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Zhongli stands at the center of the Chasm, watching shadows shift across stone in the early afternoon sun.
Perhaps another day, he would take in the scenery. To taste the lingering scent of iron on the wind, trail his fingers through time-ground sand, and let the crumbling wooden shafts tell their story. It is a precious thing - after all - a battlefield. He would like no better than to treat it with the respect it deserves.
However, it is quite unfortunate that his first visit in the last few centuries must be of a different, more urgent purpose.
Zhongli narrows his eyes, gazing intently at the gaping maw of the Chasm below him. He sees nothing more than darkness. It is his other senses that compensate.
The space-time that adepti manipulate is not so different to the chaos under his feet. If a subspace was an intricate tapestry, expertly woven in-between the threads of reality, then the chasm had drastically misassembled the loom. It spit out layers upon layers of jumbled string, catching its seams on different sheets of space, tearing its own work apart through the very act of creation.
He can feel it churning far below them, the same way one is achingly aware of dread pooling in the pit of their stomach.
Zhongli closes his eyes and reaches farther, settling into his dominion as water would saturate sand, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the earth. The patter of hilichurl feet. The rumble of a slumbering vishap. The perpetual trickle of erosion. Even the Chasm cannot dare hide from him what lies within the earth's embrace.
He feels, more than sees, what he had been looking for.
It shimmers like a star, rising desperately from the tendrils of chaos that chase it like smoke, battling the shadows for dominance as the turmoil threatens to overturn its precarious ascent.
Zhongli unfolds his arms slowly, fearful of parting with even a sliver of his attention. Carefully, tentatively, he raises his arms above the rift in front of him, straightening his wrists to lay his palms parallel to the ground. He suspends his fingers as though grasping something, feeling reality's intricate stringwork brush his fingertips.
A bead of sweat trickles down his temple as he traces them down, down, down, pulling the raging battle into focus. Zhongli exhales slowly, allowing his fingertips to hover at the space around them, poised to act, but unmoving. As agonizing as it is to simply sit and witness, he must have faith they can escape on their own. His interference may be entirely unnecessary, and as cautious as he is , Zhongli is not an adeptus prone to precision. Madame Ping weaves subspaces far more glorious than he ever would. Should he make a misstep, it may well have disastrous consequences.
However...he had already lost one Yaksha to the depths of the earth, and by Celestia he would not stand for another.
So he waits, barely daring to breathe as the shadows come to life beneath them, tendrils of darkness tangling with brilliant blue and white. The star-like singularity falters, but does not stop its ascent, repelling its environment as a bubble rises through wine. The darkness, however, only grows as they near the surface. It twists in on itself, swelling like a wave, threatening to swallow them whole - before bursting in a brilliant shower of green-and-black sparks.
And Zhongli's heart sinks. That was Xiao, unmistakably Xiao, who's light was already dimming at an alarming rate, feeding all of its energy into the faltering glow of the catalyst before them. Barely sustaining them as is, he absolutely did not have the strength to spare on an offensive of such scale.
Perhaps beforehand, Zhongli had entertained the hope that they would succeed on their own, that he had still yet underestimated his adeptus and his comrades. Any remaining possibility of such would have been eliminated by the cost of that last attack.
Soon, Xiao would falter, and Zhongli knows his Yaksha all too well.
He takes a deep breath, and there is no one to hear if it quivers ever so slightly.
His power awakens readily at his touch, clinging to his fingers like honey, as though he had never renounced it all. The hum of the earth runs warmly through his veins as he steadies his hands, fingertips poised to strike, waiting for the moment the catalyst would fail.
The star flickers. Once. Twice. A silent flash of green.
And then it blinks out.
Now .
Zhongli yanks, driving his power deep into the threads of reality, frantically scouring the darkness for who he knows will have been left behind. The shadows fall away without a target, content that their seal remains unbroken, and as they dissipate, they leave emptiness behind. Emptiness where Zhongli finds the glint of a singular soul, plummeting through the desolation like a shooting star.
There you are, Xiao.
Tearing a gap in reality is really not as difficult as one would believe.
When Zhongli finally opens his eyes, the sun is blinding, and his arms ache from being held in place for so long. He quickly scans the Chasm's maw, only allowing himself to relax once he finds his Yaksha among those on the ground. Alive. The relief flooding his chest is enough to make him lightheaded.
He takes a deep breath to steady himself, stepping away and flexing his wrists to rid them of the stiffness. The power thrumming at his fingertips sinks away again, and he lets it. He had no use for it now.
Behind him, Zhongli can hear the group of travelers begin to stir, their words occasionally punctuated by a peculiar moo . If he had lacked sense of any kind, perhaps he would’ve deigned to leap into their midst and tend to Xiao himself. He is painfully aware of what it is Xiao must have found, how he must have reacted. Even Zhongli’s presence will have been recognized by now, and he doesn’t need to see Xiao’s face to know that the guilt of needing rescue weighs heavily on his mind. He wants nothing more than to absolve him of it as immediately as possible.
But Zhongli is patient. He is patient, and he knows his Yaksha well. There are some words that will only be exchanged once they are alone.
He turns away from the Chasm, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he listens to the worried voices rising behind him.
For now…he believes Xiao will be in good hands.