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Dainsleif was a pursuer of many things – the sky, the stars, the sea and the clouds. Because just like them, he lasted. Just like them, he harbored secrets, ancient and agonizing.
He’d wandered this world for longer than he could remember. But he’d never fully allowed himself to feel out of place or lonely. After all, he hadn’t found retribution yet.
There was an abyss inside of him, void of the man he’d once been – human – and he’d accepted it as a part of his corrupted soul. It was him, just like his curse was, and without it, he would turn to dust, unable to fulfill his purpose.
To pursue
To search
To wander
To retrieve
The reason for it was simple: For as long as he persisted, Khaenri’ah persisted.
When he’d learned about others who had outlasted the cataclysm, fear had devoured him. Trembling fingers, all the human tears he could’ve shed, hesitation – cowardly and real … In truth, none of it mattered.
For years and years, he’d kept moving, kept searching, kept holding on to the promise of fate and hope that would eventually lead him to a merciful end of his cruel existence.
What did it mean to halt when it mattered most? What did it mean to reach his destination? To lose that sense of forever feeling lost?
What would he become? And what was left of him beyond his infinite journey?
✧
Mondstadt’s gates towered before him, as stoic and unmoving as he found himself facing them. Dainsleif had entered before, so why did it feel impossible in that very moment?
Because something – someone – is actually waiting for you this time.
“Are you lost, stranger?” a voice asked from behind him, dipped in casual playfulness.
A voice that struck him like a bolt of lightning.
I’m forever lost
It pulled him under water, robbed him of his breath and rationality and restored everything in a rush of adrenaline, in a thunderstorm of sudden, resurfacing memories.
It was a voice so ancient that his cursed heart ached with all the emotion he’d lacked during his infinite journey.
He whirled around, unable to hide the shock and awe that clawed into his features like a mask. He was so eager for this reunion, yet so unprepared to face the past and all its taunting puzzle pieces.
Before him, carelessly flipping a golden coin between his swift fingertips, stood his prince. The one he’d sworn to protect. The one he’d ventured out to find when Khaenri’ah had collapsed around them.
They’d shared a promise, then – another curse that had rested on his shoulders, had seeped deep into his heart, threading him with hot-headed guilt. A promise to find each other again, to remain while everything else had broken to pieces.
The prince’s hair was longer, still gleaming in a soft shade of ocean blue – reminding Dainsleif of the untouched parts of the sea. The lighter strand was still visible, just like back then – an imperfection that the king had always urged to hide and that Dainsleif had always considered fascinatingly astray.
One piercing blue eye stared back at him, while the other one was hidden behind a black and gold-rimmed eyepatch.
The coin that was dancing between the prince’s fingers staggered and dropped to the ground, slowly rolling towards where Dainsleif was standing rooted to the spot. In front of his feet, it wavered and fell.
The prince was just staring at him, then. The sharp, beautiful angles of his face lined with shock and puzzlement. Wind caught hold of the fur coat that was draped over his shoulders, sent blue strands of hair astray and Dainsleif’s heart with it.
He’d imagined this moment, over and over. But he’d never allowed himself to feel it. His chest was about to split open.
All he said, however, was, “Perhaps I have become a stranger to you. Nevertheless, with all that I am today, I hope that you remember me, too.” He picked up the coin and took a few cautious steps before lowering himself on one knee. “My prince.”
“Get up,” the prince answered with a voice as hollow as the wind itself. When Dainsleif didn’t obey, he repeated it with more urgency, “Get up. Please.” The last word was merely a whisper – unguarded, unintentional. It did a strange thing to Dainsleif’s chest. It sounded as broken as he felt in that moment.
So, he rose to his feet again, facing his prince eye to eye.
“It’s you.”
The gentleness of those words took Dainsleif off guard, swept him off his feet and scattered every bit of guilt that had settled deep within him. They were words of relief, of uncertainty and so much unresolved pain.
“It can’t be you,” the prince breathed.
“I understand that you are upset with my presence. I understand if you wish for me to leave because I’ve let you down once before, but I can assure you that our meeting has a reason. If I could just explain–”
“Dain,” the prince interrupted him. His former nickname in that voice – subtle and soft and unchanged. “I’m not upset with you.” His brows furrowed and his gaze wandered to the coin in Dainsleif’s hands. “How could I be?”
Dainsleif could think of many reasons, but instead of stating his failures and disappointments out loud, he inclined his head. “I’ve been wandering this world ever since we lost our home. I thought I was the only one who stayed conscious despite the curse.” He looked at the piercing blue eye once more, at the shattered memories and the agony beyond, carefully buried. “I am sorry I could not reach you sooner, my prince.”
“I’m no longer a prince. I go by Kaeya here. Captain, if you like.” A muscle shifted in his jaw before his lips recovered into a faint smile. “Something you should be familiar with.”
“Does anyone know about …?”
“No.” Kaeya shook his head. “And I intend to keep it that way.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and let his gaze roam over Dainsleif’s appearance. “People in the city have been talking about you, you know? A mysterious stranger who shows no interest in conversation with anyone, dressed in the strangest attire.”
Dainsleif frowned down at his clothing. Perhaps somewhere along the way, when he’d stopped seeing himself as human, he’d also stopped paying detailed attention to his appearance. Was he really so out of place here, at a loss for time?
“I still can’t believe you are standing in front of me right now.”
“Neither can I.” Dainsleif lifted his gaze, allowing it to linger on the eyepatch that was half-hidden underneath deep-blue strands of hair.
Kaeya noticed the glance and pointed a finger at it. “Oh, this? Just precaution.”
“Were you injured?”
A laugh – short but so very warm and alive – echoed from his throat. “Wouldn’t that be an insult to your skill, Captain? Since you’re the one who taught me to defend myself?”
Before Dainsleif could answer, he loosened the eyepatch to reveal a perfectly intact eye. Dainsleif remembered it vividly – the striking gold that covered not only his iris but the whole eye. When Kaeya smiled again, the shade changed – a swirling kaleidoscope of glimmering colours in midst a single face. It had always reminded Dainsleif of the stars and their wicked beauty.
Looking at it then, after all this time, Dainsleif felt at home, while at the same time, he was overcome with a longing that brought another ache to his chest.
Still smiling, Kaeya readjusted the eyepatch. “I’m good with the sword. Just as good as I’m with lies.”
“I am sorry you had to spend your life hiding your true identity.”
“Stop apologizing, Dain.” It was the second time Kaeya had spoken his name – a flutter in Dainsleif’s chest, finally. “It’s been 500 years.”
“That’s exactly why apologies are in order, why there can never be enough of them. My prince, I promise you, now that I have found you, I won’t leave your side again.” Dainsleif lifted his palm to present the golden coin, inclining his head once more. “If you accept.”
For five seconds, Dainsleif was met with silence. His heart hammered in his chest – a welcome reminder that he, after all those years, was still a living, breathing person; that he hadn’t simply lasted but that he had found the possibility to matter once more.
This time, he wouldn’t allow himself any mistakes. This time, he would follow his prince to the end of all worlds.
Purpose
“I told you, I’m not a prince anymore.” With a gloved hand, Kaeya took the coin from Dainsleif’s palm, bare fingertips brushing over his skin like starlight. “And you don’t owe me anything.” Dainsleif watched him flip the golden token once more. “You’re a piece of home, Dain. Of course, I accept. Now that you’re here, I need to show you my city.”
A piece of home
“Your city?”
Kaeya motioned at the gates behind them, at the trees lining the walls and clear blue sky brimming from above. “A lot has happened since Khaenri’ah has met its end. People change, don’t they?”
Another heavy feeling tugged at Dainsleif’s heart. He couldn’t answer that question, not truthfully. Because he hadn’t changed. He’d only lost himself to grief and never-ending questions.
“I went to the tavern already,” he said instead. “But I fear I have lost all sense of appetite. Food and drink tend to taste all the same to me, I don’t bother with it anymore.”
Kaeya blinked at him, likely pitying and judging Dainsleif at the same time. “In that case, I’ll treat you to a meal first. And a nice bottle of wine, too! Don’t you remember the nights we used to sneak into my father’s wine cellar and …” He trailed off, smile turning suddenly bitter.
“I do.” Dainsleif nodded. “I remember all of it. Good and bad.”
Kaeya looked at him, all blue and broken but not at all hopeless. Somehow, he’d managed to remain a whole person – more so than Dainsleif could ever wish to be.
“I’m sure there’s a lot to talk about, then.” He cocked his head, smile lingering in the corner of his curious mouth. “And there’s plenty of time to catch up, don’t you think?”
“Lead the way, my–“ Dainsleif cleared his throat. “Kaeya.”
“My Kaeya?” The prince brushed two fingers over his lips as if to consider the title. His answer was a teasing curve of his lip. “Has a nice ring to it.”
Before he realized what he was doing, Dainsleif smiled faintly at the comment. It was a strange feeling, old and a little icky at first. But once he saw Kaeya’s reaction to it – a brightening, all too familiar grin, boy-ish almost – he realized how much he’d missed it, the feeling of hope and second chances.
“I’ll fix you the best plate of chicken mushroom skewers you ever had,” Kaeya announced, walking past Dainsleif. Halfway, however, he turned, reaching for his friend’s hand with both of his.
Dainsleif froze at the contact, suddenly reminded of their past relationship back in Khaenri’ah – jokes and card tricks, midnight swims and forest walks, bloody knees and knuckles and the poor attempts to hide them or patch them up in secret. They’d been so close once, whole and inseparable.
Now, 500 years later, the brush of Kaeya’s fingertips still managed to confuse Dainsleif’s thoughts – a distraction he couldn’t allow himself to consider again, not when everything had changed except for himself.
“You should keep this,” his prince said softly, pressing the golden coin back into Dainsleif’s palm and closing his fingers around it. “This way, you won’t lose me again.”
For a second longer, that pale, blue stare seized him, all shards and threat and undying hurt.
Don’t ever leave me again.
A moment (or many) passed and Kaeya had turned around once more, strolling towards the gates, one hand placed at the hilt of his sheathed sword, humming a carefree melody.
Dainsleif followed, heart a little lighter now that he’d found a piece of home in a world that had deemed him lost countless of times before. He still was and would be. That was his curse, after all.
For now, however, he allowed himself to breathe. To take a chance of life. To follow his prince once more. And for the first time in forever, an end of his journey felt almost graspable. Fate was funny like that.