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i. grave
Pervases was bright-eyed and strong-willed, kind-hearted and naive. He’d always trained harder than the rest of his peers, hoping one day to join the ranks of the most skilled and formidable yaksha, the ones who received direct orders from Morax and answered only to him. He improved at an incredible rate, working day and night to make all his seniors proud. To make him proud, Alatus, the senior he looked up to the most and deeply admired and respected.
Though Pervases never did make it to the highest ranks, he suffered the same fate as the rest of them, and was torn apart by those who had fallen from grace. When Alatus had received news of his death, his heart felt heavy with something that was distinctly different from the karmic debt that usually weighed it down, something that sat in his throat like a stone and made his eyes water. He never put a name to that feeling, and never wanted to, for that meant dwelling on Pervases’ death, and he’d long since learned that dwelling on someone’s death brought upon more pain than it was worth.
But on that day, Lumine had reminded him, and the unnamed emotion returned in full force. It leaked out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks, leaving him clutching his chest and gasping for air.
“He wanted us to send you his regards… he hopes you’re faring well and have come to know peace, even if it’s only a bit.”
ii. justify
Coming here was a mistake.
He can feel the karmic binds pulling at his limbs, tighter than ever and tearing into his flesh. Darkness swirls around him, and the voices in his head buzz louder than they ever have, whispering to him visions of rage and bloodshed, the likes of which have not been seen since the Archon War. They remind him of his strength, of how now that Morax has fallen, there is no one standing in his way should he choose to take Liyue from the mortals, the weak mortals who could not defeat Osial without the adepti, without his help.
He had only wanted to pay his respects to Pervases at the shrine. He didn’t know that visiting would cause the gates to open—cause all the memories and emotions and pain to come flooding in and leaving him weak. Leaving him vulnerable to the lingering desires of all the wicked beings he had cut down with his jade spear.
You are the last living yaksha. None of the other adepti have the power to stop you.
“Stop. That’s not true.”
Those mortals have not fought to protect Liyue as you have. If anyone has a right to it now that Morax is gone, it is you.
“No. I don’t want it. It’s not what I desire.”
So many of them fear you for your reputation that you gained through protecting them. It is time you give those fools a real reason to fear you.
“No,” he sobs out, “no, I can’t hurt them, not again. I swore— I swore to Morax—”
Morax is dead. You have no god. You have no contract.
You are free. Rest now, Alatus. Allow us to take it from here.
He screams, doubling over in pain. His head aches, as though someone is trying to crush it between two boulders. He tries to yell out, to tell them to stop, leave him alone, but his voice catches in his throat and he chokes, heaving and throwing up what little contents are in stomach. He continues to heave as though there is something trying to leave him, as though the dead gods’ and demons’ wills are trying to leave their prison, or his own soul is trying to escape its vessel that has been compromised.
He can hear footsteps in the distance. They grow closer, and he panics.
“Stop,” he manages to choke out. It’s so quiet and hoarse, surely whoever is approaching cannot even hear it. “Please, go away.”
They are right behind him. It is too late.
iii. endure
Shenhe was a stranger to him for the longest time, someone he merely heard about in passing. He’d heard about her the most from Cloud Retainer, of course, since his fellow adeptus had saved the girl from herself and raised her. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by what he’d heard of her: a young girl who fought off the remnants of a malevolent god she’d been sacrificed to, her formidable strength allowing her to withstand intensive training and master the adeptus arts. Though he’d never interacted with her, he still held a great amount of respect for her.
It shouldn’t have been surprising, of course. She was descended from the exorcist clan who refused to give up for centuries, no matter how much he discouraged and belittled them. He held no real contempt for them, of course. The methods they used against demons were effective and the family showed impressive strength for being mere mortals, but Xiao still could not allow them to meddle with the world of the gods. No matter how capable, humans simply could not withstand the consequences of defeating demons, and that proved itself in how Shenhe’s father had been so easily corrupted by one of them. However, these clan members who were willing to put their lives on the line were blessed with good hearts, and never turned away people who begged for their help— they never stopped their work and never treated him with any disrespect, no matter how much he criticized them.
Xiao had realized that, as time went on, the clan only got more persistent the more he tried to get them to stop. This was especially true with one of their youngest exorcists, Chongyun. From the moment he had officially been ordained an exorcist, the boy pestered him to no end about his demeanor toward his clan, questioning why he seemed to look down on them, but was still willing to work with them and even protect them when it was called for. Xiao had shrugged him off many times, using biting words to get him to back off, teleporting away wordlessly when that didn’t work, and then, finally, answering his questions. He explained his karmic debt to Chongyun, and expressed that while what his clan was doing was honorable, they ultimately would not be able to withstand the consequences.
And so, instead of running to his clan and telling them to stop, like any logical mortal who valued their life and sanity would, Chongyun asked Xiao to train him so such a thing could never happen.
Xiao agreed, of course, because there was nothing like intense adepti training to discourage a teenager from unnecessarily throwing themselves into danger. It was because of these training sessions, though, that he was able to finally meet Shenhe. Xiao had sensed another presence nearby in the middle of a sparring session, but it didn’t seem to be malicious, so he continued their fight without another thought.
At some point, Xiao had managed to knock the claymore out of Chongyun’s hands and point the end of his polearm at his neck. He held it there for a moment, before letting his arm fall to his side and relaxing his body. “You’re getting better.”
“So this is why Chongyun is so skilled at such a young age.”
The two of them turned to see Shenhe leaning against a tree, assessing Chongyun.
“I thought I was the only one in our bloodline to train under an adeptus.”
Xiao sighed and slid his polearm back into place on his back. “I figure if you mortals are going to constantly throw yourselves into the land of the gods, you should be as capable as possible at defending yourselves. Chongyun has proven his will to me, so I’ve agreed to help him grow stronger.”
Shenhe’s eyes drifted over to Xiao. She assessed him for a moment, before her eyes drifted back over to her nephew. “Allow me to spar with him.”
Chongyun looked up from his hunched over stance, startled. “Huh?”
Xiao repressed an amused smile. “Perhaps when he is not exhausted.” He spared Chongyun a glance before adding, “We train here every afternoon. You’re welcome to return tomorrow.”
Shenhe was a stranger to him for the longest time, but after countless sparring sessions with her nephew, he somehow ended up becoming a mentor to her, too.
He could only hope the two would not fall victim to the same fate as those he trained in the past.
iv. breakdown
She is the one who finds him at the temple by Mount Tianheng, crouched over and clawing at his chest, heaving and snarling. He’s lucky it’s her and not an average mortal, for anyone else who would see him in such a monstrous state— saliva dripping off his lips and his pupils dilated so much that they eclipse the gold of his irises— would certainly be scarred by the sight.
Shenhe approaches him slowly, making sure every movement she makes is apparent and predictable and that she can’t catch him off guard— she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal, and he supposes that, at this point, there isn’t much more to him than that. Her right arm is raised and lingers by her shoulder, fingers ready to reach out and grasp her polearm at any given moment. Somewhere in the haze, he commends her for this; even though he is a trustworthy figure in her eyes, someone who has trained her and countless adepti for centuries before she was even a thought in the world, she is still ready to strike him down should he prove to be a threat.
She is ready to kill one of the only other living beings she has formed a bond with, if she must.
“Xiao,” she calls out to him. Her tone, whether intentionally or not, is softer than he’s ever heard it. “Are you alright? Should I fetch Madame Ping? Cloud Retainer? Perhaps, someone else?”
He tries to answer her— tries to beg her to bring as many adepti as she can to him so they can try something, anything to make it stop— but the words get caught in his throat and spill out of his mouth in the form of more coughing and dribbling spit.
“Xiao.” This time, it is not a call for his attention, but a realization, a conclusion, a grave declaration that he is unstable and too far gone. Her fingers grasp her polearm, and his senses sharpen when he hears it being dislodged from the holder on her back. He can hear the way the weapon whistles as it cuts through the air, guided by Shenhe’s poised and precise swing. His back explodes with pain as frost covers it, and he lets out a growl so terrible that he is uncertain if the ground shaking beneath him is just an imagined side-effect of the pain or from the force of his cry.
She raises her arm again, cold eyes leering as she readies herself to plunge the pointed end into his back and eradicate the threat. In a flurry of movement, at an incomprehensible speed, the jade-winged spear meets hers halfway.
Her eyes widen when they lock with his: empty pools of black, lacking their usual warm gold.
A guttural, distorted voice forces its way out of his throat. “You think you can defeat me?”
Please make it stop.
“You’re not even a real adeptus. What are you, to a yaksha?”
I’m sorry.
v. belong
Ganyu was the smartest of all the people he’d ever interacted with, if for one reason only: when she’d first met him, she’d been wary of interacting with him. She never said it aloud, but she didn’t have to; the apprehension in her eyes and the way she kept her distance told him everything he needed to know. He couldn’t blame her for valuing her life, really. After all, the way his companions always seemed to always drop dead like angels around him— tragically and painfully, horrifying to watch— was the reason he distanced himself from mortals in the first place.
So when she’d shown up to Jueyun Karst begging for him to train her, he’d turned her down. For her safety, among other reasons.
“I won’t train you, Ganyu. If you seek further mastery, Cloud Retainer is perfectly capable of instructing you.”
“I respect her dearly, but the knowledge and skills you have are far different and more advanced than what Cloud Retainer has.” Ganyu paused for a moment, likely working up her courage, before continuing to reason with him. “You also train that boy from Liyue Harbor. Surely, this isn’t a concern for my safety if you’ll say yes to him, but no to me.”
Xiao shut his eyes.
“People like me are not able to live among mortals, Ganyu.” He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d approached him. “You understand what you risk if you choose to pursue the path I have, yes? Chongyun and his bloodline have fought demons for centuries. I know you have fought for Liyue in the past, but—”
He paused, gathering his thoughts and his words. “You will never belong in Liyue Harbor if you pursue the path I have. And I know you understand this. You always have.”
“But—”
“We both know how badly you wish to belong there. You’ve already established yourself amongst them.” He broke off his gaze then, turning to look off into the distance. “You shouldn’t throw it away. It’s not a chance many of us get.”
“I… I don’t belong there. I’m not even wholly human.”
Some things, he supposed, could not be helped. Why were the people around him so stubborn?
“Then that is why you are here, yes? You struggle to find where you truly belong.”
Xiao took his polearm from his back, then turned to completely face her.
“I will train you, if only to ensure you realize that the harbor is where someone like you should spend your days.”
Someone who has not always been a weapon.
vi. conviction
He counters Shenhe once again, each strike getting increasingly easier to land as exhaustion begins to weigh down the woman’s limbs. Even so, he still feels something collide with his chest before the whole thing is encased in ice, the sensation leaving him hissing in pain and anger.
He charges Shenhe, catching her off guard and landing precise blows that send her collapsing to the floor. Before he can go in for the kill, arrows come raining down from the sky, cutting thin wounds into his arm that quickly freeze over and leave his arms numb. He stumbles back, and Shenhe uses the opportunity to grab her polearm and put some distance between them. Gritting his teeth, he looks up at the cliff overhead, where the arrows had come from.
Her body doesn’t tremble the way it did during all those training sessions. She holds herself with confidence and poise, keeping her bow steady and her mind steadier. Her jaw is set and her shoulders are relaxed, neither hinting at the multitude of emotions that wrack her entire being.
Ganyu stares down at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
vii. survivor
Menogias was the first of them to fall.
In the days leading up to the incident, she had grown more crazed. Every time she took off her mask, her eyes were wide with fear, pupils impossibly dilated as she muttered under her breath about how they were all damned and Celestia would never take them into its light. She’d always been frightened of what vanquishing the darkness meant for them, always worried if the gods’ lingering spite and burning vengeance wasn’t really conquered, but rather, acquired. At the very least, they could quell her worries, assure her that what they were doing was noble, that protecting the harbor was necessary, even if it meant putting themselves at risk. Their words used to help her calm down then, and she’d put the mask back on and join them on the battlefield.
In those last days, though, she was inconsolable. They would whisper gentle words to her, yell at her to cut it out, try to shake her out of her stupor, but nothing worked. Her eyes looked through them, and the only thing she responded to was the word “battle.” Whenever it was spoken, she would let out a broken laugh and put the mask on like nothing happened.
The day of the incident, after they had finished slaying another fallen god, she started laughing maniacally, hands twitching as she sank to her knees. She tore the mask off and clawed at her face, her nails leaving red streaks behind as she dragged them down her cheeks, trying to scratch away the darkness that she claimed was consuming her. Like a mantra, she screamed “get it off” over and over again as she rubbed her face raw. They’d try to rip her hands away from her face, but she used all of her strength to drag her hands back and claw at it.
The most haunting thing, then, had been her eyes. They were completely black, and tears spilled out of them, the salt in them making the angry red marks on her cheeks sting even more. “It’s so dark,” she wept, “and I can’t see. Get it off. Get it off!”
In the end, she let out a bloodcurdling screech before she used her pyro vision to set herself alight. Indarias tried to quell the flames, but Menogias put everything she had left in her into them, and by the time her companion could put them out, it was too late. Menogias had succumbed to the flames, to the madness.
The four— no longer five— foremost yakshas did not go into battle for several months following her death. When they reported back to Morax that day, Indarias could not stop wailing, Bonanus hung his head, and Alatus himself could not speak around the lump that clogged his throat. Bosacius, their strongest and unofficial leader, told Morax what had occurred. His voice wavered, but he never completely broke— at least, not before the rest of them, and certainly not before their god.
Morax forbade them all from fighting until further notice. They insisted they could carry on, that they’d seen death before, but he turned it into an order that they could not refuse. He told them that this was different, it was one of their own, and that they all clearly needed a break, one that he regretfully had not offered to them sooner. None of them would have admitted it at the time, or ever, but he had been right.
Perhaps, the right move for Morax to have made at that time would have been to force them all into retirement. When they finally returned to the battlefield, there was a clear tension between them all, as Menogias’ absence was emphasized when they all gathered. Of course, none of them blamed each other for her death, but the wound was still fresh and it was common for them to get into heated arguments after battle— especially when darkness still lingered around them.
After a particularly scathing exchange of words and a few powerful blows aimed at the other’s face, Bonanus had declared that he was fed up with Bosacius’ superior attitude. The next few times they gathered as a team, Bonanus began contributing to their fights less and less, opting to stand on the sidelines and watch them with a grimace. Whenever Bosacius would question him, the electro yaksha would merely remain silent and glare at him, escalating his questions into furious shouts.
It was a surprise to only Morax when Bonanus cut off all communication with them and abandoned them, disappearing without a trace.
The last two fell so suddenly— there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop it. There weren't even signs leading up to it, like there had been with Menogias and Bonanus. Indarias had simply snapped, thrown herself at Bosacius, clawed hands ready to tear his jugular. He quickly countered her, but when she persisted and began to use her powers against him, he was blinded by rage and attacked back, losing sense of his own strength and crushing her to death. It happened so quickly that for a moment, Alatus stood and stared at the blood leaking out from beneath the boulder, believing that it was simply a figment of his imagination and that, in actuality, he was the one who’d gone mad.
Bosacius had fled after that. He merely turned to Alatus with tears in his eyes and uttered, “I cannot bear to do this anymore. I cannot imagine doing the same to you.”
That night, Alatus returned to the palace Morax had carved into the side of a mountain that overlooked the harbor. That night, he was the sole yaksha who knelt before his throne. And when Morax asked him what happened, he openly wept in front of his god for the first time since he saved him.
viii. arrogance
He knocks back Keqing’s attack with ease, sending her flying across the battlefield. He weaves between the onslaught of ice arrows and crystals that rain down on him immediately following his counterattack. Effortlessly, he rides the gales to Ningguangand kicks the back of his polearm into her shoulder with such force that a sickening crack resounds through the air on impact. As she cries out in pain, he readies himself to drive his spear through her chest, but quickly backtracks when a swarm of millelith come to defend their leader. He scowls and commands the wind to knock them off balance. He surges forward, swinging his polearm and painting the landscape red in mere seconds. He’s just refocused on Ningguang when his shoulder freezes over, sending pinpricks of pain down the arm grasping his polearm.
He slowly turns around, head angled up to where he knows Ganyu still stands. She glares back at him, her tear-stained face torn between anguish and fury. “Xiao, you must stop this. I won’t allow you to hurt the Tianquan, or any of the Qixing, any longer.”
“I don’t answer to you. Get out of my way, or die with the rest of them.”
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to destroy Liyue’s future.
Ganyu lets out a choked sob, but still raises her bow again, eyes burning with newfound resolve. “So be it, then.”
The arrows come down like a hailstorm. He flies back into action.
ix. commitment
Tartaglia, Childe, whatever— was the bane of his existence.
Resurrecting Osial and allowing him to attack the harbor was, certainly, the easiest and quickest way to get on Xiao’s bad side— or any of the adepti’s bad sides, really.
That being said, Xiao could not fathom why Zhongli would want to be anywhere near him, nevermind actively spend time with him and consider him a good friend. He would never dare question his god, retired or not, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t irk him that Zhongli regularly spent time with someone who had wreaked havoc on everything he’d worked so hard to build, on the very thing Guizhong died to protect. And, above all else, Xiao could not fathom why Zhongli would ever compare him to Childe.
“You two have more in common than one would think,” Zhongli casually told him one day over tea. His former god dropped by Wangshu Inn regularly to give him some specially made medicine to help alleviate the effects of his karmic debt, and after much insistence that he was no longer of a higher position than him, his drop-ins had turned into afternoon tea sessions.
Xiao choked on his tea, the liquid scalding his tongue as much as the other’s words had scathed his very soul. “I— I’m sorry?”
“You’re both very loyal to your gods and nations.” He placed his teacup back down onto its plate, his thumb coming up to his chin as he pondered something before him that Xiao could not see. “There is nothing he would not do for the Tsaritsa, though I believe he’s made that much obvious already. Similarly, you were my most loyal warrior, and even after I have given up my godhood, you still devote yourself to Liyue.”
He grimaced. When Zhongli looked back up at him and raised an eyebrow, he sputtered out, “I mean no disrespect to you or your… observations, but I do not usually put innocent people in danger. Or try to take out entire nations.”
The other chuckled lightly, and Xiao bristled, not understanding what was so humorous about the situation. “You misunderstand me, Xiao. I only mean to say that you are both fiercely loyal. It is why I do not hold a grudge against him for what he did. He was simply carrying out orders. You would have done the same.”
He wanted to deny it, to tell Zhongli that he was wrong, but he knew he could not. For Zhongli knew the bounds of his loyalty best, and both of them knew that back then, if he had asked him to take out an entire nation—to obliterate it without considering what would happen to the innocent civilians—he would have done it. He would still do it now, if it was what Zhongli wished of him.
So instead, he lowered his gaze and picked up the teacup, letting the drink burn away the refutations lingering on his tongue.
x. nerve
He laughs sardonically when he realizes the identity of the newcomer who has just interfered with his attack. “They must truly be desperate if they’re allowing a terrorist to help them.”
Childe’s eyes are dark, lacking the amusement and mischief he’d seen in them the few times he’d encountered him when visiting Zhongli. They are soulless, reflecting only the true nature of one of the Fatui’s most feared Harbingers.
“Treachery is a far greater slight, especially in the Land of Contracts. Given the position you’ve taken in this battle, I wouldn’t say you’re any better than me.”
“I am nothing like you.” The growl escapes before he can control it, but he quickly regains his composure before the other can make anything of it. A smirk crosses his face, and he chuckles. “I have protected Liyue from the shadows for centuries, and no one has ever acknowledged it, let alone thanked me for it. It’s about time they saw for themselves what I, and all my fallen brethren, have had to endure while they went about their pathetic, mundane lives.”
I cannot bear to undo with my own hands what we have fought so hard to protect.
“They are innocents. People with families. Children. If you have a problem, you can take it up with your god.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Xiao tilts his head to the side, eyes wide with faux curiosity. “Rex Lapis is dead.”
Morax is the only one who can save me now.
He launches himself forward, jade spear clashing with dual hydro blades.
“I have no god.”
xi. heart
Lumine was the one to finally break down his walls, leaving him exposed to the world and vulnerable. The vultures had swooped down on him after that, and somehow he found himself training Chongyun, spending time with Hu Tao, and even regularly speaking to the captain of the Crux. Lumine had shown him what it was like to have companionship, to have real bonds outside of those forged on the battlefield, and he wanted more of it.
And she’d given it to him, despite his standoffishness, his hisses and scathing words. She’d stuck by his side and forced her way into his life, into his heart, which had only ever known to care for his god, Guizhong, Barbatos, and— not that he’d ever admit it— the other yakshas.
But Lumine was only ever kind and understanding toward him and his past, and not in a way that indicated she was pitiful of him and thought he needed to be treated like glass, like something fragile that could break at any moment. She respected him, but knew that no matter what he said, he craved the same mundane life he criticized, craved the harbor that bustled with life and warmth and love.
So she’d brought it to him, be it through bringing him a lantern to set afloat during Lantern Rite, or through introducing him to the various people she’d befriended while running around the harbor, or through forcing him to try the various dishes Xiangling had cooked. She always honored his wish to stay out of the harbor to keep the people safe from his karmic debt, but never left him feeling lonely.
It was a nice change, one that he appreciated and got used to. And, to his surprise, it continued even after Lumine left for Inazuma: Xiangling came to personally deliver dishes after his trainings with Chongyun, Beidou sought out his company when she wasn’t at sea or with Ningguang, Xinyan and Xingqiu came to him to hear stories that would inspire their artistic sides, and so many other people who he never thought would consider him a friend continued to see him, even without Lumine there to be their common denominator.
Lumine had broken down his walls and left him vulnerable— to the light of companionship, and to the darkness he had fought so desperately to keep at bay.
xii. hero
Tears pour from her eyes, but still she presses on, her blade tingling with electricity as she charges at him again and again, and the way her sword collides with his polearm every time does nothing to shake her will. With a great roar, she lunges forward, three orbs of electricity shooting out from around her and hurtling toward him. As he uses the wind to push them away from him, she sinks her blade into his shoulder, prompting him to hiss in pain. He grits his teeth and swings his polearm around, the side of it sinking into her hip. As she screams, he shoves her away from him and into the ground.
She slowly rises, resting on her knees as she clutches her hip with one hand and grips her sword with the other. “Why are you doing this?”
“The people of this nation, of Teyvat, live so carelessly these days. They don’t deserve everything beings greater than them have done to protect.”
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
“I’m calling your bullshit.” Her face twists into a snarl. “You wouldn’t do this. You care too much about Liyue, about Rex Lapis, to ever attack its people.”
“This god you speak of is no longer revered, and his kingdom has fallen into feeble mortal hands. If they are so certain it is their time to rule, then they shall see exactly what forces they will have to reckon with.”
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
Get it off.
Before Lumine can respond, Xiao stumbles backward and uses his free hand to grab a fistful of his hair. He sways, unsteady on his feet.
Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it
“off. Get it off. Get it— Stop. Stop.”
Lumine reaches forward tentatively. “Xiao?”
“I don’t need your pity— your help— I don’t need— help me— don’t need you to— get it off me—”
Xiao falls to his knees and begins heaving again. His arms tremble, only barely managing to keep himself up.
Keqing’s desperate cry cuts across the battlefield. “Kill him, now!”
His vision refocuses, and he swiftly blocks the first arrow aimed at his back.
“All that awaits you is death if you choose to stand in my way.”
Please kill me.
xiii. retreat
Barbatos was the concept of romance that Guizhong had always told him about. He was fluttering eyelids and lingering touches and soft lips against skin and fingers running through his hair and all the physical affection that left Xiao flustered, poorly denying that he enjoyed it and wanted more. He was flirtatious words carried on the wind across their nations, reaching him at inopportune times and causing him to have to force down a blush if he was in front of the other adepti, or worse, Morax himself. He was drunken nights spent in the most private and secluded sections of Jueyun Karst, wandering hands against skin and touches so sinful that Xiao was certain Morax would have his head for blasphemy if he found out.
He was the sound of the dihua flute, calming and soothing and the only thing that could drown out the constant white noise in his head— the voices crying out for help, or his karmic debt dragging his thoughts down to the darkest of places. He was a song hummed in the dead of night and a hand tenderly tracing all the parts of his face as Xiao took deep breaths, trying to steady himself after a particularly bad episode. The anemo archon was the only one who had ever seen the effects of all the demons he’d slain, the only one who was truly there for him.
Above all else, though, Barbatos was impermanent. He was very much the wind he commanded, sweeping through Xiao’s life with such ease and strength it left him disheveled, yet leaving just as fast, slipping through his fingers as he went. He was apprehensive, always a tight smile and a peck on the cheek, but never an “I love you, too.” Of course the other loved and cared for him, but not in the same way, nor with the same intensity. He was a free spirit, one who could never be weighed down by anything, and Xiao was foolish to believe that he’d ever be important enough to him to change that.
Barbatos was the hopeless romantic of Guizhong’s legends, but one incapable of loving.
xiv. reject
The polished piece of wood snaps in two with a simple flexing of his fist. The instrument clatters to the ground, and dust swirls into the air around it as it makes contact. Lumine stares at it, dumbfounded, before looking up at him.
“You make a mockery of Barbatos’ songs.”
Make it stop. Barbatos, make it stop.
“The dihua flute always calms you.”
“You are an even bigger fool than I took you for if you think an instrument is enough to stop me.”
The voices are too loud. Make it stop.
“But that’s why he gave it to me,” she cries out desperately, reasoning more to herself than him. “He promised it would help you if I was ever with you when— when—”
“If there’s anything you need to know about Barbatos,” he interjects, “it’s that his promises are empty and his word is worth nothing.”
Don’t come save me. I don’t want you to see me like this.
I’m sorry. I love you.
xv. young
Guizhong was warmth incarnate. She was the sun shining on his skin as he rested on the porch of Wangshu Inn; she was the breeze on an especially humid summer day, carrying around the hot air and making it stick to his skin; she was the heat that quickly encased his tongue and face and neck when he taste-tested one of Xiangling’s experimental dishes after she failed, once again, to mention that she added an immense amount of chili to it; she was the sand beneath his toes when he agreed to spend the day at Yaoguang Shoal clearing out hilichurl bases with Lumine, but ended up collecting starconches and having nice picnics for lunch and dinner.
She was a long, tight hug after a seemingly endless battle against yet another god, a hand gently combing through his hair and scratching at his scalp, a forehead kiss and the whispered words, “You did well. You should rest. You deserve it.”
She was the one who taught him how to properly hold a teacup, the one who told him all about the little humans who lived in the harbor and the troubles they talked about to each other— gossip, she’d called it— while they dined, the one who tended to his wounds after battle, the one who taught him about love and all the different types of the same thing that his delicate heart could feel. She was the second person in his life to love and care for him, to recognize his suffering and extend her hand toward him, offering her endless support and comfort.
She was warmth incarnate, and there was not a day that went by where he didn’t long for the feeling of a sun-kissed forehead.
xvi. sin
“You will stop at once.”
His hand is fisted in his hair again as he trembles. This time, nobody attacks him— they cannot, for Zhongli has put up a shield keeping everyone away from them. As soon as the man he used to revere appeared on the battlefield, Xiao sank to his knees and fought the urges, fought whatever had grabbed hold of his body, for he would be damned if he ever laid a hand on the man who saved him all those years ago. He took off his mask and clawed at his face, desperate to peel off the darkness and leave behind only his true self.
The voices in his head rage on, drowning out Zhongli’s commands. The loudest one spurs him on, repeating to him over and over again that Morax is no more and that there is no god to answer to, no contract to abide by. Others tell him he’s irredeemable, that he’s already killed so many mortals and that even if he can regain control, he is undeserving of love or companionship in his life. In the center of it all— the eye of the hurricane— a small voice he can only barely hear because of how softly it speaks, murmurs about his embarrassment.
I never wanted Morax to see me like this. Now he is seeing me at my worst. How pathetic. How humiliating.
“Put down your arms, Xiao.” Zhongli’s face is melancholic, pained, pleading. If Xiao was not already so far gone, perhaps seeing such an open display of care from his former god would have been enough to stop him, to heal him. “Allow me to help you settle the conflict within yourself.”
He tries to answer, tries to reach out for him, tries to kneel before him and beg for redemption once more, but the darkness within him answers once again. He extends his polearm forward, body still twitching from the two sides of him warring for control.
“No, Morax.” The name rolls off his tongue in such a condescending tone that surely, if this had been the Archon War, the other would have killed him in an instant. “Allow me to help you see Guizhong again.”
He cannot understand how what he wanted to say got so lost in translation, became so twisted and cruel. But at the very least, he finds peace in the fury that flashes in Zhongli’s eyes, and the slaughter that always follows in its wake. He allows himself to relax, and finally surrenders his vessel to the bitterness and hatred of the age-old gods that have clung to his soul over the millennia. All he does now is weep tears of joy for the long-awaited rest ahead of him.
Zhongli watches as Xiao stops twitching, as his body slips into a defensive stance and his face twists into something far more sinister than he’s ever seen. He watches as, despite all of this, tears cascade down Xiao’s face, a display so shockingly different from the cruelty he’d shown the past few hours.
The Vigilant Yaksha never gives up. He simply abides by his contract, resigns himself to the future his lord has decided for him. He always accepts it wholeheartedly, never doubting that it is what is best for him.
Zhongli sighs and summons Vortex Vanquisher.
“I am sorry, Xiao.” He strides forward slowly, sorrow and regret weighing down his entire body. “I have failed to save you from the same fate that befell your brethren.”
A sob racks through Xiao. He charges forward. Zhongli meets him halfway.
xvii. master
Morax was salvation itself.
The first time Xiao knelt before the god, his knees sat in a pile of disembodied limbs, bits of flesh and organs, and pools of blood. The sanguine liquid stained every inch of the rags that hung off his frail form, along with other grime that had accumulated over the months when his previous master had refused to let him change or bathe, as punishment. His previous master, whose decapitated head dangled from Morax’s hand, hanging by the hair.
“This is your new beginning.” Morax held his hand out to him, his eyes the only beacons of light in the gloom around them. “Come with me, and you shall be free.”
He trembled then, staring at the deity before him in disbelief. Could he, the slaughterer of thousands of innocents, truly be redeemed in the eyes of another god, of humanity, of Celestia? It was certainly too good to be true. A trap, for sure— the second he got close enough, Morax would bring down his polearm and Alatus would suffer the same fate his master had. He hung his head and grit his teeth, sobs escaping his body in hissed exhales as he tried to hold on to what little dignity he had left in his final moments. There was no salvation for someone like him— there was only death.
“Young adeptus,” Morax called out again, “be free of your past wrongdoings, committed by your hand but guided by another’s, and don a new name as you lead a new life.”
A trap, for sure— but salvation, be it the promise of a new tomorrow or death, was too good to resist. He quickly rose to his feet, awkwardly flailing his limbs to dislodge himself from the pile of corpses around him. Desperately, he scrambled, rushing forward until, finally, he grasped the god’s hand and used it to steady himself.
“Can I really be free?”
Zhongli gazed down at him. His face was as harshly set as it’d been when he was fighting his master, but his eyes showed nothing but compassion. “You already are.”
He dropped his master’s head as his feet. Xiao sobbed tears of joy.
xviii. scatter
In the end, there is no pain. There is only the feeling of his blood slowly leaking out of his chest, the stickiness of his cheeks that are stained with blood and tears, and the uneven rise and fall of his chest. There is only the feeling of Zhongli’s lap beneath his head, his hand gently running through his hair as the other hand cradles him close to his chest. There is only the sight of his anemo vision flickering out in sync with his heartbeat, and the sound of the wind howling around the glowing geo barrier, its cries haunting and sorrowful.
He is grateful. It is more peace than what the other yakshas, his dear companions— dear friends— had gotten in their final moments, and for that he is grateful.
At some point, he manages to find his voice. “I’m sorry,” he utters weakly.
“There is nothing to be sorry for.”
“I killed mortals today. I swore I wouldn’t. I—” He chokes on something, and whether it’s blood or a sob, he’s not sure.
Zhongli shushes him and shifts his legs so that Xiao is partially upright. “You have done no such thing. What occurred here today was not your fault. Your remorse is proof enough of that.”
“I’m sorry I could not resist it, though.” Xiao’s eyelids flutter dazedly as he presses on. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
“It is I who has failed you, Xiao.” Zhongli’s voice wavers, and if he were not currently bleeding out, he would quickly deny it and scramble to return his lord to a state of happiness and contentment. “I have seen what had become of the other yakshas and took for granted the fact that you continuously won your fight against the madness. I should have done more to help you. I should have looked for a cure. I am deeply sorry.”
Xiao remembers crushed up qingxin flowers mixed into a paste, and conversations held over the finest tea Liyue could offer. “You tried,” he rasps. “You tried, and that alone is enough.”
“I could not save you.”
“Oh, Morax,” he murmurs breathily, and the other gives him a look so tender, so human that he does not doubt for a moment that the god whose name he just spoke, the god who had known nothing but war, has perished. “You already saved me, so long ago.”
Wordlessly, the other takes his hand in his own. The gloved hand holds his tightly, his thumb carefully running over his knuckles. Xiao’s breathing grows heavier.
“Please ask Cloud Retainer to continue to train and watch over Shenhe and Chongyun. Make sure Ganyu knows that she belongs in that harbor just as much as any mortal does.” He takes a deep breath. “And Hu Tao… I am ever grateful for her annoying persistence. Please thank her for me. And thank everyone else in the harbor who kept me company in the past few months. And Lumine… I hope she knows that she has brought me more happiness than I deserve since I met her. She is strong, and I know she will be able to find her brother and defeat the god that separated them.”
Xiao begins coughing up blood, and Zhongli moves to wipe it away.
“Do not force yourself to speak,” he rumbles. “Rest.”
“No, I need to—” Xiao hisses through clenched teeth before continuing. “I need you to tell Barbatos that I love him. And I… I love you. More than you could ever know. My only regret is not telling you sooner.”
Zhongli crumbles. A tear slips out of his eye, and his expression grows so impossibly fond and heartbroken, so impossibly emotional for the stone-faced, fearless god he has always known. Xiao uses what little strength he has left in him to lift his arm and wipe away the other’s tears. He allows his hand to linger there, gently caressing his cheek.
“I love you too, Xiao.”
A smile crosses his face. Slowly, his hand drops from Zhongli’s face, falling limply back at his side. His eyelids droop, and his breaths grow shallow.
“I have always loved you, and you will continue to shine like gold in my memories.”
Xiao exhales slowly. With a burst of wind, his vision flickers one last time, before the light goes out entirely, leaving behind only an empty shell.
xix. constellation
Alatus was the silent protector of Liyue. He was Morax’s fiercest and most loyal warrior, yielding to none as he cut down gods and toppled empires in the name of his lord. He was the last living yaksha, the only one with a heart pure enough to withstand the corruption for centuries to come after his brethren had succumbed to their fate. He was the lone figure in the night who cut down hilichurls and abyss mages and creatures unimaginable. He was the cold adeptus who spent his days in Jueyun Karst, far away from the mortals he deemed weak and unworthy of his time.
Xiao was the socially inept guest who roamed Wangshu Inn’s halls, always sunbathing on the building’s roof or loitering by the kitchen until Smiley Yanxiao handed him a plate of almond tofu with a rare smile. He was Xinyan and Xingqiu’s biggest inspiration, the two teens always getting lost in the stories he weaved and the wistful, wise look he would get in his eyes whenever he recounted the tales. He was Beidou’s favorite person to gossip to, given the way he would stare off into the distance and give half-hearted responses, feigning indifference without knowing that shock and curiosity glinting in his eyes betrayed him. He was Hu Tao’s favorite person in general— how could he not be, when it was so fun to try and get past his irritation and get him to smile or laugh? He was more than a mentor to Chongyun; he was a protective elder brother who kept him safe and genuinely enjoyed watching him become a noble, kind soul.
He was Barbatos’ lover, the only death since the nameless bard passed on to cause the god to lose his control over the wind and plunge Mondstadt into chaos for several days. He was the person the archon loved so deeply but kept at arm’s length out of fear of losing him. And lose, he did; he lost his first love, any chance he had at making things right and showing the other that he did, truly, love him back just as much. He was the song Venti, one of Mondstadt’s most popular bards, closed every performance with, a heart-wrenching tune played on the dihua flute that could reduce even grown men to tears.
He was the lover Zhongli never knew he wanted. He was the only rite of parting ceremony since Guizhong that felt impossible to carry out without furiously sobbing and cursing the universe, the only one that left him broken for months afterward. He was the empty vision holder that hung below Zhongli’s own vision; he was the faraway yet impossibly fond look the man would get on his face when people would inquire about said holder. He was the second teacup Zhongli set out on the table whenever he visited Wangshu Inn, always filled to the brim, never being emptied.
To anyone that asked, Xiao gave his life to slay an unknown, powerful beast made up of the remnants of fallen gods that attacked Mount Tianheng. To anyone that asked, he has never hurt any mortal, any citizen of Liyue with malicious intent, for his love for his nation would never allow it.
He was one of the kindest, most selfless souls Liyue was ever graced with, and he would be remembered as such.
xx. breathe
He shovels another spoonful of almond tofu into his mouth, attempting to stifle his laughter as he watches Indarias and Bonanus bicker, the latter getting increasingly irritated as the former mocks him, making exaggerated hand gestures and echoing everything he says in a high-pitched voice. Bosacius chuckles heartily at the display, one fist pounding against the table as his other hand clutches his stomach. Menogias laughs into the back of her hand, a poor attempt at trying not to appear too amused by her lover’s irritation (and, oh, that had certainly been a conversation Xiao wasn’t expecting to have upon arriving).
Bonanus gestures across the table at where he sits. “You’re really gonna be like this? Alatus’ third day back and you want him to see me riled up? Not even a moment of peace for him?”
“Oh, come on, he’s laughing.” Indarias also points toward him. “I’m surprised he hasn’t choked on his food yet.”
The two continue bickering, but his attention on them is broken when a pair of hands sets a teacup down in front of him. He puts his spoon down and picks it up, carefully blowing on it before taking a sip. Brewed with qingxin and glaze lilies, with just a pinch of sugar and honey added— just like how Zhongli always made it for him. He hums and takes another sip of the tea. One of the hands that placed the cup down moves to rest on his head, ruffling his hair gently. The owner then leans down and kisses his forehead. The warmth from it spreads throughout his entire body.
Guizhong beams down at him. “Welcome home, Xiao.”