Chapter Text
The sweetest of things, Alatus could remember, were dreams.
Amongst his misdeeds and wrongdoings, he could find comfort in the way mortals dreamt and wished for nothing but happiness and prosperity. Joy, for him, was an unknown word. Relaxation, serenity, peace - something he would never revel in. That was a part of the unimaginable as his lust for bloodshed grew century by century.
The craving to take mortal happiness besought him and it brought him a life where death was clearly more merciful. No one favored him, it appeared.
Perhaps he’d once enjoyed the calmness of the ocean waves crashing against a silent beach, or sat upon the tallest mountain and gazed out on the wilderness below. Perhaps he’d been normal once. A regular man with no bearings of a Vision or a single cent of pain in his body.
These weren’t thoughts he would dwell on while devouring mortals and their dreams.
Being saved was the only thing Alatus swore he would never forget.
The mask on his face was lifted, and for a split second, he felt relief. With his mind and body succumbing to the warm, embracing feeling, he listened closely to the words of his savior.
“In the fables of another land, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have. Use this name from now on.”
Alatus’ life in that moment had become that of validation. His misdeeds weren’t forgotten or forgiven, but the fog in his mind cleared ever so slightly.
Morax, a god of Geo, one who’d slain his previous master, called upon Alatus. He renamed him and provided him with a new purpose.
His karmic debt would not erase overnight, and he would need to pay for his crimes, but everything felt so much… lighter. It felt peaceful almost. Just like those sweet dreams he’d once preyed on. From predator to prey did he fall, even if the moment didn’t last forever.
Millennium he had spent working aimlessly and submissively, only to now discover the goodness of the world under the wing of his savior. Words couldn’t express how much he was thankful for such a feat, so he relayed his feelings with actions.
When Morax called upon him and for others to aid in the suppression of demons, he didn’t hesitate to answer it.
Alongside his adeptial friends, they fought and conquered many battles. Nothing could ever replace the times he spent with them, feeling so free with the ones that respected him and had his back. Even with knowledge of his troubled past and his suffering, they still looked at him with admiration.
Xiao looked back at them that way.
Everyday did he fight the tainted hatred in his soul, but he had what he considered friends not far behind him. They made everything just a bit easier during the war, and Xiao was finally able to breathe.
The five of them called themselves the Yaksha, answering to a call created long ago to banish all evil under the unjust beheading of an innocent couple. They were a team of not only swiftness and ableness, but of fun and laughter when the time spared itself.
Bonanus, Xiao could say, had the heartiest laugh of them all. Despite all the suffering he went through himself, he prevailed with humor and good meals. He indulged himself, from time to time, with mortal taste. Xiao then discovered his love for Almond Tofu. Though reminiscent, it tasted exactly of the dreams he did once devour. It was a luxury he never dreamed of.
Menogias, although serious and sturdy, held herself high and mighty. She was respectable, Xiao always thought, and endearing if a grave battle had taken place. She was not one for sentiment, but her emotions and voice betrayed her.
Indarias, smart as she was beautiful, was a lovely soul. With words as steady as a graceful dove, she could drive herself and others into a battle with confidence. She knew just what to say and exactly when to say it, and Xiao (though never aloud) thanked her for it.
Bosacius, a mischievous and sparky fellow, was secretive. He wasn’t as talkative as Bonanus, much like Xiao, and countered his time with his fellow Yakshas. His mind was full of the world’s greatest secrets and treasures, so greedy that even the treasures of his friend’s did not go untouched.
It is a shame that he was the only other one to have supposedly survived the madness.
The news of Indarias’ death riddled Xiao with untold sadness - shocked that Bonanus would lay a hand on a comrade as such. Her death, he could only assume, was what drove Bonanus further into descent.
Bonanus fell not long after, the battle within The Chasm proving to be an unfortunate unfolding of fatal events. Two of the brilliant and loved Yakshas were dead.
Xiao tried his best during these times, often feeling painful jabs of hatred carved through his heart.
Battles weren’t as easy as they’d been, and Xiao soon felt the weight of suffering once again.
He’d heard of Menogias’ death, and started to break.
The glue that once held his painful memories to par was coming unstuck and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.
His friends were yielding to a no-better than fate end: madness.
He slowly was too.
After Menogias’ death, Xiao sought out Bosacius, desperate to see and find one of his few, only living friends. He searched for days and not a single clue came up. Bosacius had simply vanished.
Now he was all alone.
Not even Pervases could lull him out of that sickening torture. The adepti could merely watch as their fellow comrade allowed demons of the mind to grab ahold of him. No one dared say a word in fear that they too would find themselves in the same… exact… position.
Screams were often heard from the top of Qingyun Peak, but no one answered them. No one came to see Xiao as he cried and screamed, cursing every being in Teyvat. No one came to Xiao as he ripped himself apart in culpability. No one came as he clawed at his eyes and arms, pleading to anyone listening, for someone to take away the pain.
He wanted to be free. He wanted to know what it felt like to be without pain, without darkness.
His voice became raw and chords were so struck that he couldn’t utter a word even if he wanted to.
After a month of solitude on the peak, not a sound was heard.
He really was doomed from the start.