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Haitham has been in love with stars since forever.
He has his own astronomical laboratory with huge maps, tons of instruments and a telescope, and there is nothing he likes more than spending a night watching celestial bodies travel slowly across the skies, or, after assembling his kamera – a special one, made specifically for him with his astrophotography hobby in mind – on his telescope, spending all of the film on photographs of star-bestrewn night. Honestly, he won’t be surprised if it turns out that no one in Teyvat makes as many photographs per year as he does in a day; but what can he do? The stars are simply too beautiful.
But the most enchanting thing is to go somewhere deserted, lie down and just lay there all night, thinking about nothing, only staring at the galaxy far above your head.
He used to do this all the time when he was little. And it mattered not if he had to wake up early the next day, or if the air was suddenly cold, or if it rained that evening and the grass was now wet; every night, when the clouds did not cover the skies, the boy would run outside, lie in the grass and watch and watch and watch how the stars, majestic and unreachable, would twinkle above - and sometimes he dared to think they twinkled for him . And he lay there, stared deep into the sapphire night and occasionally, having forgotten himself, stretched his arms up to the sky, spreading his fingers and putting his palms on one another, - and the stars watched him through the cells of his hand “windows”; adults often compared the stars to the droplets of milk or diamonds and crystals, and the boy thought that none of these comparisons matched.
Stars cannot be compared to something so earthly. Stars are too high.
Haitham has loved stars since forever. And sometimes he so naively believes that they love him, even if in their own very peculiar way, too.
Stars invoke in him the echo of the awe that other teyvatians feel towards the archons. For him, however, archons are nothing but humans gifted with immense power and accordingly long life; they are neither better nor worse than humans. They are the same.
Stars are higher than humans and archons alike. Stars are higher than the world.
And Haitham tries to reach them, going outside every night he can with his telescope, his kamera, or even without any instrument at all, and he looks and looks and looks, greeting myriads of constellations that became so familiar and close to him like old friends, and stars twinkle merrily back.
***
Haitham loves the stars.
Haitham falls in love with a star.
She arrives with the last breath of a hot and humid summer, she bears the laughter of a salty wind, the kind warmth of sun-kissed stones and the bright flicker of a lightning as shiny as a sword. She comes with the promise of a velvety autumn and the last flashes of Perseids; yes, his position dictates he knows a little more than everything about her the moment before she steps into Sumeru, but all of his knowledge proves useless to prepare him for who is to come.
Just one meeting, just one look right into her eyes - and Haitham knows he’s done for, because neither humans nor archons can have such eyes. He was told that the Traveler’s eyes, eyes of the girl who came from nowhere looking for her twin brother, are that of molten gold, that they are bright and lucid, but he sees the galaxies scintillating deep down, he sees the darkness of the farthest corners of the universe in her pupils, and he is at a loss what to do with his suddenly stormy soul; he feels stuffy, he’s scared, he wants both to run away and to stay - but he regains his composure, not allowing a single emotion to show on his face, smiles a little and nods, greeting his gold-haired guest.
She says - the name’s Lumine.
He knows. He knows her name and the name of her flying friend, he knows everything about every single deed of hers, because that’s his job - to know everything about everyone, he has spoken her name in his thoughts so many times while reading her dossier and trying to figure out when to expect her arrival in Sumeru, but her name sounds a hundred times more magical in person; maybe it is because he has finally lost his mind, just like everyone who lives in this land of emerald forests does one day, and maybe it is because Lumine has a voice rivaling the finest of flutes, the gentlest voice he has ever heard.
So many centuries of poetry, so many poems and odes written by the best of Sumeru poets, so many hours Haitham spent reading them - and all for the starry-golden eyes to instantly steal his breath and all the words he had.
And, probably, this is the first night when he cannot focus when looking at the stars - he walks away from the telescope and the kamera fixed on it, rubs his temples and breathes in the cool air of an august midnight, tasting it; and he knows, he does know that the air in Sumeru is always sweet from jungle flowers, spicy from herbs and soil, moist and salty and heavy from sea water, and he knows that this taste never changes - but not this time.
Because this time the healing herbs are bitter against his tongue - he tastes fragile violetgrass and tart qingxin; because this time calla lilies juice feels cold in his mouth, and gentle and barely sweet cecilias tickle his senses; because this time he can’t breathe, paralytic poison of naku weed making his throat go numb, and the weak aroma of sakura mockingly teases him.
And Haitham gives up - he lies down in the grass, just like in childhood, spreads his hands and stares at the sky, without his kamera, without his telescope; the stars twinkle at him - and almost move aside, dim their glow to draw an unknown silhouette right above his head that makes his heart stop for a second only to start pounding in a recognition he cannot understand. Where he used to see Lisa’s Tempus Fugit, Astrolabos, Dracaena Somnolenta and many other constellation which he knew by heart, a new figure glows peacefully - and Haitham can swear on all what is holy that he saw all its stars before, they were always there, right above his head, but somehow only now they joined each other and formed a constellation.
And he smiles - defeatedly, doomed and gleefully - and squints happily, looking at the silhouette of a crescent cut with a sword and a girl with otherworldly flowers in her hair.
How foolish, he thinks. He definitely lost his mind.
And he still smiles, noticing his own constellation sharing its stars with the newfound one; had he been an astrologist, he would’ve said what it meant.
But he is no astrologist. He is but a child who loves the stars.
And who sometimes - just sometimes, when the night is the brightest, the most restless, the most sleepless - believes they can love him too.