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Sara does not know what she had wished to find in Liyue.
Perhaps she had come seeking enlightenment, some grand revelation that would reveal to her how to proceed. Perhaps she had been grasping to some foolish hope that something in her mind would click, that she would find a new purpose to be guided toward.
No such thing happened. After everything that had unfolded in Inazuma, she should have known the gods had no favor left to shine upon her.
So she remains, sitting aimlessly atop a cliffside overlooking the harbor, only because she has run out of other options to go. The sprawling port city appears only a small collection of nondescript shapes in the distance, and the quiet murmur of the city’s nightlife is lost amidst the wind, hushed into a gentle whistling that weaves through the grass. The citizens below look like mere ants occupying a hill, but Sara feels no more disconnected from them now than she did when she walked among them.
The air carries a biting chill, and only now does Sara realize the sun has long since set. The moon takes its place, devoid of any warmth, illuminating Sara in a cold, harsh light. Instinctively, she tucks her knees closer in on herself and absentmindedly wonders if the people below, bathed in their vague outlines of yellows and reds, feel the same cold.
She remains like that for some while, buried beneath the weight of her own mind. She’s only torn out of her reverie when she hears footsteps on the cobblestone path leading up to the hillside. Immediately, her war-stained instincts overtake her, and she snaps to attention.
The footsteps are too gentle to be that of a hilichurl, but still, she keeps one hand over her bow. The stranger appears to do the same; as soon as they take notice of Sara’s presence, she sees them grab hold of a weapon on their back. Another bow.
The clouds part from the moon’s shadow, casting a silvery glow upon the archer. Now, Sara is able to discern their features: she’s a woman, several inches shorter than Sara. Icy blue hair spills messily from her head and down her back, framing her face in a way Sara deems rather flattering. Sinister dark horns twist back from the base of her head, but her expression shows no malice. Lithe hands almost immediately return to her sides once she establishes that Sara poses no threat, and though she is reluctant to relinquish her guard, she withdraws her hand from her quiver.
The woman speaks first. Her voice is impossibly gentle, and Sara finds her mannerisms akin to fresh snowfall: soft to the touch, and mesmerizingly graceful as it falls. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and Sara can not fathom what she has to apologize for. “I did not expect anyone to be here, and I did not mean to intrude on whatever you are doing up here. I’ll take my leave.”
Sara simply shrugs. “I do not mind,” she replies. Whatever business she has up here, Sara has no intention to interfere.
The woman shifts uneasily before conceding with a slight nod, walking past Sara without another word. Sara watches, for lack of anything better to do, as she kneels beside a patch of glacier-blue flowers farther down the cliff face. With a tenderness and care that Sara could only ever dream of feeling for herself, she lifts each petal of the strange flowers, examining them for any harm. They must be a rare breed, native only to Liyue; in her travels, she had never seen such a radiant blue occur naturally.
Against the brilliant blue, the woman’s hair, a similar color, stands out. As Sara’s gaze shifts, her eyes are naturally drawn to the horns that protrude from either side of her head. She stares not disrespectfully, but rather out of curiosity; their presence suggests that like herself, this woman is of nonhuman descent. Adeptal, perhaps.
Suddenly, the pieces fall into place in Sara’s mind. She had overheard once, briefly, about the Liyuean government. Specifically, their secretary whose work ethic Lady Yae had said her own attendants could benefit from observing. The woman’s name is Ganyu; a short, half-illuminated beast half-human with long powder-blue hair and long, curled horns.
Ganyu. A fitting name, for someone as gentle as she.
The Guuji had spoken as if the two were acquainted on a personal level, despite the fact that Sara had never seen such a woman in Inazuma in all her life. Though Sara is inhuman as well, she has not lived long; she knows, however, that Lady Yae’s lifespan stretches farther back than she could imagine. Perhaps Ganyu’s has as well. Perhaps the two had met along their own travels, back before the borders had closed.
From Inazuma’s unfortunate isolationist stance, Sara knows little of Liyuean culture, but she understands enough to know that adepti served under Rex Lapis for as long as he had lived. She wonders, then, how long Ganyu spent devoted to him. However many years, it was certainly longer than Sara had ever been alive.
How had she coped when Rex Lapis fell? How close was she with him? Did she ache, just as Sara does, swept away in her sudden lack of purpose? Or did she simply move on, as everyone does, as everyone except for herself seems able to do? The question burns in her mind, blazing a path to her lips, until she can suppress it no longer.
“Is it lonely?”
She blurts the question abruptly, shattering the comfortable silence that had blanketed the pair. She regrets the words as soon as they tumble from her lips, but the pieces lie discarded across the long grass, unrepairable.
Ganyu turns, painstakingly slowly, her expression indiscernible. For a moment, she says nothing, her eyes seeking an answer.
While she waits, shifting uneasily in the heavy silence, she cannot help but admire Ganyu’s features now that they are at a visible distance. Short, fluffy hair frames her face expertly, following the soft, round curve of her cheeks. Plump lips set into a gentle frown, speechless but not upset. Her eyes, a lavender sunset, remain wide, innocent yet welcoming. She exudes an air of gentle grace; she moves elegantly, yet she lacks any pompousness that comes with natural beauty. She is only kind and warm.
At last, she speaks, halting Sara’s mind from wandering any further.
“Is what lonely?” Her question is asked meekly, as if somehow, it is her own fault that Sara had not expressed her concerns clearly enough.
“Serving a god whose gaze is no longer upon you. Is it lonely?”
Ganyu nearly flinches, a deep shame tinging the gentle light in her eyes, and Sara immediately regrets her inquiry. Guilt boils in her stomach, aching.
Finally, she questions, “Serving a god?”
Perhaps Sara would have believed her feigned cluelessness, had she not previously reacted so harshly. She is kind, but she is a terrible actress. She wears her heart on her sleeve.
“Your horns,” Sara responds, plainly. “You are an adeptus, aren’t you?”
Ganyu seems to draw back, raising a single hand as if to cover the horns that decorate her head. There is no use covering them, Sara thinks. They are obvious. I find them fascinating, in a beautiful way.
Sensing that Ganyu is either ashamed or reluctant to disclose her lineage, Sara remedies her intrusion by attempting to console her. Quickly, she unfurls her wings, watching Ganyu’s expression shift into one of shock. Large, dark wings adorned with long black feathers spread from either side of her back, blotting out the thin moonlight above. “There’s no need to be ashamed,” she adds, rather clumsily. “I’m like you. I’m a tengu. I am Kujou Sara, General of the Shogun’s army.”
Relief flows through her in waves as Ganyu noticeably relaxes. The tension in both of their shoulders loosens, and Ganyu lets out a quiet, defeated sigh. Finally, she answers truthfully, and the pain in her voice knocks the air from Sara’s lungs: “Yes. Yes, I’m Ganyu, an adeptus who served Rex Lapis. It is lonely.”
A pause falls upon them, only interrupted by Sara’s murmur of, “How do you cope?”
She’s not sure why she’s asking such personal questions to someone who is no more than a complete stranger. She tells herself it’s curiosity, but perhaps it’s something more selfish. Perhaps she feels lost, and perhaps she sees her own dilemma in Ganyu’s reserved sadness. Maybe she’s simply desperate for someone to give her any direction. Regardless, she finds it too late to rescind her embarrassingly personal questions.
Feeling ashamed and rather awkward, Sara sets her gaze out over the mountainside. She breathes in the chilled air and watches the waves lap against the dark shoreline, ever distant. For a reason she can’t quite seem to place, a part of her aches.
Ganyu’s guilty whisper, an answer to Sara’s plea, comes out barely audible over the wind. “I’m not sure.”
Sara still does not face her; embarrassment tells her it’s something she cannot bear. Still, she can hear the woman’s unsteady intake of breath before she continues, “Often, I feel disconnected from everything. Like I’m too adeptus to reside comfortably down in the harbor, but I’m too human to live amongst the adepti without judgement. Rex Lapis’s passing only exacerbated these feelings.”
Sara turns back to face her, just in time to catch her eyes widening in shock, as if she has only just now realized what she has confessed. “I- forgive me. That was a bit much, I fear. I’m not usually this emotional, there must be something in the air-“ she begins, sputtering.
But Sara does not feel any judgement. She stares at Ganyu with wide eyes, not with the intention of sneering at her vulnerability, but rather engrossed in her confession. Something within her resonates with Ganyu’s fears, as she, too, battles with a similar isolation. She is almost relieved.
So she raises a hand, slowly, both to halt Ganyu’s abashed rambling and to signal that she poses no danger. “Do not apologize. I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know.”
I feel the same. The words fall just short of her lips.
A stifling quiet permeates the air, but Ganyu is patient. She seems to sense Sara’s struggle, her failure to grasp at the words that elude her, and so she waits kindly for a response. Though she does not speak, Sara somehow feels her soft encouragement, and she finds it strangely comforting.
So Sara speaks, even though her voice is strangled, as if the admission clings to her throat, adamant to remain concealed. “I feel as if I am disconnected from everybody. My life has been lived for one single purpose, and now that it has been stolen from me, I’m not sure what to do.”
She clears her throat, forcibly ridding herself of the humiliation that tugs at her, and continues. “I came to Liyue seeking a kind of… meaning, I suppose, but it escapes me. Know that you are not alone in your frustrations.”
Ganyu understands. Somehow, she understands everything that Sara leaves unsaid, perhaps because she had been struck by the same dilemma. Perhaps she still grapples with it.
“I know the feeling. It’s nice,” Ganyu offers, “at least, to know I’m not the only one. Talking to you, strangely enough, has temporarily eased the loneliness.”
And when she turns to flash Sara an empathetic smile, her lips curved with all the radiance in the world, Sara feels her aching heart stutter once more. She feels seen, in the way that nobody else had ever seen her, in the way that she so desperately pleaded for the Shogun to see her. It’s a strange feeling, but Sara embraces it all the same. It’s new. It’s warm. She doesn’t want to let it go.
“Have you ever found a way to ease it fully?” she wonders aloud, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, chasing this bliss is possible. I want to feel whole. Please, tell me how.
“I don’t know,” Ganyu responds truthfully. A fissure runs through Sara’s icy chest, its pain stabbing.
“But I’d like to help.”
The pain dulls, at least, to a bearable amount. “How?” asks Sara, desperate.
Ganyu pauses, her brow furrowing as she racks her mind for a solution. Sara can tell when she’s found something; her eyes widen, a hopeful smile curling her lip upward, and Sara cannot help but mirror that hope. “Tengus tend to find solace in mountainsides, correct?”
When Sara nods, Ganyu’s hesitant smile stretches into a grin. “I could take you to Jueyun Karst, where the adepti abide. Maybe you’ll find something there, in Liyue’s tallest peaks, amidst beings who have undergone similar hardships. And maybe I’ll find something, if I try to embrace my adepti roots.”
Sara doesn’t know what to say. “That sounds easier said than done.”
A bittersweet laugh flutters from Ganyu’s lips, effortlessly melodic in a way Sara never knew possible. “Maybe so. Perhaps it was a foolish suggestion.”
Maybe Sara only imagines it, but when Ganyu speaks, her soft voice seems tinged by something akin to dejection. Guilt pricks under her skin, so she offers, clumsily, “That’d be nice.” It’s all she can manage, but it’s enough; relief washes over her as Ganyu’s face lifts once more. “Sorry. I suppose I’m not accustomed to such kindness.”
Ganyu purses her lips, her face twisted with sympathy. But if Sara loathes anything, it’s pity, and Ganyu somehow understands. Perhaps she knows the feeling just as well. So instead of gasping, loosing a dramatic cry of, “Oh, how cruel!” like any other would, she only smiles softly, patiently, and offers, “If you’ll allow me, General Kujou, I’d like to help remedy that.”
When Ganyu reaches out, extending her hand, the tengu almost flinches. Scarcely had she ever been graced with such generosity, such undivided attention. The realization that she had been craving this so desperately for so long hits like a blade, one that had settled into her heart years ago, but only now begins to twist. Something within Sara wants to scream, to lament her lifelong lack of something so beautiful, so necessary.
She takes Ganyu’s hand hesitantly, trying to ignore the chill that runs so violently down her spine at the contact, trying not to feel as the sword rips itself free. It stings, but it feels freeing, like something had finally fallen into place. Her and Ganyu’s hands fit together like they were predestined to meet, their fate written somewhere in the stars, and finally something has gone right.
Ganyu’s hands are gentler than anything Sara has ever felt, and she learns that affection can exist without the fear of being consumed.
It’s overwhelming, and somewhere, a part of her thinks it foolish that she’s reacting this fervidly to an act so simple in nature. It was only a polite gesture, perhaps one that she would extend to anyone, but somehow Ganyu’s gentleness presents her with a new purpose: to find people who truly see her. People who see her not the way Takayuki did, or the way the Shogun did, or the way her comrades did. People who see her not for what she can provide, not for what use she brings, but for who she is. Whoever she is.
She thinks that perhaps with someone who understands her the way Ganyu does, she can figure that out.
So she cracks a smile for the first time since she can remember. It’s clumsy, and perhaps a little unsightly out of a lack of experience, but Ganyu mirrors her crooked grin.
“I’ll go with you, then. Call me Sara.”
Ganyu beams with all the innocent beauty of the silver moonlight that bathes them. “Alright, Sara. It’s nice to meet you.”
Hand in hand, they step back from the cliffside and approach the path, the gentle breeze inviting them closer.
When Sara turns, she peers for the first time into the boundless landscape that lies behind the harbor. She had never focused too closely on it, but now, she breathes in its beauty: tall ridges adorned in a warm gold lay ahead, their peaks buried within tufts of clouds; vast, intimidating, yet breathtaking all the same. Beneath their shadows lie cozy wooden villages, and Sara wonders if there are people inside, all working to seek their way in life.
She wants to see it all: to explore, to climb every clifftop and feel the rush that overtakes her as she looks below, to feel the bitter disappointment of thunderstorms on a cloudy day. She longs to overturn every auburn leaf that drifts from the sky, to feel every blade of yellowy grass, to taste the clear sunlight through the gaps of the clouds. And she’ll find that maybe, just maybe, she can exist for something other than the Shogun’s whims.