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In Kaeya’s eyes, Diluc has always been the sun.
Sunkissed freckled skin with a hint of sunburn on his round cheeks, a boyish face decorated by splotchy reds and pinks, that lopsided smile of his bright and smooth, soft edges all around. Faint freckles hidden during the colder winter months, only emerging once the sun is up high in the broad summer sky. Firey crimson locks bouncing up and down with every step he took, brilliant maroon eyes sparkling in the early sunlight, chubby hands reaching out for Kaeya’s own, a silent offer for a playful afternoon spent with fingers intervened hanging in the warm spring air.
The boy in Kaeya’s memories is vivid and carefree and happy. He’s the golden child of Mondstadt, the beloved offspring of a nation built on freedom, wine and warm embraces. And Kaeya, even as a young abandoned heir of a cursed nation, could never find it in his heart to feel jealous. How could he nurse such bitter emotions when the sun itself was leaving butterfly soft kisses on his forehead after every nasty nightmare that left him frightened and breathless, how could he nourish such ill intent when those chubby fingers were gently wiping away those salty tears that left his cheeks damp, how could he feel resentment when the warmth of that oh so familiar embrace welcomed him in every night after sundown.
Diluc was the sun, bright and lively, such an otherworldly being it made Kaeya question if his bleeding heart from Khaenri’ah was truly unable to worship the gods above. Kaeya was not religious, not one bit. His father’s punishment after catching him humming a familiar tune left behind by the anemo archon all those years ago made his heart bleed with resentment towards the gods roaming this sin-soaked land. ‘I do it for your sake’ his father muttered after every slap echoing through the deep cave of his home ‘I’m doing it for you’, he said. Kaeya choose not to comment on the strange gleam burrowing itself tightly into the place of love Kaeya could always see in his Father's eyes.
No tune had left Kaeya’s tightly sealed lips after that.
Every time his soul wavered, fluttered in his chest painfully, searching for an escape in the form of absolute beings, his scars ached, and his father’s ghostly hands burned against his cheeks the same way they did all those years ago.
Yet, Kaeya couldn’t help it. The tender feeling in his chest was frighteningly close to the blind beliefs his family had warmed him of all those years ago before meeting their demise, one after the other, leaving him all by himself in this too big of a world.
He was a mere moth born from the depths of the Abyss, a being never been caressed by the first rays of sunshine long before sunrise, when the sun tenderly kisses the horizon goodbye. A desperate being, a winged fool flying in circles, blindly reaching for the tinniest bit of warmth and love and contentment. That is what he was, nothing short of a starving man, shivering from cold and malnourishment and the stench of death clinging to every fibre of his being at the tender age of nine.
It seemed his father’s beatings could only do so much. Every hard hit, every yell, every curse, every feverish prayer dropping death from the man’s chapped lips, even the tender look in his eyes were shed pointlessly, as Kaeya Alberich, Khanri’ah’s last hope had fallen down, right onto his knees, and started praying.
His father made a grave mistake by leaving hit at the Ragnvindr estate. Kaeya doesn’t blame him, the man’s plan seemed absolute. He was a smart man, or so Kaeya had remembered, even if his face was nothing but a blur of tanned skin, white hair, and the missing spark of love replaced by the cruel gleam every time he raised his hand above his head, ready to strike down. Kaeya thought he enjoyed the sound of skin meeting skin with a harsh slap. His father never denied these claims left unsaid.
And yet, when he squeezed his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, standing close to the manor swimming in gentle yellows and oranges, Kaeya couldn’t help but cling to every word he said. His father was never the talkative type, much less someone blessed with a silver tongue his son was praised for. Yet at that night his words burned his skin like never before, and the heave in which every sentence flew out of his mouth left him choking on sobs long after he was left to fend for himself. The frantic orders were still ringing in his ears, every plea, every order, every ragged breath, and the thunderstorm roaring around him was muffled with grief.
‘What a hypocrite’ Kaeya had though as he curled up under a tree, pulling the cape further down to shield his face from the harsh elements, as if the fat tears rolling down his cheeks weren’t indicators of a bigger storm growing within himself. ‘Your prayers are to be heard’.
Kaeya wished to be a great spy. That is what he was created for, born from the debris of a dead land, nothing but a sack of flesh and bones with a bleeding heart and a traitorous soul. He wasn’t smart, because that wasn’t expected of him. Thinking was forbidden, focus was a must. He was to follow every order to the absolute, every small step his father had graciously laid out for him. From the moment his feet collided with the ground of Mondstadt’s land all the way until his Father deems the land worthy enough to invade. Mondstadt was to be the ground of their new land, of their country, of their beloved homeland.
He stood firm and tall, the whispers of his ancestors pulling on his soul with an iron fist, tearing the small organ apart until it was nothing but a layer of mangled mess at the bottom of his abdomen. And Kaeya, soaked to the bone and shivering with fear standing on that familiar doorstep, was ready to live a life fulfilled without the need to feel.
And yet, his father was rather narrow minded, as the people of Mondstadt were more naïve than they seemed. And perhaps this blind naivety, their welcoming nature, their bravery to love so freely saved them from the same fate Khandri’ah had fallen to over five hundred years ago.
Kaeya had fallen love with the idea of love itself.
His new family welcomed him with open arms, not realising they had invited in nothing but a dirty snake, a soldier without thoughts, a doll to be discarder after the doom was done. They gave him a warm bath, new clean clothes, a tasty meal and the softest bed Kaeya had ever slept in.
Kaeya had never slept in a bed before in his life.
Still, his head was help high, even if the weight of expectations was surely delaying his growth spurt. Even if Mondstadt was pleasant, even if the air was filled with the scent of dandelions and honey, even if the grass was soft beneath his feet, even if the Ragnvindr estate was filled with the hushed giggles of the maids and the soft popping of the fireplace, Kaeya was determined to make his sinner of a father proud.
That is, until Diluc Ragnvindr came home from his trip to Liyue, and carved out a permanent place in Kaeya’s heart to lay down in until the gods were to fall down and nations were to be doomed.
After the first night Kaeya had spent free from the plague of nightmares, his face tucked under the chin of the older boy safely, he knew he was a gone man. He had failed.
For the first time in his life, Kaeya had prayed. Not for the mission to go smoothly, Not for his father to forgive him, not even for the nation he had never even seen before to be revived with all of it’s glory and no strings attached to his traitorous heart.
Kaeya had prayed to all archons above to grant him with a heart that is able to love as freely as the dandelion seeds in Mondstadt were. And, secretly, as if he was the one being spied on, he wished to be loved too.
His worship for family had begun.
For Diluc, he would offer the world in a silver platter, all the busy cities and serene villages and abandoned ruins overgrown by vines and bushes. For Diluc, he would step on his tippy toes and stretch his body until he could grasp a handful of stars from the sky, pulling them to his chest carefully as to not shatter the tiny bundle of lights by accident. He would learn how to ride the wildest wind currents and take a bite out of the moon because his brother wondered if the old satellite had truly tasted of cheese or not.
Kaeya was never one to bear such tender feelings. He was a child of Khaenri’ah, a godless land, a place of crumbling debris and copper and lost dreams. Yet his father deemed it to be the most beautiful place to be, a nation without a god so majestic it leaves you longing for more. And Kaeya, young gullible Kaeya had believed him with all his might, because father are to be believed in, not questioned, and Kaeya was to stay silent, not to ask pointless questions.
He was a sinner, a lost hope, a child barely old enough to be left home alone by mondstadtian standards, way too young to fulfil such a draining task of reviewing a dead nation. Such a majestic dream, a purpose worth dying over, heavy and dutiful, yet it does little to flutter Kaeya’s heart with pride.
He is a sinner, yet his lying nature crawls at his skin more than the century old curse of Khendri’ah.
He pretends to forget the words that burned his skin on that faithful night, soaked to the bone with rainwater, his old clothes hanging off his lean body, the fabric rough and itchy. He pretends to forget the frantic whispers heard every night before exhaustion took over his body in a blissful wave. He pretends to forget his mother’s face, all sunken in and tired and old, before realising his memory of the woman is no longer the tender mother but the corpse they came back to after a rather unsuccessful hunt for food. He pretends to forget his childhood spent in the Chasm just under Liyue, pretends to forget the first time gentle sunshine had caressed his skin.
The touch burned.
Yet standing under the rain so heavy it leaves you begging for a warm embrace to dry in, his father’s blood painting the ground crimson red, and Kaeya can no longer pretend to forget. The way his brother cradles the corpse the same way he did his mother all those years ago leaves his skin crawl with grief, yet his traitorous heart whispers tainted words into his ears. ‘You caused this’ ‘You killed hi’, the sentiment echoed through his mind, even if he knew he had no connections to the Drake.
He wants to walk over, wants to tell him it’s okay, wants to tell him it’s pointless, wants to tell him at least his father didn’t suffer the same fate his mother had once did. But he can’t, as his legs are bound to the ground, and his gaze is locked on that crimson mess of hair cradling the cold corpse. And as the familiar red gets washed away by the rain that had the audacity not to appear gentle and understanding of their pain, Diluc reached out for him, the once soft and bright face now smeared with grim and blood and death. Kaeya never took his hand.
In Mondstadt’s eyes, Diluc is reduced to nothing but a grieving stain on the official Knights of Favonius’ records. Crepus was discarded aside, never to be spoken of again. The gentle wine tycoon’s memory fluttered away on the back of crystalflies, no amount of grief locking him in place.
Kaeya is grieving too, but not for the man lying dead under their feet. He was grieving for the sun standing next to him, his light half out. Maybe, just maybe, Kaeya can be selfish too. Just once, just this once.
The prayer hanging off his tongue was left unsaid.
At that night, Kaeya is left tossing and turning in his bed. The guilt eating away at his soul is toying with the little organ, nipping at it boredly, sinking it’s teeth in painfully slowly just to yank it out seconds later.
He doesn’t remember asking for Diluc to accompany him on a walk outside. Doesn’t remember the words spilled out on that night, doesn’t remember the damp shirt pressed flatly against his back, doesn’t remember the cold sinking into his fingertips after every minute spent outside in the merciful presence of Barbatos.
What he does remember is the white pain sinking into the right side of his face, too hot to be memory left by his father all those years ago. The sizzling sound of pyro popping under the heavy rain, the stench of burned flesh Kaeya never thought he would have to smell ever again. And worst of it all, it seemed the awful rain had won against the pitiful flames he was oh so determined to shield with his own hands, as Diluc stands over him, his chest heaving heavily, that deep love in his eyes now replaced with that cruel glint he grew familiar with during his travels with his father by his side.
For Kaeya, Diluc has always been the sun.
He figured if his sinner of a soul is way too tainted for the gods to love, he would be content with the stars instead.
As he is left on the ground, cradling a vision in his burned hands, his own crimson merging with the midnight rainfall, Kaeya is left with the sinking realization that his father was right.
His sinner of a Khanri’ah heart was far too cursed for any god to love. And now, not even the stars heard his prayers.