Chapter Text
The nation of Teyvat wasn’t always the most prosperous land of nations as it is today. Once, it had been riddled with not only war. The land was stained red in blood from sea to sea. Legend has it that during the archon war when bodies had been tossed aside, there had been a few who revealed in the bloodshed, those few who begged for an end to the war, and those who only saw the bloodshed. The many lives lost in a war was beyond their understanding… as leverage. Our tale begins in the heart of the Archon war. In a land where there were no bodies piling. But if a man so chooses, He could have easy access to one.. or seven.
The first born, or reborn among them, had been a simple hunter. The blonde found himself stumbling over tree roots and plants, panting heavily while struggling to catch his breath. A small dagger was clutched tightly at his side and the bow he so favored had been discarded thirty miles back. He had been fond of the weapon in his youth. The handle had been whittled down by his younger sister prior to this hunting trip. The little girl is still at home with their mother. He had taken their father’s place on the hunting team as their father had been another casualty of the gods’ fighting. The intricate Noctilus Jade curled the limbs of the bow perfectly into a vine-like design of birch wood forming the handle and leaves; a thin fishing rod string, fitting his hands as if it was made for him. It had been a birthday present from his parents at the beginning of this abyssal war. This enchanted bow always found a way back to its owner… as long as he was alive.
A spark of fire ignited ahead of him. The small house quickly turned to ash around the already damaged family. His knuckles were bone white, cyan eyes scanning the dirt floor around him. Smoke filled his lungs as the teen trudged along. Just a few more steps… a few more turns…then he’ll be home. The fire raged on behind him, the all consuming Wrath of the pyro vessel. They had yet to become aware of the title to fear. Vessels are what they called those who were granted with rare strong magic from celestia. It truly was a gift to be blessed. Consequently, the boy had been blessed, but had never done a good job of hiding it. The bow began to reform on his back, bits and pieces converging together out of thin air. In hindsight it never gave him the ‘great luck’ that people and his family seemed to revere him having. He was quite lazy… and physically weak, not to say he couldn’t fight.. it had been more of a rumor about it as the male He preferred to spend his days lounging about as everyone else around him about. The only one able to actually get him to move about was his little sister. So tell me now. Why did the first of seven find himself on his knees in front of the village that became his home? The ashes of buildings tossing around in the wind. The smell of charred meat surrounding him. Was he burning? He soon was able to answer this himself… he was. Wasn’t he supposed to warn everyone? Did that mean he was late?
He’ll kill him
His little sister, she had done nothing wrong
And with that thought consuming his mind the world around him turned black. The burning remains of a village had grown to leave behind a single phantom of a house, no one visits the Temple of the Archon of the Hunt, who visits the grave of a minor god?
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An alchemist stared down at the preserved body. All minus the charred back; the body was in perfect condition. However, in the end, he was brought back. The bow remained without its owner to return. A man in search of a cure to death had begun his journey to perfection.
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He was second of the Seven. He was from a decently prominent bloodline, in an established kingdom off the coast of what we now call Fountiane. Of course the land was much different then as we have now. He was a prideful boy. Everything was perfect, the vessels had left his home alone. There were no vessels in his kingdom. He was safe from the war. The nearest vessel had been a small wooden hut village; killed three years ago. The god of the Hunt had been weak. The pair had no need to fear the miasma surrounding the phantom hut. There were those who were unlucky enough to be caught in the crosshairs of the Lion that roamed the area… but none of the elders allowed them to speak of such things. Any sign of the God of the hunt was to be destroyed or laid to rest in the house. If the boy and the kingdom’s prince were feeling antsy they would run off to the temple… hoping to catch a glance of the supposed phantom lion and to hear word of the war outside the kingdom.
There was no war outside the kingdom
The third was a very bad liar… at least that’s what the elders insisted about the prince. But Mother and father had always said lying was bad, but I suppose if I am now allowed to lie then what was so wrong with me lying about going to visit the town with my friend? We were safe to visit the temple. They had no offering to appease the lion.
Upon arrival, the temple had been set aflame. There were sounds of screams filling the silent crater, the former domain of the hunt…. Which had been left to wither away. If they hadn’t been afraid they would have heard the male begging for them to run from inside the temple. The lion will be spilling blood tonight. The Nobel had made it out from the fire with a quick and swift end. The prince… he sadly looked too much like the very vessel that had destroyed his own people. His face was torn to shreds as he had vowed to upon his death bed. The former Vessel of the hunt watches like a ghost from the mist of the woods as the Alchemist commands his body as if it wasn’t his own. Watching in disgust has the body goes limp on command as he was forced back into the beast's body.
‘Sleepy Ash? Will you not come to greet your future siblings?’
The kingdom mourned their missing prince that night. The crown being left on the throne. The Vessel did not rest that night.
It is said that in the forest, you can still hear their screams.
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The Fourth, It had been oh such a shame for the traveling merchant’s daughter. It was a peaceful day in the land we now call Sumeru. The land had been once rich in trading routes. Shame that monsters had arrived. Fear not, her death was quick and painless. The only thing found was her body… not a scratch or bruise on her. She had just dropped dead in the middle of nowhere… not even a funeral was held.
The paths most common tread were the same paths that led her to all alone. What were her last words? What had killed her? The accident will forever remain a mystery. It was an insignificant death to the town. How shameful.
Some believe that if you tread the path at night, on the very day she died, you will be followed by a pair of glowing red eyes in the shadows… just out of sight. She will call out to you from beyond death, forced to wander the path for all of eternity.
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The fifth sibling was more youthful, but was not as easily killed for he trusted his vessel. He trusted her with his life. Even if she wasn’t his to take as he pleased. He loved Ophelia, he really did. The Yaksha would have given his life for the vessel of Peace, but one can only do so much for someone proclaimed to be a vessel. It’s hard to protect someone who refuses to be protected. His vessel did not have a single selfish bone in her body. Ophelia had even gone as far as to try and make peace with the last survivor to the God of the Hunt. Quite a stubborn little creature she was, but alas there was nothing that could be done, and in the end it had been safer for them on the ruined lands from the former Vessel.
But one day the Yaksha had found himself in the middle of a battle. Everything was going too fast for the inexperienced spirit. As fast as the fight had started, it had ended. Bodies laid scattered on the ground. A dark black fog encasing the field. The sky painted with shades of black and orange.
It’s your fault
It’s your fault
It’s your fault
It’s your fault
It’s your fault
It’s all your fault
It’s all your fault
It’s all your fault
It’s all your fault
It’s all their fault….
Millions of voices echoed and taunted about and the feeling of regret was suffocating as the world became consumed with the looming black and orange fog.
Suffocating,
Ophelia I’m sorry.
What little color left behind had been consumed by black all that was left behind was simply him and the body alone. He smiled, picking the corpse up by the hand and a manic laughter was let loose followed by the waltz of death. His madness had taken over and he was no longer able to tell the difference between what was reality and what his mind was creating. Was he really dancing with Ophelia? Was she really dead or was this just a dream, a fantasy, something he never thought would happen? On the inside, he thought he was having a nice time with the beautiful Ophelia. However, to the outside world it would appear that he would be with a cold dead corpse. Former Vessel and protector, hand in hand.
“My dear! My dear! Oh, My dear Ophelia! My oh My! May my revenge be served! May it be neither sweet nor cold! May it be served by their deaths!”
As his life slipped away so had his purpose, the purpose that had been fueling his ambition. As the wind had died away, the glow at his side fading into a white nothingness. The Ambition of his vision disappeared with his life.
The wind will forever carry away the ambition, but some will say that they can still hear him laughing on especially stormy nights. The laughter can be heard echoing over the thunder.
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The final sibling was a lowly shrine hand. Nothing special. Most women would look upon him with envy; and the men would look upon him with a sense of lust. He had become the ideal model for the physique of women. He carried himself with grace, spoke well, and was an overall joy to be around. He had many male admirers as well. He would refuse to fight, even until the very last moment; and was very fond of children. In the end, it was no wonder the other shrine maidens found him unfit to work at the shrine. Consequently, the people slowly began to formulate a plan to sacrifice him; as to what exactly we do not exactly know. It was meant to be a simple exorcism, it wasn’t a practice he was unfamiliar with. The final sibling arrived at the dilapidated building earlier than his peers. He was not prideful of his abilities. In fact he had nothing special going for him as a spiritual being… The demon ate him whole. All that was left of the male was a shell of his corpse. People say that if you go to there you can see the very shadow of the man.
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“Or that's at least what the legends say!”
The short Brunette slapped the green haired electro user over the head. A sharp groan followed the unquestionably forming bruise.
“You and your damn stories!” Mahiru groaned, going back to cleaning up the bar tables. “And you miss counted, you forgot one sibling.”
“Don’t remember that one's story. Out of the two remaining stories that is.” The electro user sighed, rubbing the bruise; quickly picking back up his teasing manor.
Mahiru scoffed, a l
“Come on mahiru~ aren’t you at least a little bit curious? We have the temple close enough! We can go the three days journey to the temple and check it out for ourselves-“
“I will not be going to storm terrors' lair! Not now! Not for a dare! Not even to prove one of your stories to be wrong! Have you lost your mind?!” He slammed the wet towel on the half cleaned table, water droplets flicking back onto his face. The tavern had been slower during the day. Most were out at work, or adventuring.
“You will do anything to have a death wish. Thank you, but no thank you. I quite enjoy my simple life here… with my head on my own damn shoulders.”
“Hm, you always are determined to leave the place cleaner than the night shift.”
I stiffened, watching as Diluc surveyed the Tavern.
“My brother gave you no trouble, yes?”
“No, Keaya has not visited today. The Bard came by asking for a few free drinks though and left when I refused to serve him.”
And that is how my shift ended with the sun softly filtering through the stained glass windows and the tables were finally clean. Plates had been prepared for the night shift. All appeared right in the world. The Tavern was a part time job really, I had to practically beg Master Dilic to allow me to take even one shift. I found myself walking back home, almost robotically as the sun began to set. The small puff ball of fur draped over the railing of my porch…. well not my porch exactly… it was actually my uncle's home. Even if he wasn’t often home, I was fine on my own. Well for most domestic tasks and chores. I preferred these activities to adventuring. somSome people will hear my name and look shocked. Mahiru Shirota. It’s nothing special. There’s no family legacy to it. The most special thing to his family history being the great move from Liyue to Mondstad about 3,000 years ago.
I unlocked the door to the house.
“Come on kuro, time for dinner.”
The cat jumped onto the window, stretching out before it laid back down. I took one last glance at Kuro, who had been consuming the grilled fish plate like he hadn't eaten in ages. I chuckled. It was just a story… Sakuya’s stories are always just made up tales thrown together at the last minute. I took one last glance at Kuro, who had been consuming the grilled fish plate like he hadn't eaten in ages.
Then why do I feel like he wasn’t lying for once…