Chapter Text
Albedo first hears of the traveler in one of Lisa’s letters.
Lisa’s letters are scattered, meandering affairs, as likely to detail the latest gossip as they are to provide anything of academic substance. Albedo rarely reads them to completion, but he never fails to skim them, either. Lisa may be indolent by nature, but at heart, she’s like him: an instinctive intellectual, seeking knowledge for the sheer pleasure of gaining it. On the rare occasion that there is something interesting happening in Mondstadt, she would never fail to notice — and having noticed, would never fail to inform him.
Her latest letter spends so long waxing on about Jean that he nearly misses the postscript.
PS. There’s a new cutie in town who’s even shorter than you are. I haven't got the chance to speak with him, but he’s strangely eye-catching, and not only because of the crop top.... I’m kidding, of course, but there really is something unusual about him. I can't explain it, but looking at him, I get the same feeling that I get looking up at the sky on a moonless night. Have you ever met someone like that?
Albedo squints at the postscript for so long the words start to blur. What is he supposed to make of this? Is she describing some new infatuation, or a threat to Mondstadt?
He doesn’t often answer her letters, but this time he’s moved to scrawl a terse reply.
Lisa,
Thank you for your updates.
Please send another vial of Rust Umber and two of Silver Sun. My supply is quickly dwindling, and I’ve yet to complete my taxonomy of alpine hilichurl variants.
I’ve enclosed a painting of a newly recorded piscine subspecies, which I’ve dubbed the Alpine Venomspine. Please pass it to Klee with my regards. Let her know that I've retained the skeleton, should she wish for a new toy.
Albedo
PS. Please send further context about this “cutie.” The information provided is sorely lacking, and I’m left uncertain of how to proceed.
###
In the coming weeks, Albedo hears a good deal more about the traveler.
That’s what most of his colleagues call him: just The Traveler, even though the stranger seems to have a perfectly serviceable name. ('Aether,' apparently, with no surname to speak of).
Kaeya describes the traveler as “irredeemably good-natured,” a squeaky-clean do-gooder who's "a lot cleverer than he lets on."
Jean considers him an indispensable asset, a newfound protector whose skill with blade and wind alike rivals even her own. (Albedo finds that a little hard to believe, but there’s little to achieve in arguing with Jean).
Most alluring are the details dangled in Lisa’s latest letter.
Goodness, ~someone’s~ showing an interest! As it happens, I do have another tidbit for you. You’re going to love this: the Traveler can control anemo without a Vision. It's as though the ley lines themselves have yielded before him, without any need for an intermediary Archon.
And there’s something else. I haven’t confirmed it firsthand, but the rumor mill reports that our elementally attuned new friend is not entirely human. If my sources can be trusted, our little cutie may have fallen from another world. An alien in our midst, can you imagine? If I weren't so terribly busy, I'd take him on as a subject of study. Perhaps one day I'll send him your way.
Lisa spends eight hours of every day drinking tea and reading books, and is unequivocally the least busy human that Albedo’s ever known. Excluding that flagrant untruth, Albedo finds her missive fascinating.
An alien? A creature from another world that can attune itself to the elemental flow of this one? Is the alien's home planet rooted to a similar elemental network? Or is this traveler some sort of elemental chameleon, homeostatically self-adjusting to his surroundings? Does he unlock the power at the heart of every world he visits? And how could his off-worlder status be a matter of rumor? Surely a non-human should look, well, inhuman.
The corner of Albedo’s mouth ticks up. He knows all too well that such generalizations are often fallacious. Still, Albedo was designed in his creator’s image.
He writes back at once.
Lisa,
My research stagnates — I require outside insight. If this traveler is so helpful, please send him to me. There's little urgency, of course. But I would greatly value a third party perspective, at his convenience.
Please inform Klee that I received her missive, and ask her to avoid engaging trebuchets until I’ve had the opportunity to educate her on responsible use and maintenance.
Albedo
###
Eight days later, the traveler appears at his campsite, and Albedo is moved to paint.
Albedo doesn’t keep a diary, because he doesn’t have to: his memory is very nearly perfect. Every discovery he’s ever made is etched into the furrows of his brain with perfect clarity, whole and without flaw. So there’s very little need to write things down.
But he does, on occasion, paint for reasons of sentiment, and not purely scientific inquiry.
Of course he doesn’t need the painting of Klee holding out the first fish she ever blew out of the water, triumph gleaming from every inch of her gap-toothed grin. But it’s nice, being able to flip open a folio and see it. He can’t explain why, intellectually, but he can observe his own reaction and adjust accordingly, which is where science begins, anyway.
Albedo can’t remember the last time he felt compelled to paint a perfect stranger. But from the moment he lays eyes on the traveler, even before he’s recognized him — by the midriff bared by his short black crop top, damn it all; Lisa’s eye for the most embarrassing detail of anyone’s appearance never fails to mortify — already, Albedo’s hands are twitching toward his canvas.
How could he resist? The traveler's eyes glow the impossible gold of a harvest moon hanging low on the horizon, thrice-distorted by the atmospheric density between there and here. His braid flows past his waist like liquid sunlight, vital warmth ensnared in amber. When he speaks, his hands flit about like songbirds. Nimble fingers fidget with the end of a braid before twitching it aside and conjuring a spectral constellation in his palm.
The traveler circles as he speaks, unconsciously maintaining a defensible position. His stardust eyes scan the surrounding wilds without trepidation — vigilant, but not quite wary, with the fluid confidence of one who's never faced a fight he couldn't win. His sleeveless shirt cuts off above the navel, baring an intoxicating stretch of skin between the jut of his hip and the line of his ribs.
…Hm. ‘Intoxicating.’ Why would Albedo choose that word? It’s unusual. More than unusual, it’s interesting.
“—sent us,” Aether is saying now. “She said you’ve been having trouble finishing your—”
“Would you excuse me?” Albedo asks calmly.
The traveler blinks, taken aback, and then gestures with both wild, roving hands, as though to say, go ahead.
Thank the Archons for small favors. Albedo nods politely and turns his full attention toward the canvas.
###
An indeterminable amount of time later, he looks up.
“My apologies, I had a minor matter to attend to. How can I— Oh,” he says, with surprise. “You’re somewhere else.”
Sure enough, the traveler isn’t hesitating in the snow before Albedo’s canvas, like he was when he arrived. Now he’s crouched in front of the campfire, stirring a pot of something red and steaming.
“Uh, yeah!!” shrills the creature floating behind him.
Hm. Curious. The floating one’s form is far and above the more exotic, yet it was the traveler that moved him to paint. Is there perhaps some still-rarer secret hidden behind the traveler’s hopeful smile? Was it an alchemist’s intuition that drove him, or base instinct?
When he looks up, both traveler and as-yet-uncategorized familiar are watching him, as though waiting for an answer. Ah. He must have missed something again. Albedo smiles politely. “Would you repeat that, please?”
The small floating one throws her tiny hands up. “I said, of course we’re somewhere else! It’s been four hours!!”
Albedo blinks. “I must have grown immersed in my work,” he realizes. “I hope that you were not inconvenienced.”
(“Not—!!”)
“It’s no trouble,” the traveler cuts in, elbowing her. It’s almost certainly a lie, but it’s a generous one, and Albedo appreciates the gesture. “Oh,” Aether adds, a little uncertain. “And, I made dinner? Just to pass the time. You’re welcome to a plate, if you like. I made enough for three.”
(“You did not!!” the creature shrieks in the background. “There’s barely enough for one Paimon!!”)
Fascinating. If the floating animal is considered a dinner guest, it's probably not a mere pet. But what does that leave? Could she be another alien? A larval form of the same species? Or some sort of externalized extension of the traveler’s own physical form? Is 'Paimon' a title, or a taxonomical classification?
“So, um,” the traveler says. “Did you want a plate, or...?”
Albedo frowns. “Do you happen to know today’s date?”
“The… second?”
“Of which month?”
“Uh.” The traveler is looking less certain by the minute. “Um. Moratrus?”
“Yes,” Albedo decides. “It’s been nearly a week since I last prepared a meal. If you can spare the resources, I would gladly partake.”
For reasons unknown, his admission makes Aether’s eyes go wide. “I — uh — I mean, yeah!” he snorts, pushing sunbeam bangs back from his face. “I mean, definitely, we can spare it! Have you got any bowls? Paimon and I usually eat out of the pot.”
“The pot should suffice,” Albedo observes. Perplexingly, the traveler’s face flushes red. “I could wait until you're finished, if that’s best…?”
“N-No, no!” The Traveler vows, clapping a hand over the Paimon’s mouth. “Honestly, it would— I’d be more comfortable if you helped yourself! We can squeeze in. And... maybe while we do, I can explain why I’m here?”
Ah. “Yes,” Albedo says, with relief. “That would be wonderful.”
###
Apparently, the traveler has come to help with his research — which actually means that Lisa hinted to Sucrose that Albedo might benefit from meeting him.
“Dragonspine is quite a ways from Mondstadt,” Albedo points out, frowning. “I hope you didn’t travel far on my account.”
“It’s no trouble! I can knock out a few commissions while I’m here. Anyway, I'm always traveling, even when I'm in Mondstadt. So it doesn't make much difference. And it’s nice to see something new! The mountain is beautiful.”
“Most people find it cold,” Albedo observes.
Aether grins at him. “That, too.”
When Aether speaks, Albedo listens attentively. It’s... unusual. Ordinarily, Albedo struggles to pay attention to other people’s words without getting distracted by his own thoughts. But with the traveler, it feels strangely easy.
It makes sense, he supposes. The traveler is a living mystery, a question still unanswered. How could he bear to look away?
###
The traveler’s produced a rather remarkable slow-cooked goulash, stewed in a thick, rich broth that seems to warm Albedo from within.
Albedo eats slowly, so the traveler finishes first. He spends the rest of the time padding around the campsite, peering curiously at Albedo’s notes.
“Wow,” Aether murmurs later. He’s looking at the canvas, Albedo realizes. “You made me look good.”
Albedo is every bit the natural prodigy that his master designed him to be. In the full span of his existence, he’s never once felt embarrassed by his work. Which is why it’s so strange that he feels his hand twitch toward the canvas, as though hoping to tug it out of sight. Albedo frowns at the unruly appendage. He doesn’t like the idea of his body housing desires all its own, separate from the willful intentions of his rational mind.
“Ah,” he says vaguely. “Yes, well. I strove to capture not only your physical form, but your energetic presence, as well. Do you know that you carry the aura of the stars?”
“Bet you say that to all the guys,” Aether snorts.
“Hmm? Why would I?”
Aether clears his throat. “Sorry. I mean — No, I haven’t heard that before.”
To press further is a risk, but Albedo can’t resist a chance to confirm the traveler’s origins firsthand.
“But you don’t deny it,” he says.
The traveler’s stardust eyes narrow a little: suspicion, or maybe just curiosity. Albedo doesn't make any sudden moves. He only waits, still and patient, until Aether seems to relax.
“I’m a traveler,” he says simply. “Before ending up here, I traveled a very long way.”
Fascinating.
Albedo hadn’t known what to expect from the traveler, a living starfall from another world. An alien of untold strength, with powers rivaling even the Archons, or so Albedo’s more theatrical colleagues would have him believe. Albedo had imagined an alien. How could he have expected to find him so unnervingly human?
The sheer breadth of possibilities make Albedo’s head swim. Interstellar travel. Other worlds. Conscious civilizations dwelling upon them, with xenobiology and elemancy and alchemical methodology all their own. For a second, he feels so dizzy with curiosity that he can barely breathe.
It’s no wonder he felt so stimulated, when he first laid eyes on the traveler. Aether is an alien, a specimen the likes of which Albedo’s never seen and never will again. If he let his very first humanoid alien slip through his fingers, he could never forgive himself.
He leans closer.
“Traveler,” he says seriously. “My name is Albedo. I’m very glad to meet you.”
“Aether,” the Traveler — Aether — says breathlessly. Then he seems to shake himself off. “Is — my name. Um, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Aether,” Albedo repeats, rolling the word over his tongue.
In this world, aether is an alchemical term: another word for quintessence, the fabled fifth element that some alchemists posit comprises the dark between the stars. But there’s nothing dark about Aether. His presence is distinctly ethereal, as though stitched from solid starlight.
“Aether,” Albedo says again. “Let me speak directly: You hail from beyond this world.”
Aether flinches back, suddenly distrustful. Albedo takes a moment to consider which of his colleagues will have made the most favorable impression.
“I frequently collaborate with — Lisa,” he tries. “She often writes with news from home. I do not always take note, but a visitor from another world is not an everyday occurrence.”
To his surprise, Aether snickers. Albedo turns toward him, waiting patiently for an explanation.
"Sorry," the traveler says, with another breathy laugh. "It's just that… for me, it is, actually. Everyday, I mean.” He offers up a wry smile, his gaze lingering on the fire. “I don’t usually talk about this stuff,” he says softly. “But since you bring it up… To me, you’re all aliens.”
Albedo listens avidly, feeling faintly amused and profoundly fascinated. “You’re right," he agrees.
He’s surprised to find himself smiling. It’s been a long time since he last conferred with a true outsider — someone who physiologically, biomechanically, neurochemically cannot relate. It’s unexpectedly interesting, observing it in someone else.
Perhaps that's why he finds Aether so curiously easy to talk to. It’s almost like talking to Klee, who only ever says exactly what she means and never has any unspoken agendas, since everything she thinks and feels bursts noisily out of her. (Which, for the record, makes her very relaxing to talk to.)
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Albedo says calmly. “Aether, I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to run a few tests. I would never deliberately put you at risk, and you can opt out at any time, but if you would humor me for an hour, at least, I would be entirely in your debt."
“You want to study me?” Aether asks, looking startled.
"I expect that the life of an adventurer allows little room for scientific inquiry," Albedo says drily. "But as a scholar, I can personally assure you of your academic worth. You represent a wellspring of unparalleled discovery on a wholly unprecedented scale. With your aid, I suspect that my findings could advance the field of xenobiology a thousandfold — though of course, not without your consent.”
Aether frowns, and for a moment, Albedo is paralyzed with fear. What will he do if Aether says no? Can he survive the loss of such an improbable windfall?
Then the traveler’s expression smooths, and he shrugs.
“I did promise Sucrose that I’d help if I could,” he admits. “All right. Just tell me what you need.”
###
By the night’s end, Albedo’s head is spinning.
Aether has the traditional number of organs in all the conventional locations. He consumes food and excretes waste, and channels elemental energy through his arterial flow, like any ordinary human. His blood-temperature clocks in at 97.6 — a little low, perhaps, but still within the expected range.
The only nonhuman attribute that Albedo could discern is more animal than alien: in the dark of night, Aether's eyes shine like twin stars. Upon further investigation, he proved to possess the same tapetum lucidum commonly found in wolves, and other quadrupedal vertebrates. But the same can be said of Liyue’s adepti, many of whom share more common ancestry with humans than Albedo himself can claim.
In short, aside from being able to purify corruption with his touch, Aether appears to be all too human. Yet the distillation of his ether extruded a phosphorescent crystalline powder never produced by any human form. Could it be that Aether, like Albedo, was made, and not born?
Albedo grimaces. He usually trusts his hunches, informed as they are by many lifetimes of rigorous study. Yet in this instance, he’s unsure whether the instinct is directed by intuition, or mere sentiment.
Such is the root of the problem. Aether is a fascinating subject, but he’s also an uncommonly good listener. In the past twelve hours, Albedo spoke more about himself than he has in the past twelve years. By the night’s end, he'd divulged the secret of his master’s greatest failure, revealed more of his true nature than ever before, and given away a very valuable no-longer-cursed sword. Accordingly, any conclusions that he attempts to draw have been contaminated by the bane of logic: emotion. Albedo is too personally interested in this subject to trust his own findings.
He’ll have to send his notes to Sucrose for a second opinion.
###
When he’s finished making copies of his notes, he takes the opportunity to scrawl a few curt letters to Lisa, Kaeya, and Jean, asking them to relay any observations they’ve made on the traveler’s abilities and his agendas. How does Aether relate with others, when he walks among humans? Does the traveler feel alien to them? Or does he feel, as to Albedo, entirely too familiar?
###
Jean’s reply arrives first. As expected, it’s prompt, professional, and largely unhelpful:
Not sure what you mean. The traveler is a reliable ally, and an asset to the Knights. His behavior has been consistently commendable, and as such, his origins are of little import.
Wind guide you,
Jean
Albedo shrugs and discards it. He’d mostly written Jean to be thorough, and hadn’t really expected to learn anything of substance. After all, Jean's sole directive is her moral compass. Her overdeveloped sense of duty leaves little room for academic inquest.
###
A few weeks go by before Lisa’s letter arrives, but at least she divulges something of interest.
Sweetie, are you feeling entirely well? I’ve never seen you so excited about another person.
I’m afraid there’s not much more I can tell you, with the exception of his agenda (which is, to be honest, common knowledge around Mond): the boy is looking for his sister, who’s gone missing.
But I did pick up a particularly juicy tidbit just last week. Would you believe that our cutie isn't bound to one element? The last time he took me out on a romantic stroll, I watched him command geo — clumsily, mind you, but undeniably enough. Says he touched a statue and ‘resonated with the earth.’ Can you even imagine?
Be careful, darling; the boy is very popular.
Reading her letter, Albedo feels... nonplussed.
The mention of that "romantic stroll" irks him faintly, though he couldn't say why. More importantly, Lisa seems to have entirely missed the point. Albedo’s interest in Aether isn't personal, it's academic: the traveler represents unprecedented heights of scientific discovery. And of course the man is popular. He's an otherwordly hero of unearthly beauty, with one helpful hand outstretched to everyone who looks his way. By now, half the city must have fallen at his feet. But what does that have to do with Albedo's research?
###
To his surprise, Kaeya’s reply arrives in person.
The Cavalry Captain appears in the research station just before sunrise, nodding a greeting before making himself comfortable on Albedo’s desk. Albedo purses his lips and puts down his quill.
“Kaeya.”
“Been a while,” Kaeya drawls. “I've been otherwise occupied, as you might imagine. But when I saw your letter, I just had to make time for a visit.”
Albedo frowns. “Did you travel through the night?”
“I had business nearby,” Kaeya assures him, waving a dismissive hand.
“Before sunrise?”
“My friends work the night shift.” Amusement dances in his sapphire eye. “Now, can we please skip to the good part? Just how long has our beloved Chief Alchemist been crushing on the Hero of Mondstadt?”
Albedo huffs a sigh. It’s the same misconception he heard from Lisa.
“My interest is purely academic,” he explains patiently. “I’ve never encountered anyone who originated from beyond our world. It’s a wholly uncharted field of study.”
“Right, right,” Kaeya drawls. “All very professional, I’m sure. Then I’m sure you’d like me to tell him that you’re far too busy to leave your research station, as per usual? The traveler’s looking for a geo user,” he explains. “When I mentioned that you held a geo vision, he seemed very excited. But I know you hate to be pulled from your work..."
Albedo's eyes narrow. “It’s unwise to make assumptions,” he says mildly.
Kaeya’s hand flies to his mouth before flitting away to reveal an unnervingly knowing smirk.
“How foolish of me,” he says silkily. “Well, I'm sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”
To the west, the sun crests the horizon. Kaeya’s mouth hardens.
“Sunrise already.” He unfolds onto his feet, flicking a languorous wave over his shoulder as he saunters away. “Always work to be done… See you around, Chief Alchemist.”
“Kaeya,” Albedo says, on impulse. Kaeya stops mid-saunter.
Albedo couldn't say what possesses him to ask, “What do you think of him? As… a person."
Kaeya’s mouth bows up in an unusually soft smile. “You really are interested, aren’t you? What a spectacle. All right, I'll shoot straight. He — makes me uneasy," he admits. “The traveler’s only walked this world for a short time, and already he sits at the center of some grand design.”
Albedo watches, fascinated, as a rare frown tugs at the Cavalry Captain’s mouth.
“I trust his... intentions," Kaeya says slowly. "I think. But he's new to this world. He's like a child, still forming an understanding of the systems around him. Which makes him dangerous. We know how he feels now, but we don't know how he'll feel next month. Even he doesn’t know. So he's an uncertainty, and an extremely powerful one. —Are you writing this down?”
“Of course.” Albedo takes rigorous notes on all his subjects.
Kaeya’s mouth twitches. “You won’t show him, will you?”
“Of course not," Albedo assures him, aghast. "That would compromise my research."