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Black clouds finally settled, revealing ravaged and decimated land, the soil soaked with blood both mortal and immortal alike. The ballad of war that was so often filled with shouts and yells and screams had become a dirge of moans and wails.
They won but at too high of a cost.
Guizhong, his Guizhong, laid among her glaze lilies, her breathing wet and shallow. Her billowing sleeves and windswept hair were soaked with marsh water and stained with blood, unmistakably so.
Morax, as he was known then, cradled her in his lap and held her close. He was often the more stoic of the pair, preferring to be the steady stone beneath their people’s feet. But he could not help the tears that burned his eyes at the sight of his beloved; her skin was too pale and her touch was too cold. She wouldn’t last much longer.
“It seems our journey together has come to an end,” Guizhong said, reaching up a hand to weakly wipe away his tears.
“Do not ask me to endure without you.”
“You must. Our people need stability, safety, a place to call home.”
With her other hand, she managed to bring forth the stone dumbbell from all those years ago. The mark of their pledge. It pulsed weakly, spun poorly on its axis. She was using too much energy on speaking…if she could just…
“As for this dumbbell, forget about it, would you?”
Morax covered the hand against his face with his own, her fingers like ice. “How could you ask me to—”
“It is the mark of our pledge, I know; but it is also my challenge to you. All of my wisdom is hidden within this stone dumbbell. If you can unlock it—"
The flesh beneath his fingers began to crumble away, dust brushing his cheek as her physical form began to crumble.
“We will see each other again. No matter what happens, I promise I’ll always find you, Zhongli.”
Despite the warmth of the arms of her partner and lover, her smile was a lonely one. Morax was left with nothing but the finest dust when the last of her physical form faded away and a roar joined the chorus of the suffering.
An Archon Ascended.
Liyue prospered.
And eventually, Liyue outgrew him.
Mortals began to take charge of their own affairs and destinies. Centuries became millennia. Technology advanced.
All but a few names were lost to the erosion of time.
A Traveler came and went, he surrendered his Gnosis, and Liyue eventually accepted that their Archon was deceased. He retired in relative peace, living amongst the people as he once had, hiding in plain sight.
The age of modernity, of true sovereignty, had arrived.
He’d settled into a small home, one nestled in a quieter part of the Harbor, with a courtyard garden where neighbors could sit outside or gather together. Glaze lilies were planted, nurtured with great care, sung to when no one else was around. He took to playing the erhu when singing was too difficult, when the words caught in his throat and he found himself thinking of a woman with billowing sleeves among a field of flowers. The instrument was carved from chihua wood, the neck and head in the shape of a dragon, with cor lapis inlaid for its eyes. Perhaps a little too on-the-nose but it was crafted beautifully and once he’d settled it into his lap, he knew he could not let it go.
The dumbbell eluded him. Or, rather, he respected her wishes and left it alone. It danced circles around him, literally; his thoughts would wander and he would open his eyes to find her memory orbiting him. The little meteor even made itself known when he was playing. He swore it seemed to pulse to the beat of whatever he was playing, as if trying to join in.
Days wore on as he tended to his responsibilities to Wangsheng, to his glaze lilies, and shared meals with those he met on his journeys with the Traveler.
Just as he was making his afternoon tea, however, he heard the unmistakable lilt of a voice he only heard in his dreams. Echoes of a time long gone that seemed to still persist despite the erosion of memory, of time itself.
Zhongli found himself wandering to the courtyard and he was glad he decided to leave his tea behind, for he surely would have dropped the porcelain at the sight before him. Light brown hair the color of dried earth, arranged in an elaborate fashion that still allowed its length to fall in waves. Soft blue and white sleeves, the fabric swaying gently in the morning breeze. He tried to shake the idea that she was familiar. Plenty of people had such hair color and that shade of blue seemed to be in fashion lately.
After all, she’d turned to dust in his arms. It couldn’t be her.
As if sensing his presence, the stranger paused in her singing (how he wished she hadn’t), and turned her attention to him. Eyes the color of clear sky, of the glaze lilies that seemed to glow at her feet, fell upon him and it took everything in him not to fall to his knees.
Her name felt foreign upon his lips and yet it felt as if he was coming home. “Guizhong?”
“It is good to see you again, Zhongli. What good care you have taken of our people, how far they have come.”
Zhongli stepped forward and closed the distance between them. Was he dreaming? Enchanted? He knew that divine beings could not truly die, not in the way mortals did, but…
His fingers made quick work of his gloves and he touched a golden hand to her cheek. Warm. Soft. The smile he received was as radiant as the sun above and as refreshing as a spring rain shower.
“You’re really here,” he said at last.
Tears blurred his vision and his eyes burned. They had been parted for so long, he had considered that this moment may never come. And yet here she was, his partner, his lover, his glaze lily, returned from dust at long last.
Her lips were as soft and comforting as he remembered they were. It felt as if they had never been parted, simply picking up from where they left off.
She pulled away just enough to wipe away his tears.
“I made a promise, my Zhongli. No matter what separates us, we will always find one another again.”
Her attention was broken when she caught sight of the orbiting dumbbell. It appeared of its own volition as of late, and this was no different; Zhongli hadn’t even noticed its presence until then. Guizhong let out a soft laugh, the most beautiful music he’d heard in centuries (and he’d been present for some of the most notable performances), as she held out her hand, the floating rock gravitating to her instantly.
“You still have this…”
It wasn’t so much a question as an observation. As if she hadn’t expected it.
“I could not bear to part with it. It was all I had left of you; other than what memories I hold.”
Her fingers ran over the different facets of the puzzle for a moment before she placed it in his hands, positioned his fingers, and laid her hands on top of his.
“Let us finally unlock this together, shall we?”