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He's oddly numbed once The Alcor ’s sails drop.
There's a faint, desensitizing drone on the edges of his mind. It rings in his ears like the lull of the depths, and tugs him through the motions by a string on his fingers. It leads him on, leads him forward, and he's at the mercy of its set course.
A course that guides him back to Inazuma.
Kazuha isn't fond of the sensation that the thought of his homeland stirs within him. The very mention of it — "Inazuma" — halts the blood running through his veins and turns it frigid. Everything stills, and even the wind sours once it’s tainted with the unpleasant verbiage. He’d like to think that he’s just high-strung and thrust toward the precipice of reliving his horrid days as a fugitive, conscience lurching and riddled with the onset of vertigo.
But he knows it’s more than that. The ache in his chest, when he reminisces about the cherry blossoms, isn’t a burden, but a cavity. One that fills with a weight too dreadful for him to bear before he rejects and suppresses it — bottling it down with a wry smile and an extended hand.
The Traveler doesn’t need to be bothered with his apprehension. Just as he once had, the Traveler is pursuing a mission. And who better to accompany them than an outcast of the land they seek?
Liyue’s winds are calm over his skin. They sound like bells — the giggling ring of autumn, with scarlet and honey gingkoes abundant. The laughter, however, dims once the Crux departs from the harbor, and Kazuha affords himself an anxious exhale.
He thinks that his friend would’ve enjoyed Liyue.
The voyage to Ritou will take no more than an afternoon. While the sun now hangs high in the sky, bright and sparkling warmth across the ocean, the soft ease of humidity rumbles in the distance. From his perch atop the mounted crossbow, the samurai gazes down at the Crux crew that mills about.
Beidou barks something to Juza, before slapping his shoulder in jest. Sea salt wafts around her stubborn presence, and the chilled bite of the waves flashes, untamed in her grin; she was born for the ocean, and made for its conquest. There’s an unchained, unbound spirit about her that reminds Kazuha of himself, in some ways. Granted, he doesn’t think that he has the charisma in him to lead an entire fleet through the marine dangers of Teyvat . . . but he’s got a knack for not staying in one place.
And then, there’s the Traveler. Their companion — Paimon is her name, he admitted after a bit of light teasing — floats about them, giddy and chuckling into her palms. For the briefest of instances, Kazuha observes how dots of light materialize and dissipate in the wake of her flight. However, they don’t just stem from her being: the celestial twinkling of atmospheres beyond also hover at the Traveler’s fingertips as they swing their arms to and fro, swirling in the iridescent crystals adorned on their garments, and especially shine in the gold of their irises.
“You two not only give off not only the essence of wind and earth, but also of . . . yes . . . the stars.”
Of the distant coalescence of auras above. Lights that individuals can only count from below, and trace imaginative patterns with their awe. There is something unspoken about the Traveler’s stars, however: the hint of an undertow, concentrated and pulsing, thrumming with an energy that Kazuha can’t put a name on.
The samurai tilts his head, waving in greeting when the Traveler catches his gaze. He doesn’t think now is the time to really mull about their secrets, nor does he believe that he wants to know what they hide.
He trains his gaze back on to the distance. The Alcor makes impressive work of the ocean, cutting through its waves with all of the ease behind a practiced sword, and bits of white sea foam are flicked into his hair from its vigor. Kazuha has the faint impulse, as if once again tugged, to rearrange himself and dip his hand below the hull, so he can feel the cool ocean spray card through his fingers.
Yet he doesn’t. Although it’s a harmless calling, he quiets the remnants of an unbridled spirit that roosts in his lungs, shaking it off with the memory of crow feathers. He’s had months to enjoy the deep blue with the Crux Fleet, before the Traveler arrived and requested a voyage to Inazuma; now is the time to steel himself, pry his embittered resolve from its burial site at the bottom of the Ritou harbor, and once more welcome the zephyrs of change.
Evening settles over the firmament like a blanket, one that’s only ruffled by the gradual drum of thunder that intrudes on its shelter. The air is tangy with the abrupt onslaught of humidity, heavy on his weightless hair and adamantly sticky on his clothes. The farther The Alcor sails into dark waters, the more and more the breeze smells like fire : a fuse, recently ignited and searing into its wick, festering with a resolute will too uncompromising to cross. For the first time in a while, Kazuha lets the corners of his lips sink into a frown in reaction to the unpleasant inkling, displaying a brief flash of unease for any to witness.
His figure floats off the crossbow, as if assisted by the winds, until he lands gently on the deck. Before the tips of Ritou’s islands flit in the distance, he makes his way to Beidou, who has taken firm hold of the wheel. Clipped by Inazuman gales, Kazuha brushes his tangled bangs from his face, and hears her hearty laugh even above the ocean’s tantrum.
“Not going under for cover?” She inquiries, an eye flashing. Kazuha glances around, noting the low population on deck: most of the crew have taken shelter to avoid the hostile weather, and he gives the captain a light shrug in response. Not even all of the Crux Fleet can grow accustomed to the fickle temperament of the open, expansive waters, despite their cumulative experience.
“It’s not a bother to me,” he replies at last, the wear from the journey not evident on his person. “I wanted to experience the weather for myself. There aren’t many welcome parties like what Inazuma provides for its . . . guests.”
Another chuckle from the captain. The thick of the storm clouds above dim the hue of The Alcor and its passengers, settling them into deep shade. “The last time we sailed to Inazuma, we delivered shipments from Naganohara Fireworks. Business is a convenient friend — there might be another opportunity for extended stay.” It’s her turn to shrug, and she tilts the wheel with an experienced hand. “There are some parts from new Ruin mechanics that my men on shore reported on; maybe I can wager with the International Trade Association over them. Hard to pinpoint them, though, because of pesky Electro deposits that weren’t on the islands last time we visited.”
He connects the dots as she elaborates, the ghost of a smile flitting across his visage. Admittedly, he doesn’t care much for the deposits she’s discussing — about acting as an extermination crew in exchange for extended residence, a permitted sojourn of sorts — however he’s grateful for her advance thought.
While the Crux did agree to help the Traveler traverse into Inazuma, they had never promised additional assistance. But this caring that Beidou shows, her willingness to extend a further hand, to accommodate those with a will as stubborn as hers, is what had prompted Kazuha to open up after being taken in by her crew. Hospitality isn’t the right word — no, it’s more akin to . . .
Comradery. The extension of family.
“Anyways,” Beidou continues blithely. “I’ll let our Sea Drake juggle the gears of it once we land. Maybe you can help out, eh?” She knocks a playful elbow against his chest, and Kazuha offers a reluctant chuckle.
“A wanted fugitive, running errands for local business right under the Shogun’s nose. Sounds like the thrill of a lifetime!”
“Ah, Beidou, you know that would bring you a lot of hassle.”
She shakes her head at his caution, dismissive. Part of Kazuha knows that she’s messing around — after all, she’s aware of how precarious maintaining relationships with anyone in Inazuma can be. Beidou wouldn’t be as rash as to jeopardize the trust of the Inazuma government, much less the wrath of the Shogun. Yet . . .
He lingers on her suggestion. It’s been months since he’s fled Narukami. Seasons have passed, one after the other, however he knows that its color palette hasn’t shifted from its vibrant, springtime radiance. The Shogun might have ensured as much: it’s another method to preserve her eternity, cherry blossoms persevering despite Teyvat’s lapse into autumn.
He won’t deny that he’s missed those blossoms, though.
Thunder claps in the distance, jostling him from his introspection. Near The Alcor ’s figurehead, Paimon lets out a shriek at the violent rumble that emanates from the sky, fleeing into the safety of the Traveler’s embrace. Above, daggers of light jaggedly trace the rounded curves of the gainsboro clouds above, before receding into their shade.
And then he feels it on his skin, brushing shyly over the bone of his shoulder-plate. Lucid, Kazuha turns his head towards the light scent of Yumemiru that skims over the calming waves, and blinks.
Earthy disruptions on the water’s surface begin to peak from above the ocean swell. Bright tinges of sage blur into sand, with flowering pillars of coral accenting each rolling mound. Land, at last.
Inazuma, at last.
Home , at last.
The noun settles uncomfortably in his mind. Home. Inazuma was his birthplace, a shrine of his namesake. But under the Shogun’s cruel jurisdiction . . . there is no flare of welcome, no relief found in the sight of shore. Only trepidation, and the instinctual clench of his gut.
The warning pulse of his Vision holstered behind his shoulder.
If there’s some emotion on his face, then Beidou doesn’t comment on it. He’s somewhat grateful for her silence, although he knows that, if she were to speak, then her emotional intelligence would advise her against any light-heartedness in the face of his past.
Kazuha clears his throat, eyes narrowing at the horizon, before he relaxes the tension strung throughout his figure.
Sakura blooms that sparkle beneath the light of vermillion sunrises. The ethereal, aquamarine glow of an enchanted forest. The invigorated, buzzing chatter of city folk, and the click of the light steps that they leave on riverside pavement. A homey aroma of street-vendors and their carts, dishes rolled with sweet dough and tea leaves.
He can hear it, see it, deeper into the islands. As Beidou shouts for her crew to prepare for land, Kazuha makes himself scarce — excusing himself from her side with a quiet well-wishing and a brief wave of his hand.
“If there’s anything I can assist with, please let me know. I’ll be below. The local patrol can get restless sometimes.”
Kazuha knows that he won’t be able to escape the call of the islands, no matter what physical barrier he wedges between. But the more he hovers over Beidou’s earlier words — about the opportunity that the new Electro deposits provide with their removal — the more that the notion of his landfall becomes tangible.
Before he submerges into the cabins below, he notices that the wind thrums with the tick of a clock.