’t think it could choose nicer scenery to settle, don’t you think?”
Albedo takes a look around. His gaze wanders through the blue sky, the high peak of Dragonspine emerging from the distance, the tall grass, the shimmering lake below the hill, and finally to Aether’s eyes. “That might very well be true,” he agrees eventually.
“Maybe it wanted to be painted in this setting,” Aether continues as he leans a little closer. “Maybe it thinks meeting you was fate.”
“I don’t think flowers possess feelings of such complexity,” Albedo argues weakly. His words die in his mouth once he realizes how close they are to each other—he can feel Aether’s breath on the tip of his nose. He forces the gears of his mind to move once more. “And even if they did, surely it would pick an artist more talented than I am. If I were to interpret its intentions despite my better judgment, then I’d say it wanted to be found by you. Maybe because you’re from the same world, you’re naturally drawn to each other. From what Paimon’s been saying you’ve been to these parts around the time it showed on the sky, isn’t that correct?”
Something akin to hope flashes through Aether’s features. “Do you think we can use it to find my sister?”
“Such a task might be beyond my abilities,” Albedo rubs his chin pensively. “But I’m sure that once you put your mind to it, you’ll find a way to make it work.”
“So you’re fine with me using it?” Aether cocks his head to the side. “Just like that, you’re giving up on your research? I thought you wanted to study it.”
“For the first time in my life,” Albedo says. “I’m not sure what it is I want.”
His interests have ever been fickle. He knows Sucrose collects his unfinished paintings in the hope he will one day return to finish them, but once Albedo loses interest, there’s nothing that could get him to change his mind. To most people, his motives might appear purely selfish—everything he does is meant to sate his own bottomless curiosity. In reality, Albedo never tried to do anything for anyone other than his master. He helps Klee for his own amusement, teaches his students for his own gain. At least, that’s what he’s always been telling himself.
At first, Aether’s been nothing but a rather interesting test subject. And yet, Albedo can’t help but think that his interest runs far deeper than he initially thought. After all, wasn’t the entire venture just an excuse to spend more time with him? Surely, Albedo could have made it on his own.
“I’m going to do something,” Aether says. “And you’ll tell me if...Just tell me if you’re okay with it.”
His hands land on Albedo’s cheeks, gentle and inviting. Albedo thinks about Aether’s statue inside his head, and he leans closer into the touch. “It’s alright. I feel safe in your hands.”
He knows it’s a mistake. He knows that the path they’re about to choose will only end in Aether’s misery. Still, the short moment of bliss, of respite—isn’t it what they both deserve? In the end, shouldn’t they make their short time together count?
As if pulled towards him by a strange whim of gravity, Albedo wraps his arms around Aether’s neck. At first, Aether’s lips are tentative and light against his own, leaving him room to change his mind, so Albedo makes sure to close the distance to make his own wishes apparent.
A strong gust of wind pushes Aether closer and he falls into Albedo’s arms, letting out an embarrassed laugh. It seems like for a moment they became spirited away, out of reach of time and space—a gift from the sunflower or something else, Albedo can’t be sure. Aether’s fingers tangle in his hair, and he lets out a soft gasp into the kiss that almost goes unheard in the howling wind.
Albedo’s never thought much about kissing someone, and as such he has next to none expectations of it. Even with his lack of experience, there’s no doubt in his mind that it would never work with anyone else. Kissing Aether feels like filling his veins with fire, with life—it makes him feel light and full of hope, and for the first time, Albedo finds himself believing that maybe things will work out.
Aether’s hand slides from his hair to stop at his neck, brushing against the mark on his throat. He’s still so close that his lips brush against Albedo’s with each uneven breath. “Wherever you go, whatever you decide to do—I’ll always be waiting for you.”
Just like that the wind settles, putting them back in place. Something cold settles in Albedo’s stomach. How much does Aether know? How much can he even suspect? “Bold words in the mouth of the one they call a traveler.”
“And yet, you’re the one who’s always far away,” Aether points out. “The distances you travel inside your own head...I can never meet you there. Still, I’m—”
He stumbles over his own words, biting his lip indecisively. Albedo brushes his nose against Aether’s. “I know. Me too.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
It’s such a simple thing to say. Deep inside, Albedo falls apart the way he did in his dream. “You won’t lose me.”
You’re going to save me. You’re going to save Mondstadt again when the time comes.
The sunflower glimmers innocently, reaching out its petals towards them in a warning. “Aether?”
Aether meets his eyes, looking hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Don’t listen to Paimon,” Albedo wraps his arms around him. He closes his eyes breathing in the familiar scent, his rapid heartbeat slowly calming down upon realizing that he won’t fall apart just yet. “Don’t ever cut your hair.”
His sunflower lets out a laugh, burying his head in the crook of his neck. “I promise.”