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“I care little for the Abyss,” he spits. “So leave me be, Princess.”
Lumine gives him a frosty smile. "I'll be back," she says. "I will give you a chance then." Then, she turns on her heel and disappears into the dark forest of snow.
He leaves Lumine without another word. He has plans tonight in the campsite, and none of them involve her interruptions. He knows she will be back, barging into his hideout. He dreads seeing her again, not because she’s a threat, but because she's a nuisance.
Out of curiosity, he compares hand sizes with Aether and ignores the blush that taints the traveler’s cheeks. Displeasure fills him when he realizes that their hands don’t fit—his fingers are a little too long, too slender. It feels like an insult when it dawns on him that Aether’s fingers must clasp perfectly well with that of Albedo.
The campfire radiates heat as they huddle around it, and he follows their example as they impale marshmallows on a stick before lifting them over the flames. He finds it difficult to comprehend why they find pleasure in such a menial thing. In a preliminary test of understanding, he inquires if they’d like to hear one of Dragonspine’s many legends. To his bemusement, they light up at once.
Before blizzards of ice and snow engulfed the peaks of Dragonspine, it had once been a verdurous, flourishing civilization. It was called Vindagnyr, and the kingdom that ruled it was called Sal Vindagnyr. The people who lived there took refuge away from the cold that plagued Mondstadt before Barbatos’ time.
“I burned my marshmallow,” he suddenly says, and he plucks it off before chucking it to the side. The charred edges shrivel against the snow. “This is no good.”
Paimon yelps in horror. “Hey! Paimon could have eaten that!”
“Not worth it when another could be better,” he replies. “Now, where was I?”
In the middle of this viridescent kingdom grew a tree so blessed by the leylines that when the cries of the princess birthed beneath it were heard, she foresaw the future. The frescoes she later painted in her treasure rooms drew color to the prophecy of a dragon, poisoning the prosperous kingdom with an endless cloud of scarlet poison.
Coupled with this frightening dream, the Skyfrost Nail that floated at the peak split into three and suddenly fell into the mountain — in the cavern, in the chamber, and on the white tree which the people had so tenderly cared for. The princess took it upon herself to care for the leyline but alas, her lifeline too was buried within the sheer cold of cumbrous snow.
The warm light of the hearth flickers steadily in his teal eyes as he recounts the unnerving ghost story. Aether had once told him that the three dots embedded within his pupils made him resemble the surface of an alchemy table, to which he chuckled at in amusement.
Your eyes resemble something like you, too, he had replied. They're like stars.
“Can we hear another story, please? Paimon is getting the creeps.”
“Another?” He cocks an eyebrow. “For all we know, this story is real history.”
“Eek!”
“Paimon,” murmurs Aether. “You know he’s joking again.”
That makes his breath catch. Albedo knew how to joke? He always thought of his brother as apathetic and distant, as lifeless as the being he was before he rose from the dust. He had thought wrong. He clears his throat, causing Aether and Paimon to look at him.
“You don’t have to worry, Paimon.”
He is careful to articulate every last syllable in a way that mimics his brother. Albedo speaks in a collected manner like he values the opportunity to gather his thoughts before they leave his lips. Even when he unleashes his dainty flowers in battle, carefully constructed over teachings of ballads and alchemic genius, he takes the time to roll his arm back. It fills the prototype’s pewter mouth with a bitter taste. Aether doesn’t see how Subject Two's fist balls, or the slight frown that adorns his features as he stares into the fire.
“The kind princess gave her kingdom a prosperous life. Her frescoes tell its story forevermore. She was someone whom people wanted.”
Whose words do they belong to? Albedo, or him?
Either way, it doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aether smiling at him.
“That’s how princesses are, after all. A princess cares for others. She shows them sympathy. And she never lets anything get in the way of destiny.”
He pretends not to notice how Aether’s smile falters. He wonders if that had been the inappropriate thing to say—but he is certain that what he had said was correct. (Because Albedo never says the wrong thing.)
If this wasn’t about Albedo, then the scar must run deeper. He wonders, is this about his lost sister?
The Traveler doesn't spend the night.
Their paths cross again when the Adventure's Guild cause an uproar in Dragonspine (why they even bother sending kids to the coldest peak in Teyvat, he does not know) and its organization piques his interest. People, save for the occasional adventurer, rarely came to the mountain; this is an opportunity for him to widen his prospects.
He starts by ransacking Albedo’s camp. His identity is uncanny when he converses with Aether after. It ends when the latter runs after a friend calling for help. It gives him the green light to slink back the mountain, ignoring the way snow falls upon strands of his blond hair.
Vengeful satisfaction makes his cheeks flush in pleasure as he remembers the tense look on his brother’s usually-composed face the moment he was spoken to in a tone that dripped with mistrust. He hopes that the image will burn into his memories forever. It is his victory when the whopperflower diversion go according to plan, but it is also his own mistake that he forgets how intelligent Albedo and the Traveler are.
In a tiny cave not far from the fishing spot in the lake, he hovers over a broken alchemy table. His gloved fingers shake in silent fury as he pours components on the surface. His vision goes glassy, so clouded with rage that he does not even know what he is looking at. He thinks of the look on Aether’s face as he told Albedo that he could tell the impersonator apart. Bile rises to his throat and he is overcome by the need to choke in betrayal, as selfish as it may be.
When the concoction is ready, he slowly pours the substance over his neck. The gold star which he so stubbornly detested fades back into place on his skin. The removal of this ugly feature had admittedly been an irresponsible oversight on his part. But how was he supposed to know that Albedo was glad to keep it on his persona?
The very thought of it feels like a stab to the gut. Like a pot of boiling water had been emptied down his back, scathing red marks down his perfect flesh. So painful, that he wishes nothing more than to ram his brother’s Cinnabar Spindle through that white coat and pierce right through his chest. How infuriating. What must it feel like to be so comfortable with yourself that you don’t feel the need to hide the inaccuracies imprinted on your fake skin?
Albedo walks fully accustomed to his own body. He is all of his prototype’s flaws eradicated, neatly polished, and waxed down to a shine that reflected lovingly in Rhinedottir’s gaze. Unlike their mother, the common folk is surprisingly not blind to his quirks. But what was irritating was that they found it endearing. Albedo could ravage the world and some fool would have the compassion to hold his hand.
That should have been him.
Where did he go wrong?
The next time he sees Aether, a smirk plays on his lips when the Traveler is fooled by the momentary loss of his star. For the first time, he meets Klee. She startles him when she wraps her arms around his middle, squawking about how elated she is to see her big brother again. For a fleeting moment he freezes in alarm; he has little experience with children. Then he remembers whose face he’s wearing and calms down.
“My big brother is the best!” she proudly says to passersby, gesturing to him. “He always looks out for me and he’s super nice!”
It feels strange when the artificial muscles on his face contract in an upward motion. There had never been a moment in his life where his mouth stretched involuntarily in happiness. Klee makes him smile.
Is this what it feels like to love?
He feels pride swell in him when Klee showcases her creations, albeit dangerous when she launches them at fish. He feels a dread pit in his stomach when Klee’s boots hover too near the edge of Cider Lake. He feels his heart turn warm at the sight of Klee cheering when her aim was particularly good.
He also feels a harsh slap to the face when Klee calls him by his brother’s name. His chest tightens with envy. His breathing turns rapid furthermore. Again, he is reminded of who he is, and he is not the man who was carrying a sleeping sister back to Favonius Headquarters.
Even now, as he stands on the flat ruins in Dragonspine, face-to-face with his brother, the same tightness stifles his body. The jealousy and anger at the product who mirrored his reflection are nothing short of ugly. He unsheathes his sword, and Albedo does the same. The winds feel like knives to the skin as they eye each other, waiting to see who’d strike first. Finally, Albedo speaks.
“I understand how you feel,” he begins.
Immediately he wants to scream. Albedo never experienced an ounce of what he went through. He would never know years writhing lonely in the belly of the forsaken dragon. How it felt to be molded from dust, to be a miracle brought into this world, only to be discarded for another without ever knowing why.
“I don’t pretend as though I understand what you've been through,” Albedo continues carefully. “But, if I were you, I know… I would have done the same.”
Albedo had a lot of nerve. It makes the prototype even angrier. Without hesitation, he lifts his sword and charges at him. The chalk prince grits his teeth and prepares to deflect the hit, but before he could, a shout rings from afar:
“Albedo!”
The prototype hears something searing hot whizz in his direction and ducks before one of Klee’s explosives goes off. The impact sends his feet sliding back on the ice, and he crouches to balance weight, gritting his teeth. His gut twists wretchedly when he sees Aether, Paimon, and Klee standing behind Albedo, looking baleful.
His gaze lands on Klee. Perhaps she would have shown a child’s innocent compassion had she never caught him attempting to slice her elder brother into the dust he deserved to return to. The Traveler, on the other hand, was never as forgiving. A ball of Electro crackles in Aether’s palm, ready to throw.
The prototype’s lower lip curls unhappily, but he forces another smirk on his face.
“So, we meet again, Traveler.”
“Paimon knew it!” the fairy cries out, stamping her feet in mid-air. “You’ve been walking around trying to steal Albedo’s place!”
His eyes narrow. “I’m afraid I never did any stealing in the first place.”
He eyes Albedo as he speaks, and he sees something flicker in those alchemy-table eyes. Pity. The prototype’s loathing for him has never run so deep until now.
“Klee, we’re leaving.” Albedo’s words strain as he leans to take her hand. “You too, Traveler.”
“Wait, what?” Paimon’s voice rises. “He just tried to attack you!”
“Retreat,” Albedo warns Aether, who reluctantly lowers his sword. “Let’s go.”
Albedo doesn’t scoop Klee into his arms, but he keeps his fingers around the hilt of his sword while he holds her hand with the other as they walk away. Aether covers them from behind, and he warily keeps his eyes on the prototype, like he was going to run towards them and manically stab someone.
“Leave this mountain,” Aether tells him coldly. The face that once smiled at his stories was now heavy with disgust. “Do not come back.”
The prototype does not speak as he watches them go. A fresh blanket of falling snow buries their footprints. “I understand how you feel.” Apparently, the prototype is not the only liar in the family.
The uncomfortable feeling returns to his neck. He looks over his shoulder, thinking that Albedo had another trick up his sleeve, but he finds nothing but frostflakes swirling in the breeze.
His face is emotionless as he trudges back to the ruins of the fresco, near the Statue of the Seven. This, he thinks, is his real face. Many people in Mondstadt believed that Albedo was apathetic and unfeeling, but that was simply not true. Albedo knew how to smile and laugh and joke. It came to him naturally, unlike the prototype.
His boots crunch as he climbs the stairs of the ruins. Now and then along the path, he’d see a dying Ruin Guard, buried under years’ worth of sheer cold. They beeped pathetically, great machines who fell to nothing but ice. Neglected. Easy to break, because they are synthetic.
Just like him.
“Lumine,” he greets the moment he steps into the fresco. “Here again, I see.”
"I keep my promises."
Out of instinct, he feels the need to call out for Aether, to tell him that his sister has been found at last. Though, Aether would probably take his words with a grain of salt and call it a trap.
“You almost fought with my brother.”
“Can you blame me?”
“‘No,” she answers. Her gaze travels up and down, and he feels a bizarre urge to hide. “I know you are unloved.”
He stiffens.
“You were abandoned by your master,” she continues. “You were left to die because you were not Rhinedottir’s favorite.”
Lumine doesn’t bother to inject sympathy in her tone. When she speaks, she says the words so flatly that they sound like a fact. He glares at her, albeit childish, and silently bares his teeth in annoyance.
“I’m not insulting you,” she says. “I’m asking you if this is correct information.”
He doesn’t answer her. She has no right to ask him questions. When he speaks, he reverts into his brother and keeps his equanimity.
“How do you know my master?”
Lumine raises her eyebrows. “Five hundred years ago, I witnessed the destruction of your homeland, Khaenri’ah,” she says. “Your nation was destroyed by the Archons.”
“I was not there to see it,” he replies coldly. “It means nothing to me.”
Her eyes narrow, just a little. He had touched a nerve. He doesn’t know why she is the Abyss Princess and frankly doesn’t care what Lumine’s connection to the fallen nation is either.
“I came to see you because I want you to hear me out,” she says. The prototype scrutinizes her, giving her a chance to speak her mind. She takes the chance, and adds, “I’ve been watching you for a while.”
He makes a scoffing sound. “What a surprise. Go on, then.”
“I believe that you would be an asset to me,” says she, and she pauses to let the words sink in. “I want you to travel with me down the Abyss and beyond.”
“Travel with you?”
“It has been a long time since I last traveled with a partner,” she says. Her mouth presses into a thin line. “My last partner was unworthy. He failed to do his job. But you — you are reliable. I think I can do something with you.”
He crosses his arms, not fully believing her. Seeing his aversion, Lumine throws in the final addition.
“And I don’t mean that alchemist named Albedo,” she clarifies. She looks him straight in the eye. “I want it to be you.”
“You… want… me?”
“I can show you how to wield your power,” she says. “I can give you a home.”
“A home,” he repeats.
“You and I will be beneficial for one another.”
“How so?”
Her fingers twitch at her side like they are desperate to fiddle with the hem of her dress, which is unexpected. If his prowling taught him well enough, he recognizes her actions as shy. This feeling is new to him. Something begins to stir at the sight of how effeminate she becomes, and it fills his greedy heart with a hunger knowing that someone out there is vying for his agreement.
“I want to show you love.”
Love? The word tastes foreign on his lips, but he quickly snaps out of it.
“Why?”
“You and I are afterthoughts in this unforgiving world.” Lumine sounds pained as she speaks. “I know you suffer the same as I do.”
Lumine is no Aether, he thinks. He eyes her suspiciously, but his gaze accidentally rakes over her appearance instead. Aether had described her in meticulous detail thousands of times, yet none of it had been enough to prepare him for the real thing. She was incandescently pretty, as periwinkle perfect as a lily of the valley. Her golden eyes shine brightly as they rake over him.
But why does he notice this? He hardly knows a thing about her and vice versa. It fills him with embarrassment and shock and something new—something human that he so desperately desired.
“Come with me,” Lumine insists. His eyes snap back to hers. “I want you.”
His brows knit together. An artificial solution to a calamity. Would it be the platonic kind? Or would it even evolve into something romantic? Even after all the equations he’d studied from Albedo’s files, he hardly knew the solutions to this one.
“You…” He struggles to say the words. “You… want me.”
Lumine nods. “You’re just like me… you don’t belong in this world. We will understand each other. So, I want to find companionship in you.”
His breath catches in shock. Someone — Lumine, this beautiful and iridescent girl — had just told him that she believed he was meant for her. Him. Not Albedo, not Durin. Him.
“Will you come with me?”
When she holds out a hand, time and space rips behind her. At once he knows this would take him to the Abyss, the world beyond. This was where he belonged, where he would be loved as Lumine said. In a surge of guilt, he thinks of Aether, and his eyes shining against that firelight and the softness of his sweet smile. But he also remembers the unwelcoming in his tone the last time he spoke to him.
The endless yearning for belonging — if he had been worthy in his creator’s eyes he would have denied, swung his sword, refused this desolate girl. But he was not worthy. He was a fake. He would be offered a crumb of affection and he’d savor it down to the last minuscule atom, till death.
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes.”
Satisfaction breaks out in Lumine’s face, and his heart thumps, like the light an infant sees when they open their eyes for the first time. Her gauntlets feel warm as she reaches for him. He lets her hold him close. It sets his insides ablaze and a warmth spreads through his face as she cradles him carefully, like one wrong move was unspeakable lest he shatters.
Old curiosity gets the better of him. He intertwines his fingers with Lumine’s pale knuckles as she leads him into the ancient unknown, the endless galaxy of constellations and answers that he was far too young to understand.
This time, his hand fits.