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Glimpses of the past are something Zhongli had to get accustomed to, a natural disposition those who live a very long life end up showing sooner or later. Memories that should be forgotten sometimes appear in vague dreams or just lay there, in the corner of his mind, stimulated by so many things— the Lantern Rite, a peculiar taste, beautiful sceneries. Zhongli has never rejected them, no matter how vague or painful they have been on some occasions. From memories and experiences comes wisdom; even though the era of the Geo Archon is now ended and nobody expects it from him, the man who was once a God still values every single thing he has seen.
Lately, though, those glimpses have been different. They started to appear during dreams he forgot once awake, yet they are invading his daily life as if breaking free from an invisible cage. The tricky part has never been to find out when or why it all started, since the only significant change has been his contract with Signora and, by extension, with Tsaritsa. Even coming to terms with the fact that these glimpses are showing him parts of a life he has no recollection of hasn’t been too hard on him— he knows, more than any mortal, that every past event brings shadows with it, actions one might have considered right once and would feel shameful now. Morax has many regrets to deal with even in the present as a mortal named Zhongli. He’s not afraid of what he might discover.
Yet, if this is an unpredictable effect of him giving up his Gnosis – his bond with Celestia – willingly… that is something he has to see through until the end, no matter the consequences.
“Here, Mr Zhongli,” Jifang says as she brings him two volumes that look quite old. She carefully puts them on the desk she usually occupies and where she can be found by any potential customer of Wanwen Bookhouse. Zhongli slightly bows his head before he gives his attention to the requested volumes. Both show years of peaceful stillness on a shelf; the utmost care the bookhouse must have taken for these objects is evident at first glance. The titles reveal that they are not recent at all: Zhongli easily recognises words almost nobody uses anymore now, but that were once part of the common language. He still remembers the feeling of how words changed over centuries as if it’s a taste on his tongue more than a memory.
“Your request surprised me, Mr Zhongli,” Jifang admits, curiosity in her eyes, “I thought that if there’s someone more knowledgeable than others about history, that would be you. I never thought you would ask for ancient books about Archons.”
Zhongli pays attention to her, despite him looking at the volume in his hands. He does not expect to find real information about the after-effect of giving up one’s Gnosis in a book— because that is a secret no Archon would share with mortals, ever. Not to mention that he is probably the first one to have ever done it since Barbatos’ was stolen. What Zhongli expects is what legends have always managed to do: hide some truths between the lines and among beautiful, childish fairytales.
The volumes might not contain the word Gnosis, but even the simple mention of the core of one’s existence or the decay of the power of God would be enough for him to know where to look for hints.
“Knowledge is never absolute,” he replies, golden eyes on Jifang, “and the flame of mortal life is too easily extinguished to not pursue knowledge while you still can.”
*
“This is important, son,” his father says as he looks at the gate of their mansion. Outside, the sound of voices and quick steps can be easily heard: “it’s our greatest honour to be chosen by our God once again,” he adds. Ishijuro silently nods. This is what they call family inheritance, in a sense: in ancient times, men from his clan have been chosen to be guardians of the oracle. Since he can remember he has always heard of how important it was to have at least two children: one of them could be claimed by God, so the other one would have the responsibility of giving birth to heirs in the future. And since the guardian was meant to be a man, nobody ever cared if the other children were boys or girls.
Today, Ishijiro is supposed to start living as a guardian; his sisters will continue the family line and his brothers will be free to choose their paths. He never thought of wanting to be someone whose life would be entirely devoted to a stranger just because the said stranger is an oracle. He had different dreams and hopes when he was younger.
Truth is, he’s not someone who was granted the privilege of choosing what to do with his life.
“Yes, father.”
*
The oracle is bound to live their whole existence in a detached palace built on the mountain less affected by evil spirits and with the densest concentration of pure aura in the whole country. Ishijiro has always thought about the palace as an incredible place that would make anyone feel at peace. Looking at it now, from the inside and after a night of sleep to get used to the idea of living here until his death, he notices how much it can resemble a cage.
The oracle is supposed to be presented today. Ishijiro has no idea how long the person has been here, if they have grown up in this palace since their call from God or if the longest they have lived here is nothing but a few days. The palace where the oracle is supposed to stay has more people than one would think: Ishijiro has seen lots of servants and has been told that other guardians are going to stay there. Every single one of them, Ishijiro included, is going to have a different responsibility: the reason why he's been chosen to be the oracle's attendant is something Ishijiro doesn't know.
Despite this, he's going to do his best at the job. He doesn't have to like the oracle, after all; he just needs to take care of them to some extent.
The other guardians haven't dealt with him much since yesterday. He supposes this is how is going to be from now on.
"Ishijiro-san," one of the servants calls for him, steps from him and waits to be followed. Ishijiro looks at the scenery once more before letting out a small sigh and turning his back to the outside world he probably won't experience much anymore. As he quietly walks through corridors with closed doors all along, Ishijiro wonders what the oracle will expect of him. Because he can easily ignore the other guardians, but the one who's supposed to be his master can't help but be a different story.
The servant stops in front of the biggest room and waits for him to do the same before bowing his head and stepping back to give him more space. Ishijiro stares at the door for a few seconds and then announces himself with a few words: "It's Ishijiro, master," he says. From inside the room a small voice, quite different from what he was expecting, tells him "You may enter," so he does.
Light and flowers. Those are the first things Ishijiro notices when he enters the room— a big space, too big to be the personal room of only one person, with a large window that offers a beautiful view of the outside world: a garden with fully bloomed flowers and illuminated by the daily light of the sun. There isn't much in the room, considering its size. As he lets his gaze embrace the place and memorise any detail he can see, Ishijiro easily spots the one who must have allowed him to enter.
The oracle is different from the image he had, in a sense, but at the same time, there’s something in the person in front of him that makes Ishijiro think it can only be this person . He’s younger than what Ishijiro expected, probably not far in age from one of his youngest siblings. Their eyes meet and, before he bows his head, Ishijiro half-mindedly realises that this must be what the legends mean when it comes to the oracle being the purest creature allowed to serve God.
“Leave us,” the oracle says and the servant exits the room almost immediately, leaving them alone. Ishijiro can see the other as he studies him, and lets him do it. It’s not like he can tell the oracle to stop, anyway. Yet, to be honest, he doesn’t expect the smile the oracle offers.
“So your name is Ishijiro. Mine is Kazane. I was the only son of my father: what about you?” he asks, so randomly that Ishijiro fails at getting where this is going to take him. He supposes the oracle likes some small talk.
“I’m the eldest of six,” he replies, “I’ve been chosen to serve you. Among other guardians, they told me I’m going to be the closest one to assure you are protected,” he adds, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. The oracle stares at him as if he’s evaluating his words. It might be just his impression, but Ishijiro is almost sure that he sees a glimpse of delusion in Kazane’s eyes. Wherever thought crosses the oracle’s mind, though, it’s immediately hidden behind a cheerful smile and voice.
“So it seems,” he replies, looking outside of the huge window and towards the garden, “You are, indeed, a gatekeeper.”
Ishijiro frowns, not sure he understood. Yet, before he can ask any question, the oracle tells him “Now let me rest and use the free time to do the same.”
Despite how caring it sounds, Ishijiro immediately realises there’s no room for conversation.
*
Ishijiro thought that despite the oracle giving him the idea of an enigmatic person, maybe even someone who would purposely hide way more than what he showed to whoever is around him, he was an elegant, well-mannered individual. He couldn’t be more distant from the truth.
It takes him less than a week to understand that more than a guardian or a protector, he’s supposed to be a nanny: the moment one looks away, Kazane behaves like a child, disappearing God knows where and causing nothing but trouble to every single soul who lives in the palace. Day after day he goes somewhere, hides from all the servants, barely attending his duty during small ceremonies that are supposed to prepare him for official meetings with believers, and once he is finally found he laughs. Ishijiro doesn’t mean to be disrespectful but he would have liked more if someone told him the oracle was a total fraud. Or, at least, so immature that it would be impossible to pass a single day without regretting having been appointed as his guardian.
After the first two weeks, Ishijiro decides to take action. In a way, it helps because most of the servants simply go to him to ask him to bring the oracle back when he’s not anywhere to be seen. On the other hand, though, he keeps wasting most of his time on a hide-and-seek game he stopped playing when he was eleven years old, which means that he has to work until late at night to finish everything his job requires. At least the oracle does him the favour of not hiding outside the palace - he does it once, but still quite close. Ishijiro finds it hard to not raise his voice, but he knows his place and what he can or cannot do to the oracle.
There is only a time Kazane disappears for hours and doesn’t seem to be found anywhere, no matter where they search for him; Ishijiro manages to notice him only because servants scream and gather in the garden, looking up. There’s where he sees Kazane, on the roof, not in a dangerous position per se but just having the oracle where he could be hurt is enough for those who live here to serve him. To be completely honest, if it were one of his siblings, Ishijiro would address the matter with a stern reprimand. Many times people asked why he, the eldest son, never slapped them so that they could learn - and Ishijiro, despite having a father who could teach him how to give physical punishments, learnt that there’s always been a different way. Something most people consider scarier than a slap.
That is why, when the oracle finally notices him and slowly gets down, Ishijiro doesn’t do anything but look at him. He quietly accompanies Kazane to his room, no matter how many times Kazane tries to have at least a small conversation to fill the silence. The oracle chuckles, and once they are in the room he tells him “I thought you would scold me a lot, Ishijiro. You always do,” like a kid who needs attention.
Ishijiro knows that pain is not always the thing people fear the most. So he sighs, making sure Kazane notices it and shakes his head.
“There is no point in scolding someone who is amused by watching people being worried and scared because of their actions. I just thought the oracle would be better than this.”
They are strong, disrespectful words. Kazane looks at him, astonished, but Ishijiro notices it— the hint of mortification. It might be cruel of him, but that is the best he can do for the oracle: teach him that servants and guardians and believers are no tools of amusement.
*
Ishijiro expects to be sent away. Instead, the oracle leaves his room only for specific reasons— it takes months to have him stop trying to run away and Ishijiro still has to do his best to be patient enough, taking advantage of the few, precious days he’s allowed to go visit his family. His siblings are the ones that give him the idea of calling for a truce with the oracle. Ishijiro has to ask for permission from so many people he loses count at some point but, in the end, he manages to obtain what he needs: something to trade.
It’s the first time he willingly goes to the oracle without it being related to his tasks. Even though Kazane doesn’t show it on his face, Ishijiro wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s suspicious of this sudden request to talk to him. Yet, once he enters the room and closes the door behind him, Kazane invites him to sit down not too far from him. The oracle, then, simply goes back to look outside as if to study the garden he knows better than anyone else.
“I have a proposition,” Ishijiro speaks without waiting for Kazane to ask him why he’s there, “about you going outside of the palace.”
This catches the oracle’s attention, enough for him to observe Ishijiro instead of the garden. His eyes are now on the guardian, his interest and curiosity suddenly aroused by that sentence.
“Seems like it would be possible for you to leave the palace and visit the city,” Ishijiro explains, “with a few reservations: they agree on giving you some chances to leave your oracle duties behind, but I will have to be with you and you are not supposed to leave my side the whole time we are outside. Also, due to the nature of the outside world and what is needed for the rituals here at the palace, this special permission can be obtained no more than once a month,” he finishes as he looks at Kazane. The oracle doesn’t look exactly euphoric about it and Ishijiro can imagine why.
“They will never allow it. They keep telling me that the outside world can only damage the oracle as if it’s an object they are talking about. Even if I promise to never leave your side, you will just take me outside of the gate a couple of times in exchange for my promise to stop running away, right?” Kazane asks, words very different from what Ishijiro expected to hear. Somehow he thought the oracle would be delighted, considering how often he tried to run away or hid somewhere.
Ishijiro, a raised eyebrow to express his doubt about that response, sighs. The oracle really is high-maintenance.
“I asked before coming to tell you,” he clarifies, “they already gave permission. If you follow their rules,” he adds. The way Kazane’s expression abruptly changes is incredible: the way his eyes are full of life now reminds Ishijiro that there is a reason why the oracle is so loved— no matter how mischievous he might be sometimes. Looking at Kazane would probably make anyone feel the urge to be accepted and liked by him and, at the same time, the need to do their best never to let him down.
He notices him moving from the window, taking a few steps and reaching where Ishijiro is. He lowers his gaze only to see Kazane, an amused smile on his lips now, staring back at him.
“Who would have thought that Ishijiro is such a softie,” the oracle makes fun of him, almost humming those words, “So you offered to accompany me? I thought you didn’t like me.”
Ishijiro has to admit that he might not have been the nicest person - perhaps he’s the only one in the palace who doesn’t spoil the oracle in some way -, but he also spent all his childhood to learn recognising what he feels, to the point of having no doubts when he speaks of feelings to others.
“Dislike is a strong emotion,” he says, patiently and distantly because that’s what he and the oracle are: distant. Kazane stares and waits , and Ishijiro gets that if he doesn’t give him the answer he wants, the oracle will never leave him alone: “If I can be honest, I don’t have a very high consideration of you as an oracle,” he admits, too straight-forward for his own good, “but I have no reason to dislike you as a person who doesn’t want to live here for the rest of his life, without having at least a chance once in a while to see a glimpse of the world.”
Kazane stays quiet for a few seconds, his expression incomprehensible at first; then, he gives him a small smile, so different from the grin Ishijiro has gotten used to.
“Where are going to take me, Ishijiro?”
*
"You know what, Ishijiro? We should talk more and get to know each other better. I mean: you are going to be stuck with me for a long time anyway."
This is their second visit to the city yet, surprisingly, Kazane is the one who asked to take a detour and leave the city earlier than expected. Ishijiro complied because it doesn't matter to him whether they are in the city or not. He let Kazane lead the way, still keeping an eye on him as they reached the feet of the mountain and left the main path to wander around in the small forest not too far from the temple on the top. He sat down under the tree when Kazane did, and he stared at him as he got comfortable in his position.
The oracle is staring at him, expecting some kind of reply. He supposes he can at least humour him for a while.
"What do you want to know about me?" he asks, and Kazane immediately adjusts himself, laying on his stomach and eyes on him like a child who's waiting for a fairytale: "What about your family? What did you do before becoming a guardian? Why did you accept the role?"
He's so childish, Ishijiro thinks as he puts his back against the tree. Luckily for both of them, he has nothing he wishes to hide from the oracle.
"I'm the eldest of six," he shares with him, "my younger siblings are quite far from me in age. The youngest is merely fourteen," he explains, not sure how detailed this should be or how much the oracle wants to know. Since he's not being interrupted, though, he can only keep talking: "They have very different personalities, but they look after each other and they are all good kids."
He's about to add something more but Kazane snorts so he stops and just stares at him, a dubious expression on his face. Kazane, on the other hand, looks amused as he tells him "You sound like a doting big brother, Ishijro. I would have never guessed. You never fought with them?"
"Never," he admits, "the second and third sons didn't give me much of a headache. One looks up to me as a warrior, while the other prefers his studies and has a calm attitude. Then came my two little sisters: they are close in age and their education was very different from mine, with them being girls. If anything, the last one worried me more than the others, but in a good way, you could say."
Kazane looks at him, so interested in what he has to say that he doesn't interrupt him, not even once; he's strangely calm for someone who spent every day making trouble for him since he became a guardian.
"Why does he worry you?" "He's a very quiet child. Usually, the youngest has less to worry about and a certain freedom in pursuing the path of his choice. My brother, though, has a strong sense of responsibility towards us and tries very hard to not disappoint us," he explains, furrowing his eyebrows, "I'm afraid he's too kind for his own good, especially because of the strict environment he lives in, now that I'm far from home."
Ishijiro stops his words, not to organise his thoughts but to realize how much he has said.
"Forgive me," he says, "I spoke for too long about such matters. It must have bored you, master."
It is not the first time he addresses the oracle this way— Ishijiro has yet to decide if the person in front of him deserves such respect for anything but his role, however, he needs to put distance between them sometimes. So that they both remember what kind of relationship they have.
Kazane doesn't seem to mind or, at least, he's now focused on something else. That much is obvious when he tells him "I'm not bored at all! If anything, I'm surprised. I never thought of you as someone who cares so much, since you are always serious and you frown all the time!"
"I'm serious and frowning because someone keeps disappearing and giving me more work," he corrects him. Kazane chuckles as if this is about someone else.
"I can imagine you growing up in a strict environment," Kazane comments but, strangely enough, he doesn't ask about why it was strict or anything like that. Ishijiro prefers it that way. Since he doesn't want to give him the chance to ask more about his family— or, better said, his father— Ishijiro decides to show some interest instead.
"What about you before coming here as the oracle?"
He doesn't expect the expression Kazane shows him— nostalgic, almost sad. But, most of all, what catches him off guard is the answer he gets. It makes him shiver, and not in a good way.
"I was human."
*
It’s dawn when Ishijiro hears soft sounds in Kazane’s room, enough to wake him up despite the other doing his best not to be heard. He can’t say he doesn’t appreciate that kind of thoughtfulness but part of him sighs, tired of telling the other that he doesn’t mind being woken up when he needs him.
Ishijiro opens the door enough to slip inside, as quietly as possible. The big window lets the faint light enter the room; Kazane is sitting on his bed, the blankets all tangled up at his feet. Looking at him carefully, Ishijiro easily notices how Kazane’s breath is uneven, how his hands tremble slightly. He feels his body tense for a moment, his fists along his body. When he closes the door though, he tries his best to relax to not worry the silly oracle who, on the other hand, seems to never worry enough about himself.
Kazane stares at him the same way one could stare at a ghost. When he offers Ishijiro a faint smile, he knows this must be because of something he saw , in a way only the oracle is allowed to see.
“I’m sorry,” Kazane says in a murmur as Ishijiro sits down next to him. At this point Ishijiiro could easily count how many times the oracle has woken up in the middle of the night or just before dawn and every single time went the same way: Ishijiro entered the room, noticed the disrupted expression on Kazane’s face, saw him as a lost and scared child and did nothing but make sure there weren’t any dangers before leaving the room. Sometimes, following a request he told himself was to be considered an order , he stayed until Kazane fell asleep. He never showed him comfort, not emotionally or physically. Kazane never asked for it either.
“I told you, you don’t need to be,” he replies. The oracle is not trembling anymore, at least, but he knows that this doesn’t mean Kazane is fine. He has always known and ignored it, but does it even make any sense when he’s supposed to take care of him?
Maybe, for the past few months, he hasn’t done the great job everyone expected him to.
“Do you want me to bring you something warm to drink, to help you with your sleep?” he asks, trying not to sound as if this is just a chore he wants to finish quickly. Kazane doesn’t make fun of him like the annoying brat he sometimes ( often ) is. And that’s worrying in its way. Kazane stays quiet for so long, sitting still and staring at nothing, that Ishijiro considers the idea of leaving him alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t expect the other to speak until he does.
“It comes in the form of a dream, every time.”
Ishijiro stares at him, in silence; he can tell that there must be more to that sentence, so he respectfully waits for Kazane to find the right words. Whatever he wants to say can’t be worst than things Ishijiro has heard in the past from other people.
“I read a lot, you know? After they took me here and told me I was chosen as the next oracle. Apparently, God doesn’t talk directly to all of us. Many oracles before me left notes and wrote that they could hear the voice of God,” he reveals and Ishijiro doesn’t need to ask to know that this is something he’s probably not supposed to hear. And Kazane must know it too, despite him not stopping his talk.
“Some of us, though,” he adds as he finally looks at Ishijiro, “saw dreams. I’m the same. But they are… confused. It’s more like feeling than seeing . I’m not even sure if they are all about different futures or maybe several hints of the same one. To interpret them is hard, but to explain them… is impossible,” he admits, his voice giving Ishijiro this feeling of mortification he doesn’t know how to deal with. He’s nothing but a mere guardian. He might be the closest to the oracle but that doesn’t make them friends or family. What can he give to Kazane right now? What does Kazane want from him?
“I wonder what we oracles exist for,” Ishijiro hears him say and, for the first time since they met, Kazane looks extremely fragile to him with that sad smile on his lips and the disheartened look in his eyes, “when I can barely explain what I see in a dream, at least enough to prevent bad things from happening… if I can’t even do this much, does my being here make any sense, Ishijiro?”
That question shakes him so much that he wonders if anything has ever done it before. Ishijiro has never been a man— a boy— of many words, spoiled by the presence of understanding younger siblings and never helped by a father unable to communicate through anything but orders. To be able to heal people’s hearts with words is a gift that will never be his, no matter how hard he tries to get better at it. But this young man in front of him looks like he could break anytime now; to simply do nothing and pretend this is no concern for him would make him a cruel person. To not be able to help much is one thing, but pretending not to see that something is wrong, it’s a sin he has no intention of committing. Especially, not to Kazane’s expenses.
“I have no solution for this,” he admits, because it’s the truth, “I have no way with words and I don’t see the same world as you. I am but a mere guardian and, for sure, I didn’t wish to be one and so I never thought about complicated aspects regarding the oracle.”
He sees Kazane tense up and can easily imagine the impression his words are giving him— accusation for making him something ( someone ) he didn’t want to be. Not an ounce of interest in what makes him feel miserable as the oracle he is.
“But the only fact I know that doesn’t need to be seen in a dream or to be explained is that this is who I am now: your guardian. Your existence might not have value as an oracle but you are, by now, the reason for mine. I have no solution, as I said, but name what could make you feel like you belong and if it’s something I can give you, I will.”
Kazane stares at him as if he just told him the most incredible thing; even though Ishijiro is not sure he understands why , Kazane looks shyer than he has ever been in his presence, touched by words Ishijiro struggled to find and doesn’t consider particularly impressive.
“You…” Kazane speaks but seems unsure about his thoughts. His fingers move, hesitate to make a gesture for a few seconds and in the end just touch the mattress without doing anything at all. That’s when he looks so lonely that Ishijiro wonders if he should have ignored what he saw, instead of giving him something he’s not sure will help the oracle.
“You say such bold things, Ishijiro. You sound like you care,” Kazane says. It would be considered cruel if he didn’t look like the one hurt the most by those words. Ishijiro observes him and doesn’t fail to notice some sort of uncertainty. To figure out the reason behind that behaviour, though, it’s impossible for him.
“I used to play an instrument, before being chosen by God,” Kazane whispers, “I don’t think I can explain my dreams with words alone but… maybe if I could play like I used to, it might help. But if I’m allowed to, that’s another story I suppose,” he admits. Ishijiro is conscious of how many restrictions there are for the oracle so that his bond with God doesn’t lose strength. He doesn’t have any idea about which restrictions there are specifically but the servants told at least some of them to all the guardians during their first day at the palace.
“You have rules to follow,” Ishijiro says, “but I have to follow your orders. So order me to bring you an instrument and I will do it.”
Kazane observes him and, finally, he smiles at him— it’s a small bending of lips, but it’s something and, more importantly, it’s not loneliness or pain. Ishijiro gets that those emotions on the oracle’s face are becoming unbearable to watch for him, and that might be a complication.
“Bring me a lyre, Ishijiro.”
He’s so tempted to ruffle his hair like he would with his younger brothers and sisters. Instead, he simply nods and excuses himself. The urge to grant Kazane any wish no matter what is a feeling that, for once, makes Ishijiro weak.
*
Ishijiro doesn’t know if it’s because he shared something personal with him or if it’s because, thanks to him, Kazane can leave all his responsibilities behind for at least one day per month, but almost a year passes after that conversation and after he brought the lyre to the oracle, and it’s going surprisingly well. Kazane still behaves childishly and kind of disappears sometimes, but he never leaves the temple. He simply hides somewhere, knowing that at some point Ishijiro learnt about all his hiding spots and can now easily find him.
It’s hard to tell if their relationship deepened: they are not friends, but Ishijiro has the feeling that they are not just a guardian and the oracle anymore, not only because they talked about trivial matters. They didn’t tell each other, but the bond seems to be there somehow.
During certain ceremonies, Ishijiro observed the believers who surrounded the oracle and thought he could understand what Kazane’s words meant— before becoming the one chosen by God, he must have been nothing but a child like anyone else, living in a small village maybe, with dreams and hopes. Enjoying the music of an instrument and having no worries at all. As Ishijiro has left behind whatever he wanted to be to follow his father’s wishes, Kazane probably had to do the same. Unfortunately, people seem to have forgotten that despite being the oracle who talks to God, Kazane is still a person.
As he hears Kazane’s voice coming from his room, a muffled scream the oracle must be trying to suppress, Ishijiro sighs. This is not the first time it happens; since he was put in charge of keeping watch outside of the oracle’s room, Ishijiro found out that the nights Kazane manages to sleep peacefully are less than he expected. Every now and then the oracle is woken up and tries his best to not be heard. Ishijiro usually stands there, outside, and doesn’t even try to ask him if he needs anything, not since the last time ( the only time ) he did it. In the beginning, he thought it wasn’t his place to do more than what his tasks required, after all.
He’s the most surprised of them when he finds himself knocking on the door and asking “is everything alright?”
For a few seconds, there’s only silence and he’s convinced that Kazane either doesn’t need him or he’s trying to fall asleep again. But then, with the tiniest voice, Kazane allows him to enter the room. Once he’s inside, Ishijiro carefully checks his surroundings— the first time he heard that muffled sound he thought someone had entered the room and he immediately checked inside, only to find no one but a startled Kazane who sent him back with a weak excuse.
The oracle is sitting on his bed, a puzzled expression and trembling slightly. Ishijiro stays still where he’s standing because, despite everything, he knows his place. He can’t simply walk to the oracle’s bed.
They don’t speak to each other for a while. Ishijiro doesn’t mind giving the other the time he needs to calm himself— yet there’s a part of him who wonders if the dream that woke Kazane up is a message from God or a simple nightmare nobody should be concerned about.
“Ishijiro,” Kazane’s small voice calls for him, even though the oracle isn’t looking at him, “can you come closer?”
How is he supposed to ignore that request? Especially when the other looks so weak and disheartened. Kazane must be conscious about the fact he’s not supposed to ask anyone to comfort him or that he’s expected to not rely on anyone. Yet he’s almost begging and Ishijiro doesn’t have the heart to refuse him. So he walks in, slowly getting close to where Kazane is and sitting down when the oracle quietly invites him. Ishijiro can surely stay there for as long as the other wants him to, but to distract him with some chitchatting… he’s not confident about it. Maybe, though, that’s not what the oracle wants from him.
Ishijiro observes him as he lays back and stares at the ceiling, before speaking in a quiet voice, like a child finally telling his most important secret.
“Sometimes,” Kazane murmurs, “I wish God would just talk to me instead of showing me dreams of nothing but despair.”
Ishijiro doesn’t know how to answer that. Keeping the oracle physically safe? It’s his job, he has all it takes to do it and he’s confident about it. But nobody told him he was expected to take care of the oracle emotionally — in fact, not a single soul among all the guardians or the servants seems to be there for this. Almost as if nobody thought there would ever be the need to.
“Probably,” Kazane speaks again, “the truth is that God hates the oracle.” “I don’t think it’s possible,” Ishijiro says before he can stop himself. Kazane’s eyes are on him, wide open, maybe surprised by his sentence or by the fact he’s actually talking instead of simply observing him as usual. Ishijiro sighs: there’s no way he can ignore him now.
“My father is a man of many flaws,” he says, “but if there’s something he taught us since we were all young is the bond our family has had with God for generations. I suppose that, with you being the oracle, you don’t know much about the origins of us guardians.”
As expected, Kazane shakes his head, quietly. Since this is going to take a while… , Ishijiro thinks as he sits by the oracle’s bed. Once they have both adjusted themselves, he looks at Kazane.
“It’s a very common story, so don’t expect too much. Centuries ago, God saw that humans couldn’t do much against sudden calamities, because their minds weren’t able to recognise the signs and avoid such tragedies,” he starts telling the story, “He knew that such was their fate. Yet, he pitied them because he loved them. So when a child and his older sister went to his shrine and prayed to him to save those who were suffering God gave one of them the gift of hearing his voice. He couldn’t completely stop the calamities, because they were naturally bound to happen. But he could show the chosen one glimpses of the future, so they could save as many people as possible.”
Kazane offers him a small nod, looking doubtful: “That’s the story of the first oracle,” he comments, expecting something more.
“Yes, this part at least,” he confirms, “Since that moment, God kept observing humans and, when necessary, he spoke to the oracle. What God hadn’t thought of was that someone could try to harm the oracle. He knew, of course, that some humans could do cruel things but he never considered the misconception they could have regarding the oracle. They thought, in fact, that hearing the voice of God meant they could ask for anything and obtain it. Seeing the oracle, who was so close to him now, suffer such great despair and pain, God wondered what he could do to help them without disrupting the natural order of things. So, just for a night, he spoke to another human that had caught his attention because of his righteousness and compassion.”
Ishijiro stops for a moment, not used to talking so much anymore— his little brother hasn’t needed fairytales in a long time, after all.
“So God appeared in front of him and told him ‘ I gave the oracle a gift for all humanity, but humanity doesn’t treat them fairly. The oracle talked to me as if I were their friend and they are now so dear to me. I wish to protect them, but a God can’t take a single human’s side nor stay with them all the time. Please, it’s me who needs a human to lend me their power for the sake of protecting that precious existence.’ That human was so moved by such a strong demonstration of pure affection that they gladly offered their life to God, making an oath. That human was my ancestor. Since then, my family sent a guardian to the temple whenever an oracle was chosen. People like me exist because the oracle is loved by God.”
Once he finishes, silence fills the room. As he tries to interpret Kazane’s expression, Ishijiro can’t tell if that story was useful or not. If what he wanted to convey was properly understood. In the end, it’s just a story. Only Kazane can choose to find comfort in those words and there’s nothing more Ishijiro can do for him.
When Kazane finally speaks, a request is not what he expects though.
“Can you hold my hand until I fall asleep?”
Despite how peculiar Ishijiro finds it, he offers his hand with no hesitation. Kazane takes it and closes his eyes. Ishijiro has spent nights like this when he was at home, with his siblings scared by nightmares or suffering a fever. It’s not a big deal for him, even though Kazane’s hand does not give him the same feeling as his brothers’. He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears Kazane’s small, sleepy voice telling him “You care more than you show and you are kinder than anyone else, Ishijiro.”
Kindness, he thinks, is very different from what he feels. But, as he guards Kazane’s sleep, he doesn’t know what this feeling is at all.
*
When Ishijiro held Kazane's hand that night he thought that would be it: a moment of weakness they shared that would probably remain a secret between them. Not that Kazane has ever given the impression of being an oracle who cares about his image, given that he kept hiding like a child for months and kept chuckling whenever Ishijiro or some servants spent at least half a day to find him. Yet, Ishijiro never took into consideration the chance of Kazane getting so... attached. Which doesn't seem to sit right with some of the servants or, at least, seems to keep them busy with gossip.
It's not like Ishijiro doesn't understand where they come from: Kazane getting attached means that the oracle has been incredibly touchy, lately. If they were friends or siblings, Ishijiro would let it pass; but the oracle is expected to be somehow detached, to be this ethereal figure. And that, no matter how silly it might be, is not something that includes being touchy with his guardian.
Ishijiro has tried telling him, of course. He waited for a few days, to see if it was just a matter of feelings of gratitude for staying with him during the night. But Kazane never showed any intention to stop, so he told him. Perhaps, it would have been more helpful to get angry at him - or at least look like it - or show some discomfort when Kazane took his hand... but, for better or worse, Ishijiro has never been the best at lying or pretending. Not to such an extent.
"What's on your mind, Ishijiro?" Kazane asks, looking at him. Ishijiro sighs: they have been there for some time now, at the same spot outside the temple where they go when Kazane is allowed to go outside once a month. And since before, the oracle has used his lap as a cushion. Finding a way to tell him without sounding too rude might be the hardest task he has had until now.
“The servants are not happy about how you treat me lately,” he says, not even trying to sugarcoat his words. Kazane must have expected the matter to come out, sooner or later, because he doesn’t look surprised in the least. The oracle doesn’t reply for a long time, to the point that even Ishijiro thinks he’s either being ignored or Kazane simply doesn’t give much thought to his sentence. Of course, the oracle always has to act differently from how Ishijiro supposes he will.
“I don’t care what they think. Do you?” “If it means having troubles because of some jealousy, I do,” he admits and that gains a stare from Kazane and a small pout: “What does it mean?”
“It means,” Ishijiro replies, “that a lot of your believers, including your servants at the temple, are fond of you and admire you. Their affection towards you is based on the common knowledge that the oracle cannot be approached in a certain way. I think that the number of occasions when you touch me has significantly increased.”
For a few seconds, Kazane simply stares at him. Then, he suddenly burst into a laugh; even Ishijiro, who normally isn’t easily surprised, can’t help but show how unexpected this is on his face. It takes quite some time before Kazane stops laughing and chuckling as he tries to have some decency. Ishijiro patiently waits, too used to the fact that forcing him to be serious would be useless.
“Ishijiro,” Kazane calls for him even though there’s no need to since he’s right there and listening, “if the servants give you a hard time, you can tell them I said this, so pay attention to my next words,” he suggests as he takes Ishijiro’s hand and plays with his fingers like a child. Or a lover. That’s an awful, dangerous thought.
“During the day the oracle is a prisoner in a golden cage. During nights, he’s a prisoner of God and whatever he wants to let the oracle know. So let him be, he at least deserves the freedom to be affectionate with whoever he finds worthy of his attention.”
Ishijiro looks at him, trying to figure out if he means all of it. When Kazane doesn’t add anything else for a few minutes, nor he starts laughing again telling him it’s a joke, Ishijiro sighs: “I don’t think those are words anybody but you can say. If I did, they would sound like lies.” “Then they can wait until I feel like doing it,” Kazane replies, interlacing his fingers with Ishijiro’s, “and if they make it hard for you, let me know.”
Ishijiro appreciates the thought, yet it’s unlikely he will do it. If he did and Kazane spoke in his defence, there’s no doubt the servants would be even more annoyed. Not that the oracle needs to know this or to worry about him too much anyway.
“Let’s talk about something more interesting,” Kazane speaks again and Ishijiro can only look at him and wait, “what do you think about reincarnation? For example, if there really is a new life after death, what would you like to become? When I was a child, I wanted to be a steamed bun,” he adds, so proudly. Ishijiro does his best to not raise an eyebrow but he spectacularly fails.
“A steamed bun?” “I used to eat them a lot and they are cute and delicious. I didn’t think much about the fact that being a bun means someone will eat you. I was six,” he says and chuckles as if he has not a single care in the world. Ishijiro doesn’t know how he manages to be so carefree and, when he expects it the least, so sad and lonely.
“So? What would you be?”
Surprisingly, Ishijiro has to think about it. He stays quiet for a very long time, conscious about Kazane waiting for a reply and, at the same time, about his fingers playing with Ishijiro’s. It might sound stupid for someone else who has lived a very different life, but Ishijiro barely had the chance to get a vague idea of what he wanted to become before his father told him what he was expected to be . The carefree attitude he should have had back then, as a child, was suppressed so soon he vaguely remembers what it feels like.
“I don’t know what I’d like to be,” he admits in the end, his eyes staring at the clear sky, “but I know the world I’d like to live in. I spent my childhood knowing too soon what my father wanted for me and that I couldn’t fight it. In the end, I simply grew accustomed to the idea of not choosing for myself. I think, in a sense, my siblings are the same: my sisters are expected to marry someone influential. My younger brothers are already considered a soldier and a scholar. Luckily enough, they both like it enough to not regret it in the future. I hope my father will be satisfied enough to leave the youngest alone,” he confesses. He feels Kazane’s hand holding his own, instead of him playing with their fingers. Once he glances down at him, Ishijiro notices Kazane’s eyes on him and the serious expression on his face. He’s not just listening to him, he’s trying to understand him.
“So I think that no matter who I’m going to be in my next life. I simply wish to live in a world that will be a fair one, where you get to decide what to become and where you get what you deserve for trying your best. A world of balance, where every promise is like a contract between people who can both benefit one from the other,” he explains as best as he can while hesitating on the last thought that crosses his mind: “What about you?”
“I want to be free,” Kazane says, like someone who has thought about it so many times that the words naturally come to him, “to do anything I want: to travel, to play my music, to meet a lot of people and observe them, learn what they can teach me. I want to hear many stories and tell them mine, not relying on fragments of dreams and the voice of God. It would be nice.”
Ishijiro knows, by now, that the balance they used to have in their relationship probably started to crumble once he promised Kazane to let him have some freedom outside the temple, or when he interceded for him to get that permission. When he brought him the lyre and told him he was the reason for Ishijiro’s existence. When he held his hand that night. Whenever he lets him rest his head on his leg, like now. He might have never spoken the words, but he supposes there’s no need to. The wisest thing would be to not feed the fire of Kazane’s heart.
“In a world that is just and right, an oracle will be free to be human again,” he murmurs, looking straight into Kazane’s eyes.
He can’t say that Kazane's kiss on his lips, as clumsy and innocent as it can be, is expected because it’s not— yet it would be a lie to say that it’s completely un expected.
*
Ishijiro wishes they had more time— he thought that would be the case. Kazane’s gesture, that kiss, was bound to change things between them and Ishijiro has never been the naive type: either he chooses to be stricter with himself and stress his guardian role, rejecting Kazane’s affection or he decides to accept his feelings because they are mutual… he needs more time. He never thought that not even a month after that kiss Kazane would have woken up in the middle of the night, unable to muffle his screams. To be honest, Ishijiro never thought he would have ever heard himself ordering the other servants to not enter the oracle’s room as if he was ready to fight whoever tried to.
And now Kazane has had his face hidden against his neck for a while, almost sitting on his lap, refusing to speak or let him go. At first, he didn’t know how to react but in the end, Ishijiro couldn’t help but stroke his head and back. It’s been so long since he had to do this for someone else…
“Kazane,” he murmurs, calling his name instead of one of his titles now that the other finally stopped trembling.
“Don’t leave,” Kazane whispers as he holds Ishijiro tighter, maybe convinced that otherwise, he’s going to go away. Ishijiro keeps stroking his back, as slowly as before: “I won’t,” he says, “but I’d like you to face me. And talk to me.”
He feels a small sigh against his neck and then Kazane slowly adjusts himself to look at him. Ishijiro doesn’t pressure him; instead, he observes him: his eyes are slightly puffy and his expression still gives off a sense of fear. To be honest Ishijiro can guess what this is about: a prophecy. Something God showed in a dream. How terrible it must have been, though, is what worries him the most.
“Ishijiro,” Kazane calls his name and stops his trail of thoughts, “is there something worst than a war?” he asks him and the question catches him off guard. If he tries to imagine what could be worse than a war, almost nothing comes to mind. Conflicts over land never end well, not even for those who win— people lose their lives, their homes and sometimes their reasons to live despite surviving the war. Conflicts impoverish and deeply wound humans.
Ishijiro slowly shakes his head: “There is nothing I can think of, at least not among the things humans have control over,” he admits; unexpectedly, Kazane shows a bitter expression, a light smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Ishijiro hates it.
“I told God the same in my dream,” Kazane whispers, “I asked him ‘why do you show this to me? How do you expect me to tell my people war is coming? Tell them yourself ’. He… spoke to me. It’s the first time he doesn’t just show me a dream.”
As the guardian of an oracle who received not a single word from God since the beginning, hes’ more than surprised and he also can’t figure out what was so different this time— he doesn’t want to think that God talked to Kazane because the war is so imminent that the oracle doesn’t have much to live.
“What did he tell you?” “ There are worse things than humans’ wars. You might think otherwise and I know that you saw frightening dreams. I ache for your suffering. Yet it’s because I watched over humans for so long that I tell you: until there will be a war of Gods, you will surely keep walking the natural, mortal path, ” Kazane solemnly recites. Ishijiro has a hard time interpreting it or understanding how that last part should help them face the fact that war is coming. He looks at Kazane, still so close to him that they are basically hugging each other. They stay quiet, Ishijiro doesn’t know for how long, but in the end, Kazane gives him a resolute look.
“I’m terrified,” he admits, “but I love the village where I grew up. I care for its people. I know that many of them truly care for me as the oracle. I want to save as many lives as possible,” he says. Ishijiro couldn’t be prouder of him— instinctively, he tightens the hug and keeps him slightly closer.
“I… understand if you want to go back to your siblings,” Kazane murmurs, mustering all his courage to imply that he would let him go if Ishijiro asked him to. Despite how his hand brushes against Ishijiro’s arm, searching for more physical contact.
“I might go back, yes,” he admits and he notices how Kazane’s body goes still. That’s why he slowly caresses his cheek. He’s not the most expressive person in the world but he tries his best to give Kazane a soft smile, “with you if you want to meet them.”
They both know they can’t have eternity, with them being mortals. But he can promise to stay for how long Kazane will want him by his side.
“Maybe,” he adds, “when the war ends this world will be closer to how we wish it will be in the future we imagined.”
*
Air is filled with the light scent of qingxin and the peak of the mountain is the perfect spot to watch over Liyue, with nothing but the quiet company of the hawks flying not too distant from there. Many feet below, a small rural village has children playing with small rocks and adults taking care of farm animals and crops.
It would be more peaceful if there wasn’t a figure floating around him, a chin on his shoulder as if to sneak a peek like a child. Morax sighs, his arms crossed against his chest.
“You truly are a free spirit,” he comments, his gaze on the Anemo Archon. Barbatos chuckles, floating in front of him now: “I am! Freedom is what I want my people to enjoy the most, after all!”
To be honest, Morax is not as annoyed as one could think watching them interact. It might be true that he doesn’t agree with some of Barbatos’ ways of doing things, but they have been through so much together that he truly doesn’t think it’d be possible to hate each other. Not when they are the only two left of the original Seven Archons.
He sits on the grass, one arm on his knee; he can feel Barbatos staying there, mid-air, for a few seconds before he quietly sits next to him. Strangely enough, the other Archon doesn’t say anything. Maybe he expects Morax to comment on his sentence or maybe this is one of the rare occasions they can just share the silence and each other’s company.
“Are your people okay?” he asks instead. His voice doesn’t sound concerned but caring, even though Barbatos is not expected to be interested. Yet, Morax is not surprised: Barbatos has always been a lot of things— loud, too carefree sometimes, annoying when he acts like a child— but since Morax can remember Barbatos’ best quality is how human he can seem sometimes. The way he cares for people, no matter if they are from Mondstadt or not, is special. The Anemo Archon probably doesn’t think much of it, but Morax knows that it’s not so granted. He would worry for Mondstadt and try to help only if Barbatos asked him to. He knows for sure that the chance for it to happen is extremely remote.
“They are,” he replies, his golden eyes still on the children below them, “they will learn how to live doing their best and get what they deserve for their hard work. That’s how Liyue is supposed to be and how it will be ruled. A land of contracts so that everyone is sure to live free yet in a righteous way.”
Barbatos could be an annoying brat and make fun of him, but he does not. He puts his head against Morax’s arm, which is one of the many gestures sometimes the Geo Archon doesn’t understand: “Freedom can be obtained in so many different ways,” Barbatos says in such a quiet voice that it’s hard to imagine it’s him speaking, “I’m sure Liyue will be a prosperous land and that its people will be happy, thanks to you.”
Morax stays quiet but looks at him, even though Barbatos is not doing the same. They don’t see each other so often, now that they have a whole land to protect and guide, no matter which way they decide to do it. Maybe if they were human things could be different, yet it’s nothing but a fleeting and foolish what-if. Sometimes, though, he has this vague yet nostalgic feeling when he’s with him, as if there’s something he’s desperately trying to grasp but can’t seem to find— or as if someone can finally rest in peace.
As if someone finally came back home.