Archive of Our Own

It had been a thousand years.

A thousand years of darkness. 

A thousand years of nothing but silence, broken only by his own cries of rage and sorrow. 

A thousand years of weight, from the golden chains that encircled his body and lashed him to the ground, no matter which form he took. 

A thousand years of loneliness, which was perhaps the worst pain of all, knowing that no one would come for him no matter what he did. 

So he resigned himself to nothingness, because there was nothing else to do. Jiu could do as she wished, but Azhdaha?

Azhdaha was tired. So, so tired and all he wanted was to sink into the earth and never wake again. Why sing songs into the stone, when no one would hear them? Why reminisce about the sun, when one day he would forget it all entirely? Why bother trying to move, when all it would get him was pain? His body hurt enough already, the chips and cracks along the ley-lines that were his nerves sending shocks of pain throughout his being. It had gotten steadily worse over the years as his body and essence continued to be chipped away, stolen from him unknowingly by the people he had once protected alongside…

Alongside who, again?

He could not bring himself to remember. 

Perhaps he just did not want to. Perhaps ignorance was a bliss too sweet to resist, perhaps apathy was the safest response to everything that could still hurt him but would never have the chance. 

Perhaps it was a mixture of all three. 

Because Azhdaha had gotten very, very good at nothingness. 

Why should he do anything at all, when nothing would ever change? Whenever Jiu retreated back into his subconscious and Azhdaha took the reins once more, his battered body ached anew with fresh pains from Jiu’s movements. She always tried to wrench free of the chains and roar her fury, leaving the bruised muscles and raw throat for Azhdaha to bear once she tired of her fruitless rebellion. 

He would always close his eyes and let the waves of pain lull him to sleep. At least , something in him murmured. At least the world is just. 

Azhdaha was an elemental being, with a lifespan longer than any other in this world. Death did not come easily to those like him. 

But to cease to be? That was in his grasp. 

Maybe if he stopped caring, stopped moving, stopped thinking , the nothingness could claim him completely, cradle him in its arms like one would a lover and finally cease his pathetic existence. Perhaps his wooden heart would beat, his chest heave with his breaths—but he would be an empty shell, never to be beheld again. He wanted it. 

But Azhdaha could not bring himself to care too much if it happened or not. Because he was already hollowed out like a rotten log, his memories and dreams eroding away and leaving only Jiu untouched. Sometimes he wanted to scoop the rest of him out with his claws, dig into his chest and pull his crumbling soul free on the tips of his fingers. But as soon as the desire manifested, it was gone, a fleeting spark in the wind. 

Because if a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it still make a sound?

If no one will be there to witness it, there is no reason to hasten the inevitable,  he thought, and sank back into slumber. 

————————

Maybe that was why he didn’t register it at first, when the pain began to fade. Slowly and slowly the ache dulled until it was only a fraction of what it had been, a fraction of the agony that had been his only constant during his imprisonment. 

Jiu seemed to be excited, he noted dully. She had been taking over more often. She was planning something. 

He wasn’t sure why. The inevitable would come, pain or no pain. There was no sense in acting. 

So Azhdaha closed his eyes and slept once more.

For the first time in decades, he dreamt of the sun.

————————

Morax. Morax, Morax, Morax . Oh, he was beautiful , such a pretty thing in the sunlight under the open skies, where he belonged. He looked different but his core was still the same, behind the mask of the mortal Zhongli lay the one who had won the right to Liyue. The one who had killed hundreds, sealed the strongest of them away where the sun would never reach. The one who had sealed him , dooming him to an eternity of mangled longing that had long faded to dust. 

Azhdaha remembered now, when he touched the stone tablet as Kun Jun, memories that he had forgotten rushing back into place. He was Azhdaha, forged of elemental crystal, husband to the Geo Archon and Lord over all Geovishaps. 

But he was also an evil dragon, it seemed, and the blood of innocents stained his claws. And even as he performed the part of benevolent being in front of Morax and his companions, in his heart of hearts he knew that he and Jiu were one and the same. He had let the burning loathing within him tear his soul asunder, leaving him incomplete and crumbling from the inside-out. Ignorance was bliss, apathy would protect him from everything that could hurt him but would never have the chance. Jiu would take his place once Azhdaha was gone, and then he would retreat into slumber and allow the nothingness to claim him sweetly, whispering promises of rest that resonated with what was left of his soul. What she did was no longer his concern, after this.

They were two sides of a coin, two halves of a greater whole. And once it was all over, he made his empty promises only because he remembered that once upon a time he would have brought the moon to the one before him. 

(“ Will you take me to the moon-palace, Azhdaha?”

“Perhaps one day, Morax.” )

Even now, tired as he was, he did not want to upset his mate. He would choose kindness, perhaps for the last time.

If it is fated, Morax, we will meet again. 

But Azhdaha was not meant to be aboveground with his sunshine-stone lover. He was meant to be underground, with pain his only companion, until the day he fell asleep and never woke again. It would be for the best. 

Evil things like him should never be remembered. 

(A small part of him protested. Morax would miss you , it insisted. He spared the thought a moment, then dismissed it, curling into himself. Morax was the one to put me here. He misses the idea of me. I’m…I’m tired. Maybe this time I won’t wake up. )

(Much like he had once refused to remember who he had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with, Azhdaha refused to remember all the little things that indicated that perhaps the nothingness would not claim him anytime soon. The pain was receding. Jiu was appearing less and less. He remembered more, when he wanted to, and had strength enough to possess a body for days once Jiu had split them apart. 

He wanted the empty, to be a thin shell of stone that had once been inhabited by a healthy soul but no longer. The idea of being more than what he now was would have been terrifying, if he could bring himself to care.)

Exhausted, Azhdaha closed his eyes and slept, and dreamt of lapis-bright eyes for the first time in centuries. 

(Sometimes, he wished he had never sung his longing into the stones at all. Sometimes, he wished that Morax had never found him.)

(He had dared to hope, once. What a fool he had been.)

————————

He knew not how long he had slept, but the next time his eyes fluttered open he couldn’t help but wonder if he was still dreaming. A great many of his constants were gone—the pain, the shackles, the dark —but even as sunlight filtered through the broken seal and onto his face, Azhdaha squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from that which he had once moved mountains to reach. Nothing would change. There was no point in stopping the inevitable.

Sunlight or no sunlight, pain or no pain, he would one day become nothing more than a hollowed tree, standing tall yet with nothing remaining inside. His blood-sap would circulate, his tail would still flower, but there would be no Azhdaha left.

He hoped Jiu liked his last gift to her. Perhaps she would be able to do something with herself now, now that the way was clear.

(Azhdaha ignored the fact that Jiu had not surfaced in months. She had to still be there. She had to. Who else would be left, once he was gone? Who would bear his karmic burden? Someone had to wear the shards of his broken contract as a crown of thorns, and it had already dug into his skull and taken root, feeding off what remained of his shattered psyche.

Azhdaha ignored the fact that if he cared to look, his mind was no longer split in two. He was Jiu, and Jiu was he. He carried her resentment, and Azhdaha’s old love, but apathy blanketed his mind in fog and he couldn’t do much about either.)

What would come would come, and he didn’t have the energy to fight against it.

It was harder to fall asleep this time without the pain to ground him, but he recounted his sins one by one and let them weigh him to the ground. Good, his mind murmured. This is what you deserve. This is just. Bear your burdens until Jiu can take them from you, evil dragon, for no one else will absolve you. A thousand years of pain is no atonement for what you have done.

You have broken the contract, and Morax’s heart, and left your vishaps and children behind. Sins upon sins upon sins will weigh down your crown and make you bleed, until you cease to exist.

Xiao and Ganyu. He wondered what they were doing now. If Xiao had found peace, if Ganyu had found happiness. He supposed he’d never know.

Warmth graced his undeserving scales as he drifted off once more.

This time, he dreamt of laughter, enthusiastic kisses pressed to his cheek, and small hands in his own.

————————

A touch to his shoulder greeted him as he woke, a hesitant shake accompanied by an ever-familiar rumble of Geo resonance that thrummed deeply next to what was left of his heart. 

“Azhdaha?”

Azhdaha’s eyes squeezed shut, and he only opened them when he felt a hand stroke through his hair. He said nothing as he took in the gold-and-brown smudge in front of him, did not resist as something was slid onto his face.

He blinked, and he could see clearly once more. Ah. His spectacles. But…

Why was Morax here?

How was Morax here?

One of the core pillars of Azhdaha’s existence was that no one would ever come for him , no matter how much he screamed and raged. But—

But Morax was here. For a moment he considered the idea of hope but there would be no point to it, would there? He would still be claimed by the nothingness no matter what Morax did. His husband could not prevent the beginning of his decline, and he would not be able to prevent the end. Azhdaha did not deserve the sunlight, the sky, the colors of the world above. 

“Azhdaha, will you come home?”

But when Morax asked like that…

Maybe he did not deserve the world, but he also did not deserve to deny Morax. Not when his eyes looked so hopeful, not when they were such a far cry from how burdened they looked when they last met. He could continue his penance and make Morax happy at the same time, couldn’t he?

Azhdaha closed his eyes in assent, slowly shifting his heavy head so it lay in Morax’s lap, and he could feel fingers comb through his hair once more. “ Thank you, ” came a shaky whisper, laced with spun-sugar filaments of hope. “I missed you.” Stone fingers played with the tassel earring still hooked into Azhdaha’s right ear, the material symbol of their union that had miraculously survived his imprisonment with him. There were their mate-marks, of course, with Morax’s crest gracing the space between his shoulder blades and his own gracing Morax’s, but the earrings were more akin to wedding rings than the biological manifestation of their contract. He knew without looking that Morax still wore his. Morax had always been sentimental like that, even as he was dense as the stone he ruled over. Azhdaha was sure he should be feeling…more, about his earring surviving and Morax’s appearance, but he couldn’t. The emotions were there, but Azhdaha had shielded himself in a glass bubble and so they were always out of reach. 

He just hoped Morax wouldn’t be too sad once he finally crumbled to dust.

————————

When he opened his eyes next, Azhdaha found himself in an unfamiliar bathroom. He blinked, disoriented, and startled slightly at the sudden sound of running water.

Morax was drawing him a bath, but he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, or where he was. He supposed it didn’t really matter, so he watched his husband roll his sleeves up and test the water’s temperature.

“You’re back with me,” Morax smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at him. “You seemed lost in thought during the journey here. May I give you a Mora for your thoughts?”

Once, he might have laughed, teasing him about being stingy with his Mora even while being the god of wealth, but now he just stared blankly. 

Morax’s smile faded, replaced with a look of concern. “Azhdaha?”

Azhdaha opened his mouth, trying to remember how to speak. He closed it, and just shook his head no. I floated away. I didn’t exist. I don’t know .

“...very well, my heart. Come, you need a wash and a haircut. I’ve never seen your hair quite so long, it has reached your ankles.”

…had it? Azhdaha’s confusion must have shown on his face because Morax guided him over to a full-length mirror mounted on the wall, palm warm and steady at the small of his back. He couldn’t help but stare at himself, fingers reaching out to touch his reflection. Azhdaha had forgotten what his humanoid form had looked like. He towered over Morax, standing at around seven feet tall, and was almost twice as broad as his lover. A pair of curved horns cradled his head, and his wooden tail curled around his feet. His blossoms were gray, a shade he had never seen them bloom before, but the color—or lack thereof—seemed fitting. His hair was deep brown and thick, glimmers of gold barely visible beneath the grime of centuries past. Morax had been right, his curls nearly dragged along the floor when he moved. He couldn’t tell what color his skin was, under the grime, but Morax took his hand and squeezed.

“The warm brown of toasted almonds,” he supplied softly. “Your hair is of chocolate and spun-gold, and your eyes of the purest Cor Lapis in the land. Do you remember?”

He did. But remembering brought to mind the shattered contract, and he shuddered, curling into himself once more. He pulled his hand away and glanced at himself once more. Azhdaha did not know why Morax called his eyes pure—there was no light left in them, befitting of a dead dragon walking. 

“Ah, I apologize, I did not mean to cause you distress.” He felt hands on his face tugging him down and a kiss on his brow, and then Morax was undressing him, dropping the ragged remains of his clothes to the floor.

Careful hands brushed against his skin, almost fearful in their gentleness. Like Azhdaha was a being of porcelain and glass instead of stone and wood, but all would erode away eventually. 

He could remember a time where those same hands were clumsy and new, a time when the stone had been freshly grafted to flesh to replace the arms Morax had lost. A time where he had helped Morax with his wounds, the god’s arms too unfamiliar to do it himself. He held the memory close, then let it go. That day had marked the beginning of their relationship, of their love. Azhdaha wondered what their ending would look like. He supposed he wouldn’t mind fading in Morax’s arms, though the location really did not matter much when the ending would remain constant. 

Azhdaha was guided into the bath, drawing his knees close to fit all of himself into the tub. The water was warm and scented with silk flowers, and he could not help but relax. He was so, so tired, and the warmth was soothing to his aching, leaden muscles. Penance later , he mused sleepily, letting his eyes droop shut. Morax now.

After letting Azhdaha soak in the bath for awhile, Morax pulled his hair free from underneath him. “Azhdaha,” he murmured. “May I cut your hair? How long do you want it?”

He made a soft sound of agreement and then shrugged. Morax could do as he liked. Azhdaha belonged to him, after all, broken mind, weakened body, and corroded soul. 

“Is the middle of your back suitable? I know that is what you used to prefer.”

Azhdaha just shrugged again, tilting his head back to meet Morax’s golden eyes with his own dead ones. “...do as you like.” His voice was cracked and hoarse from disuse and Jiu’s screaming, but Morax beamed at him anyway. 

“It’s lovely to hear your voice again.” He picked up Azhdaha’s hair as he talked, measuring out roughly how much to cut. “I had missed it. Missed you . Seeing you as yourself again…I am glad, Azhdaha, that you are with me. You were right. It was fated, and we met again.”

Azhdaha did not have the heart to tell Morax that he had only said it to make him feel better, and that he had had no intent on actually seeing him again. He didn’t have the heart to tell Morax that he was very much not ‘himself’ as Morax remembered him as, but Morax would figure that out soon enough. Even he could not remain oblivious forever, but for now Azhdaha would allow him to believe. To dote on him like nothing had changed, but it was strange because before Azhdaha was the one doing the doting. It felt like something had flipped the world on its head in his absence, and his life was now a mirror to what it once was. 

No matter. Nothing much mattered anymore, and that was alright with him. 

He registered Morax continuing to talk as he picked up his scissors, and bit by bit, Azhdaha’s hair fell away. It was dirty and lank, but as it was shortened it seemed to regain a little of its old volume. He closed his eyes and let Morax do what he wanted, sinking into his honey-warm voice. Before long, he had dozed off again. 

He could faintly register Morax’s soft chuckle, and drifted in and out of consciousness as his husband bathed him. He wasn’t sure how many times the tub was drained and re-filled to drain away the accumulated dirt, but eventually he was urged awake and wrapped in a thick robe far too luxurious for an evil dragon like him. 

Nonetheless, it seemed to please Morax, so he let it be. 

“You can rest now, if you like. You must be tired from your ordeal.” Morax took his hands, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sure you have questions, Azhdaha, and I will answer them all over our next meal. I will be certain to prepare your favorites.”

“Mmh.”

Morax gave him a gentle, tremulous smile, but soon took a shaky breath and pulled him into a tight embrace. 

Azhdaha’s eyes flew wide open as he froze, shock and longing piercing through the fog layering his mind. He—he didn’t know where to put his hands . 

“Welcome home, Azhdaha,” Morax mumbled into his chest, clinging tighter. “Welcome home.”

He wanted to protest, say that he could never have a home again because evil things did not have homes , but he swallowed the lump back in his throat. He clung to him just as tightly, burying his face in Morax’s hair. The familiar scent of tea and osmanthus flower incense flooded his nose, and for the first time in a thousand years Azhdaha had to fight back the urge to cry. 

(Behind the fog, Azhdaha had missed him just as much.)

————————

True to his word, Morax had prepared Azhdaha’s old favorites. His own signature Slow-Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup, put together with the utmost care. Accompanying it was Azhdaha’s own signature dish, Jueyun Guoba—or rather, Jueyun Azhdaha. “I tried to make it as you used to, but I confess I believe there is something missing,” Morax hummed, apologetic. “I believe that something is your own touch. Even Guoba could not replicate your cooking.”

“...it’s fine.” Azhdaha watched as his husband carefully ladled the soup into a bowl and set it in front of him, accompanied by a few pieces of the spicy guoba set artfully on top and a glass of water.

“Eat,” he encouraged. “You will need it to keep your strength up.”

Azhdaha sighed, watching Morax’s hopeful expression for a few moments before dipping his spoon into the food and taking a bite.

It…tasted like soup. 

He wasn’t sure what else he had been expecting. He couldn’t even appreciate the effort Morax had put into cooking for him, not even when he knew how long it took and how much care Morax had put in.

He…he didn’t deserve to have this. Have the sun, have good food, have someone to care for him. And while Azhdaha’s stomach protested at having only one bite of his meal, he felt sick at the thought of eating more. 

Tentatively nibbling on a piece of the guoba instead, he watched Morax eat and begin to talk about how he had sourced the ingredients and the techniques he had used this time around. He was as animated as usual, which was to say not at all, but the familiar glimmer of excitement and passion had sparked to life in his eyes once more.

Before long, though, Morax’s bowl was empty and he set his chopsticks down with a contented sigh. “Azhdaha, I’m sure you have questions for me?” The archon lifted his gaze and frowned a little at the sight of Azhdaha’s practically-full bowl, brow furrowing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“I’m…I’m not hungry.” Guilt flooded Azhdaha once more at making Morax worried again, and he choked down another bite of soup. “It’s good,” he lied, but because he couldn’t tell if it was or not.

“Ah…if you’re certain.” The furrow in Morax’s brow smoothed, but Azhdaha could practically hear the confused gears turning in his head. “Questions, my heart?”

“...no questions.”

“What?”

“No questions,” he repeated, staring into the bowl. He really didn’t have any, aside from maybe about Ganyu and Xiao. There was no point in learning, when he’d forget it soon anyway. “I’m tired, Morax.”

“...alright. Would you like to go back to bed?”

Azhdaha just nodded, then forced himself to stand and walk away, retreating into the depths of his mind so he didn’t have to be anymore.

(Morax watched him go, uneasiness settling like a pit in his stomach. He’d ignored it at first, hoping that Azhdaha’s oddness would pass, but he had never seen his beloved’s eyes look so dead. He had once marveled at how his own hands could create something so beautiful, so passionate , but there was nary a spark left in their depths.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and Morax hated himself for not knowing how to fix it.)

————————

Finding a blade in Morax’s new home was surprisingly easy. While it was not the adeptal realm they once shared, which had been filled with the results of centuries of collecting, Morax’s draconic nature had held steady in the sense that he was still a hoarder. His little house was filled to bursting with fine knickknacks and trinkets, each meticulously displayed and cared for. Knives were not common, but present nonetheless. 

What was difficult was taking one without arousing Morax’s suspicion. If he took one, Morax would surely notice the empty spot. His husband had already been watching him oddly when he thought Azhdaha was not looking, which was bad enough. Morax would certainly intervene in Azhdaha’s punishment, which was something he could not allow. 

That, combined with his continued tiredness, made stealing a knife difficult. He spent the majority of his time asleep, and the few hours he remained awake, Morax spent by his side, carrying on one-sided conversations to hide his badly-veiled worry. Azhdaha wished he could fix it, like he had fixed so many of Morax’s little problems in the past. 

It was one more thing to pay for, at the very least. No matter. He would honor the cost of the contract, and the costs of his sins, without complaint. They would be Jiu’s to hold soon, anyway. It was only right to bear them as intensely as he could before he was gone, because he did not have forever. 

But one evening, he woke without Morax at his side, or in the house. The note that had been left read I’m sorry, my heart, but I am needed to work late tonight. Please eat, I have left rice in the kitchen. 

The kitchen. Why had he not thought of the kitchen?

Disregarding the rest of the note, Azhdaha heaved his heavy body upright, ignoring how his muscles ached from inactivity and fatigue. This was his chance—he could not pass it up just because he was tired. He was always tired.

He left the bedroom for the first time in…he thought it had been a week? Two weeks? Something like that, but the specifics did not matter , not when he was so close to getting his hands on a blade. 

The kitchen was not very far from the bedroom he had been sleeping in (simply down a flight of stairs and a left turn) and was fairly small. The dying sunlight filtered through the windows, painting the room in shades of red and gold. It was done in gold and brown, but Azhdaha didn’t spend any more time examining the kitchen in favor of pulling open the drawers and cabinets in search of a knife. 

The first blade he found was Morax’s well-used Liyuean cleaver, effortlessly sharp and suited to cutting just about anything. But this was likely the blade Morax used the most, considering how all-purpose it was. Azhdaha could remember helping to cook entire feasts with only this knife, which made it a bad candidate to steal away for himself. 

Further searching only confirmed his suspicions—Morax had no other Liyuean blades of suitable sharpness in his kitchen. 

Ah. It seems the kitchen did not have anything for me after all. There was a dim disappointment at the thought, and he resolved to continue his search later. 

He did find the bowl of seasoned rice Morax had left for him and stared at it forlornly. Azhdaha should eat it, even if he didn’t deserve it. Because if he didn’t Morax would be sad, wouldn’t he? He had even specifically requested for him to eat it. 

His stomach rebelled at the thought even as it sent hunger pangs through his gut, but Azhdaha simply gave up. In the absence of the ability to make his own decision, he would obey the wishes of his mate.

There were no chopsticks set near the bowl—Morax must have been in a hurry if he had forgotten such a thing—so Azhdaha began his search anew. 

Only he had forgotten which drawer or cabinet they were kept in, so he resigned himself to re-searching all the cabinets again, even when what he really wanted to do was lie on the kitchen floor and go back to sleep.

The drawers were all empty of what he was looking for, but he thought he spotted a pair shoved deep into a cabinet. Why they were back there was beyond him, as well as why all the other chopsticks had disappeared, but all that mattered was just finding something to eat with. Azhdaha had been two cabinets away from stumbling outside and breaking a pair of twigs off of a nearby tree to use instead.

He reached into the cabinet, sticking his head in so he could reach better, and groped around for the chopsticks. Azhdaha gingerly rearranged the ceramic bowls inside as he closed his fingers around them, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of shattering china. 

Azhdaha carefully withdrew his hand, path now clear, but he lifted his head too early and whacked it on the shelf above. Hissing, he held still to wait for the dizziness to go away, which was his next mistake—the impact seemed to have knocked something free from the upper shelf, and that heavy something landed between his shoulders and fell to the ground with a crash. Ouch. 

He lightly thumped his head against the wood in resignation, then pulled away to assess the carnage. None of Morax’s bowls had broken or cracked, which was good, he’d already upset Morax enough. Azhdaha also did not feel like he would be able to properly clean up broken china anyway, and the next person who stepped barefoot where the mess was would likely have received an unpleasant surprise. 

Then all he had to do was clean up whatever had fallen on top of him—hopefully it hadn’t been anything fragile, because broken things were a mess to fix. Just like him, he supposed, except that there was no use in fixing him. 

Azhdaha turned to see what he had dropped, and froze. Is this—

A wooden block tipped on its side, accompanied by a scattered Mondstadtian knife set. 

He crouched, reverently running his fingers along the flat of the paring knife. There was a note nearby, written in Anemo-green ink. 

Ehe~ Mix things up a bit, you old fossil! You’re stubborn as a…well, a rock! A particularly blockheaded rock. I’m sure there’s something your Liyuean cleaver CAN’T do! Also I’m bringing dandelion wine and apple cider the next time we drink together, do you have anything that isn’t baijiu??? P. S. sorry for forging your signature again xoxo

-your best and most awesome friend Venti, please don’t throw another mountain at me

Ah . It was a gift from Barbatos, and by the looks of it the blades had never been used. This was perfect. Morax would never notice these gone, he had his routines and stuck to them with very little deviation.

Azhdaha picked up the second-largest of the blades—the chef’s knife. He could take the cleaver, but he wasn’t intending on chopping anything off. That would be conspicuous, and not something he could hide easily. No, the cleaver would not suit his needs. 

The chef’s knife, on the other hand…he tested its sharpness on the tip of his finger, closing his eyes at the sharp prick of pain. When he opened them again, a bead of amber blood-sap had welled up on his fingertip, and he licked it off. 

(He had always tasted sweet. He still did, though his sins should have turned him bitter and rotten like a dead log.)

It would be able to cut as deep as he needed, and it would be easy to heal just the outermost layer of skin. He could not leave any physical marks of his punishment for Morax to find. 

Yes , Azhdaha decided. This will do nicely.

Rice forgotten, he left the other knives behind as he moved towards the bathroom. 

He could clean up after he had paid for his crimes.

————————

The bathroom hadn’t changed since the last time Azhdaha had been there, but his reflection had. 

He touched the mirror with the tips of his claws, taking a moment to stare at himself. 

The curve of his horns were the same, as was the shape of his face, but he was clean enough to discern his own skin and hair colors. His hair was curlier, now, no longer stretched straight under its own weight now that Morax had cut it shorter. Despite all his sleeping, he had gained dark smudges under his eyes. 

Those eyes had not changed. They were the dull amber of a broken glass bottle, not the brilliant gold they had once been, full of warmth and a love for life. 

There was none of that left, still. 

Good . He had not gotten his hopes up. Azhdaha would fade. 

But not without facing his punishment. 

He took a deep breath, then brought the knife down. 

Two long cuts on his inner arms, one each across his wrists. 

The pain sang so sweetly as he watched his essence drip slowly into the sink, and when his mind tried to flee again it could not. Azhdaha was forced to remain alert and just take it , and it hurt terribly but it felt so right. This was his penance, and he would welcome it. It would suffice. Morax couldn’t know . 

Azhdaha washed the blood away, and healed the top layers of skin and plating. Underneath, the lacerated muscle throbbed, and he closed his eyes and let it. 

He left the bathroom as spotless as it had been before he had arrived. The knife was hidden away under the mattress. 

The next time he needed it, it would be there for him. 

(In his state, Azhdaha had forgotten to clean up the kitchen. 

Morax came home to an uneaten bowl of rice and a near-complete set of knives scattering the kitchen floor. One was missing. 

For the first time in a thousand years, Morax remembered what it felt like to be afraid.)

————————

Morax had been watching him more closely recently. Azhdaha wondered why. 

Whenever he had the chance he would sneak the knife into the bathroom and cut, thinking yes, this is just, this is the blood-price for your actions. You hurt your family, you hurt your lover’s people, you abandoned your own people and hurt them too. The only thing left to do is hurt yourself.

He would catch Morax staring at his arms and sometimes he would squeeze them in a show of comfort, but Azhdaha knew he was looking for a reaction. He would not give him one. He was Azhdaha, forged of elemental crystal, and he had borne pain for a thousand years and knew the horrors of war. He knew how not to flinch. 

(A small part of him wanted to, each time he saw the worry in Morax’s eyes. Azhdaha was afraid the light would go out in them, too, and it would be all his fault.)

(The bigger part of him reminded him that once Morax found out, his punishment would be over, and he really didn’t deserve that, now did he?)

————————

“…Azhdaha?” Azhdaha stilled, unmoving as Morax’s horrified voice rang out from behind him. “I—my heart, what are you doing? ”

So this is where it ends . The game was up. 

"I am evil," he said. "I should be hurting. My penance is not yet complete."

Morax frowned. "Who told you that?" he all but demanded. "What on Teyvat —"

"The stone tablet near my tree."

"You were never—it was a warning , Azhdaha. Something to scare others away. It has never reflected the truth."

Azhdaha laughed bitterly. “It has always reflected the truth,” he murmured. “I belong to you, Lord of Geo. Broken mind, weakened body, and corroded soul. All of me is yours.” He met Morax’s eyes in the mirror, and at any other time he would have felt guilt at the pain he could see in them, but now he was just…just numb , with only the burn in his arms keeping him present enough to continue. “You are my judge, jury, and executioner, Morax, and you declared your verdict at my trial a thousand years ago. I am guilty, I have sinned, and I must pay the price.”

“You have already paid, Azhdaha!” Morax’s voice rose in pitch and volume, and he took a single step forward. “There is no need to keep—there is no need to keep hurting yourself like this!”

"It should hurt," he returned, staring down at his arm. The pain was grounding, demanding his focus and refusing to let him float away into his own mind again. His thick blood was warm against his skin, and he watched with detached interest as the amber liquid dripped off his fingertips. " I should hurt. This is the correct state of my being."

"Azhdaha," Morax said softly, so much quieter than he had been just a moment ago. There was something in his voice that Azhdaha could not identify, but it fell a little too close to fear to be comfortable. "Please give me the knife."

Instead of answering, Azhdaha ran the flat of the blade over his tongue to taste himself. "Sweet still," he said, before offering the knife to Morax. "Don’t you think I should be bitter from my sins, Morax? Taste."

Morax shook his head and tried to pry the knife from his grasp, only to still as Azhdaha pressed the sticky side of the blade to his lips. "Taste," he repeated, and he didn’t know what expression he was making but it made Morax stop breathing and run his tongue over his lips, catching the droplets of blood that had clung to them. "Am I bitter to you, divine one?"

He could not decipher Morax’s expression as the god spoke. "No, my heart. And you never will be."

Only then did Azhdaha relinquish the knife, fleeing back into the depths of his mind as Morax healed his arm with a flash of Geo. There wasn’t even a scar to mark the wound’s passing. 

(He wished there was one, a physical reminder of the blood-price he had already paid.)

(Morax watched Azhdaha go blank once more, then closed his eyes against the realization of everything he had feared was true. How could I not have noticed? There were older cuts in Azhdaha’s arms just under the skin, and he should have realized. 

He set the knife on the counter, resolving to lock away anything sharp, and sighed. It had been three weeks since the knife went missing. Had Azhdaha been hurting himself— punishing himself —for so long? The very thought made his chest ache with shame and sorrow. Shame because he should have realized what was happening earlier, sorrow because Azhdaha had felt the need to do this at all. 

This was not something he was equipped to handle. Azhdaha was sick, in a way he did not know how to understand, and he was no healer. He wished nothing more than to help, just as Azhdaha had helped him through the nightmares and violent flashbacks he had suffered from in the past. He still suffered from them, when he was not careful enough or simply unlucky to have them triggered. But his weakness was different from Azhdaha’s problem, and proud as he was, Morax knew when he needed to ask for assistance. 

He would contact Madame Ping in the morning. For now? Azhdaha had to be put to bed, and the house secured. There was much to do, if his husband was to recover.

Morax would need to make up for his mistakes.)

————————

Azhdaha was woken by soft murmurs, blearily opening his eyes as he attempted to pinpoint who, exactly, was talking.

One was Morax, he knew, but the other? It was feminine, and vaguely familiar, but who —

He blinked, then closed his eyes. Who was speaking was unimportant. What had happened before he woke up? He searched for the memory, trying to remember, then stilled. 

Ah. Ah, Morax had found him, he shouldn’t have seen, and now Azhdaha would have to find out a different way to complete his penance before he was gone. The absence of pain in his arms was proof enough that Morax would be paying more careful attention this time, and that he would need to outmaneuver him somehow—but the very idea just seemed so tiring , and he wished he could just go back to using the blade. Alas, it was likely to be gone by now, along with every other sharp implement in the house. Morax was nothing if not thorough.

“It seems like he’s awake. Let me talk to him, Morax,” the feminine voice said, sounding much closer than it was a few moments ago. “Hello, Azhdaha. Can you recognize me? I’m sure I look quite different from when you saw me last.”

Azhdaha exhaled softly, cracking an eye open as he felt a careful hand brush over his horns. “You shouldn’t be so gentle with me,” he mumbled wearily, eyeing the woman in front of him. She was not anyone he had ever met, but she did look familiar. He squinted, rusted gears turning in his head, before he frowned and guessed. “…Ping?”

She smiled at him. “Yes, Lord of Geovishaps. You guessed correctly.” 

Azhdaha flinched a little at his title, suddenly reminded of the people he had once led and had failed. His people. How had they suffered, when he was no longer there to care for them? Had they been hunted to extinction? Morax could only do so much, after all, as a god bound to humans. Had they been eroded to dust, as he was? 

“No need to spiral, dear, they’re managing.” Ping gave his horns another pat. Had he said all that out loud? “The geovishaps are tough. Their populations are stable, and they have slept below the earth during your…your time away,” she said, giving him a sympathetic glance. “Your second-in-command has served them well. They only began to emerge again as your seals weakened. Perhaps they could sense their dragon-king’s return.”

“Return…ah, not for long,” he muttered, before glancing at Morax and freezing up. He would not say anything more in front of his husband, he’d burdened him enough, he would not worry him further—

“Morax, I’m going to need you to leave,” Ping cut in, breaking Azhdaha free from his spiraling thoughts once more. 

Morax bristled and opened his mouth before Ping frowned at him. “I understand that you are worried, but he is not going to speak with you here. If you want me to be able to help, make yourself useful and brew some nice tea for the two of us while we have our chat.”

Azhdaha watched as Morax pushed down the instincts that were likely telling him to stay, stay, do not let him out of your sight and protect what is yours and smooth his ruffled feathers. “Very well,” he said, voice almost aggressively calm. “I shall do as you say, Madame Ping.” With that, Morax gave Azhdaha one last worried look before leaving. 

“He’s gone, dear. He won’t be able to hear you,” Ping said gently, once the door had clicked shut. “Whatever you say will not leave this room.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You will not tell him.”

“Unless you express a desire to hurt yourself or others, no, I will not tell him.” She held his gaze, unwavering, and he folded inwards and looked away. “Would you like to talk about it? I’m sure you have many things you would like to get off your chest.”

Azhdaha hesitated. Some part of him did want to tell someone about his upcoming nonexistence. About handing the reins off to Jiu, about how his failures haunted him and how he had hurt every single person he had ever cared for. 

And if none of what was said was going to get back to Morax…

“…very well.”

“…I’m glad to hear it.” Ping patted his horn again, and this time, he did not protest. “Azhdaha—what did you mean about not returning for long?”

“I would have thought this would be obvious to you,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I am eroding. I know not why Morax has pulled me from my prison, away from my penance, when I will soon be gone. I only wish for Jiu not to hurt him, though I am more than certain he can handle her. He has sealed us both in the past, after all.”

“Jiu? I have not heard that name before. Who is that?”

“She…is the parts of me that have been blackened by erosion. She is the me who is no longer me, and one day I will go to sleep and she will be the one who wakes forevermore. She sleeps, now. Perhaps she is building her strength. I know not what she does or plans until she has already done it, and has left me to bear the consequences. It is only fair, as she will wear the shattered contract and its punishments once I am gone. Where once there was Azhdaha, Dragon-King of Geovishaps and mate to the Prime of Adepti, there will one day be Jiu, a bitter, lonely girl forsaken and betrayed by the Prime, and who will not rest until she has turned all he has built to dust.”

“Why a little girl, Azhdaha?”

“She is my opposite, everything I am not and never wished to be. That is why.”

Ping nodded, lapsing into silence. She watched him as he shifted to lie on his back, gazing listlessly up at the ceiling. 

After a while, he sighed. “I only hope that Morax is not too saddened at my departure. I have hurt him enough.”

“But Azhdaha,” she said, reaching over to take his hand. “You are not eroding.”

What? “Impossible.”

“Answer me this. Are you in the same amount of pain as you were…ah, let us say, a hundred years ago?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. “No,” Azhdaha admitted. “But it means nothing.” It couldn’t mean anything. If it meant something it also meant that he could be—

No, he could not be saved. He did not deserve to be saved. He ruthlessly squashed the line of thought before it could blossom into anything even remotely similar to the golden-yellow petals of hope.

“Have your memories become clearer, less fragmented? You would not have remembered me before.”

“ Yes , but—”

“When was the last time Jiu appeared, Azhdaha? Look at yourself, truly, and try to find where you end and she begins. Go on.”

This was a simple task—his mind had been shattered into shards and it was easy to trace along the cracks that separated Azhdaha from Jiu, except—

—except this time it wasn’t.

There were no shards anymore, only fractures exposing the blue crystal underneath and even those were fading into beautiful, shimmering scars.

“Where is she?” he whispered, eyes wide. He could not breathe from the terror of being alone in his mind once more, because this was different and he did not want to deal with different, and the pillars of his existence were crumbling — “ Where has she gone? ”

“It seems, Azhdaha,” Ping said softly. “That you are you, and no one else.”

“But she—” He choked on a gasp as she rubbed his back, reminding him to breathe. “She was supposed to take the contract from me. She—I was supposed to be done , and now my other half has left me too?”

“Your other half is Morax,” she returned calmly. “Not the spectre that shared your mind and sapped your spirit. Jiu has left because you have taken back all she has stolen from you. She claimed pieces of your mind for herself, it seems, as a result of the erosion. She had stolen your sanity, your sense of self, your autonomy , and now that you have regained it all she has nothing to exist with.”

“Can I not bring her back? I—I understand that I must face my penance but Ping, I am so tired and I wish to rest, more than anything. I do not want to be here anymore, not when I have failed everyone and everything I have ever loved and cannot even fathom the prices I must pay, now that I need to shoulder Jiu’s share as well. I—” Azhdaha curled into a ball, gray-blossomed tail hiding his face as he trembled faintly. “I wish to be hollowed out like a rotten log, with my body alive but my mind gone. I am not worthy of this life. I am not worthy of his love and if he will not hate me for what I have done I will bear his burden and do it myself.”

“…Morax would be heartbroken if he heard what has just come from your mouth, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbled miserably. “I don’t want him to worry.”

Ping sighed. “Is it so hard to accept that he cares for you? You are his eternal mate, the one he had chosen over all others in the world, and the one who has taken care of him all these years when he has needed you. It is only natural that he worries, when he sees that you are not at your best.”

“I do not deserve to have him worry about me. Causing him distress is yet another of my sins.”

“Azhdaha, it is not a sin to be loved. There is no ‘deserve’ here, dear. Love is a gift, and Morax will always choose to grant it to you whether you like it or not. He is forever yours, as you are forever his.” 

She was quiet for a moment, then looked at him. “Can I ask you another question? What, exactly, makes you unworthy of this life, of your husband’s love?”

“I broke the contract, hurt Morax, abandoned my vishaps—”

“Of your own free will? Or was it Jiu?”

Azhdaha stared at her like she was an idiot. “It was Jiu, Azhdaha would never— ”

“Then why do you feel responsible for the actions of another?”

Now it was his turn to be speechless. It was his fault , surely, because… because…

“Jiu is a part of me, and therefore I am responsible for her actions.”

“Excuse my language, but bullshit .”

“What?”

“You’ve said that Jiu is your opposite, did you not?”

“…yes, but—”

“If that is true, then she cannot, by definition, be a part of you. Opposites are antitheses, are they not? By your own words, ‘she is my opposite, everything I am not and never wished to be.’ That seems…like someone whose ideals and goals are the inverse of yours. The harder you love, the more she hates. How is she you?”

Jiu and Azhdaha were different sides of the same coin. Of course they were the same , his mind insisted stubbornly. He clung to the pillar of his existence that threatened to topple, holding it in place in fear that it would come crashing down like so many of the others. 

Azhdaha’s worldview was crumbling but he kept it together with willful ignorance and stubborn belief. 

(But unbeknownst to him, the seeds of doubt had been planted weeks ago and were beginning to sprout into trees. Hale and hearty ones with roots that could destroy roads, shatter glass, keep their heart-wood alive. Not the rotten husk he aspired to be and believed he would inevitably become.)

“She just is. I can’t explain it, but she is .” Distress crept into his voice, and Ping ran a hand over his horns to soothe him.

“Alright,” she said quietly, clearly unwilling to push much further. “But…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, just so they could move on. He was not bound by his word, after all, not like how Morax was chained to his. “It will not change that I am a broken being destined for nonexistence.”

“…I disagree.”

Azhdaha laughed, exhaling. “I’m sure you do.”

“Do you know what I think you are, Azhdaha?”

“Someone much better than I actually am, I presume.”

“I think you are someone who has been through something terribly traumatic, and you have developed these thoughts to help you cope with the horror of your imprisonment. I think that you do not yet realize you are safe, and that your coping mechanisms are actively hurting you. They call depression ‘anger turned inwards’, Azhdaha, and I think that is what has happened with you. It makes you tired. It makes you feel like you are broken, alone. It makes you feel like emotions are out of reach, like you have no reason to care about the world around you. It sometimes makes you feel like you would be better off not existing at all.”

Ping smiled sadly at him. “It also lies to you. It makes you think irrationally, about yourself and others. You are a wonderful person, Azhdaha. You’ve gone through so much and you are safe now, and I understand that it will take you some time and proof to accept. It is a terrible affliction to suffer through, but it can be managed, and often cured completely. Believe it or not, you will be happy again one day. There will still be bad days, and you will not recover overnight, but one day, you will be alright.” She stood, glancing at the door. “I think this is enough for today, dear. I also believe that you ought to ask Morax to take you to visit the Chasm. You should see for yourself how broken you are. I think it will do you some good. May I give him your diagnosis? I will not disclose a single thing we discussed.”

Azhdaha had let out a tired sigh at Ping’s assurances. He was sure she meant well, but he was fairly sure she was wrong anyway. At least he had a word for his condition, now.

Depression. He had heard of it in the past, had seen it affect some of the Adepti after the war. Xiao had suffered from it as well. Some had recovered. 

Others had not. It was a terrible thing. He had never thought he would face it himself. 

“Must we tell him?” he asked instead, uncurling slightly. 

“No, but…he worries for you. I think he deserves to know. It is, however, up to you.”

“…fine. But only this.”

“Thank you, Azhdaha. I know this was a lot.” She pet his hair gently, ending with a final pat on his horns. “You must be tired, after all of that.”

He was tired. Speaking with Ping had distracted him from the leaden weights embedded in his bones and his tainted soul.

“Rest now. Remember what I told you.”

Azhdaha just closed his eyes, and sank into slumber once more. He barely registered the door open and shut before the world faded away again.

————————

“Depression,” she told Morax. “I cannot tell you of any of the specifics we spoke of, as that would violate the informal contract I made with him. However, I…”

Ping hesitated before continuing, and a pit formed in Morax’s stomach. “Just say it,” he told her, closing his eyes. “I am ready to hear whatever else I have done to him.”

“He is a victim of circumstance and I won’t have you blaming yourself as well.”

“I sealed him away. Whatever he suffered was at my hands.”

“Morax—” She sighed, taking in his stony gaze and ever-so-slightly trembling hands. “Just come and visit when you have time, hmm? We’ll talk over tea.” 

(Ping ignored the fact that Morax had quite literally just brewed tea. Now was not the time to have another talk with Morax over his Archon War PTSD, workaholicism, and tendency to shoulder the blame for everything that has ever gone wrong in his life. He needed time to process.)

“I already know everything that is wrong with me,” Morax frowned. 

“You’d deny me the pleasure of a chat over tea?”

He narrowed his eyes, but to his consternation, she met them evenly. He sighed. “Very well, Ping. Tea it is. Now what were you going to tell me?”

“I…also think he is suicidal, Morax. Passively so, yet suicidal all the same.” 

Suicidal. My mate is suicidal and depressed, and I had not even realized. Morax closed his eyes. And it is your fault. Take responsibility for what you have done, o Geo Archon, and face the repercussions of choosing your country over your mate, even as you know that you would never do anything different. 

There was no easy way to break this to him, so he appreciated that Ping had not sugar-coated things. “What must I do?”

“He is unlikely to make an attempt on his own life, though may attempt forms of self-harm. Make it as difficult as possible for him to do so,” she instructed, and he nodded. He could do that. 

“Make sure he is taking care of himself. Make sure he eats, drinks, bathes. Some days may be too difficult for him to do anything at all, but meet him halfway where you can. Do not push him to talk. Present yourself as available for if he needs you, but it is important not to force him. I understand that you are worried, but forcing him to speak will only cause him distress.”

“Ah,” he murmured. “That will be difficult. But I will do my best.”

“I know you will, Morax.”

“Will you be back to speak with him?”

“I will be. But take note of the fact that he will only get better if he wants to.” She smiled. “Though I do not think you would let him go long enough for the other outcome to ever become reality.”

“You are correct,” Morax nodded. “He has only just returned to my side. I will not hold on so weakly this time.”

Whether he liked it or not, Azhdaha was here to stay. Morax would not allow otherwise.

(The thought was too painful to bear.)

————————

“Morax?”

Azhdaha had been dragged from bed that day and brought into the living room to give him a change of scenery. He was currently sitting in one of Morax’s plush armchairs, surrounded by pillows and nearly smothered with blankets. It had been a few days since Ping’s visit, and what she had told him was…he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

(To his surprise, he had been able to muster up the emotional energy to label Morax’s fussing cute in his mind. It…was a strange thought to have, though…it was not wholly unwelcome. Besides. 

Azhdaha’s husband was cute, even if Morax would hiss at him and vehemently deny it.)

Morax glanced up from his book, looking like he was just about ready to fetch anything he asked for. “Yes, Azhdaha? What do you need? Another blanket? Pillows? Water? Shall I hold you awhile? Food—”

“Morax,” he cut in, summoning the energy to laugh softly. “Let me finish.”

Morax paused, then nodded, his cheeks faintly pink. “Yes, of course. My apologies, Azhdaha.”

He took a moment to fit together the way he would ask his question, then spoke. “Ping told me I should ask you to take me to the Chasm. That…is where we fought, and where I broke the contract, right?”

“Yes,” Morax confirmed. “Though it is also where your ley-lines are located. Though they do stretch north to Nantianmen, the major roots of the Irminsul that thread through your body are located in the Chasm. Which is a far more important detail in my eyes, than the events that transpired there. Let us speak of them no further for now. Would you like to go visit?” There was an odd note to his voice, and Azhdaha couldn’t figure out why it was there. It…it sounded almost like pride , mixed with something a little like…anxiety? No, that couldn’t be right. Why would Morax be anxious? Did he not want to face the splintered, pockmarked wrecks his ley-lines were from the centuries of human mining?

(There was no more pain skittering along his nerves, pick-pick-picking at his bones. Azhdaha thought he had just gotten used to it enough to block it out. He hadn’t realized it had disappeared completely.)

“Yes,” Azhdaha echoed. “I think I would.”

Morax smiled. “We’ll make a day trip out of it, then. I will take a few days to prepare, and then we shall leave on our journey. I truly hope it will help.”

I do not see why it would, Azhdaha answered in his head. But I will humor Ping, if it proves her wrong about me.

“Then I will rest until then, I think. Maybe…I will have the energy to go outside.”

“Drink something first. I will make bone broth, Guoba’s old recipe. Sleep now, and I will wake you when it is done.”

Azhdaha closed his eyes, sinking into the blankets. “Very well,” he yawned, letting sleep’s silken tendrils wrap around his mind. “Can…can you put chili in it?”

A soft laugh. “Whatever you want, my love,” Morax said, as his voice lulled him to sleep. 

(Somewhere in his mind, there was a sound of cracking glass. It was a hairline fracture, barely visible and easily hidden, but it was there. )

(Somewhere else, a pillar crumbled enough to shed chunks of stone. A thin branch occupied the space which had previously been filled, small but strong. It would weather a tempest if it needed to, but for now it would exist in its own inevitability.)

————————

True to his word, it had only taken Morax three days to prepare for their trip to the Chasm. 

Azhdaha had spent the majority of that time either sleeping or retreated deep into his mind, escaping reality until Morax shook him alert the day of their trip. 

“Azhdaha? Rouse yourself, today is the day.”

He opened his eyes slowly, greeted with the sight of Morax’s face mere inches from him. “Ah,” he said intelligently, going cross-eyed as he tried to properly look at him. “Hello, Morax.”

Morax chuckled softly, a fond smile gracing his face. His eyes had crinkled at the corners, and a small part of him wanted to reach up and touch . “Hello, my heart. Are you feeling up to traveling?”

Considering his state, Azhdaha experimentally pushed himself up into a sitting position, Morax sitting back on his heels to give him room. What Azhdaha wanted to do was lie back down, but…

…the urge was less powerful than most days. The weights in his bones and hollowing soul had lightened from lead shackles to iron chains, and he didn’t think it would get much better.

“No,” he said at last. “But this is as good as it will get. We will go today, and I will see what Ping wanted me to see.”

He climbed out of the bed a little too quickly and stumbled nearly instantly, Morax’s stone arms catching him around the waist before he could fall. “Ah. My apologies.” Azhdaha closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Dizzy spell.”

“I have you,” Morax told him, and Azhdaha wanted to say that he shouldn’t need to be helped along but he held his tongue. Saying so would only upset his mate, and he had done enough of that.

“…thank you,” he said instead, and the resulting beam he got in response was worth all the Mora in the world. 

“Take it easy. We have the entire day. Do you think you can freshen up and get dressed while I go make breakfast?”

Yes, he wanted to say, but…the thought of brushing his teeth was okay, but tacking on bathing, washing his hair, brushing it, doing his makeup, and picking out clothes…it seemed daunting that day. Maybe he should be a little more honest? If it could get Morax to smile again it would be worth the discomfort. He wants to take care of you, Ping had said. And Azhdaha wanted Morax to be happy. 

“It’s too many steps,” Azhdaha admitted, looking down. “I can…do maybe three things.”

Morax hummed, tilting his head. “Perhaps…instead of brushing your teeth today, use the mouthwash. You brushed last night, so it should be fine for today. I’ll draw you a shallow bath with soapy water, and you can sit in it and use a washcloth. I have dry shampoo for your hair, and I’ll brush it during your bath. You can skip your eyeliner, but if you wish to do it, do so. Pick a random set of traveling clothes, they all match each other reasonably well. Does that sound easier?”

I hate that it does. I hate that you need to take care of me. I, an ever-eroding being, do not deserve such care. 

“Yes. It does. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” 

Morax gave him another warm smile (and wasn’t it beautiful? Wasn’t he so beautiful? Why was he here? ) and led him to the bathroom. 

Azhdaha’s fingers curled around an imaginary knife as he stepped inside, and he wished he could take out his failings on his arms just one more time. 

But Ping had said—if Jiu is my opposite, why am I responsible for her actions?

No. No, he wasn’t allowed to think like that, not even if it logically made sense—

(A pillar crumbled even further, as a branch cracked through the weathered stone.)

A cup was pressed into his hands, and he stared into its familiar contents. It smelled like mint. It tasted of it, too. Azhdaha dutifully downed the cup and swished it around his mouth, listening to the tub fill up behind him. He spat it out once the water had stopped, letting Morax undress him and help him into the bath. 

“Is the temperature alright?”

The water was very hot, and Azhdaha remembered Morax’s preference for near-boiling baths. He hated being cold, Azhdaha knew, but he’d always found it a little excessive. 

Though now…he could see the appeal of it. The heat was nice, soaking into his tired body and relaxing it more than it had been in weeks. The heat was still excessive, but it was nice. The sweet, familiar scents of osmanthus and honey rose with the steam filling the room, and Azhdaha couldn’t help but let his mind relax a little, too. 

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad. Here.” Morax handed him a washcloth, and he started scrubbing himself clean of all the accumulated sweat and dust on his person.

There were hands rubbing something into his hair and massaging his scalp and it felt good. Azhdaha leaned into it and Morax laughed yet again and kept doing what he was doing. 

“I’ll play with your hair more often. You clearly enjoy it, my heart.”

Did he?

He did, and wasn’t that new?

Morax’s hands left his hair a little while after and he briefly mourned their loss, but he was back soon with a hairbrush and palette. “Are you finished with the soap?”

“Mm. I can wash the suds off myself.”

“Wash your face and just lie back for me. Allow me to do your liner after I brush your hair.”

“Alright,” he said, complying. You don’t deserve this, his mind insisted. Say no. 

Shut up, he answered. It makes him happy.

Morax was gentle with him, as he always was these days. It was still strange to be on the receiving end of such diligent care, even if he didn’t need or deserve any of it. His strokes with the hairbrush were slow and careful, teasing out every tangle in Azhdaha’s hair without pulling or tearing. And once he was finished, Morax cradled his jaw in his hand and tilted his head back, precisely lining his lower lids in deep red. “Done,” he said, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Up you get. Dry off and go change, I will prepare breakfast. Something easy, I think. Soup?”

“Soup,” Azhdaha agreed, leaning over to pull the tub’s plug. He watched the soapy water swirl away, and washed off the remaining suds with a little bit of Hydro. Morax handed him a towel and left, and he climbed out of the tub and dried off, careful not to smudge his eyeliner. 

Azhdaha glanced in the mirror before he left, and…he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something different than before. 

It does not matter. Erosion is inevitable. Ping is wrong. 

He gave his changed reflection no more thought, and left to get dressed.

(His eyes were different. Barely, just barely, they were a little less dim than before. A single sliver of sunlight had shone through broken bottle-brown glass, and had left an echo of its passing behind.)

When Azhdaha came downstairs, Morax was bustling around the kitchen. He watched his mate move, a little confused because something seemed different than usual and it was just out of reach. 

He came closer to observe him a little more. 

Morax was carrying himself differently, a touch more delicate and far more graceful than usual, and—

Oh. There was a fan in his suit pocket. That explained things. 

“Morax?”

“Hmm?” Morax turned to face him, still stirring the small pot of soup bubbling away on the stovetop. 

Azhdaha looked him up and down one more time, brow furrowed, then asked, "Are you my wife today?"

He laughed. "How could you tell? I am still in a masculine form." Morax smoothed down the front of his suit, emphasizing his lack of bust. 

"You carry yourself differently, and you have a fan in your pocket. You…you always carry a fan when you’re a woman.”

He smiled. "I do, and I am indeed. I’m surprised you noticed, though I shouldn’t have been. You have always been very perceptive when it comes to this.”

“Mmh.” Azhdaha took a seat at the kitchen table, resting his head on his crossed arms. Resisting the urge to drift away again, he asked, “Will you change your form?”

“I might. The nature of my current situation has kept me in this form, and I have had no opportunity to change it. Perhaps a change of shape would be nice.” Morax set a mug of steaming soup in front of him, running a fond hand through his hair and over his horns. “Be sure to tell me if you like it. I think I will experiment a little this time.”

“…you won’t use the little one? The shape you usually take when you’re a woman?”

“I don’t wish to be quite so small today, I think. Though I will keep the narrow waist—you used to be delighted when you were able to fit it completely within your hands. Do you remember?”

“…vaguely.”

“Then that is enough for me. Drink, and I shall be back shortly.” 

Morax left him, then, and Azhdaha stared into his soup. It was cloudy, with bits of vegetables and meat floating in it. It smelled nice, too. 

Though he wasn’t particularly hungry, and part of him yelled that he didn’t deserve to eat it, Azhdaha just sighed and downed half of it in one go. It was really nice soup, and while he felt guilty for not being able to savor it, he didn’t want to give himself the chance to talk himself out of eating. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to think about…everything, really. Azhdaha did not want the rest of his pillars of existence to crumble, especially with so much change and so many of them gone to rubble. 

But the way people were treating him…

Did they know something he didn’t? And if so, what was it?

He…was suddenly far less sure about what he would see in the Chasm. 

“What do you think?”

Azhdaha looked up from his soup, blinking owlishly at the now female-looking Morax standing in the doorway. He was a little shorter than he usually was, with a rounder, softer face, hair held in a bun with a hairpin, and a vague hourglass figure. 

“You look nice. You look like you could be your usual form’s sister.”

“Ah, that is what I was going for. Does my voice suit the form?” It was a little higher, now, but still held the bedrock-rumble undertones that were so uniquely Morax they would be strange on any other person. 

“It does.”

Morax smiled, clearly pleased, then motioned for him to finish his soup. “We had better be off soon.”

Azhdaha nodded, then finished off the rest of the soup. He filled the mug with water and left it in the sink, then took his wife’s offered hand. 

It was time to face the Chasm. 

(Morax was unaware of Azhdaha’s lack of knowledge regarding the state of his ley-lines. He simply believed that Azhdaha wanted closure at the site of their battle, and hoped that seeing how the mines had flourished and recovered after the destruction they had wrought would put some of his guilt to rest. 

He was, however, excited to show Azhdaha his ley-lines. Morax had slowly been pulling strings over the past few decades to limit mining in the Chasm, and had been taking trips in secret to heal some of the damage done with his own energy. 

It was a taxing process and his contract to Liyue stopped him from healing them completely—though with the end of Rex Lapis and the closure of the Contract to end all Contracts…

…he was free . 

Now no longer beholden to put Liyue over absolutely anything else, Morax had actively made conditions in the Chasm worse to drive out the remaining miners , on top of the damage already there with the appearance of the black mud. A few quakes and cave-ins had strategically sealed off Azhdaha’s ley-lines until he could go and put up stronger barriers, and he took a few months off work with Hu Tao’s permission to tend to them. 

First went up thick Geo wards, impenetrable to the common miner and vengeful spirit alike. Next came the healing process. It was long and hard and painful and costly but Morax was offering pieces of his being, his divine essence, his energy to restore what had been lost. 

His offerings had been accepted. The ley-lines gorged themselves on him and grew sleek and blue, shimmering like crystal and smooth as glass. 

Morax went home near-dead three months after he had entered the mines, golden blood dripping from his eyes, his hands, the veins in his skin. It was a mercy that no one had seen him on his journey back. 

It had been worth it. If he could ease Azhdaha’s pain even a little, it would be worth it. He would do it a hundred times if he had to, waiting until he had finished regenerating all he had offered before going back to do it again. 

And Azhdaha was here now, and he hoped he would like what he would see.)

————————

“We are here,” Morax announced, stopping before a large rock. “We cannot enter through the main entrances, as we will be questioned, but I had once created a tunnel here for my personal use. We will be taking this tunnel to the underground mines, and easily evade detection from there.”

Azhdaha just nodded, still lost in his own head. He was feeling something, something straining against his glass bubble and cracking it just a little more. It was unpleasant and made his stomach churn uncomfortably, and it was only made worse by the stone and ore calling out to him and singing of the endless mining that they had seen. 

(He didn’t think he liked mining very much. He didn’t want to be here, where his body had once cried out in agony, subject to a thousand little tortures greater than the sum of their parts.)

Morax opened the tunnel with a flick of his wrist and a rumble of earth, eyes glowing gold as the entrance crumbled into existence in front of him. “Come on.”

When Azhdaha hesitated, Morax slipped his small, warm hand into his. “I am with you. There is nothing to fear, my heart.”

“…so you say.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, pushing down the part of him that just wanted to lie in the dirt and stay there until he joined it. “I…lead the way.”

Morax nodded, going on his toes to kiss his cheek before leading him into the cool, damp tunnel.

Azhdaha’s eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, as he was a vishap and the vishaps were creatures of the depths. The ores here sang of a divine touch and brilliant gold, and he allowed himself to be comforted by the echoes of Morax’s power as they walked. The path branched from time to time, but Morax chose confidently, as if he had been through them a thousand times. 

“Where would you like to go?” Morax asked. “We can visit the battleground, though I fail to see why you would want to relive that moment any more than you likely already have. We can also visit your ley-lines, which…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I would like you to see them, if you would be willing. As your wife, I would like to request that we go there first, though of course ultimately the choice is yours.”

Morax wanted him to see his ley-lines? Why? Azhdaha did not understand. He was sure seeing their state would only bring Morax grief. 

Was…this what Ping wanted him to see? Did she want him to see how long he had left, and act accordingly?

Ultimately, Azhdaha decided that it would be best to just get it over with. He hoped Morax wouldn’t grieve too much at the sight. A dead dragon walking needed no grief. 

“We can go see my ley-lines.”

“Thank you. I…I must admit that I am what one might call nervous . I would like your thoughts once we arrive,” Morax said softly. “I would like to know if I have overstepped or erred in any way.”

“…overstepped? Morax, what are you talking about?”

He looked away, golden gaze fixed on the approaching end of the tunnel, washed in a faint blue glow. “You shall see. The main root that feeds you is near. Close your eyes.”

“Morax—”

“Do you trust me?”

Azhdaha stopped in his tracks, confusion writ across his brow. What kind of question was that? “Of course.”

“Then allow me to lead you.”

He would follow him anywhere. Azhdaha was Morax’s and Morax could do anything he wanted to him and Azhdaha would accept it gladly. 

He closed his eyes, and let his mate lead him forward. 

Morax’s hand was firm and steady in his, a clear contrast to the way Azhdaha’s heartbeat was picking up speed. 

What would he see? He thought he knew what was going to sear itself into his memory once he opened his eyes but now he was no longer sure. 

Morax was too calm, Azhdaha didn’t feel the memories and energy leaking from the roots, but he was supposed to be broken so what had happened? Was the ley-line glued together with Morax’s power? The cracks filled in with gold, the erosion slowed? Was this what Ping meant?

They stopped. 

“Open your eyes.”

Azhdaha obeyed. 

No. No, this can’t be—

He was frozen, helpless at the sight before him as the truth he had been unconsciously avoiding was thrust before him. 

(Trees burst into growth, trunks forcing their way through fragile stone as branches knocked rubble to the ground and reached for the sun. Roots wound tight around crumbled rock and mercilessly ground it to dust, returning it all to the soil from where it came.

The final pillar crumbled to dust, and Azhdaha’s world came crashing down around him.)

(Where there were once the pillars of his imprisonment, there was a forest who stood proudly above what it had destroyed. )

“ Oh, ” he gasped, because it was beautiful, and that meant—

There were no cracks or voids, there were no shattered pieces leaking his memories away, and all there was was blue and it was perfect and it wasn’t damaged at all, was it? It hadn’t been for a long time, had it?

Azhdaha shakily reached a hand out, pressing it against the crystal-smooth surface of the Irminsul-root, and at once he knew that the rest of the system was perfect too, pristine and cleansed of its human corruption. 

He was whole . 

There was only Azhdaha left, and there would never be anyone else. 

He turned to look at Morax, dimly aware of the viscous tears streaming down his face. “Morax,” he said, wonder and joy and sorrow and grief filling his voice in equal measures as the glass dome in his mind cracked even more. “I’m—I’m not eroding anymore. I am whole. ”

"Oh," Morax whispered, realization dawning on his face. "You thought you were still—oh, Azhdaha, you’ve been so brave ." He gathered Azhdaha into his arms as he sobbed, cradling him against his chest. "I am so sorry for what I have done, but I promise you, you are safe now. I will not allow anything to harm you again."

"Okay," Azhdaha choked out. "I…I don’t feel brave. I feel terrified . Everything is different and I don’t know where to even begin ."

"But you are still here . You are still fighting. And that is what matters most."

“…I haven’t been fighting very well, have I?”

“I disagree,” Morax whispered. “You are here. That is the bravest thing you could ever do, and the greatest gift you could ever give me, my heart. You are my most cherished treasure and I adore you, and I will not let go so easily a second time.”

Azhdaha clung tighter as he cried, helpless in the face of the gentle revelation that he was loved and that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he just couldn’t understand how his ley-lines were so perfect —

(The stones were singing of what they had seen, and they had seen a dark figure slumped against the damaged blue Irminsul-root and there was so much blood , gold smeared across its surface and dripping, dripping from lacerations on his palms and chest and a chunk of cor lapis ore crooned of seeing slivers of another of its kind delicately float free from the gash cleaving his chest open and disappearing into the ley-line, smoothing one of the cracks over just enough to notice. 

Cor-Lapis. 

Heart-of-stone. )

“ No, ” he gasped, pulling away. Azhdaha felt sick, horror coating his voice as he realized what Morax had done. “Morax, what did you do? ”

“ Stop, ” Morax ordered him, eyes flashing brilliantly as they locked with his, boring straight into his soul. “Do not listen to those songs.”

“But they paint a picture of your suffering, your sacrifice for one unworthy of it—”

“I said stop. Heed not those ores. I am whole.”

“You gave up pieces of your heart, Morax!”

“Which has always belonged to you.” Morax took Azhdaha’s trembling hand in his, pressing it against his chest. “Ores will regenerate themselves over time. My heart is no different. Listen to this one’s song instead.”

(Morax’s heart beat strong and steady under his palm, the purest cor-lapis one would ever find shaped into an organ and soaked in memory and divine essence. It sang sweetly to him, the one it truly belonged to, of suffering and love and utter devotion, crooning of how it had once been splintered into little shards but it had healed like Azhdaha’s ley-lines had, and Morax had spoken the truth.)

“I am whole,” Morax whispered. “Just as you are whole, Azhdaha. Erosion will wear us both to dust one day but that day is not today, and it will be millennia before I allow you to slip from my grasp once more.”

“It…it is a lot to take in,” Azhdaha mumbled wearily, resting his head at the crook of Morax’s shoulder. 

“I should have realized earlier the cause of your suffering. I never told you you were healed, had I?”

“…I don’t think I would have believed you. I think I needed to see this for myself.”

Morax hummed softly, holding him tighter, one hand protectively cradling the back of his head. “Then I am glad you did.”

Azhdaha took a deep breath, closing his eyes against another flood of exhaustion and sticky tears. “I…I think I want to go home now, Morax. Can we go home?”

“We can go home, my heart. Rest, and I will take us there.”

He could feel Morax change shape, shifting into a form he never took, someone who was bigger and broader than Azhdaha himself. 

Azhdaha could not bring himself to care as he was lifted into those arms, held strong and steady just as he used to lift Morax when his wife overworked himself and fell asleep at his desk. 

“Sleep,” Morax whispered, and he knew no more.

(The glass dome fractured again, little shards falling and disappearing, and what had once been a dripping leak was now a steady trickle.)

————————

Ping came by to see him the following week when Morax was at work, smiling at the sight of him sitting in the living room and chewing on a red bean bao . “Hello, Azhdaha.”

“I saw what you wanted me to see,” he said softly. “Did you know?”

“I did.”

“You…did not stop him?”

“It was his choice to make. And he loves you and your children more than life itself, don’t you remember? The only thing he loves more is Liyue, and Liyue is no longer his charge.”

“I…suppose that’s true.” Azhdaha looked down at his bun, taking another bite. “I apologize. I should be making tea.”

“No need, dear. I can brew it for the both of us. But before that—I brought you something.”

“…oh?”

Ping leaned over, folding a bottle into his hand. “If you ever decide that you want making progress to be a little easier, use these.”

“What are they?”

“Antidepressants, Azhdaha.”

“…like Xiao used to take?”

“He has recently begun again after a recent incident, but yes. Like Xiao used to take.”

(Morax had not told him of Xiao’s near-death experience in the Chasm. He did not want him to worry himself sick when he was still so fragile .)

“Incident? I hadn’t heard of—”

“Do not worry, your son is fine . He is taking tea with me once a month, and while I do wish I saw him more frequently, it is better than nothing. Focus on yourself. You have not seen either of your children yet for a reason, have you?”

Azhdaha hesitated, then sighed. “I…do not want them to see me like this,” he admitted quietly. “I know they would not hold it against me, or love me any less. But I do not want them to worry.”

“Morax can only make excuses for you for so long, you know.”

“I know. Since…I saw my ley-lines, I have been considering a lot of things. I think I would like to be better. Perhaps…perhaps my end is not fated to be so soon, after all.”

Ping smiled at him, something almost like pride shining in her eyes. “That is the first step on the road of recovery, Azhdaha. I think you will be just fine.”

For the first time since his unsealing, Azhdaha smiled back.

(He was going to be okay. One day, he would be able to laugh and sing and find joy in all the little things again and he was going to be healed.

He could not wait to show Morax.)

————————

Time passed.

Not very much of it, in the grand scheme of things, but enough for Ping’s little pills to begin taking effect. Azhdaha had more energy than before, and he could get out of bed on most days. On especially good ones, he could cook dinner and have it ready by the time Morax arrived home, and sun himself in the little garden in the back while he waited. He was able to find contentment in the little things, when he was lucky. Not joy, it was too soon for joy, but the warmth of the sun and Morax’s delighted gaze helped soothe the growing pains that came with relearning how to live.

(His tail blossomed in colors other than gray, now, and the first time he’d spotted the soft green petals of calm, his breath had caught and he spent hours in front of the mirror to make sure he was not seeing things.

Azhdaha had broken down in tears when one of the green flowers fell away and a yellow one bloomed in its place. Yellow meant hope and while once he had thought himself to be a fool for ever having held on to it, now he clung to it as proof that the glass bubble around him was breaking and the fog clouding his mind was beginning to leave. Morax had found him on the floor in front of the bathroom mirror, and he had helped him press that little yellow flower so Azhdaha could keep it always as a reminder that a part of him, no matter how small, believed that he would be okay.)

He still had his bad days, of course, but the presence of the good ones meant that something was working, something was changing . The guilt and the grief and the pain was still there, yes, and they were still a part of him, but Azhdaha learned that he could work on beginning to reject it all, if he wanted. The choice was an absolutely terrifying one to make. But he had wanted to be better, hadn’t he? Soon, he would try. For now he would slowly remember what it meant to be alive once more, rising at noon and returning to bed at night after a hazy day well spent.

One night, he woke, disoriented, chest feeling strangely light before it dawned on him that Morax was not half-sprawled over him as he usually was at night, fingers entwined with Azhdaha’s and his head tucked into the crook of Azhdaha’s neck like he was afraid he would disappear from underneath him if he let go.

Azhdaha was sure he’d gone to sleep with Morax in his arms earlier that night. He was absolutely certain—they had said their goodnights and Morax had kissed his cheek before clinging to him just as he always did.

So then why wasn’t Morax in bed anymore?

He had woken to an empty bed, scrubbing sleepily at his eyes as he tried to put two and two together. A light pat to the bed next to him found it to still be warm, so he must have only gotten up recently. Maybe Morax had gotten thirsty?

Azhdaha contemplated the pros and cons of getting up to go look for him—on one hand, he was exhausted. Even after two months of Ping’s medicine, it was often difficult to muster the energy for little more than routine. There was a chance that Morax was fine, and he would just have wasted his precious little energy for no reason at all. But on the other hand…

He knew Morax, and the chance of something bothering him enough to make him leave bed had never exactly been low . Once, Azhdaha had been his family’s caregiver, tending to their emotional and physical needs. He used to be able to drag Ganyu and Morax away from their papers to dinner with one arm and offer Xiao a shoulder to lean on with the other.

(Xiao almost never cried. Neither did Morax—Azhdaha could count the number of times he’d seen their tears combined on one hand. Like father, like son, in that respect.)

If Azhdaha ever wanted to slip back into the role he used to have and lift it from Morax’s shoulders, he would need to start somewhere . But even if he didn’t want that, he’d already made his decision from the very beginning, because if there even was a possibility that Morax was distressed he wanted to be there for him. He doubted the past thousand years had been kind to him—even before Azhdaha’s sanity started to crumble, Morax would whisper at night about how tired he was, sometimes, and how lonely it was to be alone at the top. Barbatos could only provide so much, after all, as the Anemo Archon had not the energy to stay awake for more than a hundred or two years at a time. 

(How had he fared, all alone?)

Azhdaha was going to make sure Morax had not spaced out somewhere and bring him back to bed. Muffling a yawn, he drew the blanket around his shoulders before climbing out of bed to look for his wayward partner.

Morax was not in the kitchen, but from there Azhdaha could see a familiar figure sitting out on the front porch, and sighed softly as the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops reached his ears. “He’ll catch cold, it’s raining,” he murmured, but set about preparing two large cups of tea. He was still getting used to the kinds that looked like Mondstadtian tankards with the curved handles, but he supposed they were convenient enough, if non-traditional. The handles stayed cool even with hot tea inside the mug, thus leading to fewer burnt fingertips. Not that burnt fingers were a problem for Azhdaha or Morax, but the innovation was intriguing nonetheless.

Water was heated with a quick burst of Pyro energy, and the tea leaves and dried flower petals set to steep for a precise amount of time. Azhdaha had not forgotten how particular Morax was about his tea. 

(Once, he had made the mistake of reheating tea that had gone tepid, and Morax’s near-comical expression of scandalized horror was not something he would ever forget.)

Morax’s mug was a piece of Rex Lapis themed merchandise—it was brown, with a cartoon chibi of his beloved’s Exuvia printed on the side. Azhdaha had bought it as a joke on the one day he had summoned the energy to visit the Harbor’s market, and he suppressed a smile as he remembered how Morax would claim to hate the mug but still use it when he thought Azhdaha was not looking.

( “Morax, I thought you hated that mug,” Azhdaha teased, not bothering to mask the soft curl of his smile. He leaned against the kitchen counter, propping his chin up in a hand as he watched his mate pour his drink. 

Morax calmly returned his gaze, stoic as stone as he sipped on osmanthus tea. The cartoon Exuvia on the mug curled proudly around a pile of Mora, taking a nap. “It was the first clean one I found. It serves its purpose, even if it makes a mockery of me.”

“Mockery? Morax, it’s adorable!”

“I am hardly adorable, Azhdaha. I am a dragon. Dragons are not adorable.”

Azhdaha laughed. “I beg to differ.”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then beg.” )

Azhdaha’s mug was also brown, but painted with pink plum blossoms the same shade his tail bloomed when he was happy. It was one of the first gifts Morax had given him after his unsealing and visit to the Chasm, and he had gotten attached to the comfort it brought him.

Once the tea was done, he set the mugs on a tray, made sure the blanket had not fallen from his shoulders, and made his way over to the porch to meet Morax.

Morax, from the looks of it, had indeed spaced out. He was sitting on the porch deck near the doorway, eyes glazed over as he simply stared into the rain. Azhdaha frowned a little—his behavior didn’t look like it was due to an Archon War flashback (Morax tended to get violent when one was triggered), which meant Morax had started either overthinking or grieving, and neither was a good option at three in the morning in the rain. 

“Morax?” Azhdaha murmured softly, so as not to startle him. “Morax, what are you doing out here? Come back to bed.”

Morax had startled a little despite Azhdaha’s best efforts, blankly blinking up at him before finally seeming to register his words. “Ah…my apologies. I woke, and I could not go back to sleep, my heart.” His expression betrayed nothing as he turned to face the rain again, but Azhdaha could see the faint tremors in his hands from where they were clenched in his lap. “Go back to bed without me. I apologize for waking you.”

“Are you serious? And leave you out here by yourself?” The older dragon sat down next to him, setting the mugs of tea on the beck before carefully wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “Sit in my lap and allow me to hold you, at least. It’s cold.” Azhdaha punctuated his statement with a touch to Morax’s palm, giving him his best pleading look.

“Very well,” he sighed, taking Azhdaha’s hand in his, sliding their fingers together. “There is no way to convince you to get some rest?”

“I can rest out here with you,” Azhdaha replied, carefully guiding Morax so that he was comfortably settled in his lap with his tea. He wrapped the blanket more securely around the two of them, mustering a soft chuckle as he felt Morax melt against him. His mate always hated being cold, and he was still extra warm from channeling the Pyro energy from earlier. “Comfortable?”

“Mm.”

“Drink your tea, Morax.”

Azhdaha took a sip from his own mug, watching Morax do the same. The ambience was nice—the rain provided a soothing backdrop to his thoughts, and nicely contrasted the warmth of the blanket, the tea, and Morax in his lap. The stars were out and the moon was full, bathing the scene in pale light.

He was suddenly reminded of how beautiful Morax was as he gazed down at golden eyes reflecting the moon, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Azhdaha didn’t think he would ever truly get used to the feeling, and he never wanted to. The very idea that one could take such a sight for granted, deem it ordinary—it was preposterous.

“I had been thinking,” Morax spoke softly, breaking him from his thoughts. “About the last thousand years.”

…Ah. Azhdaha’s mood instantly dropped at the mere mention of his sealing, but he just took a sip of tea and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Keep going, Morax,” he said, proud of how he kept his voice from trembling, even when all he wanted was to hide himself away underneath the blanket. “I’m alright.”

He felt his mate take a deep breath before he continued. “I—I could not help but wonder if…were you lucid at times, Azhdaha? Were you ever wholly yourself, with Jiu nowhere to be found? Were you lonely?”

Azhdaha repressed a shudder as the memories crept closer to the forefront of his mind. "Yes," he murmured. "At…least in the beginning. It was a cycle of pain and numbness, over and over. I do not know how long each cycle was, as I could barely measure time at all as it was. The stones were singing, and I could only guess how long it took for their notes to change or fade away to mark the decades of waiting. I…Morax, I did miss you, and Ganyu, and Xiao, and the sun. I was indeed lonely. Lonely was an understatement, Morax. But.”

“But?” Morax encouraged softly after he trailed off, trying to hide the faint tremor in his voice. But Azhdaha noticed. He would always notice, now. “Don’t make that expression. I…I need to know, Azhdaha. Please. If you don’t wish to speak of it I will accept that, but do not hold your tongue out of concern for me. I am not fragile.”

But you are, Azhdaha wanted to say. You have never handled your emotions well. Stone does not bend like wood. It weathers and weathers and chips away until it cracks and crumbles to dust. 

“Please, Azhdaha. If you are willing to speak of it,I wish to listen. What did you mean by ‘in the beginning’?”

“…in the beginning, when I was lucid, I was lonely. Lonely could never begin to describe how alone I felt, trapped under the Dragon-Queller. It was dark, and I could hardly move, and even when I assumed my humanoid form the seals held me in place no matter how hard I struggled. 

“Lonely could never explain what it felt like to roar my agony and know that no one would ever hear me again. Jiu would say I had been abandoned and forgotten by those who had betrayed me. I would always say that I deserved it and that it was for the greater good. 

“Lonely was fleeing into the depths of my psyche as Jiu took over and knowing that all her horrific thoughts were mine too, and that there would never again be anyone to comfort me or tell me that I wasn’t evil, wasn’t bad, and that I could still deserve to be loved. That maybe one day, I could be saved. I had hope, then. It was crushed out of me eventually, because I had lost my old world and had been thrust into another, and I built pillars in my mind that framed my existence. Eight pillars of existence, one for each of yours that held me captive.”

Distantly, he felt Morax go still, but he couldn’t stop talking. His voice was flat and dull and detached from emotion, because if he let himself feel any he would break. He couldn’t break, not now. Morax had asked, and he would answer.

“One. I was eroding away, and one day I would no longer exist in this world. Two. I was trapped, and I would remain trapped until I ceased to exist. Three. The pain is welcome and correct, and its absence would indicate that something had gone wrong. Four. Jiu is a part of me, the other side of our coin, and she will never leave me. Five. Jiu is my responsibility. I must take accountability for her actions. Six. Once I ceased to exist, Jiu would take my body for herself, and I would never wake again. Seven. The state of the world was just, and my punishment was deserved. Eight.” He took a deep breath. “No one would ever come for me. No one would hear me scream. There was no reason to resist my fate.”

“Azhdaha…”

Azhdaha would not look at him. He would not. “That is what I meant, when I said I was lonely in the beginning. Once I had accepted my fate, there was no reason to be lonely. I slept very much. I hid in the depths of my mind, clutching the shards that Jiu had not taken close to what was left of my heart. I think I was just very tired. I felt nothing, Morax. I had gotten very good at feeling nothing for a very long time. You did not need to worry.”

“I…that might have been worse .” Morax made a soft, pained sound, and when Azhdaha finally looked down at him, his eyes were wide and shimmered gold in a way Azhdaha had only seen a few times before, and had hoped never to see again. He watched as the gold pooled in the corners of Morax’s beautiful, beautiful eyes, and brushed away the gilded tear as it fell. “Don’t cry,” Azhdaha whispered, stricken. This was his fault, wasn’t it? He should not have been so callous with his words earlier, not with him. Never with him. Fragile, delicate Morax, who shouldered the burdens and the blame for everyone he had ever met. Morax, who had proved himself strong enough to claim one of Celestia’s bloodstained crowns for himself, but could never handle his own emotions should they prove to be stronger than he. “You never cry. This is not worth your tears.” I am not worth your tears, was what he had wanted to say, but that would only upset him more. “What’s done is done. I am here now.”

Morax shook his head weakly, laying his head back against Azhdaha’s chest. “I did that to you.” His tears hissed as they dripped onto Azhdaha’s Pyro-infused skin, leaving nothing but a faint residue behind. He gave Morax a gentle squeeze, pressing a clumsy kiss to the crown of his head—the first he had initiated since his unsealing.

(It felt good. Right .)

(He should do it more often, shouldn’t he?)

“I did that, suspecting that you would be awake and aware for at least part of it. I took away your ability to feel . And I do not think I apologized for it,” Morax whispered, closing his eyes. “This, I think, is what woke me. The guilt of leaving you to rot instead of putting you first, and the guilt of knowing that if I had the chance to make a choice anew, I would follow in my past self’s footsteps with little hesitation. And for that, I am sorry. You did not deserve your punishment, and you did not deserve a mate who could not put you first.”

He blamed himself?

Of course he did. I…even as I deserved it. I deserved everything he gave me and more. I killed his people—I nearly killed him , and he worries that the consequences of my actions were too harsh? My hands are forever stained with the blood of mortals whose only crimes were ignorance and human greed. I deserved nothing less than what he gave me.

Was the guilt he felt from his (no, Jiu’s , he had promised Madame Ping that he would do his best to keep them separate) actions a type of karmic debt, of sorts? In the dawning years of his imprisonment, he had wanted nothing more than to be released, Morax’s golden chains squeezing tight around his soul. But now that he had been freed, he could not help but feel that the chains had never left. He could feel them weighing him down even now, trailing behind him like a mockery of the golden ornaments he used to wear on festival days.

(He had performed, once upon a time, and the bells tied to his horns would chime sweetly as he sang with the earth and the ores within. Delicate gold chains trailed through his hair, around his arms and over the curves of his hips and tail. Azhdaha could almost remember the notes, and the joy they had brought him.)

Atone, the voices whispered. Atone, for your sins will never leave you .

At least underground he knew that the state of the world was just. Here, above, he could feel the sun on his skin and see the flowers and taste Morax on his lips and tongue. He should be happy.

But Azhdaha was not, but he was trying , and that was what mattered most. His eyes prickled with heat at the thought, and—

“—hdaha? Azhdaha, my heart, what’s wrong?” He felt a stone hand cup his cheek and brush under his eye just as Azhdaha had done earlier, gentle and careful and present.

When he reached up to cover Morax’s smaller hand with his own, his fingers came away sticky with sap.

He was crying. 

“Oh,” Azhdaha whispered. “Oh, I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to.” He tried for a smile, a fleeting, desperate thing as he grasped for a semblance of calm, for a chance to pretend that everything was okay. “You are the one who needs comfort. This is not about me. I’m okay, Morax.”

“You’re crying, Azhdaha.” Morax would not break eye contact, not even to wipe away the golden tears still spilling down his cheeks, and so Azhdaha did it for him.

“So are you, Morax,” he murmured back. “Now we match.”

Morax let out a choked laugh, shaking his head in wonder. “So kind to me. Even now, you are ever so kind to me. You do not need to pretend, Azhdaha. I understand if you cannot forgive me for my actions, or if you feel that I betrayed you, or that you should never have stood by my side if this is how I repaid your devotion—”

“Hush,” Azhdaha said softly, leaning close to press his forehead to Morax’s. He felt his breath on his cheek, slow and stuttering. “Do not say such things. You did nothing wrong.”

Morax’s brow furrowed, lips parting in shock. “Azhdaha—”

“Let me finish. Please.” It was not in Azhdaha’s nature to interrupt another, the older dragon far preferring to listen and wait for his turn to speak, but he would not stand for Morax blaming himself for Azhdaha’s sins any longer. Even if it meant he had to stun the ever-eloquent Morax into silence. “ I broke the contract. I killed fifty-three miners and an adeptus. I had to face the Wrath of the Rock.”

( Jiu , he sternly reminded himself.)

“You did what you had to, Morax. For the good of Liyue, for a god’s first duty will always be to their people. Doubly so for you, who had bount himself so tightly to the protection of Liyue with his contracts, who had left himself no room to maneuver from fear of bringing his people to their doom.”

“A foolishly worded contract, borne of fear and panic and the folly of my youth.”

“It was a response to the traumas of the Archon War, Morax. Do not blame yourself for its suboptimal wording.”

“But it was the only reason I could not save you, and had I not written it better you would have never left my side.”

“ Hush. ” Azhdaha pressed a finger to his lips. “I will hear none of it. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I kissed you for the first time. I knew that I would always be your second love after Liyue, Morax, and I married you anyway. I could have seen this coming from the peak of Sal Vindagnyr, and yet I chose to love you and mark you as mine nonetheless. You belong to me, as I do to you. What does it matter if you love something more than me, when our fates have been twined together for eternity? I bear no grudge against you. How could I? How could I, when you could shatter me into a thousand pieces and I'd ask for more if it meant you would grace me again with your touch? You own me—healing mind, tired body, sprouting soul. You are my judge, jury, and executioner, and I will take everything you give me and love you all the more for it.”

“Too kind,” Morax breathed again. “Too kind to me, and there you go again, saying strange things that make little sense.”

Azhdaha could not help but laugh softly. “This is what you said when I first told you I loved you.”

“It was, yes. You have not changed in this regard, you silly, foolish dragon.”

“Does it please you, Morax?”

Morax laughed, and Azhdaha could not breathe for a moment from its perfection. “It does,” he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. Azhdaha wiped away the final remnants of Morax’s tears as Morax did the same for him, and their breaths mingled once more as their lips met in a kiss. Morax’s hands were cool against Azhdaha’s chest as he pressed closer, the soft fabric of his sleeves tickling Azhdaha’s skin as he tilted his head to taste him better on his tongue. Azhdaha made a surprised little noise at Morax’s boldness but melted, offering himself freely and letting him take all he wanted from him.

“ Mine ,” Morax breathed once they parted, the familiar, comforting possessiveness in his eyes once more. It was in their nature as dragons to covet and hoard that which they found beautiful for themselves, and their lovers were no exception. “I will not let you go so easily again, my heart, my treasure, my other half.”

“Yours,” he agreed, smiling, because the reverse was true as well. “Forever and always, yours. Even when the days are difficult, I will remain with you. I will not be torn away so easily again, my sun, my love, my fated mate.” He brushed his knuckles against Morax’s cheek, properly looping their tails together. “Do not blame yourself. We are victims of circumstance, and nothing more.”

Morax hummed softly, leaning into his touch. “Do you believe that? Do you still blame yourself, Azhdaha?”

He huffed a laugh, smile taking the form of something a little sadder. “How can I not? But I am trying. I am trying to forgive myself for what Jiu did to me and I am breathing a little easier than before. I can look at you and smile, and find pleasure in the sun on my skin and the colors gracing my tail. Look, I have dropped so many flowers of so many colors, when before I could only have gray.”

(White for mourning, deep pink for love, yellow for hope. Blue-gray for sadness, deep amber-brown for protection, lavender for worry, and others that had been scattered by the wind. The pale shades of pink that meant happiness and joy and euphoria were not there, but they would blossom once again given time once the glass was gone and the fog nowhere to be found.)

“Those pillars I had told you about have long since crumbled to dust—Ping called them a ‘maladaptive coping mechanism’, just as your relationship with your work used to be. Once we are safe, we must thank them for their protection, and bid them farewell when they begin to hold us back. Have we not come so far?” Azhdaha wondered. “You have left your duties as Archon behind, and I am leaving behind a mindset that serves me well no longer. We are different.”

“We are,” Morax echoed. “You…you have noticed?”

“Of course I have. You look good, my sun." Azhdaha gently cupped Morax's cheek in his palm, relishing in the endearment he had not used in so long. "Freed from your burdens. You seem happier. You smile more. You’re less tired."

Morax hesitated. "I’m…I’m no longer completely the Morax you married, my heart."

He smiled. "Are you pleased with who you are, my love? Tell me, are you happy with who you’ve become?"

"…I am. I am happier, Azhdaha."

"Then I relish the chance of getting to fall in love with you all over again."

He gave him a hopelessly fond look, smiling with his eyes half-closed. “There you go, spouting nonsense again.”

“You are not the only one who has changed, Morax. My imprisonment has altered me. I am no longer completely the Azhdaha you married, my sun. I know not the person I will settle into as I heal.”

Morax cupped Azhdaha’s cheeks in his hands, pulling him down for the barest brush of lips. “Then I will stay. I will walk by your side and hold your hand as you heal, and it will be my privilege to love every iteration of Azhdaha I meet until you are happy with who you have become.”

Was this what it felt like to feel loved? Was this what it was like to remember, and know that you would never be left behind again?

“Thank you.” There were so many emotions—peace, relief, love, contentedness, warmth in his chest—and Azhdaha wanted Morax to see all of them.

Morax’s smile only widened, then softened. “Thank you . I’m sorry for worrying you. You must be tired after all of that.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “You must be tired too, Morax. You handle emotional talks just as well as a Dendro slime in a forest fire.”

He laughed. “Yes. That is also correct. What time is it?”

“Five, my sun.”

“...I have work.”

“You will be sleeping in late. I will make you breakfast when you wake, and you will spend today with me.”

“But—”

Azhdaha mustered his best sad, pleading look. “You would deny your husband this?”

Morax stared, then coughed, flustered. “I—well, I have duties —”

“What about your duties to me ? You have a thousand years of affection to make up for, Morax.”

“...very well, you ridiculous creature. You win.” He glared playfully, narrowing his eyes. “Do not expect me to bend so easily next time.”

Sad expression evaporating almost instantly, Azhdaha gave him a bright, sunny grin. “Of course.”

Morax only rolled his eyes, and soon they had returned to their bed. Azhdaha on his back, and Morax a comfortable weight half-sprawled over his chest.

Perfect, Azhdaha mused, a sleepy grin on his face. He was asleep not a minute later.

(In the pleasant haze surrounding their conversation, the half-drunk mugs of tea had been forgotten. Azhdaha would only discover this the next morning, and Morax drank old, reheated tea for the first time in centuries.

“Why?” Azhdaha asked, flabbergasted. “ Why? That cannot taste good to you, you are so particular about your tea—”

“You spent precious energy making this for me. I will enjoy it to the fullest.” Morax set the mug down, then pulled his mate down by the collar. “Taste,” he ordered, before kissing him.

(The tea did taste good, to his surprise. But Morax made it taste even sweeter.)

“Well?” Morax asked once they had separated, a little smile on his lips.

“It was good,” Azhdaha laughed. “But I think I’ll have to have another taste. Just to make sure.”

“Oh? Then be my guest.”

Needless to say, Morax did not go to work that day.)

————————

It had been a year.

A year of light.

A year of whispered conversations and bright laughter, broken only by the gloomy days that were growing fewer and farther between.

A year of growth, of healing, chasing away the darkness and weights that had held Azhdaha captive for so long.

A year of companionship , which was perhaps the greatest boon of all, knowing that no one would ever tear Azhdaha from his side no matter what they did.

Morax watched the light fall across Azhdaha’s sleeping face, filtering in through their bedroom windows and painting him in gold. He couldn’t help but smile—he shifted from where he had pillowed his head on Azhdaha’s chest to look at him better. He trailed his fingers lightly over the curve of his husband’s cheek, the arch of his brow, the part of his lips, the corners of his eyes. 

And then those lovely eyes fluttered open, squinting against the morning light that made them glow with life that for a time had left them bereft.

(He had carved those eyes. They looked just like they had been on the day Azhdaha beheld the sun for the first time, beheld him for the first time.

No longer were they broken-bottle amber, they shone like the cor-lapis they were made from, full of light and a lust for life and so, so much emotion.

He was so, so lucky to have this again.)

“Good morning,” Azhdaha rasped, voice thick from sleep. He blinked blearily up at his mate, squinting even harder than before. “My sun, I cannot see you.”

Morax chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “No, I cannot imagine you can.” He plucked Azhdaha’s half-moon glasses from the nightstand, getting off him and rolling onto his side. Azhdaha copied him, tangling their legs together. He rested a large, warm hand on the curve of Morax’s hip as he leaned in, allowing Morax to place his glasses on his nose. 

“Better?” he asked, tucking an errant lock of hair behind Azhdaha’s ear. The sight always made him smile—Azhdaha’s curls were always a mess in the mornings.

“Better,” Azhdaha confirmed, then frowned. “What are you smiling about?”

“Your hair is a mess.” Morax tugged on a curl, watching it spring back and flop over Azhdaha’s face. “I suppose I take joy in being the only person to be able to see it.”

“Who else would see it?” Azhdaha grumbled. “That idiotic ginger of yours? I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to challenge me yet, with his lust for battle. I should make him a pathetic orange smear on the ground for daring to covet what isn’t his.” The hand on Morax’s waist tugged him closer, and he spared a glance downwards. He couldn’t help but laugh at the acidic green flowers on Azhdaha’s tail, displacing the softer greens and deep pinks that had been there before.

“Are you getting jealous again, my heart?”

“ Yes, ” came the frustrated response. “You know I always do. I can’t stand it when people look at you like they want to steal you away. First it was Osial, and now this Tartaglia imbecile, who will it be next? Perhaps I should simply glare at all the Hydro men until they go away.”

“Now, there’s no need for that,” Morax smiled fondly, leaving a quick kiss on his nose. Azhdaha’s grumpy expression was precious, and the dragon in him was always pleased at being cherished like this. “They are thousands of years too late, my heart. He fancies himself competition, but you are already the victor of this particular contest. I would not have it any other way.”

(He was well aware that possessiveness was not a desirable trait in a human coupling. Morax had seen it fracture relationships and destroy futures, but he and Azhdaha were not humans. They were covetous creatures by nature and this was simply how they loved.

Quite frankly, Morax would have been insulted if Azhdaha had not bristled at the potential threat to his claim over him. But he had, and the part of him ruled by his instincts preened at the affirmation that Morax was still precious to him.)

“Good,” Azhdaha huffed, the annoyance in his eyes softening slightly. “I refuse to let you go.”

“And I would be terribly offended should you have tried.”

“...I still would like to hit him, though.”

Morax laughed. “Please do not. As much as his affections are wholly unwelcomed, I still enjoy his company as a friend. My former colleague in Snezhnaya would also not be very pleased with me if something were to happen to him.”

Azhdaha let out a long-suffering sigh. “I will not beat him to a pulp. Unless he asks for a spar, in which case all bets are off.”

“I suppose that is the best I will be getting out of you.”

“Of course. Let us speak no longer of such... unpleasant topics.” He scowled, expression scrunched up in distaste, but it softened into a little smile after Morax pecked him on the lips. “Do you not have work today?”

“I took today off.” He ran a hand through Azhdaha’s hair, idly twisting the brown and gold locks around his fingers. “Today is an important day, yes?”

Azhdaha’s brow furrowed, and Morax watched in amusement as the older dragon tried to recall what, exactly, the date was. “It is not our wedding anniversary.”

“No, it is not.”

“It is not your birthday, my birthday, Ganyu’s birthday, Xiao’s birthday, Lantern Rite, White Day, or any major celebration.”

“You are correct.”

“Then…ah, my sun, I seem to have forgotten.”

“Perhaps you simply have not been keeping track of the days, then.” Morax smiled. “It has been three-hundred and sixty-five days since you came back to me, Azhdaha. It is the anniversary of your return to Liyue.”

Azhdaha sucked in a quiet breath, eyes widening behind his spectacles. “Oh,” he breathed faintly. “So it is. I have not been keeping track.”

“Will you open your forge today?”

“Absolutely not. I am not opening shop today, not when I have you with me and you’ve taken the day off.” He tucked his face against Morax’s neck, and the hand that had been playing with Azhdaha’s curls moved to pet the top of his head instead. “I am no longer insane . Though I doubt I had ever been insane enough to forgo spending time with you in favor of work. ” There was a slight bite to his tone, but the kiss pressed to his pulse point was enough to make Morax forgive him for it. Besides. Azhdaha was not entirely wrong.

“What would you like to do today then, my heart? The day is yours to celebrate.”

“...mm.” Azhdaha seemed to be lost in thought for several moments, then murmured, “I hear Nantianmen is beautiful this time of year.”

Morax’s hand stilled. “...you wish to return?” He felt more than saw Azhdaha’s answering nod, his mate’s slow exhale hot against his skin.

“I think I need to lay it all to rest. I—I am doing so much better but I think I am ready for closure. Nantianmen is my home, after all. I wish to find joy in it once more someday, when joy decides to return to me.”

“There is no need to rush. You know this.”

“I do. But Nantianmen was once the heart of my territory. I ruled my beloved Vishaps from there, Morax, for thousands and thousands of years even if I cannot remember a second of it.” Azhdaha reached for Morax’s hand and he met him halfway, slipping his smaller fingers between Azhdaha’s bigger ones and squeezing. “If home was a person, Morax, mine would always be you. But if home was a place, I would choose Nantianmen over anywhere else on Teyvat. I was hatched there, I was raised there, I claimed my birthright and ate the fruit of my predecessor to take their place as the Lord Sovereign of Geo. I held that position for millennia, and I unofficially hold it even now. My mind may have forgotten when my memories of my past were stripped from me, but my soul remembers . I cannot allow a paltry thousand years to color my emotions towards it, not forever. Not when I know that I have lived far, far longer than that. And I want to see my people again. It has been far, far too long, Morax.” He huffed a laugh. “Azhi especially. They must be worried sick.”

Morax hummed, bringing their joined hands to his lips. “It is to be expected. They were your second-in-command, after all. They are close to you.”

“They are. You understand, then, why I must go back.”

“My heart, I was never going to stop you.”

————————

The walk to Nantianmen was spent in silence, much like the walk from it a year ago.

But while that silence had been eerie and disquieting, this one was comfortable. Azhdaha was present with him. Morax could look into his eyes and see him, not like before.

(Seeing Azhdaha’s eyes so empty was the first sign something was wrong, back then. Morax hadn’t known what to do, so he had pressed on and hoped it would resolve itself with time. That had been a foolish mistake, and now he knew better than to let something like that go.)

As the Dragon-Queller came into view, Azhdaha stopped. A series of emotions flickered over his face, and he took a deep breath. Morax wordlessly slipped his hand into his, leading him forward.

“It’s beautiful,” Azhdaha murmured. Morax had stopped near the stream, and let Azhdaha’s hand leave his as his mate took small, hesitant steps forward. At one point he glanced back at Morax, biting his lip, but Morax only smiled warmly. “Go on,” he whispered. “It’s alright, Azhdaha.”

Azhdaha jerked his head in a nod, facing forward once more and squaring his shoulders. His steps grew longer and more confident the further he got, until he was flat-out running for the base of the tree.

Morax settled on a nearby rock, watching him go. Pride swelled in his chest as Azhdaha slowed to a stop, gazing up at the branches. He has come so far. He couldn’t see what Azhdaha’s expression was, but he could see the color of his flowers as he placed a hand on the trunk.

They had been predominantly a mustard yellow on the walk here, the color of nervousness and so very different from the golden-yellow of hope .

Now the yellows seemed to be falling away as Azhdaha let himself feel.

White for mourning, blue-gray for sadness, crimson for anger. Oh, Azhdaha. I’m sorry.

He watched as Azhdaha began to weep, pressing his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. Morax hated seeing him in such anguish, but—

Something stopped him from approaching. Azhdaha had to do this by himself. So he stayed on his rock, and his patience was rewarded as Azhdaha’s tail bloomed anew.

Slowly but surely, it was overtaken by a pale, pearlescent blue that Morax had never seen before, dotted with golden-yellow. Azhdaha turned to face him, a bittersweet smile gracing his face even as tears poured from his eyes. “Morax,” he laughed, wiping uselessly at his face. “ Morax . I think—I think I got what I needed.”

“Did you not want to see your people?”

“I—” His smile faded into something fragile, shoulders drooping. “I don’t know if they will heed my call. It has been so long—”

Morax tilted his head. “You said it yourself that you have ruled them for millenia upon millenia, and that one thousand years was a paltry thing compared to your many years of life. Why should they not heed your call? Sing for them, Azhdaha. Let them know that their Dragon-King has returned to Liyue.”

“But what if—”

“You are being ridiculous. Don’t worry yourself over this. Your geovishaps are fiercely loyal to you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do not make me come over there and smack sense into you. I certainly have no shortage of meteors should you prove to be stubborn.”

(Morax would not actually throw a meteor at his husband. Perhaps a large boulder, at worst. But he could hear Azhdaha’s little snort of laughter, and he smiled.)

“There will be no need for that,” Azhdaha said hurriedly, waving a hand at him. “Please do not flatten Nantianmen.”

“Then sing, my heart. Sing with the stone and the ores and the earth like you used to. Harmonize with their songs, and call your people to you.”

Azhdaha bit his lip, indecision warring on his features, before he closed his eyes and nodded. “I am their king. I am the Lord Sovereign of Geo, and my vishaps have no reason to ignore me.”

Morax gave him an encouraging smile. “Go on.” 

He took a deep breath, then knelt, sun-warmed stone against his palms, and sang. Quietly and haltingly at first, as if he wasn’t sure if he remembered how to sing all the notes of the earth’s song. But gradually, Azhdaha’s voice grew louder and more confident as he coaxed melodies from the ores below and pushed them deeper, calling his people to him. Deep, bellowing notes resonated with the rock below, a song of healing and home.

The younger dragon watched, as he did not know how to hear the ores sing, for all that he had dominion over them. Azhdaha was an ancient thing, though he did not remember, and the ores and the soil had always loved him more, offering him knowledge and companionship through music. But Azhdaha’s voice was beautiful, and it was all Morax needed. Few beings of the earth would disagree with him. 

It wasn’t long before the ground began to shake.

Azhdaha’s voice hitched, but he kept going, calling out almost desperately to the people he had so dearly missed. 

One by one, the geovishaps surfaced, settling around him to listen. None dared block Morax’s view of his mate, but filled the rest of the space around the Dragon-Queller. When there was no more room, more geovishaps emerged from the cliffs above to answer their Lord’s summons. Primo Geovishaps sat beside regular vishaps sat beside the little hatchlings, and when Azhdaha looked up from the earth he stared in shock at the sheer number of his people who had come. “You came,” he whispered, near-breathless. “You came .”

“Idiot,” a massive Electro Primo Geovishap rumbled, narrowing their eyes. Morax had to fight back the urge to laugh. “Of course we came, Lord Sovereign. Are you daft?”

Azhi was clearly not impressed.

“I—I didn’t think —” Azhdaha cut himself off with a hysterical giggle, throwing his head back in joyous laughter. He gazed around himself, wonder in his eyes. “I thought you would have believed that I had abandoned you.”

“Do you think we are stupid?” Azhi demanded. “It is not in your nature to do such a thing. Abandon us? You would rather die.” They shook their head. “Now let us greet you properly, for our Dragon-King has returned!”

Their roar was echoed in earnest by all those present, and Azhdaha whirled around to beam at Morax, a beatific smile on his face.

(Morax had not seen him this happy since before his Sealing. He had missed his joy.)

(...joy?)

He could only stare at the pale pink blossoms covering Azhdaha’s tail. “ Azhdaha, ” he breathed, hands coming up to cover his mouth. Morax met his eyes, gold to gold, and whatever emotion Azhdaha found in them made his breath hitch. “Azhdaha, look .”

Azhdaha blinked uncomprehendingly, then froze as he followed Morax’s gaze to his tail.

“This is what joy feels like, isn’t it?” he breathed, voice fragile as glass. “I…I am happy, aren’t I? I’m free .”

“You are, you are ,” Morax laughed wetly, running towards him and Azhdaha choked back a sob and threw his arms around him. Morax hugged him back just as fiercely, whispering “I’m so proud of you. So, so proud, Azhdaha. Oh, my love, you’ve done so well .”

“I love you,” Azhdaha sniffled. “Thank you. Thank you . I couldn’t have done it without you, my sun, I—without you I’d probably be dead and I would have missed you so, so much, and—mmh—”

Later, neither of them would remember who initiated the kiss, only that it was perfect and had tasted salty-sweet from their tears of joy and relief from knowing that everything was okay .

(The last of the damage was gone. There was no more fog, there were no more pillars, there was no more glass. Azhdaha was free. He was healed .)

Later that day, Morax parted from him to watch the geovishaps’ celebrations from afar. Azhdaha had taken his true form for the first time since his unsealing, and his people swarmed around him, over him, under him. It seemed that they did not want to let him go again, either.

He smiled fondly as he watched a Geovishap Hatchling clamber up into Azhdaha’s horns, squeaking triumphantly as they looked down at their peers.

He laughed as Azhi seemed to scold them in their mother tongue, Azhdaha nudging his second-in-command gently and getting them to leave the child be.

And when his mate turned to look at him with nothing but happiness and delight, Morax knew that Azhdaha’s dark days had come to an end.

Oh, he knew that not every day would be a happy one, but that was the nature of life.

But for now? He was happy, Azhdaha was happy, and that was all that mattered.

(Nothing would tear them apart again. Not time, not gods, not even Celestia. Morax lightly touched his chest, feeling emptiness where his Gnosis once rested. A storm was brewing, he knew this. He did not know how the future would unfold, but…

Whatever it was, they would face it together.)