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Some nights, he dreams.
He dreams of fields full of flowering glaze lilies, their radiance framed by golden light. Somewhere, a voice is singing, a voice full of ethereal beauty; it whispers ballads of days long gone.
He dreams of a pavilion floating in an eternal sea, and seven thrones upon which he and six old friends sit. A table, adorned with good food and wine richer and darker than the corners of the immeasurable starry sky. The atmosphere is warm, pleasant, and familiar.
Something is amiss. As if in a haze, he cannot perceive the features of the ones he is sitting with. Are they young or old? Tall or short? What do their faces look like? And then, he asks himself;
Do I even know these people?
There is no food. The table is of frozen stone. He is alone.
And he opens his eyes, and awakes to reality.
-
Zhongli finds it comforting to take lengthy strolls along the streets of Liyue Harbor, whenever he can spare the time. He relishes drinking in the sights and sounds-- the bustling roads, always filled with interesting people from every nook and cranny of Teyvat; the mingled chatter of merchants seeking to sell as much of their wares as possible before night creeps upon the city; the faint scent of rain following a drizzly morning. They are all pieces of what make his beloved Liyue what it is.
It is late autumn. The leaves turn varying hues of gold and red, sighing in the breezes. Liyue grows mellow and content, its people settling down in time for the first hints of winter emerging on the wind. The days shorten and the rocks grow weathered with time. The sun and moon rise in a continuous, tranquil cycle, and the shining promise of Celestia continues to glint above, gazing down over her people. So much has changed since Zhongli first set foot in Teyvat as Morax, and yet so much remains the same.
He walks leisurely through Chihu rock, enjoying the thrumming vitality within the heart of Liyue. Shopowners in the middle of closing store for the night pause to chat with passing citizens and neighboring merchants. Friendly dogs and cats follow passerby with curiosity in their bright eyes. Children frolic happily in the streets despite the threat of rain on the horizon that promises a stormy evening.
Sure enough, Zhongli hardly makes it to the docks before the first cold drops of rain begin to fall, a rhythmic pitter-patter that sends the children hurrying back to their cozy homes and leads the shopowners to collect their belongings more hastily. Amidst the rumble of distant thunder, the sky quickly darkens. Zhongli, however, makes no move to leave, though a crowd is quickly forming as people scramble to make their final purchases.
Instead he tips his head up to the sky, shielding his eyes from the steadily falling drops of rain. The rain brings with it a number of bittersweet memories, as it always does. One time, countless years ago, he had stayed out too long in a downpour of freezing rain, and had returned utterly soaked to the bone. He’d caught cold and had been feverish for several days. It was one of the few times in his immeasurable lifetime that he had actually been sick, and it was Guizhong who had painstakingly nursed him back to health.
The other, worse memory that the rain recalls is one of a cold, wet battlefield, as the rain slowly drizzled down upon the blood and entrails slicking the terrain, and with it washing away Guizhong’s ashes and the memory of her smile forever. Indeed… how many could still remember her name? Her history? Her kindness and wisdom?
In a way, the rain is a healer, bringing forth vitality and new life. But in the same way, it also blurs the lines of the past, until the details that had once been so clear had lost their sheen; as if they had known no purpose but to slowly drift away in the great river of time.
Zhongli blinks once, twice, aware that he’s one of the only ones left on the dock. Nearby, a dock worker gathers the last of several crates and rushes to board them onto a ship.
The dock worker’s manager pats him on the shoulder and says; “You’ve finished your duties. Go home now, and rest well.”
The tired worker gives a grateful salute and hurries off, presumably to join his family for dinner, warm and away from the now-pouring rain. Soon Zhongli is the only one left, the rain streaking down his face and clothes in thin rivulets of silver.
Guizhong, he wonders, an ache deep within his mortal heart that he doesn’t quite understand;
Have I…. finished my duties yet?
-
He dreams of a trickling brook, of a cerulean sky. He dreams of the pristine blue of the newly budding glaze lilies, and of the first time he saw her.
She stands surrounded by the flowers, her long hair billowing behind her. The air is fragrant, fresh, and gentle. She hears his footsteps, and she turns and smiles.
“You must be Morax! I am Guizhong.”
He has never seen eyes so blue as hers.
She extends her hand to him, and he marvels at her delicate, pale fingers, so different from his own rough, coarse hands, weathered from war. He reaches out--
and he awakes.
-
There is no place better than Wanmin Restaurant, Zhongli thinks, if one is to enjoy true Liyuen cuisine. Though Chef Mao is truly a master of his art; his daughter Xiangling may be perhaps the most dedicated chef that Zhongli has ever met.
He remembers being served by the bubbly girl for the first time. The salt-and-pepper tofu that had been placed in front of him was beautifully presented, and had a wonderful balance between the crispy outer shell and the tender inside, but it lacked a certain… something.
Before he knew it, he’d called her over, asking if he could give a suggestion, and she’d readily agreed, eyes lighting up as she asked him if he too was a chef. He’d shaken his head “no”, and responded that he was merely repeating tidbits of what he’d learned through experience.
“It would be better to try sea salt extracted from the shallow seas of Guyun Stone Forest, because it would bring a fresh sense of depth to the tofu,” he’d said, and when she had asked him what his name was, he’d told her to simply call him Zhongli. It was quite amusing to see how eager she was. He’d hoped that she would take his advice into consideration, because it would surely take an already delicious dish of tofu to the next level.
Lo and behold, when Zhongli visits Wanmin Restaurant again on a mellow and pleasant morning, he doesn’t even manage to get halfway down the street before Xiangling spots him and races over to him, dragging him down to the restaurant and handing him a steaming plate of salt-and-pepper tofu. “I did as you said, Mister Zhongli, and it turned out amazingly! It’s a huge hit with the customers! Here, have some!”
The moment the familiar taste hits his tongue, he’s flown back to the peaceful meals he’d had with Guizhong and Havria oh-so-many years ago, with the golden sunlight shining down on them and water lapping gently at the shores of Sal Terrae. He remembers how they would all gather together in Jueyun Karst, with the adepti, and dine together. There had always been so much laughter, Zhongli recalls now. The thought brings back a sting of pain.
The memories all come rushing back at once--the founding of the Guili Assembly, the construction of the Guizhong Ballista, the Archon War and all its painful memories, the murder of Havria by her own people, freeing Alatus-- Xiao , the battle with Osial and … Guizhong’s death. All of a sudden, he can feel the rain pouring down again, and he feels as though he is standing on the battlefield once more.
He has to set down the plate and take a few shaky breaths. Xiangling looks at him with concern. “Mister Zhongli? Are you okay? Is the tofu not to your liking?”
“No, it’s not that. The tofu is incredible,” he answers truthfully. “It’s just that.. I was suddenly reminded of some old friends of mine.”
-
He dreams of her eyes, so beautiful and so blue, looking as though they could encompass the vastness of the sky and the oceans deep. Even in her final moments, they had been so clear--so peaceful and confident; looking at him with all the love in the world. He had not known it at the time, and he still struggles to understand it now.
He dreams of her hair, long and pale and soft, always billowing so gently in the wind.
He dreams of her hands, and of her smile; as he’s plagued by all the things he could never tell her, things he still did not understand even now. He dreams of the years that had slipped through his hands like water through a sieve. One might think the holes are small enough to catch the droplets as they fall, but they are not. The water keeps falling, the clock keeps ticking; nothing could have prevented the march of time. He, as the God of Contracts, knows this. Death and life are but that--mere contracts waiting to be fulfilled.
But how, he wonders nonetheless, could her time have been so brief? Surely it was longer than it had seemed.
He dreams of the others too, of Ganyu, of the adepti; of the Yaksha, of Xiao. He dreams of Havria, and Osial, and all the figures who were so silhouetted in the past. Of the ones who died, and of the ones who are still living but seem to be eternities away.
He dreams of himself, of the old Morax, the God of War. He dreams he is on the battlefield again, feeling a cold, terrible anger and feeling the blood of many upon his hands. A cool, shadowy imprint of ghostly hands around his neck.
With dreams such as these, it is almost a relief to wake up again and find that he is still Zhongli.
-
Occasionally, on Zhongli’s walks through Liyue, he sees something that reminds him of days long gone. Perhaps it is the way the sun hits the water, the sound of iron being forged, the laughter of children in the streets? And there is a pang in his chest, an emotion in his heart that he has no name for. Loneliness? Longing? He does not understand human emotion, not even now, and he thinks that he may never be able to. After all, he is a god, and humans are humans.
But many things change when a man, the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, with eyes as blue as the ocean depths, arrives in Liyue.
The first time Zhongli comes face to face with the man-- Childe-- his eyes are the very first thing that Zhongli notices. So beautiful, yet they hold no light in them; it’s as though someone has taken a shard of the sky and glazed it with the dark places of the night. But they remind him of Guizhong’s eyes. Indeed, the reason Zhongli had taken an interest in Childe in the first place had been the close resemblance his eyes have to hers.
But as Zhongli spends more time with him, he begins to find that Childe himself is also an enigma; childlike and charming, but cunning and eager for battle. Though he wears his signature Fatui mask not on his face but perched in his ginger hair, Zhongli thinks to himself that Childe is an expert at masking his true self--not the bloodthirsty harbinger, nor the charismatic diplomat, but merely Childe-- from everyone around him. Even as Zhongli learns more about him, like what his favorite food is (the various seafood he caught back in his hometown of Morepesok) and if he has siblings (three brothers and two sisters), Childe rarely lets his mask drop or his guard down. Zhongli finds himself curious as to why so. And slowly, unintentionally, he finds himself drawn to this man with the deep blue eyes in the sea of people with brown and amber ones.
Zhongli knows what Childe is after. He knows what the other man is planning. And yet, for some unexplainable reason, he still desires to become closer to him. Might this feeling be…?
Zhongli doesn’t know when or how it starts, but he begins to look forward to their meetings. He begins to seek out Childe in the streets of Liyue, and he begins to treasure their conversations together. Never, in his six thousand years of living, has he felt himself drawn to someone like this. The quiet fondness in his heart is a foreign feeling, one that he did not feel even with Guizhong. Perhaps he may have learned to, had they been able to spend more time together, but her life had ended far too soon.
Now, the wordless affection he’s beginning to discover from within the depths of his heart is reserved for Childe and Childe alone.
-
He still dreams of her face, her hands, and her graceful movements. He dreams of the way she would laugh in delight after a child brought her flowers or another small tidbit of gratitude.
He dreams of their peaceful days together that he had taken so for granted at the time.
He dreams of the archons too, of how they would all gather together for a meal in the pavilion above the clouds and a bottle of osmanthus wine.
Osmanthus wine… the taste is so familiar yet so foreign, for without those who share the memory, it is somehow emptier; less sweet, less meaningful. He cannot taste it without feeling a torrent of regrets.
Of the seven, there are now only two, and the tear in the universe that has been left by their departure cannot be mended.
-
When the traveler and their floating friend arrive in Liyue, Zhongli is intrigued.
He sees them, beyond their golden eyes and foreign clothing, and senses that they are not of this world. He senses their deep sorrow and their longing to meet their sibling again; how they would do anything to see their sibling’s smile and to know that they’re alright. This, Zhongli can understand.
Yes , he thinks, their arrival here is about to mark the beginning of the changes that will take place.
-
Walking among his people as one of them, Zhongli has come to recognize mortal determination and appreciate the strength it gives them to prevail against their challenges. Because they are so small and so weak, their lives are fragile as dust. Because of this, they strive so hard to become stronger, to live longer, to understand more about the world around them. Because their lives could pass in the blink of an eye, they are able to value each heartbeat, each new breath, each individual moment.
Zhongli has seen countless sunrises. He has watched mountains crumble and oceans recede from their shorelines. When one has lived for thousands of years, it is inevitable that the extraordinary should become ordinary.
But it is not until he sheds his mantle, his authority, and his burdens to walk upon Liyue as Zhongli that he begins to truly appreciate the small beauties in everyday life. Perhaps he has never truly lived until now. He now finds that there is a way for him to be surprised by something everywhere he turns; the dapple of morning sunlight filtering through a window, a perfectly shaped gingko leaf, the shine of moonlight reflecting perfectly upon a pool of water.
And Liyue itself--oh, how it has grown. Zhongli feels a sense of pride, gazing upon the city that he and Guizhong built from the ground up; the city that Guizhong died for. Only as Zhongli is he able to feel that her sacrifice was not in vain, for the people have come so far. Its people are strong now, strong enough to fight for themselves. Perhaps it is time for the era of gods and adepti to come to an end, and for the era of mankind to truly begin.
The contract is set. The plan is in motion.
-
Zhongli still dreams of those eyes, so calm and serene, so clear and beautiful. In Guizhong’s final moments, though she had been looking at him with love, there had also been loneliness in her cerulean gaze. It was that loneliness, that hidden sorrow in her smile, that had plagued him for centuries afterward.
"It seems that our journey together has come to an end. As for that stone dumbbell... forget about it, would you?"
But how could he?
It had been her challenge to him, as well as the mark of their pledge. It represented everything that had been between then, as well as the things that did not have enough time to be discovered.
He still remembers what she’d said when she’d handed it to him.
“All my wisdom is hidden within this stone dumbbell. If you can unlock it-- ”
He would never learn what was to follow after that sentence.
So he dreams of the dumbbell too, of the moment she had handed it to him while they had been standing in the sea of glaze lilies. He dreams of her smile in that moment, both solemn and joyful, which he had not been able to forget even after millennia. There had been no formal contract in between them, and yet--
-
Over and over, Zhongli had tried.
For years, he’d tried , with all of his strength, to unlock the Memory of Dust. After all, it had been Guizhong’s gift to him, and the tiny stone dumbbell contained the last of her legacy.
For Guizhong’s sake, and for his own, he’d tried, day after day, year after year, to get it to reveal its secrets. But it remained ever silent, ever unmoving, just like an unyielding boulder. An obstacle that could not be passed.
He had never given up, but as the sun and moon turned and centuries passed, his hope had begun to dwindle.
It is only after the battle with Osial, on the night before the Rite of Parting is to take place, that Zhongli once again takes out the dumbbell from where he had kept it well hidden, and cups it in his palms. The stone seems to pulse with a faint warmth. With a deep sigh, he begins talking to it as though Guizhong were sitting in front of him.
“Guizhong.
“It has been ever so long since I last saw your face. Over three thousand years already, although I must admit that even I have begun to lose track of the exact time. The river of time washes away everything with it.
“I think you would be amused to know that I am now but a mere mortal by the name of Zhongli. I have given away my gnosis to the Tsaritsa, in the hopes that she will wield my power to bring about change for us all.” He pauses. He thinks he knows what Guizhong would like to know.
“My time as a mortal has been … interesting.” He smiles slightly, thinking of the traveler, of the Qixing, of Childe. “I think I understand a bit better why you loved the humans so. I have seen their strength, and their perseverance, and even been inspired by their determination.
“I never understood before why you went to such great lengths to keep them safe. But now, I think I can see why, if only a little bit. Mortals are incredibly resilient, and with their short lifespans can bring about great beauty. Even one person can make such a difference in the world. It is something that I had never truly noticed before.
“In fact, there are a great many things I have only begun to notice now. For example, I had never noticed the beauty of two unique pieces of Cor Petrae. I had never noticed the unique pattern of shadows that is formed by sunlight shining through the gingko trees. I had never noticed how meticulously placed the cobblestones that make up Liyue’s streets are.
“And I have also begun to notice hints of you everywhere; in the laughter of children, in the smell of freshly made salt-and-pepper tofu, in the pattering of rain, and in the blue of the sky.
“Guizhong, it has been three thousand years and not a day has gone by where I don’t think of you. I hope-- I think you would be proud to see how far your beloved Liyue has come. Your people are happy and grow wiser and stronger with every passing year, but it is not due to me. It is due to you.
“My old friend, I hope you are happy. And I hope that someday, I will be able to see you again.”
Zhongli finishes, cradling the dumbbell. For a moment, nothing happens, and Zhongli heaves a sigh of disappointment, about to place it back in its designated place. Suddenly, the dumbbell glows with a flash of golden light.
Zhongli’s eyes close and a dream envelops him.
-
He dreams.
And when he opens his eyes, he’s standing again in a sea of clouds, and-- oh … Guizhong is approaching him in all her beauty, her hair flowing and her eyes bright. A radiant smile is on her face.
Guizhong … No words can come out of his mouth. Everything he wants to say simply falls out of his mouth and drops into the pit of his stomach.
Guizhong understands anyways. “My dearest Morax.” She wraps her arms around him, smelling of glaze lilies and morning dew.
There is a lump pressing against his throat and a wetness in the corners of his eyes as he gingerly wraps his arms around her in return, not used to physical contact.
She tousles his hair and smiles at him, “Oh Morax, it seems you have changed quite a bit.”
There are many things he would like to tell her, but it seems that she has already heard him. So instead he asks, “How are you here?”
Guizhong chuckles, a melodious, familiar sound. “A fragment of my soul was left in the Memory of Dust, so now that you have unlocked it, I will be free to rest. But I wanted to see your face before I do so.”
“And I… as well,” he breathes.
Guizhong motions for him to sit on a bench that has seemingly materialized from nothing, for Zhongli had not noticed it before. She joins him, and they both gaze out over the ocean of clouds.
“You must be wondering how you finally unlocked the Memory of Dust,” she teases. “Well, I’m glad you stopped trying with brute force. Really, I was afraid you’d smash it into smithereens before you unlocked it!”
“You never gave me any hints as to how to unlock it,” Zhongli protests grumpily, but he’s smiling.
“Morax, dear,” she chides. “The whole point was to have you figure it out on your own. Well, anyways, it has always been my challenge to you for you to be able to connect with your own humanity. Even though we are gods, we still retain our emotions, dreams, and thoughts, and that is what makes us who we are. In this sense, we are no different from mortals.”
Guizhong lets out a small sigh, smiling playfully at him. “Back then, you were such a blockhead, honestly!” (Zhongli winces.) “I gave you the Memory of Dust in the hopes that you might someday discover the things that make life worth living, and you would be able to find yourself. This, truly, was the source of my wisdom--I was able to connect with the humans, and therefore, with the nature of life and death, while you were not.”
Zhongli nods in slow understanding. “As the Goddess of Dust, all humans began from you and would someday return to you, and this is why you sought-- and succeeded-- to understand them better.”
From dust comes soil, and from soil is birthed chalk; the primordial substance of all life.
“Yes,” she sighs, “I too was like you once. Long before you arrived in Teyvat, I struggled to understand why the humans were as they were. Why they struggled in vain to extend their pitifully short lifespans. I did not understand what it was that made life worth living.
"My journey was long, very long. Perhaps I shall tell you the full story one day. But one morning, weary as I was from tending to the troubles of several villages, I looked up, and for the first time truly saw the sunrise. The light-- it was so beautiful! And it was as though I found a piece of myself. That was the very first step."
She turns to face him again, happiness dancing in her blue eyes. “But enough about that. I am so, so overjoyed that you have managed to succeed at last! You have come so far, Morax.”
“And it is all due to you, Guizhong,” he replies softly. “Like you described, once I opened my eyes, I experienced so many new things, from the delight in hearing the song of finches in the morning, to the beauty of the autumn leaves, to even... “
Love.
Zhongli loves someone else now, a man with ginger hair and the deepest blue eyes he has ever seen.
In sudden anxiety, he turns to Guizhong, to ask if it’s alright that he--
But Guizhong has already seen it. She smiles gently. “Of course it’s alright, Morax. I have never expected for you to keep hanging onto my memory for the rest of eternity. As it were, I had not lived long enough for those feelings to truly develop between us. You know, since you were so oblivious.” She pokes his nose, grinning as he wrinkles it. “That Snezhnayan boy is very cute, you know. When will you ask him out already?”
Zhongli recoils, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “Guizhong!”
She laughs, a sweet sound, and her eyes tell him all there is to know: there is no hard feelings between them. “I am happy for you, Zhongli. I was worried that you’d never get a move on, honestly.”
A deep peace fills Zhongli’s heart, like a clear brook sliding over river stones, smoothing them and making them shine.
“Thank you, Guizhong. I-”
She shushes him with a finger to his lips. “Enough of the thanks! This is also because of you, okay? Leave some thanks for yourself as well.” Her blue eyes glint with humor-- and also pride.
“As you wish,” Zhongli replies, quirking a corner of his mouth up. “May we… stay here for a while?”
“Of course,” she answers readily, and so they stay there, on the bench, for what could have been six thousand years or only a couple of minutes.
They gaze out at the sea of clouds together, sometimes with Guizhong humming a quiet tune from their days together (Zhongli joins in as well, albeit shakily), or with Zhongli telling her tales of the people he’s met.
It's quiet, it's peaceful, and her warmth besides him is enough. How long has it been since he's known such fulfillment? It feels like home. The world simply melts away into warm light and untainted peace. The light is abundant, and the sea of clouds unending, and Guizhong's smile is all he needs.
And Zhongli is happy.
-
But alas, all things must come to an end.
After a long pause, Guizhong turns to face him, golden light spilling over her clothes and reflecting in her eyes, and brushes a strand of hair away from his face.
“Zhongli,” she murmurs, “it is time for me to go.”
Pain stabs his heart at letting her go so soon. “Must you leave so soon?” He asks, a plaintive note filling his voice. He does not try to hide it.
She dips her head, sorrow in her smile. “Yes, the power of the Memory of Dust is fading. I must rest now.”
At the pain on his face, her eyes grow sad. She's holding back tears, Zhongli realizes. "I will see you again, all in due time. One day.... we'll be reunited. So..." Her voice breaks a little.
There is nothing he can do but nod tightly, breathing in her scent one last time and feeling the warmth of it envelop him.
“Ashes to ashes,” Guizhong whispers, taking Zhongli’s hand in her own and squeezing it.
Zhongli recognizes the phrase instantly. This is Guizhong’s form of… a final farewell.
He forces the rest of it out in a choked whisper, the lump in his throat painful as he swallows.
“...and dust to dust.”
Thank you, Guizhong.
Guizhong gives him one last smile, full of love and peace, though tears course down her cheeks. Tightening her grip on his hand, she slowly fades away until the light envelops her form completely. Her eyes are the last to fade, the beautiful blue orbs remaining for a millisecond longer before they too, disappear.
Guizhong is truly gone. The loss hits Zhongli like an earthquake, and he staggers with the weight of it.
Through the pain in his chest and throat and eyes, the prayer used at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to send off the souls of the dead suddenly comes to him.
I stare death straight in the eye when others dare not.
I have nothing to do with what has led you here.
And I…. I have nothing to do with where you shall go.
Go, lost soul... into the light.
The rest of the dream dissolves into nothingness.
-
(He wakes up with tears on his face and the Memory of Dust, now just a useless stone dumbbell, clutched tightly in his hands.)
(He does not dream of Guizhong again.)
-
The Rite of Parting, truthfully, passes in a blur. Childe is not there to see it, for he has returned to Snezhnaya. The Qixing come up with the clever lie that Rex Lapis has been slain in a divine trial, and, thankfully, the people seem to believe it.
Liyue returns to its peaceful, bustling self. Many of the citizens are still shaken and grieving over the loss of their god, but life in Liyue Harbor slowly returns to normal. It is the era of humankind now, after all. They will persevere and continue to live, even without their archon.
The traveler and their friend plan on heading next to Inazuma. Zhongli will be sad to see them go. In the short time that he has known them, he has genuinely been inspired by their strength and willpower. He wishes that he could have offered them more assistance.
Hmm... Perhaps someday he will ask to join them on their journey.
For now, even though the majority of Liyue is mourning the loss of their god, Zhongli cannot help but feel joy. His six-thousand year burden has finally been lifted.
-
The first thing that Zhongli does after the Rite of Parting has been completed is pay a long overdue visit to an old friend.
Bartatos-- or Venti, as his name is now-- uncorks a new bottle of dandelion wine, handing it to Zhongli and sipping his own as they sit beneath the waving branches of Vennessa’s tree. The days are growing warmer, and birds serenade them from above.
“So, you’re an ordinary mortal now?” Venti asks as the cooling breezes ruffle their hair.
Zhongli smiles, closing his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
Venti laughs, taking another swig from his bottle and leaning back against the weathered bark. “The archon, Rex Lapis, walking upon the land anew-- why, that’s quite the tale to look forward to!” He props his chin on his free hand and gazes at Zhongli, his emerald eyes glimmering thoughtfully.
“Where will you go now?”
There are many places that Zhongli would like to go. To Snezhnaya, to see Childe’s face again and apologize for his deception. Perhaps even ask Childe to join him on his journey. He wants to visit Morepesok, to know more about the town that Childe grew up in. He would like to visit Guili Plains, the plains of returning and departing, to bid his respects to Guizhong and visit the place where it all began. He would like to meet up with the traveler and their floating friend and know more about their journey.
But Zhongli is sure it will all happen in time, because now he is.. free.
The answer comes easily to him.
“Anywhere.”