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Tucked away in one of the many peaks of the mountains that embraced Qingce Village was a rundown shrine, once erected for some nameless God from a long forgotten era. The villagers hardly paid it any mind, only the children adventurous enough to make the trek up to it to satiate their childlike curiosity.
The secluded little shrine looked the same as always — five lion statues protectively circling the altar in the middle. And the same as always, five apples sat snugly on top, freshly plucked almost every single day. No one had ever seen who made these offerings, if they were even offerings in the first place, but there would be new apples on the altar each morning without fail.
Until now.
A little ways away, Morax— ah, no. Zhongli watched as the Conqueror of Demons quietly made his way towards the altar, taking refuge under the protective canopy of darkness brought on by sundown. In his hands, he carried five apples.
He placed the apples on the altar, replacing the ones from the day before, and knelt down in front of it. He inclined his head, in respect, in prayer, Zhongli did not know. He did not know whether this was a moment he was even allowed to witness, yet he watched on.
‘Do not estrange yourself,’ she used to say, always so wise and elegant with her words in a way the Morax from centuries past had always failed to be. ‘They may be your warriors, but they are still humane. Mere children stripped of their innocence and curiosity and forced to wield a weapon for a war they should never have had to witness. Care for them, Rex Lapis.”
He'd failed her countless times. This request had only been another to add to the pile.
Morax had watched as four of them lost themselves to insanity, giving in to the resentment accumulating in their hearts from a contract he had made with them. He knew they were aware of the consequences. It did nothing to quell the guilt.
By the time Morax had reached the very last one, the Conqueror of Demons had been a mere shell of the child Morax had found him as. He could not protect the boy’s innocence, nor could he uphold the Goddess of Dust’s request — so he swore an oath to himself to look after the last Yaksha to the best of his capabilities.
He had always watched from a distance; constant requests to the owner of the inn to tend to him, the pain medication for the binds of karma gripping at his soul. He knew the boy was vigilant, an avid fighter and a strong warrior. He knew the boy respected him, and honoured his contract above all else. He did not know what the boy was truly like.
And as he watched from his perch in the darkness, no longer confined under the mantle of Rex Lapis, he realised he was nothing more than a stranger to the Conqueror of Demons.
It was not long before another figure joined the boy.
Zhongli almost didn't notice the Anemo particles gathering in the air behind the altar before they all merged to take shape in the form of a green clothed bard. His face was one Morax was achingly familiar with, yet Zhongli wondered if he truly knew this person either. Once the wings were shed and the hood lowered, which mask adorned that pretty face of his? Which face was the one without a mask, if there were any at all?
“Adeptus Xiao,” He called out, voice a lilting melody that soothed even the most vicious souls, as Zhongli watched intently, “making offerings to a God who’s not your own? I never pegged you to be blasphemous.”
“...Barbatos,” Xiao acknowledged.
Barbatos grinned. “So you don’t deny it!”
“What brings you here?” Xiao ignored him, standing up from where he had been kneeling and meeting his eyes — a show of power? Zhongli wondered. Xiao had never abused his authority before. What nature of relationship would the Anemo Archon extend to an Adeptus from a nation that was not his own?
But as Zhongli watched on, he realised with aching clarity that Xiao’s shoulders were not as tense as they always tended to be and Barbatos’ smile was softer than he had ever seen it before.
Oh, Zhongli thought, not a show of power…. They are equals.
“I wished to see you,” Barbatos whispered, voice barely heard over the very winds he brought with him — but no matter how hard Zhongli pretended, he was far from human, and easily picked up the melodious cadence of the God of Freedom. As the God traipsed closer to the Adeptus, Zhongli noticed a vulnerability in his twinkling jade eyes he had never been graced with. “I was worried.”
“I’m fine—”
“Are you?” Barbatos interrupted, reaching out to cup the Adeptus’ face gently. The warmth in his eyes was awfully familiar to Zhongli — but he didn't understand why. “You don’t have to hide yourself away from me, you know this. With you, I am not the Anemo Archon, I am not some wandering bard from Mondstadt. I am myself, and I am always here for you with open arms.”
And as the Yaksha’s mask cracked and slipped, as he gave in and pulled his lover close to him and wrapped his arms tight around the other’s form, both of them sliding down to a perch on the ground in front of the altar, Zhongli realised this was history repeating itself before his very eyes.
“Is he truly gone?” Barbatos’ voice was shaky, and with a sudden jolt Zhongli realised they were speaking of him. He willed the overwhelming guilt that consumed his very being to go away, knowing he only did what had to be done. “It doesn’t… feel real.”
“The traveler confirmed it, though I haven’t… seen him myself,” Xiao’s voice was muffled, refusing to lift his head from where he had it pressed against his lover’s chest. “Madame Ping did not mention anything, either.”
“But the Harbour…”
“I know,” Xiao sighed. “It was completely fine, no signs of a literal Archon passing. I find it… hard to believe, but... if the traveler had been lying, Madame Ping would have warned us immediately. I am choosing to trust her.”
The silence afterwards felt deafening to Zhongli, for the two immortals had woven a safe place amongst themselves where only they belonged. Zhongli was not wanted here.
And yet he stayed. He needed to know— he needed to know…
The moonlight glinted against the tear that slid down Barbatos’ cheek, one hastily wiped away so as not to be noticed — but Xiao was attuned to every single breath his lover took.
“Venti?” Xiao tilted his head up, golden gaze meeting twinkling jade eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Barbatos took in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling shakily. “Am I… Am I really the last one left?”
Ah, Zhongli closed his eyes. My dearest friend… I am truly sorry.
But—
“You’re not,” Xiao’s voice sharply cut through both the Gods’ dwindling trails of thought, “He… Even if he is truly gone, he will always be with us regardless. We all carry a piece of him with us, and even without him… we are not truly alone, are we? I have you. You’ll always have me.”
Zhongli's eyes flew open, shocked.
This was... Xiao’s humanity.
“Ah,” Barbatos whispered, voice wet. “You’ve grown so much. I truly adore you, you know that?”
They may be your warriors, but they are still humane.
It all clicked into place.
The warmth and fondness in Barbatos’ twinkling jade eyes were once directed towards him, albeit by a different teal gaze, a different God, a different time.
He reminds me of her, Zhongli thought with a painful pang in his chest. Gentle, kind, wise in his own twisted way. His love brought a touch of humanity to Xiao’s soul, one hardened by the throes of war and bloodshed — the same as hers had brought to him.
Morax had once been a ruthless war machine, the blood of countless mortals and immortals alike marring his visage until he was blinded by it, until the metallic tang of iron in his mouth was the only thing that grounded him to the remaining slivers of humanity left in his soul. Guizhong had grasped at those tendrils and cradled them in her gentle, loving palms until Morax finally began to understand the concept of mortality. The concept of being Zhongli.
In Xiao’s golden gaze, he had found Morax’s golden gaze. The same lack of humanity, the same soul tainted by the blood of thousands, and for the longest time he believed he had condemned another bright, innocent soul to an end that would serve him nothing but pain.
But as he watched Barbatos— Venti gently coax Xiao out of his tight embrace, whisper soothing words against his lips and bring back the light in those amber eyes that he had not seen in well over two millennia, Zhongli realised that his fear was unfounded.
Just as Morax had the loving embrace, the wise words and gentle hands of Guizhong to guide him into the person he had grown to be today, Xiao too had the loving embrace, the soft melodies and the beautiful smiles that Venti showered him with to pull him back from the brink of madness.
He could only hope that history would change its course, and fate would be far kinder to them than it had been in the past.