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At first, Kaeya’s not concerned when Lumine suddenly veers off from their party and wanders into the shrubbery. He’s learned by now that she has a tendency to dive off into the nearby foliage and somehow rummage up a handful of edibles that Paimon cheerfully names “dinner”. That’s that.
But today something’s off.
Barbara and Jean only look up from their conversation when Lumine walks towards the cliff edge with no intention of stopping. Paimon flutters about in concern as the Traveler, with an intent, focused look in her eyes, walks straight off the cliff.
It happens quietly. Kaeya wouldn’t even have noticed if he hadn’t been watching. She steps off the lip with such self-assurance that he half expects to see her walk clear off the edge and into the sky.
But it’s when she doesn’t resurface riding the wind and Paimon starts to scream that he curses and begins running.
Radiant whorls of water propel Barbara forward as Jean shoots past them, legs pumping and eyes wide with horror, and he’s throwing up an ice ramp as frantically as he can conjure but it’ll be too late, she’ll shatter every bone in her body—
There’s a muffled thump on the ground, and Kaeya curses long and furiously as they tip over the edge and glide to where Lumine’s crumpled in a heap on the ground, the petals of her flower-like dress brown with dust and blood.
O.O
When Barbara ducks out of the canvas tent with bandages in her arms and a very distressed furrow between her eyebrows, Kaeya has to bite his tongue to keep from shaking her for answers. Thankfully when he speaks, his voice is calm and steady as he asks after Lumine’s condition.
“She’s sleeping now. Best not to wake her.” Barabara trots over to the creek where Jean and Paimon are moodily watching the trout swim by. Kaeya doesn’t have the peace of mind to sit and twiddle his thumbs, so he paces as the Deaconess begins wringing out the bloody rags in the water.
“I’ve never seen her do this before!” Paimon wails. “Do you think she’s gone crazy?”
“Not crazy,” Barbara says with a shake of her pigtails. “She was lucid enough to say sorry, and to ask for supper when she wakes up. There’s…”
She trails off, searching for the right words. “She seems very sad.”
“Surely not sad enough to leap off a cliff without a glider!” Jean protests, and Kaeya finally sits down with a heavy thump and a monstrous sigh that wrenches itself out of his chest without permission.
“She seems too bright for that,” he says heavily.
“Bright as a star,” Paimon agrees with a puff of her chest. She shoots up into the air. “So she must’ve been poisoned! Or mind-controlled! Ooh! Or maybe that Mitachurl beat her too hard on the head!”
“There’s no evidence of head trauma that I could find.” Barbara wrings out a bloodied rag. Kaeya has to look away from the gush of red that trickles into the glassy water.
“In any case, let’s be sure to keep an eye on her,” Jean says briskly, although there’s that distinctive furrow of worry between her brows. Must be a Gunnhildr thing. “I’ll go start up some dinner.”
Paimon, also known as the Bottomless Stomach, floats eagerly after her as the Acting Grand Master strides to the campfire.
Kaeya bends down to help Barbara with the bandages. As she chirps out a distracted “thank you”, he focuses on the damp heat of the soaked cloth in his hands, the golden grass on the riverbank, and the whisper of divinity in the wind that tousles his hair.
If Barbara notices the frost that has begun to creep over the surface of the rushing creek, she is too kind to mention it.
O.O
Lumine wakes up just as they’re finishing supper. Jean helps her hobble to a seat by the campfire, and Kaeya barely registers the tang of the hot chili peppers that Barbara had sneaked into the broth as he watches, fretfully, every tremble and crook of Lumine’s fingers as she clasps a bowl and eats.
Aside from the splints and her limp, there’s not many outward signs of stress upon her features, although if the fire casts spark at just the right angle, he can see the faint beginnings of dark moons under her large eyes. He's left with more questions than answers and moodily returns his attention to his dinner.
The two sisters watch the Traveler slurp up her soup for approximately four seconds before they break the silence.
“I don’t want to be that person,” Jean begins, and Barbara adds quickly, “You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable—!”
“What on earth were you thinking!” Paimon gracelessly wails, bobbing up and down in the air as she wrings her hands. “No glider! No water to land in! No nothing! And you just jumped?!”
Kaeya sternly catches her eye, and the Traveler’s floating companion falls into an agitated silence, her eyes large with worry. For all the little one’s bluster and bravado, she does really care deeply about her Master.
“Now,” he says lightly, “I don’t mean to speak for all of us, but I think you gave us quite the scare, Honorary Knight. Amber didn’t take all the time and effort of teaching you gliding just for you to make a beeline straight off a cliff gliderless.”
“I…” Lumine ducks her head, her hair falling in soft golden waves around her ears and cheeks. Her voice is soft, and he leans forward to catch every careful syllable that drops from her mouth. She speaks so rarely, and while they’ve exchanged enough conversations between the two of them for him to get over the initial intrigue of her odd turns of speech, there’s something about the measured way Lumine phrases her thoughts that strikes him an odd way.
“I think I just spaced out. I wanted to see what was over the edge.”
“Without a glider?” Jean prompts, not unkindly.
“I thought I still had them with me,” Lumine says with a bewildered sort of honesty. “I didn’t realize until I sort of tipped over and…well…”
She shrugs her shoulders. Kaeya relaxes, infinitesimally, but there’s something about the catch in her voice with the word “still” that sets off his alarm bells.
“You didn’t jump because you wanted to, right?” Paimon is terrible at any semblance of subtlety, but Lumine smiles back, shaking her head. “No, not at all.”
The party heaves a collective sigh of relief. Barbara and Jean relax into a smatter of easy chatter, and Paimon floats and floats in almost frantic relief as Kaeya quietly finishes the rest of his dinner. He’ll need something strong to chase this down with tonight.
A bit of snow dusts his hair, stinging and cold, and he is lucky that they melt quickly.
O.O
The moon hangs large and yellow in the sky, unwavering, and Kaeya is reminded of a large unblinking eye as he tosses a Mora in the air, once, twice, thrice.
He takes a swig from his flask. The rushing of the creek is a nice occupant to his thoughts as he keeps watch over the sleeping camp. He can hear Paimon’s snores from here, and the soft whistling sighs of the night birds cooing to their young.
Yet peace—and inebriation—evades him.
“A Mora for your thoughts?”
Lumine’s voice stiffens his spine, but the sweeping smile is already affixed to his face as he turns to smirk at her. “Come now, I’d like to believe my thoughts are worth a little more than that.”
The laughter dies from his throat as he catches sight of her limping towards him with visible effort. He eases to his feet (he doesn’t scramble; the cool-as-wine Calvary Captain does not scramble) and guides her to a comfortable seat on the bank, proprietary hands on her elbow.
“My thanks,” she smiles at him, and if he had been a few years younger the blush would’ve shown on his cheeks. She nods at the flask. “Mind if I have some?”
“You sure you’re not underage?” Kaeya asks, and Lumine gives him such a withering look that he concedes with a laugh and offers it to her. She takes a generous sip as he settles to a comfortable resting spot beside her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks as she hisses at the sting of whatever’s in the flask. He keeps his gaze carefully trained on the river.
“Deflecting again,” Lumine mumbles against the flask, and he winces inwardly as she affixes him with that all-seeing stare of hers. “I can offer you more Mora, if you really do value your self-worth that highly.”
He shrugs, and holds out his glove expectantly. Lumine fumbles for her side-pouch and digs out a couple glimmering pieces of dull gold, dropping them into his palm alongside his flask.
Kaeya hums as he counts five pieces in total. “So few? I’m hurt, but I’ll allow its validity due to our close relationship.”
He winks at her, and Lumine blushes prettily, hiding her smile with the back of her hand as he pockets the Mora and puts away his flask. She blushes at every little thing, he observes with a glowing warmth that’s dangerously close to affection.
“So,” she scoots closer, shivering as a hush of cold wind embitters their skin, “what’s on your mind? I saw the look you gave Paimon during dinner.”
Kaeya stretches languidly along the bank. “Oh?”
“Kaeya.”
The gravity in her voice freezes his blood. He looks up to see Lumine’s eyes shadowed with intensity as she frowns at him.
“You can stop smiling like that now.” Her voice is soft, lost upon the wind.
He sighs. “So serious, Miss Traveler. And I thought we were close.”
“I thought so too,” Lumine replies with a frankness that strips him down to the bone. “So I would appreciate it if you stop with the bullshitting and tell me to my face why you looked so angry just now.”
The wind howls in the silence between them. She’s still sitting with her dress pooling comfortable over her splinted ankle, her hands in her lap as her hair sweeps across the pale expanse of her face.
She is a very beautiful person.
His heartbeat roars in his ears—badump, badump—and this time he lets the snow fall, and white snowflakes begin to dot her hair and his cheeks and the grass around them. Only then does the smile drop from his face. Her eyes widen at the severity of his true emotions shining bright and accusing on his face.
“You’re right,” Kaeya says very, very softly. “I was, and am, rather furious with you, Lumine.”
She blinks. Not taken aback, but rather curious. It infuriates him, almost.
“You didn’t tell us the entire truth,” he continues, swept up in the force of the emotion he had been so hesitant on broaching. The snowflakes are heavier, sharper. “You knew you didn’t have your glider with you. You weren’t poised to glide when your feet left the lip of that cliff.
“You knew, and you still jumped.”
Lumine sucks in a breath at the raggedness of his voice. It’s the most anger he’s allowed himself to express in front of anyone since Eclipse-damned Diluc. He’s as transparent as a glass in the Angel’s Share bar.
This newfound fury’s intoxicating, worse than whatever he’s put in his flask, because the snow has collected in drifts around them and frost has glazed over the river entirely. What a mercy that snow is silent, that the sisters of water and wind sleep soundly on in their campsite, unawares.
What a mercy that only Lumine, in all her doe-eyed astonishment and concern, is the only person present to witness the crack of his facade.
“So I would like to know, Traveler,” he continues, his voice calmer but just as bitter, “whatever possessed you to jump and lie about it afterwards.”
“Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Lumine replies calmly. “You’ve been leading me around by my nose since I’d arrived in Mondstadt.”
“This is—” Kaeya growls and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “This is different.”
“How so?” She fires back.
“It's your life on the line!”
Her mouth falls open. His clamp shut. The snow melts in an instant and suddenly the bank is awash in water.
Lumine shakes out her damp hair. She lifts a hand and a sudden warm breeze shoves them hard, and he has to brace himself as the moisture is all but forcibly ripped from their clothes.
“I didn’t jump because I had no hope left.” Her voice is quiet in the wake of his helpless anger. Kaeya stares at her, at a loss.
She looks off a little distantly again, and the smack and pop of the melting river fills the silence between her words. “I think I jumped because I had too much.”
Lumine bends down, sweeps her scarf aside, and arches her back so that the two swoops of her shoulder blades come into relief. He coughs and forces himself not to turn his head as her fingertips come up to touch them, gingerly.
“Did I tell you that I used to have wings, once?” Her confession rings in the night air like a clarion bell. “Not ones that belonged on gliders, not ones made of feathers and determination, but wings of my own that I could summon and dismiss at will. We could swoop and ascend and hover and fly as indefinitely as we wished.
“I’ve had them for centuries.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, centuries, the syllables breaking off of each other like ice off of a floe. His chest goes cold, tight, disbelieving.
“I lost them, when I came to Teyvat.” Lumine rubs her shoulders absently, and the pale cream of her skin all but glows in the moonlight. “I had to get used to walking, breathing, and conserving my strength. Every day I have to remind myself to take the stairs slowly, to sit when I get winded, to not dive into a pool of water when I could barely put one foot in front of the other, and to sleep when I get tired.
“I have to remind myself not to walk off a cliff and expect not to fall.”
His fingers tighten on the grass.
“Today, I just…” Lumine shakes herself with a rough little motion and he’s taken aback by the utter exhaustion in her eyes. “I don’t know. I was so tired, and I just wanted to fly.”
“Except that you couldn’t,” Kaeya says quietly.
“Except that I couldn’t,” Lumine agrees. She straightens again, rearranges her scarf back over her shoulders. “Because I don’t have wings.”
“But you used to,” Kaeya repeats, dumbly. He’s parroting her like a fool, because half of his mind is awhirl with taking apart every bit of information she’s revealed to him in the last few minutes, and the other is twelve years old again and learning how to bow his head to the Seven and speaking Teyvatian and pretending and pretending and pretending—
“I’ll be careful in the future,” Lumine’s voice breaks through the whirlwind of his thoughts and he jerks back to the present as she lays a hand over his. Not flirtatiously, but as a brief apology communicated through a brief squeeze of her fingers as she pulls away. “I’m sorry, for worrying you.”
Kaeya catches her hand as she’s about to draw it back. “Lumine, I’m--”
She looks at him, a question arching her eyebrows. Her fingers are warm in his, even through the gloves. He can feel the bite of her nails in his palm and the callouses of her fingers. Every etching of her hand he longs to memorize. To worship. To call his own.
Kaeya opens his mouth, a confession—I know how you feel, I know what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange land, I’m like you I’m like you I like you—on the tip of his tongue, when—
"This is your chance. You are our last hope."
The words stick in his throat, and then sour.
He presses a disarming kiss to her fingers and releases them with a charming laugh, the kind he uses at parties and the bars and the temples. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, for losing my temper with you. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me, though, to be fair, I’m not a gentleman.”
“You’re a captain,” Lumine agrees lightly, her eyes shuttering just the smallest bit. The foolish part of him likes to think she’s disappointed because of his failed attempt at reciprocity. “A very dashing but terrible captain.”
“Yes, that’s me to a tee.” Kaeya laughs and groans as he reaches blearily for the flask. “A terrible captain who must drink to mull over the revelation you’ve just imparted upon him.”
“I’d like to drink to forget I’ve ever imparted it upon you,” Lumine snarks back as he drinks heavily, welcoming the blur, the incongruity, the displacement.
For once, he doesn’t notice the quiet flexing of her fingers as she studies where he had pressed his lips against them, running her thumb over the ridge of her knuckles over and over again as the moon swings low across the wind-swept horizon, buffeted by breezes immeasurable.
.
.
.
fin