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They say that the stars are millions of years away from each other. The distance is so great, they must all be strangers, each in their own room at the inn. They must be blind, suspended alone in their utter darknesses, enclosed by their walls. Yet the light itself: it is so persistent, it dashes at the limits of its strength to reach the next, no matter how much of itself leaks away along its path. And somehow, another million years away, we lie on the grass, pointing up at the expanse above us. Your finger, so small, just a shadow in my gaze, traces their tireless paths: one star, to another, to another. These trails constitute endless patterns, every shape imaginable on the great canvas.
But what I watch is you, and your thoughts as they bloom and reach upward, dandelion seeds upon the breeze. I am the only witness to your tracings, save the blades of grass and wildflowers, and whatever collects the wind at the end of its course. I envy the meadow as it embraces you, the soil as it supports you here on the face of the earth. I lean as near as possible, and I am lucky, so lucky, to be beside your ear, ready to collect your whispering into mine. If I open my hand all the way, my finger can brush along yours. You are deep in your reverie, eyes bright and glowing, so I don’t know if you notice. You were always full of stories then, a depth even greater than the sky.
These stars are so vast, so unknown, yet some bend down, resting on their knees, and take the time to draw lines between each of us. How have we attained such a thing so far beyond us? Yet, all I know is I feel this line, a rope between us that goes taut if we move too far away.
It was magical as children, and it made us burst into bloom. We were inseparable, so close they said I could hear your thoughts and you mine. I didn’t mind. You were welcome there, into any space I had. I wished it could be all of me, but I could feel other threads, many of a darker color, tangled within my chest. I knew, somehow, that you had no such thing, only that bright heart of which we all boast.
Some nights, before you fell asleep, I heard you pray into your pillow. “Thank you Barbatos, for this day. Thank you for bringing Kaeya here and letting me meet him.”
I loved you so much it hurt, pouring itself over the knots within me. To be so thankful for that. I tried to return your gesture because I felt the same, but somehow it wasn’t as lovely as yours. “Barbatos. If you’re there. Thank you. Thank you for Diluc.” I wasn’t sure whether to add myself, because I would be thankful for you even if you had never known me. You brighten the world itself, the sunrise. It felt cheaper coming from me, the sunset, to be grateful for our meeting rather than grateful for making you at all. I felt the words leave my mouth, but I’m not sure where they went. Would Barbatos listen to someone from far away? Would it be better if I stayed still and let him listen to you instead? “…. I don’t know what I did to deserve meeting him. Thank you for this gift. If he asks for anything, please consider giving it to him.” Maybe if I said that, Barbatos would understand.
How do the stars know if they leave or stay, when all they see is darkness? All they can see are their counterparts, but they are so far away. People are just as blind. They feel no motion, but then they find themselves years later in a new place, loving different things and tracing different trails between them. The paths the stars drew must have found new courses. But some of these stars, (who knows when or why), poured a new ink into their wells, distinct and shimmering. These threads did not change, regardless of the tides of time. They were unbreakable, unfrayable, etched on a map of constellations for others to see, to study, and look for in the sky.
This was my thread, my only untangled thread, and it was mine. I grew less shy, I strengthened my voice. People smiled when they saw me and clapped their hands in praise. I was no longer a stranger to this place. We grew, and tumbled, and fought, and swore, but I could trust the rope would always bring the ships back from sea.
I was unaware of how turbulent the storms could be.
The years were so golden, I forgot the pain I knew before. I was drunk with the peace and felt its strength was unassailable. The tangled threads in my chest could be tamped down as long as the waves weren’t too high. For what is an agent who feels no master hovering over their shoulder? No agent at all. Freedom, or rather, what intoxicates the people of this land, can grow wild in their heart.
But what was freedom to me? I had the open sea but the waves crash over the decks and the masts snap in half. I could have all I wanted as long as I let the knots within me run wild, binding me from the inside, or I could finally open up this rusted cage and unravel them.
——-
I could not escape you. You’d become a part of me. All my wishes were your wishes and all of yours were mine. We’d cry the same tears, have the same dreams at night. At least, that’s what I thought. It was the only reality I knew. I have so few memories of the world before you. I wonder sometimes, if you remember it more. Only the stars could know, from their abodes so far away. They can watch us from so far above, and have been since long before we were born. But do they forget? Do they remember the beginning of time? Is something like us even important to them? Regardless, at some point, a line was drawn between us in their lustrous ink.
When I was young, my father told me to count my blessings. For someone so young, the task can be difficult. But I always knew what to say.
“I’m grateful I have Kaeya.”
My father had two smiles. One was for times he was happy and the other was for times he was not. And this time, he would smile, and I knew he was pleased.
I cannot speak of some of our junctions, some of our asymptotes. They are thin wires, wrapped so tightly around my heart that they break the flesh. I am not sure whether the good or the bad times affect me more. There were the idyllic days of childhood, then the prosperous times just after. They hurt, because I miss them so much. But at the same time, they feel alien to me, as if I were remembering someone else’s life. All I know since is that a crevice, just too far to jump, had opened in the ground between us. It was not only betrayal, but I could feel all our years rotting from the inside.
Our bond became a noose. I panicked, beginning to rip out these threads, regardless of the damage it might do. Soon they were bleeding, my hands dripping and slipping on the cord, but I was still not free. All of a sudden I did not know your mind. You just watched me there as I was being drawn out to a storming sea.
What I had forgotten was: you had this cord too. And as I thrashed through the water, where were you? Had you already sunk to the depths, pulling me down with you? Did that mean that my Kaeya was dead, replaced with this stranger? I admit I do not know. All I know now, years later, is that if I was chained to you, you must have been chained to me too.
And even when I ran away, I could not forget you. I’d thought that if I’d gone, the house and city and fields would not remind me of my loss. But in a way, it intensified. My heart ached for the familiar. For every shape in the clouds, I would think of your hand, reaching up to trace the edges. For every star, I’d remember a story. What truly surprised me though, is that in my searching, there were whispers about that place. When you told me of that country, I had never heard of it before. There were clues, though, that only foreign nations could show me. I could not ignore them, no matter how hard I tried, especially when I was as deep into intelligence as I had to delve. I'm unsure, but….maybe it isn’t an impassable gate.
I did not know if I would return and I don’t know why I did. There is something in the stars that instills a magnetism to your hometown, and the realization hurt me, as I could not call it yours. The thread remained. I felt shame, for not being able to forget you. It left a bitter taste. I so rarely fail in any endeavor of mine. But then, I felt an opposite shame when I saw how in Mondstadt everything was the same. That I had betrayed it somehow with such a long absence. I could not apply logic to these notions, though I had compelling reasons.
When I saw you again, the scars opened up. The wires were no different. The stars held their course. At the same time, I saw the ruins of our castle we built for each other, the fields left barren by fire. I looked into your eye and I did not know what you were thinking.
Soon, though, I could see the shimmering ink, our relentless thread, traced between us. All these years were nothing to the stars. Just one blink ago, we were lying here in the grass.
The first encounters were the hardest. The magnetism was strong, but so was the repulsion. I’m not sure if I’m a hero, but I know that in some chapter of their stories, they always curse the stars. I wonder if you did too. (Though, you always seemed fond of them. Maybe you forgave them before I did.)
I don’t know what I would do if I saw you opposing me in battle, but the stars are so unyielding, I know I would have to face you if it came to pass. But for now, in the dizzy peace, I don’t have to.
You always play, always taunt me, differently than you used to, but with the same voice. Yet….you always seem to be around. The repulsion isn’t winning. So, I am not surprised when you lean over the bar to kiss me. I am not surprised when I acquiesce, though I am surprised at how easy it was to sink back into it. (At least the door was locked.)
Now I know what your scent is: like something far away. It is sweet, a climbing vine heavy with flowers I’ve never seen, but dark, a heady drink I’ve never tasted. You are the deepest well I know, dark and narrow, but with the freshest water at the base.
Sometimes I’m unsure, though, as the words have worn away. What are we? What can we be? For now I kiss you afterhours, behind curtains, behind doors. I know I might not know you like before, yet I can try to tame what’s in your eye. But I know those stars are ruthless still, and still will be, long after we are gone.