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She woke up with that flower.
Inteyvat, Dainsleif said, was the national flower of Khaenri’ah, unable to die once it was plucked and taken out of the nation—only hardened like a rock—but would turn into dust and disappear upon returning.
Lumine knew it was no coincidence that she had them when she woke up. Somewhere along the passing time when she was asleep, Aether must have found her and left it with her.
As for why he did not wake her up, there was no answer to that.
Maybe she was still affected by the unknown goddess’s power or maybe he simply thought it would be better for her to keep on sleeping. Maybe he had tried to wake her up but she wouldn’t wake up. Maybe things were too dire for him to care for other matters and if that was the fall of Khaenri’ah, then she could understand. Somehow, someway.
But she was his twin, his family. Was Khaenri’ah mattered more than her? Would it hinder him that much to come and wake her?
Then again…
There were too many unknown possibilities and variables to the timing of her awakening. But there was no denying that her brother was planning to revive Khaenri’ah, to return its cursed people back to humans, all with the help of the Abyss. It was clear that her brother was siding with the Abyss, while Lumine was fighting against them since the start of her journey here in Teyvat.
Dainsleif’s question about her stand in this farce constantly echoed in her mind, and her trust in him was something she still could not decide. And yet, his pursuit of her brother seemed plausible after everything Lumine had seen.
Aether was the leader of the Abyss and it was a fact. He tried to resurrect the fallen nation and decide it one-sidedly. She could understand why Dainsleif saw him as his enemy, for no one knew the curse better than those cursed.
Even so, Lumine could also understand why her brother wished so.
The man standing in front of her had maintained his stoicism even after his comrade’s death. Halfdan was the knight under his command to protect the people of Khaenri’ah and from the look of it, one of his closest people too. To be so solemn after such a painful parting, Lumine wondered if it was the effect of the curse or if it was all him.
Pain too.
He hid it well. Too well.
“I need to regain my energy.”
He had told her that calmly, but the small sigh following the sentence hinted the opposite. So she approached him, holding out one hand which he looked at it wordlessly.
“Rest,” she said, “let’s go.”
Honestly, she was not sure what prompted her to offer help. It could be sympathy or pity. It could be just a kind gesture to make him owe her yet she was sure Dainsleif was not that naive. Whatever it was, she could not just pull back unless he refused her. Call it her pride, and Lumine expected rejection more than acceptance, anyway. Rejection from a stranger would not hurt and it was not as if she had the obligation to help him either.
“Why?”
She did not know either. “You can’t teleport, can you?”
There was no way he could.
His silent shake of the head was enough of an answer, but there was still no sign of him accepting her hand. Lumine resorted to grasping a piece of his sleeve. At least that way, she could travel both to the nearest teleport waypoint to rest.
Dainsleif was not the only one who needed rest, after all.
The blue glow from the ancient teleport device greeted her silently as Lumine opened her eyes to the room of the upside-down building. Beside her, Dainsleif stood as quiet as his gleaming blue eyes stared at a corner of the space. Before long, he turned and took his seat, leaning on the pillar next to the teleport waypoint.
Lumine said nothing and let the silence hang thick around them. It would be nice if Paimon was here; at least her remarks could brighten the bleak atmosphere that Lumine caught from the man and the whole thing that just happened. She, too, failed to contain hers so the lingering weight on her shoulders increased to some degree. And so did the void in her chest. Paired with the remembrance of what she saw back in the hilichurl's hideout, a snippet of what her brother did, and a part of his ambition, it left her with a dull ache that refused to go.
Crying was not an option. She could not afford to be weak now.
Her legs dragged her away from the resting man, closer to a corner with a dark substance spilled on the floor like a stain. It was something similar to the substance she cleansed with Lumenstone, yet she couldn’t cleanse this one. It seemed to be affecting her Lumenstone power the same way the oozing darkness did.
And then, it occurred to her.
This spot she stood on, was the spot where the two hilichurls were.
And they were gone.
After Dainsleif’s explanation, Lumine could not see those hilichurls the way she saw them previously. Maybe Ella Musk was correct; that humans could communicate with them and, maybe, form a good relationship.
After all, they were once humans too.
Something caught her eyes before Lumine turned away, a glisten of something hidden in a corner. A mask and she could not be more familiar with it as it was what those hilichurls left after she slew them. Coldness seeped to her fingertips as she picked it up and the memory of the two hilichurls resting a while ago resurfaced. They were waiting for their end, Dainsleif said, and they waited where light could not reach. In the darkness, bathed in silence, alone.
It was a lonely ending.
“There is no need to shed tears,” she heard his low voice. Quiet, but not cold.
Her grip on the stained mask tightened. “I didn’t.”
“Yet you are.”
Lumine did not reply. Her eyes fixed on the faint red lines forming a drawing on the mask surface as she tried to stop herself from crying. Teeth desperately gnawed on her lips yet those tears showed no sign of stopping. Somehow, it felt too sad for her to stop.
Warmth enveloped her as a weight nestled on her shoulders. The faintest of wind carried an unfamiliar but pleasant scent to her, somehow managed to calm her even if those tears still welled and fell from molten gold eyes. A cloak, Dainsleif’s cloak, was draped over her small figure; engulfing her but not shielding her from his gaze. She glanced to the side and found him standing next to her with one hand offered, a gesture similar to what she did a moment ago.
“You need to rest,” was what came out of his lips instead of a snide she thought he’d say.
It was her turn to just nod wordlessly and took his hand. The coldness dissipated from her fingertips as they traced the rough surface of his black glove. His hand was warm, warmer than she thought it would be as Dainsleif looked like a cold person more than anything.
It was not a bad thing, though.
The man led her back to the spot where he previously sat and she occupied that place as though knowing what was on his mind.
“It won’t stop,” she whispered, pushing out a tremble from her voice as she drew her knees to her chest, hugging them along with the cold mask. “Might as well let it all out, no?”
Dainsleif looked at her. Beautiful eyes caught the dim glow of the teleport waypoint and diamond-shaped pupils glinted. Mesmerizing, they were, and she knew if one was not careful, they could lost inside those whirlpools of galaxies.
Lumine was not exactly waiting for an answer to her question. It was not really a question, too; more like a pathetic attempt to justify the cocktail of emotions crashing over her.
“If those hilichurls aren’t worth crying over,” Lumine whispered, burying face to her knees, “then at least let me cry for what happened to Halfdan.”
Because no one understood parting better than her and although Aether was still alive, they parted the same way Halfdan did with Dainsleif. Abrupt, unexpected, too soon.
But at least they managed to talk to each other for the last time.
“Halfdan…” Dainsleif murmured, “he’s still the same person as I know from years ago. That isn’t worth your cry.”
It roughly translated as “Why crying when you don’t know a thing about us” but Lumine didn’t care. To her, it was a sad thing—every parting was—and it was her tears so she could do whatever she wanted with it.
“What?” She almost scoffed. “Does ‘sadness’ not exist in your vocabulary too?”
“More like I don’t have the privilege to feel them,” he replied swiftly. “I’ve lived too long that emotion becomes something I’d rather not trifle with. It doesn’t aid me in my mission. Rather, it’d hinder me, yet…”
Lumine raised her head, wiped away traces of tears, and let another fat droplet fall together with a blink. A slight frown, a hint of a storm swirling in those gem-like eyes, were enough proofs of what people would say as sadness.
Time did not eat away his emotions, his feelings, Lumine realized. Dainsleif simply suppressed them in order to complete his mission. Maybe years of experience of being the knight of his homeland had taught him so, or the fall of Khaenri’ah was too painful thus he would rather not feel. Both were something Lumine preferred to keep to herself as she knew it would be vain to question it.
One gloved hand raised to slowly close in on her face. Something seemed to soften in his profile, gradually shifting solemnity with something more of a human. The brief contact of his thumb and her cheek left her with more questions than answers.
“Whenever I see that flower, memories of my homeland resurfaces along with traces of regret,” the hand moved to brush strands of golden hair to the side. “But maybe relief found its way among them.”
Inteyvat. The flower that greeted her upon awakening. Something she could never forget nor could she keep away. And after what she saw today, it served as something linking her to Aether; that she still mattered to him, that he didn’t forget her.
“It’s a precious thing to me,” Lumine smiled thinly. “Something like a bond, a link between me and brother.”
Maybe Lumine imagined it or maybe the tears were blurring her sight but she could swear she saw a smile forming on Dainsleif’s face as he told her, “It suits you.”
So she smiled too in return. “Thank you, Dain.”
“Dain…” he whispered, voice trailing at the end. He shook his head. “I only stated the truth.”
The heavy atmosphere subsided with soft laughter coming from her, tearing the silence that seemed to linger even with their conversation taking place. Perhaps it was presumptuous of her, and a little bit careless too, to say that she felt like they had gotten closer now.
Still, trusting him was something she needed to decide thoroughly.
The man pulled away and stood as he let his eyes wander to the light coming from the building with a fountain in it. She knew he wanted to examine the site but Lumine had other things to do: reporting to Muning about things that happened in The Chasm and, unavoidably, part with Dainsleif.
So she pushed herself to sit and pulled the black cloak draped over her. “Dain, your cloak,” she called him, “and this.”
Hands moved to the side of her head and unfastened the pin securing the white and blue flower to her hair. It felt cool against her skin as she offered it to him, to which he gazed at it in surprise rather than confusion.
“I thought you liked inteyvat too, so…” she trailed off, smiling a little. “You can keep one.”
“It’s something precious to you,” he countered.
“It is, but I want you to keep it. Hold it and you can return it to me when we meet again next time.”
Dainsleif frowned. “You are aware that there might be no next time.”
“I do,” Lumine nodded. “But it doesn’t hurt to hope.”
A small laugh, barely registered to her ears, emerged from him. He took the flower and said, “Then, I hope that next time we meet, you know whose side you’re on.”
A wanderer far from home, Dainsleif thought as he walked away, it was a fitting meaning to this flower.