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He blew into his hands, rubbing them together and squeezing them a few times before slipping his gloves back on.
It was another cold day in Dragonspine. Not that he minded, of course. He was used to such cold, and there were many more unfortunate bastards in its sisterlands of Mondstadt and Liyue, with suffocating weather and even more-so people.
At least here, the land was clean and pristine, the earth below untouched by that mortal arrogation his Tsaritsa often spoke of. He didn’t quite get it, and there was no opportunity to ask as one of the thousands of faces silently looking up during her austere speeches. It didn’t really matter anyway.
In this never-quite-daylight, the snow that ate up every sound and gave nothing in return, and the howling wind that filled the negative space, at least there was some semblance of home. It was something he came to be very grateful for in those long months of quietude and never-ending vigils, permeated only by the occasional cough and the quiet sounds of living. He sighed.
The pyroslinger on watch with him, his lieutenant, gave a thoughtful look and a grin as he settled back on a rock and cleaned his gun. It was clean already, but it wasn’t as though there was really anything else to do. He stared at his own geo staff, worn and full of careless marks.
“Chin up, my dour colleague. Just a few more weeks and we’ll be able to go home.”
He snorted. “Right, so some other poor fools can take our place.”
The pyroslinger’s grin widened, and he scrubbed some invisible patch of dirt vigorously.
“Yes, just so, and then we’ll be the fools no longer. We can just head back to Snezhnaya and forget we’re beholden to the tsaritsa ‘til our next deployment, hm? Just another family man.” Squeaking sounds came from the cloth on the metal in his hands.
“You got a sweetheart back home?” he glanced up at the geobracer before returning to his work.
“Hmm, no. Just a nagging sister, and soon to be brother-in-law. She makes me give her monthly reports, it’s almost like another job.”
“Haha, I feel you on that. This gun is actually from my brother’s time of service, and he always says, “Bratyshka, if you dare to put a single scratch on that gun, I’ll give it back to you ten-fold.”
They chuckled quietly, thinking of home. In such silence, it felt like you couldn’t speak too loudly.
“Will you be back in time for the wedding, then?” the pyroslinger asked conversationally.
He rolled the glowing eye visible through the bandages on his face.
“Yes, my sister planned the wedding for just after we get back. It’s not even enough time to find a proper gift, so I bought a jade pendant during our stopover in Liyue harbor. My sister always says I have poor taste though.” He paused briefly, pondering his dilemma. He turned to his lieutenant.
“Perhaps you could-” the sound of footsteps in the snow stopped them dead. He knew the footsteps of every member of his small unit, and these were not one of them. These steps were swift and sure-footed and light. There was the dull clank of a sword in the snow. None of his unit used swords. They looked at each other, then at the traveler in clothing ill-suited to the weather. They didn’t seem to be bothered by it. The three of them stood in the snow, waiting.
“Haha!" his lieutenant laughed lightly. "At last, an opportunity to use our weapons, eh, comrade?” Despite the chipper tone in the pyroslinger's voice, his expression was grim.
He spun his staff, resolve settling firmly in his heart. “I’ll support you to the best of my ability, lieutenant.”
His superior shot him a quick smile back.
“As you do, sergeant. Then, I’ll be counting on you.” He raised his gun, taking aim.
It was not just anyone who could wield a delusion. It took a strong mind, a strong body, and a strong will to stave off the soul-consuming corruption that demanded payment for its loan of power. There was no delusion, indeed, that that corruption would one day return to collect its debt with interest. But what else could a dreamer do, a mere human, when they were cast aside by the gods?
He shielded when he could, flinging crystals into the sky, sheltering them within a golden crystal dome. But it wasn’t enough. Though his mind raced, his limbs moved slowly, dreamily, like he was underwater. The lieutenant, enveloped in his shield of fire, seemed fine but was quickly growing weary. He caught flashes of blond hair and fluttering cloth. And then, golden eyes.
“Guh!!” He stumbled back, blindsided by a meteorite triple his size. While he was still reeling another struck him in the back of the head. Earthquake tremors tossed him into the air.
What was this?
Was this it?
The power of the gods? The difference between the blessed and those depraved souls who tried to drag themselves up from hell to the gates of Celestia?
Cold steel slashed his uniform, red heat seeping from his body and icy frost rushing in. It hacked at him again, and again, and again. His staff broke in two, and he dropped the pieces, raising his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself, but it was too little, too late. The final blow pierced cleanly through his stomach and out his back. Gravity pulled him off the blade, onto the ground. His insignia, the mark of his identity, the culmination of his life's efforts, fell into the snow with a soft crunch.
His ears rang, and through the haze he heard the distant sound of furious shouting and clanging metal.
Clanging metal, as clear as the sound of bells.
The bells… He’d always liked the sound of the bells tolling at church. They rang on holidays, on joyous and special occasions.
They chimed splendidly as his sister ran out of the church in her wedding dress, smiling beautifully, hand in hand with the man he had never gotten to meet. He smiled and clapped, squinting in the bright and hot sunlight. The gift he'd gotten his sister was tucked safely into his pocket. There was fresh cold air on his face, no bandages there to block it. He closed his eyes, savoring daylight and the happiness of being home.
The lieutenant coughed wetly, holding his scalding delusion to the gushing wound in his chest to burn it shut. His mangled gun was in pieces in the red snow, but that didn’t matter any more. The traveler had disappeared when he threw his badge at them with shaking hands. They had picked up the trophy and disappeared into the snow. He hauled himself over to where his sergeant laid.
The bandages had come loose, and through the openings in the swathes of fabric he could see a small smile on the other man’s face. There was something so wrong about it that he almost wanted to laugh, himself. He coughed again, and spit red into the snow.
“Hey, sergeant, are you dreaming something that good?”
Cough.
“...Come on, we need to get back to camp and report this. That big bear can heal us with his hydro delusion.”
No response.
He picked up an arm, pulling slowly back towards the direction of their camp. It was too soft, too pliant. He coughed again. His chest hurt.
“You said… ugh... you said you have bad taste right? I’ll check out that pendant you got, so… so get up. Your sister- won’t be happy if it’s ugly. Come on… it’s not that far…” All the while, he dragged a trail through the snow. It was an ugly stain in the vast white landscape. It was dirty. It didn’t belong. Fatui blood, Fatui presence, staining the ground of a land far from home.
Cough.
An endless road of blood, the mark of the Tsaritsa, of their unswerving fealty to her. Looking forward, where there was yet no stain, the snowflakes whirling down looked almost hopeful.
At last, he saw the braziers of their camp, smoke curling into the sky, yet no fire. As he got closer, he realized why.
The hope that had brought him so far drove him to his knees.
The traveler had already been here.