Chapter Text
The rising moon was invisible behind the stormclouds, and the thief frowned up at the sky as he sat miserably on the rooftop. Those clouds had hung perpetually overhead the entire time he'd been here, creeping from island to island, watching and waiting. He hated those clouds. They represented things that he feared. But if there was one saying Felix Desroches lived by, it was steal now, fear later. There was no place for fear at a time like this.
That wasn't to say he wasn't beginning to grow sick of the rain pelting the back of his neck, or the wind that battered him until he was sure the spark of flame that hugged his soul must have been smothered out, though. He missed the often rainless wind of Mondstadt, or the clinging warmth of Liyue. He'd even take miserable Sumeru or Natlan over this. His time as a Treasure Hoarder -- an illustrious, incredibly talented and handsome thief, he preferred to call himself -- had seen him to all corners of Teyvat. He'd stolen his way into Liyue's golden house, leaving with freshly-minted Mora to show for it. He'd turned his face to the heavens and laughed as he stood atop the statue in the heart of Mondstadt. He'd lied and stolen passage all through far-off places that most of the sleeping residents of Inazuma City here below him had probably never heard of.
Stupid though those endeavors may have been, he was beginning to think now that perhaps this had been the stupidest of them all. The weight of the sword strapped across his shoulders and the gems weighing down his pockets felt heavier with each passing minute. The sword was called soul reaver, in his tongue. Of its value, he knew little, except that there were always two-faced merchants to be found in Liyue Harbor who would be happy to part with a pretty sum of Mora to get their hands on something if you called it a rare artifact. Felix had eaten well for weeks after selling a polished figure made from common iron and calling it Manichacite Sarmacosicerite. If asked to repeat the gemstone name that he'd made up on the spot, he wasn't sure he could have. But, luckily, the merchant had been easily fooled and had scrambled to make an offer before any of their competitors, swarming like sharks, had the chance.
What had happened when among fools in Liyue didn't matter quite so much now, though, for this was decidedly not Liyue, and Felix was well aware that those he stood to anger here were far smarter. He also knew the price to pay should he make a misstep here was far, far steeper.
He decided, then, that he should get a move on, because lightning might start soon if he waited too long, he couldn't afford for his stolen goods to be reclaimed by their rightful owners, and, mostly important, there was water in his boots. The thief rose to his feet, took a few steps along the roof, then promptly slipped on the rain-slick metal and plummeted like a rock to the ground on the outside of the compound. Stunned, he laid in the wet grass for a heartbeat, then pushed himself upright. Cursing himself for being distracted, he hurried back up the slope until he was swallowed by the heavy shadows of the wall's overhang, and then turned his sights north. The harbor town of Ritou wasn't too far, but still far enough that his successful escape was not yet guaranteed.
He'd need to be careful.
He spun around a corner, planning where he'd go once he was beyond Inazuma City and when he reached the Byakko Plain, and narrowly avoided walking straight into a man coming the other way. His first thought was one of relief-- the man's clothing didn't suggest he was part of the Tenryou Commission. Running into a member of the organization he'd just stolen an important heirloom from was low on his list of priorities tonight. His second thought was disbelieving panic when he realized he recognized the man in question.
The annoying part about being a skilled thief was that you pissed a lot of people off. And, selfishly and completely unreasonably, those people wanted their stolen belongings back. Felix wasn't quite sure if it had been the time he'd tried and failed to break into Tenshukaku or if it had been when he did something that some people would call identity theft in Ritou, but someone had hired a detective to catch him and put him behind bars. He was beginning to think the man must be some sort of human bloodhound, because every time he thought he'd finally shaken the detective off his trail, he seemed to be right around the corner again.
For a split second, both stood frozen, staring at each other with disbelief. Mask and cowled hood or not, Felix knew this blasted detective had memorized enough about him to know he'd found his thief.
"Archons above, Iwao, can't you clear off and leave me alone for a single day? You're like a persistent gnat, always buzzing around. It's almost like you think you've actually got a chance of catching me!"
Disbelief quickly dissipated from the detective's features and his lips were swift to curl into a scowl. Felix had never known such childish comments to get under the detective's skin, but perhaps after chasing him around in circles for weeks with no luck, he'd begun to lose his patience.
"It's Detective Kurata to you, lowlife." The words were hastily barked out, boots already shifting on the rain-soaked grass and making a lunge towards Felix. "There's nowhere left to run!"
"So grabby," Felix dodged to one side, slapping the detective's wrist for good measure as he twisted out of reach. If 'Detective Kurata' got a grip on him, Felix knew he might be in trouble. But he was fast and clever, and hadn't been caught before. He didn't plan to be now, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun in the meantime. "Didn't anyone ever teach you manners? I bet your mother would be ashamed."
"Hard to believe a thief knows anything about manners. Didn't anyone tell you to keep your filthy hands off of what doesn't belong to you?"
"So you do speak more than five words at a time!" Felix gave a crooked grin, backing away from the detective. Each step took him closer to the cliffside that fell steeply to the choppy grey sea far below. "And I didn't see any name written on the sword, nor was anyone guarding it! As for the jewels, well, what comes from the earth belongs to the earth, and, really, I've never known the ground to complain." He tugged a brassy orb from where it hung at his belt alongside two identical others, the grin not fading from his face as he spread his other hand, a tiny flame kindling in his palm. He itched to burn.
The thief hefted the stolen sword more securely onto his shoulder, giving a nonchalant shrug to the detective. "I would say it's been a pleasure to see you again, Iwa-chan~," he crowed, lighting the fuse with his own flame. "But, well... it hasn't been."
He tossed the smoke bomb at his feet, expecting it to explode in a cloud of ashy grey. Instead the fuse fizzled out in the rain. Both men stood there for a heartbeat, staring at the unlit contraption. "I'll admit that wasn't as cool as I thought it would be," Felix stated, then turned and hurled himself over the cliff's edge. He plummeted a few feet, bracing himself for the jolt of wings spreading. The wind of the storm filled the sails of his wind glider, and he felt safe in the knowledge that he could fly swifter and farther than the fool behind him -- he could thank the ingenuity of Fontaine inventors for that.
Then, over the rain, he heard an ear-splitting crack, swiftly followed by a second. Two harsh jolts threw him off-balance, and he had but a moment to comprehend that the bastard had shot through one of the wings of his wind glider before a heavy body collided with his own and an elbow cracked painfully against his skull. Swearing profusely, Felix spun in midair, kicked the detective away from him, and shot a warning bolt of fire through the air as he lost height, spinning towards the water. His power hummed in response, wanting to be unleashed. Unfortunate though this situation was for him, he still felt a twinge of satisfaction when the detective's wind glider ignited like dry straw, and the other man plummeted seaward, falling past Felix and hitting the water at what couldn't have been a comfortable speed. This was not going how he'd wanted it to go. This was going a lot, lot worse than he had wanted it to go. The only way this could be worse would be if his socks would still be dry before he hit the water. As it was, he aimed for the shore, hoping to get some sort of head start. He'd had enough quarrelling for one night.
The cold water was a shock of the most unpleasant variety. As a Pyro Vision, he naturally ran a little hotter than most. He hated Inazuma. He hated Inazuma. He hated Inazuma. Chilled to the bone, the thief began to splash towards the shore, the cold sapping the strength from his muscles. Dripping and feeling as though he weighed an extra twenty pounds with his soaked clothing, Felix could only scowl when he reached the thin strip of sand only to find the detective already waiting there with crossed arms.
"You look like shit," the thief said flatly, snatching up a handful of slimy seagrass and hurling it at the man's face before throwing himself at the rockface. It was only about twice his own height. If he could scale it and disappear into the trees, he wouldn't be caught again. Then the rocks shifted before him, and the ledge he'd been about to grab vanished before he could grasp it. Felix crashed face first into the stone, staggered to the side, and flung out a hand to shoot a defensive bolt of fire straight at Iwao before the detective, who had swatted the seagrass away, could grab him. The rain put out the flames this time before they could ignite anything.
"Why not go fetch some of the samurai? Maybe you'd stand a chance with a couple of them by your side." Moving before the man had a chance to reply to his goading remark, Felix dodged forward, abandoning his Pyro attacks. They were useless in the rain. Instead, he kicked the detective in the shin. Hard. Maybe not the most impressive of attacks, but from the way it made the detective keel over, hissing in pain, he knew it had been effective enough.
Turning on his heel, the thief ran, sand slipping and sliding beneath his feet. He didn't dare pause to look back, not willing to waste a moment as he put everything he had into putting space between him and that man.
If he were caught, he'd lose his Vision. Felix didn't know too much about the Vision Hunt, but he did know that those unlucky enough to be caught... changed.
As he ran, focused so entirely on getting away down the beach fast, Felix didn't give a moment of thought to how the rocks he vaulted over didn't seem to shift to block his path. How the sand didn't shiver and the cliff didn't wall him in. It was almost like the geo-gifted detective had let him get away... this time.
Even after the chase was long over, Kurata Iwao could still feel the sharp throb of pain in his shin from where the thief had kicked him. He padded, but more like limped, into the sleepy streets of Ritou. A quick glance around told him that hardly anyone would be roaming the city at this hour, and especially not with the on and off downpours of rain. Once the pursuit had opened up onto the long stretch of beach at Ritou’s borders, Iwao knew he had lost this time: he lacked the swiftness to keep up and if he were to be honest, he was downright exhausted. His bones ached with a chill from the sea and the relentless rain, and his head felt as if it were about to split in two—surely the beginning of a migraine settling in. Adrenaline had worn off and the detective’s wounds and burns became more like reality, reminding him of the rather vicious blows his target had landed on him during their struggle.
Tired limbs carried him to a late-night bar counter, where only one other man sat alone on the far edge. The detective all but collapsed into a seat, hardly giving the barkeeper a second glance. Perhaps it was an unusual and disturbing sight, seeing his normally neat and tidy clothes disheveled and covered with sand and grime, and Iwao was somewhat certain that there was a clump of seagrass in his hair, too. But the barkeeper has seen this type of thing before from the denizens of Inazuma who wandered too late at night and got into trouble, and Iwao looked as if he would bite if he got too close—so he opts to leave him be and wordlessly passes a cup of water across the counter.
Iwao’s mind resembled that of the storms surrounding his homeland, loud and thunderous, anger and frustration building up within him like the moments before lightning struck from the heavens. Failure brings only the sense of humiliation and fear, left to wonder how it was possible he fell so far from his once golden reputation of being Bantan Sango Detective Agency’s great ace. It had only been two years since the papers couldn’t seem to stop talking about his involvement in the missing persons case surrounding Konda Village, and the Yae Publishing House saw their ratings boom with the release of a mystery turned rom com novel that was not so subtly based off of Detective Kurata and his recent rise into the public’s eye. Aside from his blatant distaste towards the novel, his success in that particular case and the ones following brought him, a novice detective, a sense of respect and admiration he had never felt before.
The Almighty Shogun herself had indirectly acknowledged his efforts, the Tenryou Commission allowing him to keep his Vision in turn for swearing his allegiance: assisting in tracking down those during the Vision Hunt Decree who disobeyed the Shogunate’s will, criminals, and confiscating Visions who belonged to wielders who threatened the stasis of eternity.
But for as long as this target continued to stir up trouble and prod more at the officials of Inazuma, the more Iwao’s luck was tested. At all costs, Felix Desroches needed to be captured, lest he loses everything.
His head slumped to rest against his forearm, exhaustion washing over him like ocean waves. The world faded into black and he lost consciousness, giving in to the fatigue that pulled and tugged at his entire body.
His neck and shoulders felt stiff and rigid, thanks to the rather uncomfortable position he had fallen asleep in, and it took Iwao a few long moments to process his surroundings. Eyes gradually blinked open, though he lacked the strength to lift his head just yet. Through his blurry vision, he recognized the wood of the bar counter and briefly wondered if he had stayed out too late drinking. No, the sudden sting of his shoulders and arms told him otherwise—that damned Treasure Hoarder had blasted fire straight through his wind glider. Chasing after Felix and losing his trail hadn’t been a horrible nightmare after all. It was reality, and it was the next morning, judging by the pale light taking over the horizon. For all he knew, the thief could be a hundred miles away from Ritou now, upon a ship headed for Sneznhaya or wherever the hell that weasel crawled to and called a home.
The sound of chatter and easygoing conversation filtered into the detective’s ears as he roused from slumber, realizing after a moment the voices belonged to the barkeeper in front of him and a man beside him. Someone dared to pick the seat right beside him, and unfortunately for whoever it was, Iwao was in a horrible mood and had no intentions of being so friendly.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," the stranger greeted him in a sing-song tone, pushing a glass towards him. "Have this, it looks like you could use it. Anyone ever told you you look like a walking corpse? Tsk. I'd expect better of a detective from the agency. I guess it can't be helped when you were up all night with nothing to show for it, though, huh?"
Dark, stormy eyes immediately darted towards the glass and the hand that pushed it forward. Archons, no. Iwao's head lifted from his arms to turn stiffly towards the man, jaw clenched tightly and shock written out clearly upon his face.
There was a pleasant smile on Felix Deroches's face, and his eyes glittered dangerously like twin flames. "Cat got your tongue? Usually you're so lively. How boring." The thief sighed, propping his elbow on the counter and resting his chin in the palm of his hand.
"You look so battered," Felix stated, voice light with laughter. Innocently, he added, "I wonder what happened?" He turned then to the bartender, ordering some absurd drink that was not appropriate this early in the morning.
For a man who had fallen into the ocean and fought so desperately only hours before, Felix looked... well rested. Not a poorly dyed hair was out of place from where it was twisted into a knot at the nape of his neck, and his clothing looked as though it were freshly pressed. Layers of clean, unblemished fabric hung from his tall frame, hiding both the weapons he was sure to be carrying and his Vision from sight. He looked more like a nobleman or a merchant than a Treasure Hoarder.
How infuriating. Iwao could only stare at him, at his infuriatingly clean clothes, and his stupid, pretty face that was only marred by a tiny, pink scar close to his mouth. His fists curled into tight balls on the bar’s counter, as if it took every ounce of self-control not to throw a punch at him. Well, it didn’t last long.
His arm moved before he could consider the consequences, only able to think: I have him, the bastard is right here within my grasp.
Eyes widening as though he hadn't expected Iwao to be quite so forthcoming, Felix shot out one arm and grabbed the detective's wrist in a grip far too firm for a man of his stature, holding it still as though to stop a brawl from breaking out. Thrown metaphorically off-balance only for a moment, the calm smile returned to his face.
"Now, now," the thief drawled. "We're in public. How rude of you. At least buy me dinner first." He leaned forward until Iwao could see the pockets of brilliant color like embers in his irises. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, now, would you? What would your dear employer think if you destroyed a sweet little tavern because you couldn't have some tact? They’d surely contact the Shogunate and your immunity would be for naught.”
With his teeth clenched and a near growl rising up out of his throat, the detective wrenched his arm away from Felix’s grip. Despite how much he wished for nothing more than to crush the thief’s throat and drag him to prison, he was correct: if Iwao were to start a fight or attempt an arrest here, the risk was too high, and with his reputation already shaky, he doesn’t want to test his luck.
“Fine,” he snarled and focused his attention on the cup Felix had slid towards him previously. Its contents are colored a dark, rich mocha, and the steam that rose from it told him the coffee was freshly pressed. However, Iwao doesn’t lift it to his mouth. For all he knew, it was likely poisoned. His severe caffeine addiction could wait.
“Where’s the tamashi ribā now? That’s a treasured Kujou Clan relic, if you didn’t know already. Not only do you have the Tenryou Commission after your ass, but anyone who blinks twice at Inazuma’s history is wanting your head, too.” A dry laugh fell from Iwao’s lips, devoid of any true humor.
"Well, I wouldn't be too great a thief if I went and told you, now, would I?" Felix tipped his head back, his laughter like bells. "I've had people more dangerous and more angry after me before. This little third of the Tri-Commission is hardly anything new."
Iwao snorted in response, eyes rolling before they veil shut. Ah, the headache is coming back full force. "Someone more dangerous than the Shogun? You must be stupid."
The only thing that got from the thief was another calm smile. "All archons are dangerous in their own way, no?" He paused a brief moment, then pushed his stool out from the counter and rose gracefully to his feet when Iwao said nothing further. "Well, I have places to be. See you around," he raised one hand in a mocking farewell and sauntered towards the door.
Eyes like the angry seas of Inazuma burn holes through the turned back of Felix, the detective simply staring after him. Just as he’s gained a grip again on his reality and about to lurch from his seat to give chase, the barkeeper sent him a cool glare, lip turned down in a firm frown. “I expect that you’re gonna be payin’ for your … partner’s drink and your own.”
Iwao, with the tips of his ears burning with humiliation, dug around in his pocket for his wallet. “He’s not…”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
His gaze darted towards the doorway, where the Treasure Hoarder was halfway out with a knowing grin plastered across his face, holding up Iwao’s bag of Mora and a travel permit signed by the Tri-Commission.
The thief sauntered away from the tavern, escaping not for the first or last time.