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Xiao senses it first.
It’s fleeting, just a small crack in years worth of sturdy rock. He ignores it at first, hopes it’s just his imagination. Then it happens again, much stronger, pressing against the heart made of energy in his empty ribcage. The pain is subtle, just enough to force his brows together and his hand to still atop half-eaten almond tofu.
He lifts his head and gazes blankly at the kitchen’s single window. Outside is dark, the sky heavy with stars and the silhouette of Dragonspine looming in the distance. Xiao gets up, abandoning his plate and a confused Yanxiao near the stove. His feet seem to move on their own as they carry him up weathered, carefully maintained stairs. He ignores Verr’s greeting and crosses into the cool night air. The moon is hanging heavy on the horizon and some part of his stomach twinges. With it returns a host of unpleasant memories and feelings he has not experienced in centuries.
The yaksha understands—and he is far from afraid.
When he arrives at the source of his disturbed evening, his eyes simply look on with indifference. He does not feel a shred of fear in the face of his adversary. It’s normal. It’s expected.
It’s his purpose.
The awakened god is terrifying and tremendous. Its massive body is half-formed, corruptive energy oozing from its resurrected mass. If left unchecked, it will surely lead to the senseless slaughter of mortals unlucky enough to traverse through the normally peaceful valley. Unleashing a mighty roar from its slavering maw, it charges at him on unbalanced limbs and attempts to snag him amid the mountains’ shadows.
Xiao dodges, brandishing his polearm in a powerful hand. The beautiful weapon glows with power and then the true fight begins. They pounce and weave, claws and polearm meeting in the middle, and his body hums with the thrill of battle. He’s a weapon himself, his polearm merely an extension of the power caterwauling throughout his lithe body. Xiao lets it out with a quick slip of his mask, the howls of a thousand vanquished souls filling the void in both mind and chest. It hurts but the weight of his cause is heavier.
It’s nearly dawn by the time Xiao is allowed to fall to his knees.
The old god, now in mere tatters of its attempted resurrection, glares at him with eyes alive with fire. Blood and energy flow from its gaping jaws as it sizes him up for another attack, the grass beneath its malignant feet brown and brittle—they both know the end has come.
“Return to the slumber from whence you came,” Xiao commands amid the lightening sky.
The creature before him throws its head back and laughs. It’s startling and uncomfortable, like a blade being dragged along a whetstone. “Curses be upon you, illuminated beast,” it speaks, slow and deliberate. “A thousand curses upon you, so that you may suffer the way I have suffered.”
Xiao grits his teeth, fingers tightening upon his polearm at the twitch of movement in the god’s tail. He is too late, however. His body is weak and tired, energy reserves empty and tainted. Xiao focuses upon the tail and in turn misses the hand descending upon him. Claws sink into his chest, sharp and angry, and the old god screeches in triumph as one slices through the core within his chest. He’s so startled that he doesn’t react at first, staring down at his own chest through the eyes of someone else.
Then the god begins to fade, and the sound of its wretched voice screaming curse curse curse resonates within his very bones.
The pain twists through him only seconds later. Xiao collapses into the dirt, writhing as karmic debt ten times over gnarls itself within his small body. There is little the yaksha can do as his body fights to heal a wound that cannot be cured. His flesh knits itself together before the energy tainting his core hisses in warning, forcing the touch of healing to recede. It tries once, twice, three times, before Xiao begins clawing at his own chest in a desperate attempt to numb the worst pain he has ever felt in his life.
He realizes he’s yelling. An inappropriate word, in truth. His screams surely echo through the valley, anyone unlucky enough to hear him weighed by their own amount of karmic debt. Xiao knows not what he’s saying as he tears up the grass and breaks his own fingernails upon his ribs.
With the quickness of an arrow, it subsides. Like the morning tide returning to sea.
Xiao’s left there in panicked euphoria, every bit of his skin burning with the fury of a forgotten god. It’s his job. His purpose, he reminds himself. Yet lying there in sallow grasses and a pool of his own blood, Xiao feels it—fear.
He’s different after that.
Every step hurts. The morning sun burns his eyes. Anything that touches his lips is rejected. He grows withdrawn, pain still spidering through his body and flaring up at the worst possible times. Xiao grows irritable and short, snapping at even Yanxiao and Verr as he’s questioned over his deteriorating state. His hands grow weak and unreliable and soon he cannot even hold his polearm steady. The yaksha suffers headaches and what mortals might call a heart attack, the hole in his chest ever present. It leaves his core exposed to the elements and gives him a vital weak point.
Taking a walk one evening, Xiao notices it.
His eyes are different. His cheeks are sunken. His skin is clammy. Even his hair has lost vitality.
Xiao falls to his knees, pawing helplessly at the stream water, but the image before him does not change. It’s terrifying for a being who has spent its entire life frozen in time. He is changing, forming into something else, and that petrifies him.
There’s a pulse of light beneath his shirt and Xiao frantically tears at the fabric. His veins, normally full of the illuminated blood of an adeptus, are purple and sickly beneath his skin. They glow faintly, pulsating like an eerie heartbeat from the wound inflicted upon him. Xiao places a trembling palm atop the gaping wound, fingers splayed and still not long enough to fully cover the size.
Xiao realizes with vivid clarity that he is dying.
The week following, he leaves Wangshu Inn. He isn’t sure where to go. Home was a vague concept but it had always vaguely been Wangshu. Xiao apologizes for his behavior and they promise to pray to Liyue’s Archon for his swift recovery.
He wonders, as he walks along the winding roads towards Mt. Hulao, if Zhongli could help him. The yaksha, in all his stubborn glory, decides against it.
Zhongli is busy now.
Zhongli is mortal.
The further he walks, the more he begins to think. Xiao is not ready to give up his duty. Even as his steps are uneven, even as he drops his polearm, even as his vision swims—he is not ready. The protection of Liyue has always fallen upon his shoulders. Ever since the great Morax gave him a new name and a new purpose, he had always upheld that promise. With his death, there would truly be no one to stop the spread of corruption through the beautiful land he had watched over for most of his reformed existence.
Had he truly accumulated enough karma to repay his own debt?
The whispers start as he passes through Jueyun Karst. With them comes the spread of his sickness, now crawling up his neck and spidering through his stomach. Xiao pushes on. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for as he walks, listening to the voices in his mind. Some thank him. Some curse him too. Some cry. Some laugh. They are the souls of all who he has slain and they revel in his assured destruction.
There’s one above the rest, however, and Xiao grits his teeth at its incessant push.
It’s the old god. Within his ears, it whispers. Promises of power, of rejuvenation, of purpose.
Give yourself to me, Xiao, it drawls, and he can almost feel its hot breath upon his shoulders. Together we can reform Teyvat.
Xiao does his best to block it out but he still does not deviate from his path. He realizes, as the curse climbs into his cheeks and swirls along his thighs in stripes, that he’s returning to the place where it all began.
Memories flood back in unwanted swathes the closer he draws.
He remembers when Morax saved him, extending a hand amid the darkness of a world keeping him captive. Xiao watches through angry, ferocious eyes as his master is slain, his limp body collapsing amid tainted snow. Then a hand is extended towards him, and the kindest smile Xiao has ever been blessed with in his awful, painful existence is burned forever into his mind. You will be named Xiao, Morax says, gentle, and I free you from a life within the shadows.
Xiao’s chest burns in pain afterwards.
The next one returns as he rests beneath a shaded tree. Its the first time he ever laid eyes upon Liyue. No snow, all warmth, brimming with the life Morax had given it. He remembers that first sunrise so vividly, all the way down to dewdrops clinging to summer grasses, as power gathered deep within his body. Morax had appeared perplexed then as a small blue gem appeared in his hand, his eyes aglow with the power of a wind he knew nothing about—his first true blessing of freedom.
Xiao stumbles into a boulder, shoulder connecting painfully with the rock, as the curse seeps into his eyes. They burn, water revealing the whites now tainted with the darkness of corruption, and it takes all of his willpower not to claw them from his very skull.
Another memory follows suit and Xiao bites his lip against sadness. There’s Aether’s face, his pretty blue eyes sparkling as he leads Xiao to the cliff overlooking Liyue. His own eyes grow wide as he follows the point of Aether’s hand, watching the harbor become alive with golden lanterns that peacefully go adrift within the wind. It’s the first time in his life Xiao had ever stopped to admire the beauty in something and he holds the memory close; that had been the last time he’d seen Aether since his search had resumed.
Shaking his head to clear his mind, Xiao carries on until he reaches the site of his battle a month prior.
The land is still dead, tainted with the remnants of corrupted anger. Xiao stumbles into the center of the clearing and casts his eyes upon the faded stain of his own blood. He drops to his knees, palms resting upon the sickly earth. His eyes trace the purple corruption in his own veins, hands pulsating with light, and he slowly turns his hands over to stare blankly at his open palms.
The whispers rise to greet him.
You have returned to me, yaksha, the god rumbles. Your heart is hollow and your mind is slipping.
He says nothing, observing the vague outline of a shadow opposite himself.
I can tell you have suffered greatly. There’s a laugh, devoid of amusement. Yet you have not suffered nearly as I have.
“Is it your goal to kill me?” Xiao finally questions.
Kill you? The god roars, a tremor passing through the earth. You are so simpleminded for a yaksha.
Xiao is not amused, his teeth grinding together in a show of fangs.
You will die, but it will not be at my hands, it continued. You have made a grave error returning to my resting place, yaksha. My power may not affect the world beyond but here, it is potent.
A trap, as if Xiao would’ve been able to fight back at all. Tendrils of shadow rose from the ground beneath him, coiling around his legs and holding him there in an iron grip. They burned hotter than any brand, making him scrabble weakly in the effort to free himself. But the god at a firm hold; it had no intention of letting him run away. Power flowed into him, white-hot and deadly, and Xiao felt the last line of defense between his soul and his body shatter. It swirled around his core before crashing against it with a mighty push.
Xiao’s back arched, his screech echoing through the valley.
When it finally subsided, when he was finally released, he was no longer Xiao. His body had been transformed, overflown with the corruption of a long forgotten god. With it went his mind and he was plunged into unpleasant darkness from all independent thought.
Everything but a single word—kill.
Lumbering through the wilds, Xiao did as he was told. The skin of his prey did not matter. Treasure Hoarder, Fatui, and Millelith fell at his feet, their blood tainting the soul and spreading the corruption ever growing in his chest. He became nothing but a tool at the disposal of his new master, his new god.
The nameless beast lost track of the days, if any had even passed. It could not remember sunset or sunrise. Only its urge to kill rang louder than all else and for the creature, it was the only thought that mattered.
Cornering a group of travelers, the beast let loose a mighty roar and swiped. Its bloodlust turned to confusion as its claws landed heavily upon something, held back by tremendous force. Turning empty eyes towards the source, it became aware of a powerful creature standing beside it. This was something deadly. This was a challenger. This was the harbinger of its death.
The creature lunged with a mighty screech, jaws snapping upon empty space. The attacker moved swiftly, the blows of a polearm sending its head reeling. Stumbling back, it shook its head before trying again, the newcomer guiding it away from the terrified travelers. They battled amid the wilds as they went, tremendous power raking at its feet and metal knocking the focus clear from its skull. Drooling angrily, the beast followed in a frenzy in an attempt to strike down the attacker distracting it from its duties.
Regarding each other in a clearing, the attacker finally paused.
The beast watched as they smiled, gentle and sad, and a pang of confusion froze it in place. Its claws dug into the dirt below as it watched its adversary grip their polearm tighter, a mighty golden light kicking up around their body, before they lunged without warning.
The beast howled as something pierced its chest.
Whatever it is contrasts starkly with the hot fire burning within. It’s cold and unnatural, cutting through the hatred and pain and bringing something calm and soothing. The creature can only snarl and slash and bite at its adversary, trying desperately to get away, but something keeps its back feet frozen to the ground. A newfound pain kicks up within and the beast screeches in defiant anger as it burns away the corruption within.
The god controlling him is driven back, the dregs of its power cleansed from his body, and the being he used to be comes rushing back.
He is Xiao, Vigilant Yaksha, servant to the mighty Geo Archon Morax.
The tainted form burns away and he is returned to his human body. Xiao blinks through hazy eyes as Zhongli’s face comes into view. His limbs are heavy and his mind a blanket of fog, and Xiao realizes in slow motion that within his chest lies his true master’s polearm. It sits cold and heavy against his flesh and Xiao raises a tentative hand to gently grip it. He smiles then, for the first time in years, blood dribbling from his lips and legs held up by Zhongli’s polearm alone.
“You came for me,” he whispers, hoarse and meek.
“Your corruption spread throughout the land,” Zhongli replies; there is not a shred of relief in his voice.
Xiao understands; Zhongli is simply fulfilling his duty even as a retired Archon. Because, above all else, he is still an adeptus, and corruption consuming Liyue cannot happen under any circumstance.
Still, Xiao smiles, even as the light in his eyes begins to fade. “I have failed you.”
“The life of an adeptus is a thankless one,” the former Archon whispers.
“I have failed you,” Xiao repeats. “If I am to die today, please let it be by your hands.” And Xiao feels sadness prick at his eyes. “I am ready.”
Zhongli betrays his emotion. It flickers along his face, painful and raw, before it's gone again just as swiftly. “Why did you not seek me out?”
Xiao’s grip upon the polearm slackens and he instead uses the remainder of his strength to reach for Zhongli. “It is my duty to protect Liyue, even with my life.”
The Archon’s throat twitches, like he’s swallowing some great pain, before he obliges Xiao. He moves closer, firm grip jostling the polearm impaled within him and making Xiao wince, before the dying yaksha sags against his chest. Xiao presses his cheek against the taller entity’s chest and listens for a heartbeat he knows he will not hear. Zhongli is warm. Zhongli is safe.
Zhongli is home.
“Not like this, Xiao,” Zhongli whispers, an arm snaking around his back; the Archon holds him as close as he can while still keeping his grip gentle. “I would have helped you.”
Xiao says nothing, for he realizes it is the first time Zhongli has addressed him by name in hundreds of years. Has it really been that long since they last saw each other?
Zhongli tilts his head back and their eyes meet, Xiao’s vision growing weak. His master looks so exhausted, so anguished, and he feels just the smallest pang of guilt. Then their lips are sealed together, Zhongli kissing him so tenderly that Xiao actually does begin to cry. He feels the polearm begin to move, being retracted from his chest, and allows the warmth from Zhongli’s kiss to distract him from the pain threatening to swallow him whole. When it’s finally removed, Zhongli pulls away and allows Xiao to sag into his arms. He’s plucked from the ground and held firmly against his chest, head lolling into the curve of his neck as his empty chest pulsates; it has no energy to seal the wound inflicted upon him.
His mind swims, and Xiao thinks he hears three words that he has only ever witnessed shared between lovers, before a stagnant darkness devoid of dreams consumes him.
And he thinks, maybe, that’s the cruelest part of it all.