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Kaeya Alberich has an open relationship with The Rules. He knows them very well--respecting and upholding The Rules is a big part of his job, after all--and one might even say that the only person who knows, respects, and upholds The Rules more ardently is Acting Grandmaster Jean. What most of people of Mondstadt don't know, however, is that the biggest reason Kaeya has made himself so intimately familiar with The Rules is so he can get away with breaking them.
For example, one of the most important rules in the city is that climbing the statue of Barbatos in the square of the cathedral is strictly forbidden. There is the odd special occasion during which someone stands in the cupped hands of their beloved Archon, but even then, they are always lifted with the use of Anemo or some other artificial means; the physical act of climbing the statue is still avoided.
This, however, is why Kaeya feels he is not actually breaking any rules at all as he scales the high tower atop Favonius Headquarters. Cresting the gable, he pulls himself up onto the flat-topped spire and gazes northward as the sky turns inky indigo with nightfall. He had discovered many years ago that if one climbed to the top of the highest part of the roof, one could leap from the pinnacle and glide into the square, to land neatly in the cradle of Barbatos' hands, no climbing necessary. After all, the rule that should never be broken can surely be bent.
He has, perhaps predictably, always enjoyed Weinlesefest. Even before he developed a taste for actual wine, growing up as the ward of a winemaker instilled a deep appreciation for the craft in him at a young age, and the idea of a whole festival rooted in friends and family coming together to create something had always left a warm feeling in his chest. It's been a few years since Weinlesefest has been celebrated, though; last year the funding just hadn't been there to host such a large event, and the year before that the city was still recovering from the effects of Dvalin's wrath, so the announcement that the festival would take place for certain this year has had all of Mondstadt in particularly high spirits for the past few weeks.
Something about it just isn't sitting right with him this time around, though. Where once there had been warmth and nostalgia, he's found a sort of heartache weighing on him this year, and if he's really honest with himself (something he avoids whenever possible), he knows exactly what it's about.
Taking a deep breath, Kaeya launches himself from the rooftop, his glider unfurling with a whoosh, catching him so that he can safely make his way toward the statue. Despite the bustle in the city these past few weeks, he knows he's unlikely to be seen--the square is never crowded past sunset, and most people are still over in Springvale, enjoying the new wines, the last-minute sales at the vendor stalls, and the general good company of their compatriots before the breakdown and clean-up begins tomorrow.
Gazing down on the flowers that decorate the square, white and festive with ribbons, at the buntings strung between the arches of the colonnade in red, yellow, and blue, he soars toward the statue, feeling far too heavy for the wings at his back, and when the silver-grey stone of Barbatos' hands appears beneath him, he carefully floats downward to make a soft, gentle landing. The statue is tremendously well-kept, maintained and cleaned often despite its size. He knows Jean and Barbara usually work together to facilitate this upkeep, but even taking the power of Visions into account, it's still an impressive undertaking. Even so, the monument wears its age up close: the stone is weathered, rounded smooth and worn down in many places, and though from a distance the face of the Anemo Archon still looks pristine, there are visible cracks and erosion across the nose, around the edges of the hood. He stares at the statue's visage for a long moment, wondering idly how no one seems to have noticed the uncanny resemblance between the image depicted here and the face of the cheerful well-loved bard known throughout the city. Perhaps they do see it, for that matter, and erroneously think it naught but a simple homage.
"Phew! I really do need a bit of a makeover when you get this close, don't I?"
Kaeya startles so viciously he nearly stumbles over the edge of the statue's hands, dropping to a crouch to lower his center of gravity and grabbing one of the monument's thumbs to steady himself.
"Fuck's sake, Venti," he gasps, his heart pounding in his throat as he turns over his shoulder to glower at the bard where he stands behind him, perched effortlessly on the fingertips of his own tribute. Smearing one hand down his face, Kaeya shifts to just sit down rather than trying to get back to his feet on his now-wobbly legs. "How did you even get up he--" He stops and waves a hand. "Never mind." It doesn't really matter; Venti has a way of just showing up in impossible places anyway. "Can I help you?" he asks instead, and Venti looks thoughtful.
"Hm, funny," he says, "I was about to ask you the same thing." Kaeya's eyebrows inch upward in inquiry, and Venti laughs. "You did come to my statue looking quite pensive, did you not?" he asks. "I assumed that meant you were in need of some guidance."
Kaeya inhales sharply as if to give an indignant response, then just sighs and closes his mouth and shakes his head.
"There's... I'm not lost," he says, though he's not sure if he means it. "I just came here to think, I guess."
Venti makes a soft, sing-song noise of contemplation, then sits down across from Kaeya so they are each seated in one of the statue's palms. Kaeya stares at him for a moment, puzzled, but Venti doesn't speak, and instead closes his eyes and leans back on his hands, a gentle smile on his face. Kaeya sighs, then sort of mimics the posture, tilting his head back to stare up into the star-dotted infinity above them.
He doesn't really need guidance. He knows exactly what the problem is: Weinlesefest hasn't felt the same since Crepus died and Diluc left Mondstadt and his entire life crumbled like a sandcastle swept away by the tide. At least, that was how it felt at the time. The castle has been rebuilt, and maybe it's even bigger and better now than it was then--his circle of friends has grown, his circle of contacts has grown, and he feels more welcome here now than he ever has before, truth be told. Despite the demons that trail in his wake, he made a promise a long time ago to protect this city, this nation, its people, its ideals, no matter the cost, and he likes to think he's done a fair job of that. Despite a rocky start all those years ago, when he could barely speak the common language and his dark skin had been quite the topic of discussion among some residents, he likes to think he's won most of the people over by now.
The problem is that he doesn't want to have just won people over. He doesn't want to just be The Adopted Outlander who worked his ass off to make a good impression and was accepted into the fold. The problem is that Weinlesefest is a festival about family, and he's lost his. Twice. Maybe even three times, if he counts how hard he, a hopelessly devastated 17-year-old, had latched onto Varka in the wake of Crepus' death, desperately seeking to fill the void every father figure he's ever had has left behind... only to be abandoned again (and not even left any damn horses). The problem is that no matter what he does, or says, or how hard he works... he's never going to be a part of Mondstadt the way he wants to be... because while his heart resides wholly here in this city, this nation of freedom and song, his soul is still tethered to Khaenri'ah, and even if it were possible to sever those ties... he's not certain that's the answer, anyway.
The problem is that he's a man trapped in limbo between his homeland and the land he calls home, and how could he ever truly forsake either? Everyone knows a tree with no roots will die even more quickly than one with no branches.
He loves Mondstadt. He loves Mondstadt with all of his heart. All the terror and sorrow he'd felt when he had first been left on the grounds of the Ragnvindr estate had quickly turned to adoration and gratitude when it really sank in that they saw him as part of their family. Even through the echoes of grief that clutch at his heart every time he gazes over the Winery grounds now, his affection for and devotion to Mondstadt burn so much stronger than his diffidence, and he knows there are people here who love him, too. Jean, Adelinde, dare he even say the Traveler? But while things are more okay now with Diluc than they've been for a long time, he isn't quite confident they'll ever be right again. And so who can he even ask for advice? Who can he even confide this in? If even Diluc, with whom he had shared the closest imaginable bond for all their formative years, had so thoroughly rejected him for the truth, he can't even fathom what anyone else would do. He doesn't want to think about it at all.
'You are our people's hope,' his father had told him, and he hadn't known what it meant at the time. He still isn't sure what it means, but he can't just give up. He can't just throw that away, throw them away. But every year that has come since Crepus' death, since Diluc's departure and return, since he watched the mirror of his life shatter apart and leave a Vision in his hands for the trouble... suddenly, this year's Weinlesefest has felt like a grim reminder that as much as he loves Mondstadt, the stars of Teyvat are not for him, have never been for him, or his people, and never will be.
'The people of Teyvat are envious,' so goes a bedtime story he vaguely recalls, 'for while they can only gaze upon the stars from so endlessly far beneath them, the people of Khaenri'ah are born with stars in our very eyes. We carry with us that which the gods of Teyvat have put eternally out of their people's reach. They hate us, their gods hate us, for stealing the stars from their skies and keeping them with us wheresoever we go.'
Kaeya lifts a hand and presses his palm against his uncovered eye until black and white static crackles against the inside of his eyelid.
"How did Razor's homebrew efforts go?" he asks finally, suddenly unable to stand the silence any longer.
"Quite nicely, I think," Venti says without missing a beat, as if he'd known precisely the instant Kaeya would speak, and already had an answer ready to go. "Everyone put so much thought into their ingredients; I can't wait to see how the wine tastes once it's fully matured." Venti smiles brightly. "Of course, all the ingredients wouldn't have done us much good without the barrel," he adds, and Kaeya hefts an attempt at a laugh.
"I'm sure Master Diluc will be pleased to learn his generous donation has been put to such good use."
"Actually, you're the one Razor seemed more appreciative of," Venti says, and Kaeya makes a bit of a face.
"Razor's a good kid," he says, "but, I mean... we don't know each other particularly well. The barrel wasn't mine to give, anyway; it's not like he owes me anything."
"Mm, not that sort of gratitude," Venti says with a shake of his head. "It isn't about the objects themselves, it's about the effort that went into them."
Kaeya purses his lips. "I'm not the cooper, either, for the record."
"Well, now you're just being difficult," Venti says, sticking his tongue out a little. "That isn't what I meant, and you know it."
This time Kaeya's laugh is a bit less strained, and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Maybe a little difficult," he says. "Well, I'm glad he found some answers, at least."
Oh. He hadn't really meant to emphasize it that way.
Venti meets his eye, and somehow Kaeya feels very small when Venti looks at him this way. It's natural, he supposes, to feel small when gazed upon by a god, however friendly said god may be, but after a moment he has to look away, turning his attention back to the stars overhead. Ultimately, they make him feel no less small, but they're a bit less pointed about it, in any case.
"I know what you're upset about," Venti says after a moment's silence, and Kaeya chuckles.
"Do you, now?"
"It can be difficult, sometimes, to be around people you feel are blessed in ways you are not," Venti says, and Kaeya hates how perfectly he has encompassed the issue. "That sort of envy is normal, you know?"
Kaeya scoffs and looks at him again, something nettled in his expression. "I'm not a child," he says. "You needn't speak to me like one."
"Oh, but you are!" Venti says with a bright laugh, leaning forward and fixing Kaeya with a smile so warm he's quite certain it could melt his Cryo Vision. "You are a Child of Mondstadt, Kaeya Alberich," he says firmly, "and I am wounded you still don't believe that. How many of my beloved children have the pleasure of buying me a drink so often as you do?"
One of Kaeya's eyebrows has arched all the way to his hairline in sheer incredulity.
"Venti you're broke," he says flatly. "You'll let anyone offering buy you a drink. There was literally just an entire festival the whole point of which was everyone buying you a drink."
Venti grimaces. "Okay, that was a poor example." Kaeya can't help the laugh that escapes him, and Venti scoots a little closer. "All right, then," he says, "how many of my children do you suppose can say, they have the privilege to bend my ear in the gloaming of the day?"
"Verse, now, really?"
"My bold, brave knight, you are afraid of nothing on the field of battle, and yet you are paralyzed by the intangible fear of your own past," Venti says then, in that infuriatingly wise and tender voice he weaponizes when he really needs to get through to someone. And damn him for knowing how well it works.
"The past doesn't scare me, Venti," Kaeya says, shifting where he sits and dangling his legs over the side of the statue's hands, his back to the bard. He can't look at him as he adds, knowing full-well that Venti already knows, "The future does."
"And why is that?" Venti asks. "The past is immutable, unable to change. The future is yours to rearrange!"
Kaeya flops backward, folding his arms behind his head and peering up at the heavens above them, kicking his feet gently so they swing where they hang over the edge. There's another moment of long, not entirely uncomfortable silence, and then Kaeya sighs again.
"How do you make a choice?" he asks, and then holds one arm up to stop Venti from making the dry, pedantic response he's quite certain the bard has in the chamber. "I don't just mean choosing between dandelion wine or cider," he says, "I mean when the choice is really important." He folds his arm beneath his head again. "Even gods make choices," he reasons, "so what advice would a god give to a lowly mortal like myself, when faced with making a dire choice?"
"Mm, that's a bit unfair, don't you think?" Venti says, and Kaeya cranes his neck to try and look at him briefly. "The choices made by the Seven are..." His voice trails off a bit, uncharacteristically reflective, and then he sighs softly. "Even gods can make bad decisions," he says after a moment, "and when that happens, it can affect the whole world. Immortality is not infallibility, you know?"
"I'm not asking you to make a choice for me," he says, turning his eye back to the stars, "I'm just asking how you make a choice. When you have to pick between two things... two things you may, in fact, love equally. Two things you may be equally beholden to. How would you choose between them?"
"Well, if that were the case," Venti says, and Kaeya hears him shift carefully and then flop down beside him, their shoulders touching and the bard's shorter legs now also hanging over the edge of the statue's hands, "I think I wouldn't choose at all!"
"That's cheating, bard."
"Is it?" Venti laughs. "Don't you think maybe that's too narrow a perspective?"
"What broader perspective is there?" Kaeya asks, befuddled. "In one hand I have one thing, and in the other, another. I can only keep one."
"But why?" Venti asks. "Who decided you could only keep one?"
Kaeya frowns, irked that Venti has a point. Somehow, for all his inanity, he always manages to make a point.
"All right," he says, shaking his head, "another situation, then, perhaps? I am at a fork in a path. I have to go either left, or right. I can't go both ways, seeing as how there is only one of me. So which direction do I choose?"
"Once again, you have missed the wider range of possibilities, Sir Kaeya," Venti says, and the night breeze eases past them like a giggle. "And here I always thought you were more clever than that... The fallacy here is the idea that there is only one choice that can be made. You're right that you can only go in one direction at a time, but if you go to the left, and decide you don't like that path, what's stopping you from doubling back and going to the right instead?"
Kaeya snorts. Right, choosing one nation over the other and then backpedaling. That would obviously win him everyone's favor.
"And then, you could always choose the other path."
"Other?"
"Should the road split in twain, to the east or the west, who's to say to go north is instead not best?"
"... North?"
"Or south, I suppose, depending on which direction you came from," Venti says, and Kaeya can practically see the way the bard is scrunching his face, "but that was too many sibilant syllables in the sonnet."
"Show-off," he mutters, laughing softly. "Alliteration notwithstanding... I suppose you make a valid point. Though... leaving the road isn't always a wise decision."
"True," Venti says, "but... the same can ofttimes also be said for staying on the road." A beat. "I guess it just depends on what the unmarked path looks like when you get there, hm?"
"Maybe." Kaeya sits up and braces his hands on either side of his legs, gazing out over the city in the blue of night. "Feels a little like breaking the rules, though."
Venti sits up beside him and swings his feet with gusto. "Maybe," he echoes, "but... you seem quite adept at bending that which cannot be broken."
Kaeya straightens his spine a little, giving Venti a sidelong look--perhaps flouting the rules about this particular monument in the direct presence of the very archon it's dedicated to was somewhat unwise--but the bard seems unperturbed.
They sit in companionable quiet for a few minutes, and then Venti hums softly, leaning forward and making a big of a show of shading his eyes.
"My, Sir Kaeya, it seems someone has missed you," he says, and Kaeya glances at him before squinting to follow his line of sight. Sure enough, a figure dressed in black seems to be climbing the stairs near the Goth Grand, headed toward Headquarters. Really, there's no mistaking who it is--Diluc's hair can probably be seen from the moon--but Kaeya still can't quite believe it. He gives Venti a skeptical look, and the bard just grins and tilts his head, and Kaeya knows he's getting no more answers out of him this night.
With a long-suffering sigh, Kaeya pushes himself over the edge of the statue's hands and lets his glider catch him, sailing downward to drop neatly at the top of the stairs north of Favonius Headquarters just as Diluc crests to the landing. There's a plain-looking bottle in his hands, and a grim, if somewhat unreadable expression on his face as he stares at it instead of the path before him.
"Playing hooky from your night job, Master Diluc?" Kaeya asks coyly and, to his credit, Diluc doesn't startle, but he does quickly look over his shoulder and then straight up before frowning at Kaeya in bafflement.
"Jean needs to put a bell on you," he says gruffly, and Kaeya laughs, quite certain the Traveler has threatened the same thing once or twice.
"Bit late for an evening constitutional," Kaeya says then, "and rather far from home, at that."
"I'm not just out for a stroll," Diluc says, rolling his eyes. "Some of us haven't the time for such leisurely activities."
"My mistake," Kaeya says, splaying a hand over his chest. "Then, what can the Knights of Favonius do for you, Master Diluc? We are most grateful for your generous donation to the festivities, so if there's anything--"
"The Traveler said you weren't at the Weinlesefest closing ceremonies."
Kaeya's words die on his tongue and his mouth goes dry. Someone did actually miss him, it seems, and this catches him doubly off-guard. "Ah... oh." He clears his throat. "I got sidetracked with an errand," he lies, and Diluc's eyes narrow in that way they always do when he doesn't believe him. ... Which is pretty much all the time, to be fair.
"Well, I'd asked for a message to be relayed to you," Diluc says, "but since you weren't there to receive it, I had to come here myself."
"You had to?" Kaeya echoes, eyebrows lifted, and Diluc scowls at him. "What in the world could possibly be so important as to drive Master Diluc all the way to the city to--"
"This is for you."
"Would you stop interrupting me when I'm patronizing you? It's very rude." Kaeya folds his arms tightly over his chest in annoyance, glowering at the bottle in Diluc's hands, now being offered to him. "What is it?" he asks, an eyebrow arched. "Hardly looks fancy enough to be one of yours. Where's the pomp? The circumstance? The--"
"It's a Thousand-Wind Wine," Diluc says, cutting him off again, and Kaeya physically bites his tongue in vexation. "... Father and I assembled the ingredients for it about a year before..."
Diluc doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't have to.
All the irritation bleeds out of Kaeya's posture, his arms falling slack at his sides and his lips parting in a rare show of shock. He quickly closes his mouth, his teeth clicking together, and he looks at the bottle again, realizing he recognizes it now that he regards it more closely.
'This bottle held the very first wine my father ever made for me.' He can still hear Crepus' voice, bright and warm like the very fire he had so desperately wished to wield. 'One day, this bottle will hold a Thousand-Wind Wine made especially for the two of you.'
He still remembers the way Diluc's face had scrunched up at the very idea of it--even as a child Diluc had never been interested in consuming alcohol, and he'd requested Thousand-Wind Juice instead--but Kaeya had been elated by this promise. It was one of the first times he'd truly felt like part of their family... like he belonged there, and would still be there when the day came he was old enough to drink.
Kaeya looks at Diluc, somehow feeling winded by the sudden realization, and then his gaze falls to the bottle again, and he holds out both hands hesitantly. Diluc unceremoniously places the bottle in his palms and then takes a step back, and Kaeya runs his thumb over the dark, frosted glass. The bottle is quite old, the aubergine-colored glass having gone cloudy long ago, and there's no label, no ingredients list... just an old, cloudy bottle filled with a wine made of memories of a time long past and gone, and Kaeya feels like he can't breathe. He shakes his head slowly and looks up at Diluc again.
"Wh... why?" he asks. "I-I mean why... why now?"
Diluc fidgets, averting his eyes and looking very interested in his gloves suddenly. "I'd forgotten about it," he says stiffly. "It was only when I found one of Father's old recipe journals about a year after I got back, that I remembered." He reaches into the pocket of his coat and removes a folded, yellowed piece of paper. "We wrote the ingredients down," he says, "and buried the cask beneath that stout tree just north of the house. The one where you..."
"--Broke my arm when I was twelve..."
"...broke your arm when you were twelve..."
They speak in stilted unison, and Kaeya bleats a strangled sort of laugh at the memory.
"Father knew I'd never properly appreciate a Thousand-Wind Wine," Diluc says then, meeting Kaeya's eye briefly and then looking interested in his glove again, "so he asked me to help make one for you." He sighs softly and looks at him again. "We were... going to give it to you on your 18th birthday, but..."
Kaeya feels the air leave his lungs again, and closes his eye a moment when he feels a familiar sting gathering in the corners.
"I couldn't really give it to you before," Diluc says after a moment's pause. "The... timing... wasn't right." He fidgets with his hand and then thrusts the yellowed piece of paper toward him. "But Weinlesefest... felt like a good time," he says, "especially since it's the first once since I've been home. I think he... would have wanted you to have it, even in... no." He purses his lips, and it's not really a smile, but it's not not an attempt at a smile. "Especially in his absence," he corrects himself.
Kaeya reaches for the paper, then stops himself and withdraws his hand, shaking his head.
"I... want to see if I can tell for myself," he says with a bit of a grin, and Diluc makes a sound that isn't quite a laugh, but it's close enough. "Ah... th-thank you," he says, and he could kick himself for stammering. There are very few people who can fluster him to the point of inarticulation, but Diluc is probably top of the list. And he knows it, too, the bastard.
"Adelinde wants to know when you're coming for dinner again."
"Eh?"
Kaeya has gone from inarticulate to monosyllabic.
"You heard me." Diluc folds his arms and refuses to make eye contact. "Elzer was disappointed he was out when you and the Traveler stayed for dinner the other night, and so Adelinde has asked that you come for dinner again."
Kaeya feels like the gears in his brain have just ground to a halt, and he's frozen in place, mouth hanging unbecomingly slack. His jaw works soundlessly for a moment, and he inhales, but he can't seem to get his voice to cooperate, and the stinging in his eyes is becoming unbearable. He shifts the bottle to his right hand and tries to casually sweep the heel of his left across his cheekbone to brush moisture away, but he knows it's obvious, it's so obvious, and why can't he get his voice to work?
"Sunday."
Kaeya exhales in a whuff and looks at Diluc again, who is making direct eye contact this time.
"Sun...?" Oh, there's his voice. Three seconds too late to matter.
"You can come on Sunday," he says, and Kaeya suddenly feels like he's twelve all over again, when he'd been afraid his accented use of Common would get him laughed at, and Diluc had so often come to his rescue, grabbing his hand and eagerly speaking for the both of them. "I'm not sure what's on the menu, but... if you have any special requests, make sure to get them to me by Friday morning so Hillie and Moco can go shopping."
Kaeya shakes his head quickly. "Ah... n-no," he stammers. "I mean--! Sunday... is fine. Whatever Adelinde has planned, I'm sure it'll be delicious, I don't... need anything special."
Diluc grunts some sort of affirmation, then takes a step forward, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint in Kaeya's bones to not take a step backward. Diluc has already thrown him so off-kilter that he's afraid if the other man so much as breathed on him he would collapse. Diluc holds up the folded paper and then offers it to him again.
"Check your guess on your own, if you want," he says bluntly, "but I have too much paperwork on my desk as it is."
Kaeya robotically takes the folded paper, and Diluc turns on his heel and quickly starts back down the stairs toward the square. Suddenly those halted gears in Kaeya's brain jerk to a start again, and he lurches forward two stumbling paces.
"D-Diluc!" he calls, and the other man stops on the second-to-last step, but doesn't turn around. "... Thank you," he says, and Diluc stands very still for a long moment. Then--
"... You're welcome."
And all too quickly he has vanished into the shadows of the night, disappearing past the fountain and around the corner, leaving Kaeya with a bottle in his hand and an old scrap of paper between his fingers and his heart in this throat.
Tucking the bit of paper into his sleeve for safekeeping, Kaeya turns to look up, but he can't see the statue of Barbatos from here. He can, however, imagine Venti still sitting there in his own cupped hands, kicking his feet gleefully as this entire scene unfolded, now feeling very pleased with himself, and Kaeya is quite certain there'll be no living with him for a while. He smears his hand down his face, then grips his chin in thought, and after a moment's hesitation, the curiosity becomes too much, and he carefully twists the cork out of the neck of the bottle to take a gentle whiff of the wine within.
The body of the wine is bitter, with an underpinning of sweetness (apple, he thinks, of course) and a strong tannic scent. A merlot, as expected--Crepus had always favored his merlot grapes, the dark indigo-blue fruits taking up at least 45% of the vineyards. Without tasting it, he would venture a guess that the ingredients include windwheel aster (Crepus' favorite flower), small lamp grass (Diluc's favorite), and calla lilies (his own). Honestly, without even opening the bottle, he could have guessed that much of a wine made for him. All three flowers have a bitterness to them, and Kaeya tends to prefer his wine sweet, but... Crepus couldn't possibly have known that back then. The bitterness may also be in part because it fermented, forgotten, for so long, but really, Kaeya doesn't even care. It could be the worst-tasting wine on the planet, but it's a one-of-a-kind brew from better days, made specifically for him by people who had, at one time, loved him perhaps more than anyone else ever had, and no amount of bitter tannins could make those memories anything but sweet. He will relish every drop of it, bitter, sweet, or otherwise.
Placing the cork back into the bottle and tapping it down with the heel of his hand, Kaeya casts a glance up at the moon where it rides high over the city, bathing the landscape in silvery blue. He closes his eye and exhales softly, that tightness still squeezing his throat, though the stinging threat of tears has abated.
Maybe Venti is right, and about more than one thing: Kaeya's constant game of fast and loose with The Rules may keep him out of visible trouble, because it's true that bending a hard rule is often the fastest means to an end. But beyond that, as he stares down at the old, frosted bottle in his hands, Kaeya finds himself wondering if maybe he has had too narrow a perspective, about... well, everything.
Maybe The Rules aren't the only thing he has a penchant for bending. And maybe it's his own flexibility he's underestimating, in this case. If he is the only hope for the people of Khaenri'ah, then he surely can't renounce them... but to bring harm to Mondstadt for the sake of a people long forgotten would surely be something the gods would never forgive. In truth, he would never be able to forgive himself, either, which is probably the more important point.
But maybe Venti's anecdote about the other path was less metaphorical than he'd let on. If he cannot chose east, and he will not choose west, then... perhaps north (or south)... is what's best. And really, there are no rules for this kind of situation, he thinks, so no amount of bending, twisting, or wrenching expectation in the name of saving the things he loves--all of the things he loves--can truly break anything... can it?
In fact, he's really beginning to wonder, as he starts down the stairs to head home for the night, if certain things he's thought were broken far beyond repair... haven't actually just been a little bent the whole time instead.