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Liyue Harbor will always be in a state of flux—always changing, always inviting the newness of the world into its docks. History will paint it in vibrant colors, its most beautiful traditions alongside the innovations of ever-changing cultures. But to Xiao, Liyue will always be the same.
His Liyue. His to protect. Rex Lapis’ Liyue.
The fittings may change, but the core is the same.
When he’d first met the traveler, a thought crossed his mind that slowly embedded itself deep into his consciousness. Xiao knew with one glance that Aether was not of Teyvat. The way he held himself; the way he wielded his elemental powers; the mere energy of him was not human, or demon, for that matter. Aether felt like something different, like the night sky, broad and all-encompassing to those on the ground.
Had Xiao’s apprehension not superseded his curiosity, he would have asked: what does Liyue look like, to an outsider like you?
As a fellow outsider, do you see it as I do?
Rex Lapis’ decree is simple. Protect Liyue. Vanquish demons. Restore order through slaughter. Purge evil through battle. Nothing more, nothing less. The five yakshas' existence, purpose, and meaning all lie within that framework of being the weaponry by which Liyue is guaranteed safety.
As the last remaining of the five, despite being also assisted by the many remaining adepti, Xiao holds his mission close to his heart.
When the threat of Osial befalls Liyue, both the mortal millelith and Qixing, and the mighty, illuminated adepti come to the rescue. It is not easy to put aside their differences, but in the end they come together to fight for their nation, standing on top of the Jade Chamber, overlooking the monstrous water dragon haunting them all from the past. All are willing to fight until their deaths. But there is another one, standing on the battlefield, that does not need to be there—and yet is there—and does not back down despite every opportunity he gets.
Aether.
Aether is not of Liyue. Aether doesn’t even look like he’s from anywhere in Teyvat, for that matter, the true fittings of an actual wanderer, as if he were from an entirely different world of his own. And yet he is here. Bruised and still injured from a previous battle—he had heard the floating girl that they had come from the Golden House, and a battle with a Fatui Harbinger had led to the summoning of Osial—Aether still stands with the rest of them, ignoring any weariness from previous battles.
“What can I do?” he offers, and the adepti share a look at each other as if gauging the situation. They know. It is not exactly easy to hide that Aether is not like other travelers, other adventurers. They lend him their power. Slowly, gauging how much he can handle of their energies. They convene on the ballista, fighting Fatui and avoiding the strikes of the fallen god, water blasting them painfully.
At some point during the battle, Aether and Xiao meet back-to-back as they dodge from an attack. The former glances at the adeptus with an unreadable smile.
Xiao has long been used to being the strongest one on the battlefield, the one most proficient at killing. But with Aether here by his side—blocking and returning a strike, a Fatui agent dropping to the ground—there is a feeling that fills him about having someone near his equal, if not even stronger, fight with him.
Excitement? Thrill?
The tiniest bit of lax, like he would be safe with him?
So when the ballista cracks open with a particularly hard strike, and Aether has no choice but to obey gravity, Xiao does not fight the instinct to leap between debris to catch him before he lands on the ground.
Only a quiet tsk comes out of him once Aether is safely in his arms, to which the other’s gasp of surprise melts into a brief, sheepish grin.
He'd imagined the traveler would ease his murderous workload—not add to it. And right now, Liyue might be lucky to have a willing outsider to help them out in such a time of crisis, but like this… Xiao wonders if the nation will be any safer with a savior as reckless as him.
Aether calls it an offering out of jest. Xiao seems exasperated every time, but he does not reject the plate of almond tofu that gets offered to him anyway. Besides, it tastes different when it’s the traveler that makes it.
It is unfair in a way that Xiao hears ahead if Aether might pass by the Wangshu Inn—related to commissions from Verr Goldet or Huai’an, or perhaps from a brief sighting of him from the mountains of Liyue. But he finds it no sort of nuisance, because that only gives him more time to prepare himself to meet the traveler.
The plates of almond tofu, like all offerings to archons and adepti, are made with a wish in mind. Like this, Aether subtly asks for a sliver of time, a moment with some company other than his floating companion. And the Xiao before Osial, before saving Liyue, well, he would have turned him down, would have thanked him for the plate and then disappeared into the night, but—
Here, he does not.
Instead, he guides Aether up to the rooftop of Wangshu Inn. Here, the history of Liyue unfolds behind Xiao’s eyes, a history he knows like the back of his hand. Jueyun Karst to the left. Dihua Marsh to the right. And should the night be quieter, and Xiao allows himself to stand on the lower floor, there are the broken ruins in Guili Plains, where the war he had fought still rings clear.
Wangshu Inn fills his mind deafeningly with memories, but when Aether is there, all goes quiet.
Sometimes, Aether talks to him. Speaks to him of developments in his journey, or about a notable yet stray monster that he had fought with. Other times, it is mundane stories of his adventuring with Paimon. But a lot of times, Xiao’s company seems to be enough, Aether looking out at the view with an indistinct expression on his face.
It is in moments like these that Xiao recognizes something in Aether that he’s only ever seen in a mirror.
A deep welling of sadness. One that has been sharpened and smoothened and shaped by time.
Is this why Aether smiles at him like he understands his loneliness?
“My sister,” he said once, voice nearly just a whisper, “I’ve never been without her this long.” And that was it. No other explanation. He does not expound on what it means. It feels too heavy to say anything more than that. So when Aether leans his head against his shoulder, awake but not quite in his head, Xiao lets him, letting his questions disappear in an exhaled breath.
Eventually, if the Archons allow them, Aether will know of his secrets in time. And Xiao will know of his secrets in time.
Right now, it does not feel like it is his to ask.
But he can stay, he can keep watch, so that he does.
It isn’t that Xiao does not understand what draws the citizens of Liyue—and other nations as well—to the yearly celebration of Lantern Rite, it’s just that such a loud and joyous eruption of fervor has always had a different connotation to him, the one who protects Liyue from the monsters hiding in their shadows.
While Aether explores the newly-decorated streets of Liyue with the enthusiasm of a young tourist, streamers of red and lanterns bathing the city in a beautiful gold, Xiao looks over the harbor feeling like a foreigner. He hates the Lantern Rite. And not only because of the general adepti dislike of mortal life. Of course, he will never be one to complain about his duty, but the pain… The Lantern Rite is flashy and joyful—exacerbating the usual haze of the residual hatred of defeated gods.
On those days, Xiao finds no rest.
(Not that any kind of rest has ever been truly restful, not in what seems like ten thousand years.)
No room to breathe. Only the briefest of moments between fighting tainted monsters that spawn from the ground, his spirit black and blue and choking from corruption.
His one fear is what would happen to Liyue if one day, he becomes unable to fight?
When the karma that weighs down on him becomes too much for him to bear?
He has to continue to believe in his battle, lest he forgets it.
He sees the lanterns and chants to himself, like forcing himself to believe it:
It is worth it.
A camp of hilichurls reek blackness, slowly creeping into the territory of Wangshu Inn. There are innocent people there. As silently as possible, as to not draw any more attention, he quickly clears them, granting no mercy. Their anger dissipates from their bodies and sinks into his skin.
It is worth it.
Their eyes all black now, growling and hissing, a group of vengeful, corrupted treasure hoarder spirits track a caravan carrying stocks of food and materials on its way to Liyue Harbor. They promise sickness and death to whatever they touch. Before the driver and the millelith even notice him creeping by, the spirits are dealt with. When he breathes in, he feels them calling him unforgivable.
It is worth it.
He’s never been partial to crowded areas, not with his constitution being as it is. He’d rather be as far away from other people as possible, as to not bring any more danger than he already must. All of this human experience of the Lantern Rite—peeking in between stalls, checking wares, tasting the festival food, creating lanterns—are for individuals like the traveler.
There is evil out there to be cleansed, he does not have time for “merriment.”
Which is why he does not understand why Aether does not understand.
Why they insist to “bring the Lantern Rite to him”, serve him food that reminds him of sweet, sweet dreams. What they get out of dragging him all the way to the outskirts of Liyue Harbor, if only to overlook the Mingxiao lantern, a quiet reminder of a battle fought what feels like eons ago. The closer they get to the festivities, the more Xiao feels out of place, the more he wants to run.
But he does not, because Aether is by his side. And on the walk to the harbor, he asks Xiao about the Lantern Rite, as if he hasn’t heard about it before. Forces Xiao to form the words with his own mouth. Filling in the blanks when he no longer knows what to say; when he’s forgotten what it truly is now, to the people he is protecting, what happens on the stage while he is on the sidelines.
That the Lantern Rite is a celebration of the new year, a thanksgiving for the previous year’s joys, and a prayer in anticipation for the coming year’s blessings. That the Lantern Rite is a commemoration of its long past, its commercial hub status getting adorned with its intricate history, traders and storytellers coming together to speak of old wars and adepti and long-fallen gods.
Lanterns as beacons in the night, guiding bygone heroes back to their homeland.
Aether could be fair and say it as well, but he gives Xiao a taste of his own medicine and lets it sink in on its own.
This celebration is for you too, Xiao.
And when the traveler is long gone, he and Paimon in the streets of Liyue no doubt looking in awe and wonder at the culmination of the Lantern Rite festivities, Xiao sits on top of the mountainside on the outskirts watching Liyue light up with brilliance.
And he tells himself:
It’s worth it.
This is worth it.
Perhaps on the next Lantern Rite, Xiao wouldn’t mind taking a walk in the city with him.
No one prays to adeptus Xiao.
Not in the same way other adepti have served the citizens of Liyue, at the very least. There are no prayers of good tidings and great harvest; no pilgrimages made up to abodes to seek wisdom.
This has never bothered Xiao in the slightest, not in his hundreds of years of service.
It is better off this way. He doesn’t have what other adepti like Mountain Shaper or Cloud Retainer can offer, no knowledge and insight that he finds worth sharing. Even half-adepti like Ganyu would perhaps have more to give to a longing pilgrim.
The only thing Xiao can give is his executioner’s blow.
That doesn’t stop him from hearing them cry. Wishes for death from the most desperate, like silent bells tolling in the dead of the night. Demands for violence that are whispered into the traitorous air, reaching his ears without fail. They don’t have to speak his name for him to feel their prayers.
They twist, turn, mutate into the most horrible of requests, the hatred and miasma from old fallen gods corrupting even the most innocent of pleas, Xiao’s spear materializing in his hand as if on instinct, to kill, to eradicate, to cleanse, to kill kill kill kill—
This is why Xiao does not like to sleep.
Slumber means dropping his guard, letting the swirl of the voices take over him until he’s at his most vulnerable. Sleep is only more cause for trouble.
The yaksha soon learns, however, that sometimes, it is worth the spare openness; his emotions remaining unsaid and yet seen, somehow, because Aether is Aether. Xiao wonders if, to the traveler, he is transparent. Aether does not even flinch when Xiao misses to restrain the growl that crawls up his throat in response to the clamor of pain. Instead, the golden-haired boy readjusts where he’s resting his head on Xiao’s shoulder, and reaches the small distance to place his hand on his. Rubs two, three gentle lines with his thumb on the back of the adeptus’ hand before he promptly falls back into slumber, a well-deserved afternoon nap after a long morning of commissions.
Xiao’s spear dematerializes without a sound.
And, equally quietly, loud in its silence, Xiao rests his head against Aether’s, and closes his eyes.
Anger is not an emotion Xiao would associate with Aether, and yet here they are, at the highest peak of Qingce Village in the late afternoon, after he had asked Xiao if he knew someplace quiet where they would not be interrupted.
“I don’t understand,” he says, sat down with his arms on his knees, his head on his arms, curled up in a ball. Xiao stands next to him with his arms crossed over his chest, listening patiently. “She didn’t want to. …I’d finally found her, and yet…” There lingers the quiet kind of anger, voice calm yet cold. On the inside, Aether is trembling with irritation and swaying with dismay. The backlash of betrayal. “We’ve been separated for more than five hundred years.”
I’ve never been without her this long.
For what seems like an eternity after that, Aether is quiet. Understandably so. This is none of Xiao’s concern, at least not in the sense where he would have the duty to step in, and yet the chaos of it is one he could only ascribe to be some sort of nightmare. Perhaps similar to the ones he gets often. He imagines Aether’s world turned cleanly upside down—those he had considered his greatest allies now potentially his worst enemies; and that he had thought was his enemy is under the hand of the one person he trusts the most in the entire universe.
It is heavy.
In the silence, Xiao recalls when there were still five yakshas around. How the mist of karmic pain that entangled around them for eons of dutiful slaughter had begun to choke them, turn them into twisted versions of themselves. He had seen each of them fall from being unable to tolerate the agony.
He worries the same might happen to Aether. He worries that when that happens, he will only be able to watch, the same way he did back then.
That he would have to be the last resort to slay him.
It is only when the sun is long out of the sky when Aether speaks again, his voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming, sobbing openly—“I want to go home.”
Xiao… places a comforting hand over Aether’s shoulder. He knows that Aether would have been ready to go in a heartbeat. That Teyvat and Khaenri’ah are nothing but a blip in the grand canvas of his journeys. And that, unlike him, all permanent miasma and choking with his feet sunk into the ground, unable to move, forever rooted in Teyvat, in Liyue, in his karma, Aether has and always will be like flashes of starlight, beautiful and faint and gone in a moment.
That he would be gone before Xiao learns how to miss him.
The only question the yaksha has is, when he finally goes, if he would take the rest of Xiao’s heart with him.
He would have pulled a classic “foolish mortals” had he known no better about Aether’s own expansive lifetime. Like this, then, perhaps they are the same in their foolishness. At least the citizens of Liyue know better than to acquaint with him, their guardian whose only strength is in pursuing death. They hear the mere word of him and they scutter in the opposite direction. It is better that way. It is safer that way.
But Aether does not, and now it is too late.
Xiao stays up late wondering how much of what has befallen Aether is from him. How much of it is his own karma, spread by their bond—whatever sense he may make out of it—and leading to the other’s pain? Aether complains of nightmares, of being in that domain and calling out for his sister, only to be pushed back, thrown off, like he had never been wanted in the first place.
So Xiao sets up for an apology for what he has done, the least he can do for spreading the black miasma that surrounds him into someone unrelated like Aether, but the latter only throws him a look of confusion that slowly evolves into a now-familiar, cryptic smile.
“Why would I want to sever it?” Aether asks, “I’ve never thought of that, Xiao.”
Xiao is quiet, too dumbfounded to say another word.
So instead, Aether puts his hands over his hips and says, “When I am in Liyue, you make me strong, Xiao, knowing you are out here protecting the land as well. I have no regrets about being close to you.”
Then stay, Xiao nearly says.
“What does Liyue look to you,” Xiao finally asks, though he intones it not quite like a question, like he’s still apprehensive about it. Aether turns back toward him, all gold eyes and hair, stars in the night sky.
“Beautiful,” the traveler answers immediately, as if he had long thought of it that way. “Rich in its history, steeped in tradition. And with guardians that look after it long after the people have forgotten them in time. It’s a stunning nation.”
Then stay.
“I know you keep yourself all wrapped in secrecy for the people, but—think about it, everything they do is in debt to you.”
“A debt that does not need to be repaid,” Xiao says. “I only follow through Rex Lapis’ original decree.”
“And that’s exactly why it’s so praiseworthy.” Aether nods to himself. “It’s a negative cycle where only you bear all the consequences. Had they known about you—should they still honor you the way they did then—they would see you as the hero that you are, Xiao. As the hero I see you as.”
Then stay.
Yanxiao avoids eye contact with Xiao but does not hesitate in giving Aether a judgmental look when he orders a plate of almond tofu for breakfast. What the cook doesn’t know is that it’s a reward for a restless night of nightmares, and an apology for a friendship that has always been wanted.
For the something more that cannot be claimed.
As they share the plate of sweet dreams, Xiao realizes, while looking at Aether enjoying a bite, that one day, like everything else that has happened in the past, he might be able to forgive himself—forgive Aether—for what they have done to each other. No grudge can last a thousand years. And should the thousand years pass—well, Aether would have been long gone, and Xiao knows better than to dig himself an even deeper grave for his sorrows.
Xiao has lived more than a thousand years in the loneliness, where there is only his spear and his darkness, but now, bathed in starlight, he feels lost and ill at ease. Perhaps, in a different life, things would not have ended this way, and there would have been compromises to be made, and there would have been promises to be kept. He considers the possibility of a universe where that occurs, if it would be better, if it would be worse.
The young-seeming adeptus searches his heart, only to find no answers.
The prowess of that one mortal Beidou is not one that has escaped Xiao, and once Aether informs him that she would be allowing him safe passage into the closed country of Inazuma, Xiao is certain the traveler would be alright. It doesn’t entirely ease his worries, however, so once the day of departure arrives, he slips into the nearby Guyun Stone Forest to observe the ship as it prepares to sail away.
His mind is so clouded he doesn’t hear Aether approaching him from behind.
“Xiao?”
The adeptus feels a pang in his chest in the other’s tone of surprise; on the other hand, a breeze of thankfulness fills his heart—perhaps he is less see-through than he’d once thought. He turns to the golden-eyed boy with his usual blank face, hoping his mask does not break.
Paimon speaks before he can. “Are you here to say goodbye, Xiao?”
“Hmph.” If he was, he would need more coaxing to admit it. “I wanted to see to it the ship wouldn’t sink before you’ve even left Liyuen premises.”
Aether smiles like he knows what that sentence really meant. Xiao wonders if Aether really understands, or he just likes to believe it is that way. “Thank you.”
He’d promised once, after all, that he would protect Aether, hear his call, for as long as he is in Liyue. Anywhere beyond there… is entirely out of his jurisdiction.
“You know,” Paimon begins, crossing her small arms over her chest, “Paimon thinks it would be great if Xiao came with us. Then I wouldn’t be worrying so much about you getting in weird stuff, Aether.”
Xiao gets interrupted before he can reply. “That wouldn’t be a nice thing to ask, Paimon,” he explains, patting the fairy’s head gently before turning to Xiao. “Liyue is Xiao’s home, he belongs here. I can’t take that away from him—and him away from Liyue. Don’t you think, Xiao?”
Home, huh?
Two pairs of gold eyes meet, and in the other, Xiao sees a longing that he wonders is what foolish mortals would call love.
“May your journeys allow you to reach your sister soon,” is, instead, what Xiao settles with, and Aether pulls out another one of his cryptic smiles. Like he hears the Thank you. Like he hears the Liyue—and I—will always be here. Like he understands the I hope you, too, reach and return to that place where you belong.
Like he knows this is a goodbye, but of a different sort.
Xiao is too far from where they are to be visible when the two get on the ship. They wave vaguely in his direction, his attention called back by a whisper of his name in a familiar voice, carried by the sea breeze. Xiao watches as the anchor gets hoisted, the sails opened, and the ship begins to make its way into the great sea. Once it is out of his sight, he has no way to find out if Aether will be alright.
At dusk, the stars are beginning to come out, perfect for wayfinding. Its deep blueness is all-encompassing, as if cradling Xiao in familiar darkness.
The adeptus raises his head to the wide sky. The god he has worshipped is dead. Only Archons know where his pleas will end up in. But even if he does not know who will hear his wishes, for Aether—he prays.
Time is a silly thing. At first, a day feels like a hundred years, and then, a hundred years pass by in what feels like mere days.
What felt like the entire world once is now but a passing memory.
Liyue Harbor will always be in a state of flux—always changing, always inviting the newness of the world into its harbors. History will paint it in vibrant colors, its most beautiful traditions alongside the innovations of ever-changing cultures. But to Xiao, Liyue will always be the same.
Once, there was a traveler that roamed the landscape of Liyue, changing it and influencing it wherever he went. Shifting its colors; turning it upside down; leaving his stardust on it.
Liyue will always be the same.
The same harbor.
The same rooftop on Wangshu inn.
The same cliffside in Qingce.
The places Xiao went to, trying to understand what Liyue looked like to one who had come from the heavens, looking down.
The traveler he wished on stars to.
Xiao still finds him everywhere, in things beautiful and faint and gone in a moment.