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The mark on Albedo’s neck means many things.
The mark of Khaenri’ah, the mark of the success of the Primordial Human Project, the mark of his life force, and the mark of his one sole imperfection.
Like many of his master’s creations, even Albedo couldn’t be spared from the imperfections of alchemy. But he is an otherwise perfect experiment that has far exceeded Rhinedottir’s expectations. These expectations must be why Albedo’s final assignment is to find the truth of Teyvat.
He is not human—this much is certain. He has the appearance of one, has the appetite of one, has interests and the personality of one. No one would dare think that he was anything less compared to everyone else he walks alongside.
The mark on his neck, in a way, covers up his imperfection as a synthetic human being. It can be labeled as a tattoo, a crest, or a birthmark. None would be the wiser to suspect that it is actually Albedo’s one true weakness.
He bleeds and he experiences pain, but he is able to easily piece himself back together. Any damage to this body of his can be fixed within a matter of seconds. His master has taught him the ways he can mend his body anew, to further present himself as her perfect creation. Albedo is not capable of death in normal ways, but only in the way his master had created him.
If one were to pierce the star on his throat, Albedo would surely fade before everyone’s eyes. He is a primordial being, but even he has his own limits. These limits aren’t easily achievable, but they are possible. The chalk with which he is birthed from will return to the earth, just as alchemy has preordained. All life returns to the soil from which they were born.
Khaenri’ah was destroyed long after he was created. He has no memories of that place, not unlike his master, who had brought about the destruction of such an advanced civilization.
Albedo can’t help but wonder, did Rhinedottir create him as a way to repent for all the lives she had destroyed? In creating the perfect life form, was he supposed to act as her repentance for the sins she had committed?
She was not a shining example of a parental figure, but Albedo sees her as a mother all the same. The burden of the parent has been passed to the child.
Perhaps this is why Durin had perished on the mountain of Dragonspine—his heart, corrupted beyond repair, couldn’t handle the burden his mother had passed down.
And it’s because of this burden that Durin must possess resentment towards Albedo. It’s because of this burden that the blood from Durin’s blood had seeped into the living creatures on the mountain, to carry his resentment and mete out this frustration to Albedo. It’s because of this burden that the replica had sought to destroy those close to Albedo.
He had hoped to get rid of the imperfection that is present on Albedo. But this purge of his imperfection was what made the replica imperfect from the very beginning.
Durin differed from Albedo in many ways, but there is one thing they both share—the perpetual loneliness of being an artificial being. Dragonspine was made for the both of them, to wallow in the loneliness and the cold that follows. It always snowed whenever Albedo traveled with Rhinedottir. Was Rhinedottir lonely too?
But could loneliness be enough for one to bring destruction to everyone and everything around them? Albedo still doesn’t know why Rhinedottir was responsible for the destruction of Khaenri’ah, her motives and thoughts that followed the aftermath. He has an underlying suspicion that it has to do with his final assignment, though.
To find the truth of this world… Albedo wonders if his master had found this truth already.
And if Albedo were to find the truth, what would happen? Would he be able to handle the burden of such a truth? Or would he turn to indescribable methods, just as Rhinedottir did when she was acknowledged as Gold?
The urge to destroy has never appeared in Albedo. Only the urge to create new life, and the thirst to understand the life that flourished in this world. He doesn’t think he’d ever want to destroy life, not when there’s Klee, Sucrose, and many others that he values.
Albedo pulls away from his alchemy table when he hears footsteps approaching his campsite. He leans his head back to catch a glance at the sudden visitor.
“Sir Kaeya,” Albedo greets the cavalry captain with a nod before he returns his attention to his experiment. The newly created cecilia flowers lay across the stone tablet with slight imperfections. He decides to put them off to the side to fix for later, but he hears Kaeya click his tongue behind him.
“You’re wasting perfectly good flowers, Mister Albedo,” Kaeya chides him, gingerly picking up one of the cecilia flowers by the stem and closely examining it.
“I’m not wasting them. I’ll tend to them later,” Albedo says in response as he rummages through one of the drawers close to the alchemy table, blinding reaching for one of his tools. “Anyway, what brings you to Dragonspine? Shouldn’t you be back in the city?”
It’s not the first time Kaeya has visited his camp, but he knows that he’s busy with affairs in the city. It’s rare when he comes up to see Albedo, as most of their rendezvous are back in Mondstadt, preferably in their shared apartment.
Kaeya hums as if to reply to Albedo’s question but doesn’t say anything. He decides not to push it.
Albedo decides to stop messing with his experiment for today. Instead, he pushes himself away from the alchemy table and walks past Kaeya to gather his painting supplies. He hasn’t painted since fixing the Traveler’s portrait of Paimon, the same one that was currently situated on his easel. He needs to wrap it and send it to the Traveler when he has the time.
He hears Kaeya walk up behind him and that’s when Albedo finally turns around to face him. He stares into the eye with the star shaped pupil, the same shape etched onto his throat.
The mark of a sinner.
There had been a time when Kaeya could’ve ended Albedo where he laid. His hands had been around Albedo’s throat, thumb stroking the star shape on his skin. It’s soft, just like the rest of his skin—it feels human when they both know he’s anything but.
His hands weren’t wrapped around tight, just enough to sense the pulse that Albedo had inherited from whatever life essence was poured into him. But when they had gazed at each other that day, Albedo couldn’t help but think,
He could kill me right now. He could kill me, and it’s one less sinner from Khaenri’ah that the world ever has to see in broad daylight.
But Kaeya didn’t do that. His entire life was at the mercy of Kaeya but he let Albedo live. He only gazed down at Albedo’s mark in wonder. It was the one thing that bound them together—and, ironically enough, it served as a mark of their trust. The mark of their shared burdens.
Rhinedottir had told him about Kaeya before. One of the few sole survivors of her homeland alongside her and the rest of his family. Albedo never saw Khaenri’ah as his home. If anything, home was where Rhinedottir was, but she’s gone now.
He can’t help but wonder if Kaeya sees him as the last surviving reminder of his home. Of the burden his father placed on him before he was left with the Ragnvindrs. Before he was adopted and became Diluc’s brother, and before his entire life crumbled before him all those years ago.
Kaeya doesn’t have such a weakness like Albedo. He is human and could die through any normal means. He can’t put himself back together like Albedo can, if the burn marks on his torso have been any indication of his flaws.
But humans can make their own choices. Albedo and Kaeya can’t. These are choices that have been preordained by fate. These are choices that they must follow through with, and see that the wishes of those who seek them are fulfilled.
“You’re okay, right?” Kaeya asks, his gaze downcast. Albedo doesn’t have to follow his line of sight to see where he’s looking.
He brings a hand up to his throat and touches the mark. “I’m still standing. And even if I were injured, it would be an easy fix. You know that.”
Kaeya laughs, bringing a hand up to gently stroke Albedo’s cheek. Even knowing Albedo isn’t a normal human, it doesn’t stop Kaeya from touching him as if he is one. A touch so tender and soft that it should be heresy for him to touch Albedo like this, given his origins.
But it’s heresy enough for them to both exist as they should.
“You know I can’t help but worry.”
Because you’re all I have left goes unsaid. Because we, too, will burn along with the rest of the sinners that have perished before us.
Albedo rests his hand over Kaeya’s, flashing him a small smile. “I’m okay,” he reassures him. “I’ve already disposed of the imposter. I’m still here.”
It won’t be that easy to get rid of him, they both know that. But there’s always the underlying fear that something can happen to one of them. They’ve both lost too much in their lives. Losing each other would simply mean losing themselves in the process.
Kaeya doesn’t say anything after that. He only presses a kiss to Albedo’s forehead before letting him go, letting him do what he originally sought to do.
Albedo paints for Kaeya that evening. He paints with no real direction, only to paint what his hand desires to put to the canvas.
When the painting is finished late at night, Kaeya regards it with a solemn expression. Albedo merely wishes to bury it deep in the earth and hopes it consumes every last inch and destroys it in the process beyond recognition. Perhaps this is the scene they both wish to never imagine but know it will one day come.
On the day Teyvat finally has their moment of reckoning, Kaeya and Albedo will be there to witness it all—two sinners, hand in hand, watching the world crumble before them.
And witness the mark of their sin explode before their very eyes.