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The world has been reduced to screams and ash.
Houses engulfed in raging flames, bridges and spires consumed by shrieking hurricanes, the very land gutted by spires of golden stone.
Horrors of the heavens, sent to rend this land apart.
You pay the danger little heed, ducking and weaving through the broken streets, heartbeat thundering nearly louder than the Archons’ own lightning wrath flashing overhead.
You are not a brave man, but your people have experience channeling fear into action. It keeps your eyes off the bodies littering the streets, your mind from lingering on familiar faces frozen in agony.
These thoughts will not help you survive.
You turn down another path and find your feet lifting from the ground with a growing gust of wind. You scramble towards the nearest object—a stair railing, miraculously still anchored to a nearby building. You grip it with one arm just a second before the breeze turns into a gale. The howling winds snag and tear at your cloak, but you refuse to budge, crouched low against the stone.
After a few moments the winds move on, leaving a void of sound in their wake.
You pause, listening. Hearing nothing nearby, you carefully lift your head from the dust and rubble, sore and trembling. You take advantage of this short reprieve to check on your cargo, sitting up from your protective huddle.
Your son is still tucked snug against your chest, little fists clinging to your shirt and head tucked up under your chin. He’s breathing fast, tears escaping his clenched eyes, but he hasn’t let out a sound otherwise.
Good. Khaenri'ans didn’t survive this far by showing their fear so easily.
You ruffle his hair before pulling him back to your chest and continuing towards the lower levels of the city—towards the labs.
While the portal project was still young, recent tests have shown promising results, safely teleporting small objects across Teyvat. She was confident that human trials would go just as smoothly, able to mimic an Archon’s movements across space and time.
“Every power of a God, made mundane by our hands,” she’d said.
You don’t fully understand the mechanics of it, but if nothing else, you trust Rhinedottir’s meticulous standards.
You have to trust them. You have no other options.
You can see the sloped roof of the upper labs, just across the wide river cutting through the city. The bridge has collapsed, but a nearby impact of glacial shards has frozen over the rushing water—a small victory. You to leap across the jagged ice to the other bank, careful not to slip between the blade-sharp cracks.
Here you pause, seeing that the front steps of the labs are overcome by tangled roots, thick and imposing. You expect them to leap out at you, twisted and sharp, but they remain motionless for now. You cautiously step around the roots, careful to touch them as little as possible.
When you finally reach solid, unbroken stairs, you make a mad dash down into the deeper levels of the labs, bypassing doors and hallways that would normally be guarded by heavy security.
It’s a miracle that the lower levels are still untouched by the destruction above. Perhaps this is Rhinedottir’s doing—some cloaking device or somesuch-- but you have no time to ponder.
You finally reach the portal testing chambers, flicking on the lights and rushing to the control panel as the machine warms up.
You try to remember how to set coordinates as Rhinedottir explained, but the process was complicated, from what you recall. Settings for planetary motion and elevation, time and season, locked onto anchor points across Teyvet at different points in history…
Well, you must make do.
You set to work, considering navigational maps and flipping dials, working as quickly as you can to interpret the correct settings. You can hear an occasional rumble from above, but you’re deep enough now that the destruction is distant. Even so, you push yourself faster—surely, they’ll notice these deeper levels soon enough.
This would be easier with two hands, but you refuse to let go of your son for even a second—not until you’re past danger.
With one last check over your settings, hoping they’re at least safe, you flip the final switch to activate the portal.
The machine hums to life, the noise reverberating across the room with a growing intensity. As the portal swirls into being at the center of the test chamber, the metallic hum of the machine shifts into something deeper-- as if the hum is no longer mere noise, but a pressure, warping the very space around you.
It reminds you that the power you borrow for this machine is not of Earth nor Celestia, but something darker-- something ancient.
Your skin prickles against the building pressure as you watch the inky swirl gradually solidify and stabilize. Static settles over your mind as you continue to stare, subconsciously leaning in the direction of the portal, as if beckoned to whatever lay beyond…
A cheery series of beeps breaks you out of your stupor, alerting you that the portal has successfully stabilized.
Against all instinct screaming at you to back away from something so other, you step into the test chamber and stop in front of the portal.
This is it. With Gods above you and chasm below, there is nowhere else to turn.
You reach a trembling hand towards the portal, flinching at the tension you can feel in the air surrounding it. A few black tendrils reach out towards your hand, cold caresses like fog across your skin, dissipating and reforming in endless ripples.
Your son whimpers as he senses the portal’s presence, eyes still closed and shaking with fear. It’s the first sound he’s made on this whole journey, and you’re so thankful it wasn’t within earshot of an Archon. You pull him tighter against your chest in silent reassurance.
Before you can delay any further, you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and plunge into the darkness.
Cold void whips past you, stealing the breath from your lungs as you fall forward, forward, forward--
-- Before your knees hit solid ground. Air rushes in with whiplash speed, filling in the void that trails off of you.
The transition barely lasts a second, but it still takes you a few moments to regain yourself, desperately gasping for breath. You feel your son gasping as well, and you quickly loosen your death-grip on him, rubbing his back and soothing his whimpers.
Once you feel stable, you finally notice the change in the air.
The fresh, open, clean air.
You open your eyes, and the shock of it takes you for a moment.
The surrounding trees—tall, lush, vibrant—rustle in the soft breeze, and hidden insects chirp among the waving grass. Glittering stars cast across the night sky, boundless and beautiful. You can taste rain on the horizon, tingeing the air with electric promise.
How long has it been since you felt the breeze? Seen the sky so open and endless? An age at least, an age and a half.
Your son shifts and whimpers again in your hold, and you’re jolted out of your thoughts. The reminder of exactly why you are here sobers you with a jolt of revulsion. Celestia’s people rest so easy here, safe and comforted, while your people are slaughtered by their Gods, just underneath their feet.
The breeze no longer tastes fresh, and the sky does not welcome you—this land is as hostile to you as the streets you just escaped.
You need to keep moving.
You reluctantly set your son to the ground, allowing your aching arms a rest. You settle a hand on his back as he shakily stands on his own, finally opening his eyes.
His eyes widen as he looks around frantically, overwhelmed by the new scenery. A stronger breeze startles him and he whips around to see where it came from, only to see empty air.
You, at least, have some experience with the land above, but your son has never seen anything but the subterranean caverns of his home. You wish you could allow him a few moments to adjust, but time is not on your side.
You look around the area with more intent now, spotting a small group of lights in the distance. With no other option, you take your son’s hand and lead him towards what you hope is civilization.
It’s only a few minute’s walk, but he keeps stumbling over stones and roots, too distracted by all the sights around him. You can tell he has so many questions about this new place, but he remains obediently silent, taking your previous warning to heart.
“Do not speak, do not make a sound. Not until I speak to you first. Do you understand?”
In spite of his terror and tears, he’d nodded silently and allowed you to bundle him up and away.
And now he was here—taking in the open sky for the very first time with wide, shining eyes. Warmth sparks in your chest as you watch his wonder at it all, wishing you could show him this world under better circumstances.
You're in shouting distance of the lights now, and can see that they’re the glowing windows of a large manor surrounded by vineyards and scattered work houses.
If only the sign of wealth could ease your conscience, but truthfully, nothing could absolve you of what you were about to do.
You come to a stop, pulling your son towards you and crouching down to his level. He looks up with a curious gaze, but you merely sit there for a moment, memorizing his face. His dark hair, matching your own under your hood. His deep blue eyes, the same as his mother—though your heart pinches at the thought, her last moments now seared into your mind.
You place both of your hands on his shoulders, steadying him as much as yourself, and you begin.
“Kaeya, I’m going to ask you to do something very hard, and you’re going to have to be very brave. Can you do that for me?”
Kaeya nods his head, even as his tear tracks have barely dried. You reach up to wipe at one cheek, cupping your hand against his face.
“You have to stay here for a while, on your own—”
“No!” Kaeya interrupts before you can finish, grabbing at your shirt in a panic. Now that you’ve spoken, he’s free to break his own silence, “No, this place is…” Kaeya looks around, and his earlier wonder has been replaced with nervousness, “… This place is weird. You have to stay with me,” he tugs your shirt again to emphasize his point.
“Kaeya, I know it’s scary, but—”
“And haven’t you always said that the topside is dangerous? That’s where we are, right? Above?”
“Yes, we’re above ground—"
“Didn’t you say that nobody here likes us—that they want to hurt us?” Kaeya pouts as he tugs harder at your shirt.
You grimace, unable to argue his point. You certainly wouldn’t be leaving him in the hands of your enemy if you had any other option.
“So wh-why do you want to l-leave me here?” Kaeya doesn’t bother to hold back his hiccupping sobs as tears start streaming down his face again.
You pull Kaeya into a tight hug, one hand stroking his hair as you try to shush his cries, “Kaeya, my Star, I don’t want to leave you. If I had any other choice, I’d never leave you…”
But Kaeya’s tears won’t stop, and you’re so so tempted to give in-- to stay and simply forget that anything else exists…
… but you are already unforgivably selfish for even bringing him here—for saving your own blood before the rest of your people. This moment of reprieve is all the selfishness you can possibly excuse.
You close your eyes, thinking of any way to make Kaeya understand…
Hm… Kaeya does love to play-act; running through the halls of your home as knights and pirates, bandits and heroes.
“Kaeya, do you understand how important you are to our people?”
Perhaps he just needs a role to play.
Kaeya looks up at you with wet eyes, but he doesn’t interrupt this time.
“Khaenri'ah is in a lot of trouble right now, and everyone is doing their best to help. But everyone has different ways to help.”
Kaeya sniffles a little as he wipes one eye with his sleeve.
“I can help by going back to protect our people from all the danger. And you, Kaeya,” you place your hands on his shoulders again, “You need to stay here—"
Kaeya opens his mouth to interrupt again, but you continue past him, “--Because you will be our spy.”
He shuts his mouth and tilts his head with a quizzical look.
“I know how well you listen—you’re so clever with your studies! And you know how important good information is, right?”
Kaeya warily nods, uncertain.
“Well, now you can listen here. Learn how this place works-- learn about what people do and how they live. If you pay attention, we can use that information to help Khaenri'ah.”
Kaeya frowns, but you can tell he’s thinking about it. You smile, feeling how bitter it must look.
You hope that someday, he can forgive you for this.
“But to be a good spy, you have to act as if you belong here. You have to talk the way they talk, eat what they eat, and do what they do. And you cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone where you are from. Do you think you can do that?”
Kaeya’s frown deepens, but he nods at your words, looking determined.
“And most importantly, Kaeya,” you bend down to rest your forehead against his, his eyes still locked on yours, “A good spy must always remember where they come from. Spies may be talented actors, but they are someone else underneath. And do you know who you are underneath?”
Kaeya blinks at you, unsure how to answer.
“You are Khaenri'an. You are mine and your mother’s son. You were born under a starless sky, among people who have achieved greater feats than the Gods could dream of. You are brave, and clever, and you are full of so much bright potential, my Star.”
You look up to the sky at the moniker, Kaeya following your eyes to the stars above, “You are the star of our nation, Kaeya, so you must remember Khaenri'ah. Remember your home and your land. Remember your favorite songs and stories. Remember the people you love and cherish.”
You pause, looking down again to stroke Kaeya’s cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, “Carry those memories with you, and I’ll be back before you can forget them.”
You hope that he won’t need to carry the memories so closely; that you really will be back for him. But Khaenri'ans are a practical people—you cannot rely on a faith that doesn’t exist.
“Listen and learn for us, Kaeya. And when I come back for you, you can tell me everything you learned, ok?”
Kaeya’s eyes begin to water, but he gives you a small, reluctant nod.
“The future of Khaenri'ah depends on you, Kaeya. Remember that.”
With that, you close your eyes and press your mouth against his forehead. Recognizing the small ritual, Kaeya also closes his eyes. You both take a deep breath in, holding it for a several moments. In those moments, you fill your lungs with every ounce of love and hope and joy you can muster. You pray to the sky and the ground and the air (but not the Gods, never the Gods) that your son will be safe and happy in your absence. That he won’t be lonely for long-- that he will find a safe home here, and that you will find him here when you return.
You pray that if the worst comes to pass, he will carry only the best parts of Khaenri'ah with him.
Satisfied, you slowly release your breath against Kaeya’s skin, hoping it gives him strength. You have nothing else to give.
You wait for Kaeya to open his eyes, then give him one last peck on the nose, making him giggle past the last of his tears.
With a tender smile, you rise up and begin to turn away. Kaeya’s hands twitch towards you, but he pulls himself back—obedient to the end.
You walk steadily towards the portal in the distance, not once looking back, for fear of never leaving if you do.
You made the right choice. You have to believe that.
If not, then this truly is the end for Khaenri'ah.