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The house is quiet when Childe wakes in the stirrings just after dawn. A cool, soft breeze wafts through the opened windows, caressing against his bare skin, the sheer canopy surrounding their bed slowly swaying. The bed is uncharacteristically empty beside him for this time of day, Zhongli often choosing to indulge in the company and sleep in on their shared days off. Childe yawns and stretches, squinting in the brightness of the room.
Upon showering and dressing, Childe discovers Zhongli nowhere to be seen, either within the man’s modest home or outside amongst the small garden Zhongli likes to keep. Strange. They had arranged to spend the day together, and Zhongli had not mentioned any early appointments nor needing to venture out the night prior. Strange, but not yet alarming: Zhongli’s coin purse sits abandoned on the small table by the front door, so he couldn’t have gone far, although the absence of mora surely hadn’t stopped the man in previous excursions.
Sighing to himself, Childe embarks to the city, seeking out Zhongli’s regular haunts. He checks the Yanshang Teahouse and Wanwen Bookhouse, makes a sweep through Chihu Rock, and even stops by the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but to no avail—no one has seen the consultant, and Bolai, ever the gossip, remarks that he is surprised to see the young Harbinger strolling around alone.
At a loss, Childe closes his eyes as he overlooks the harbor, alight with activity as ships sail into port. His Vision sparks to life as he surveys the elemental energy around him, grasping at tendrils until he encounters a familiar pull.
He follows.
After searching most of the morning and the entirety of the afternoon, Childe finds him to the west of central Liyue, just outside the edge of the Chasm. Zhongli sits tucked away inside an alcove of a mountainside, still and silent, eyes closed in meditation. Golden light circles him in sigil-like ribbons, forming a shining globe with Zhongli at its center. His dragon-qilin form has emerged: branched horns of amber sprout from his temples, hints of radiant scales adorn his cheeks, and a long tail reminiscent of the Exuvia curls around him from underneath ornate hanfu.
It almost feels like sacrilege to disturb him, but Childe is not one to turn tail like a coward. True warriors finish what they start. “Xiansheng,” he calls out, “what are you doing out here?”
Zhongli’s eyes flutter open, brighter than Childe has ever seen them. He does not question Childe’s presence, but rather seems to have been expecting him. “It is necessary, every now and then, to do this,” he replies, not moving from his position. “As my existence is of elemental energy, so must I restore myself periodically. This place, despite its ruined nature, is concentrated with pure geo.”
He beckons Childe closer. “Do not be disturbed. It is merely akin to filling cracks in a teacup.”
But Childe knows better. Zhongli wouldn’t have hidden away from him like this had it been a matter of simple recovery. “Too many cracks, and over time, there becomes more of the new material than the original,” he says, trying to control the accusatory tone in his voice.
“Until one day it all crumbles to dust,” Zhongli finishes for him.
Childe swallows. This is not the first time Zhongli has alluded to what he believes will be his inevitable end. Childe knows that as a human, his life’s playbook is different from that of an elemental being’s, let alone one who has been touched by Celestia, but he is uncertain whether he is prepared for this conversation. He almost wishes he had not followed Zhongli out to this place, but it’s far too late to go back. He steps gingerly into the alcove, perching close upon a large cluster of noctilucous jade. Where to even begin? Well, he’s never been one to shy away from getting to the point of matters.
“What is erosion like for you?”
Zhongli tilts his head, considering. His tail thumps beside him. It feels absurd, like he is choosing which tea blend to purchase rather than thinking about his own imminent demise. “It is different for every elemental creature. Some will lose their memories, some lose their sense of self. For me, it is the curse of solitude. For all who remain close to me, whom I regard as dear, all suffer their own accelerated erosion. Thus, some meet their end by my hand, some by proximity and the endurance of the ages. They all shall pass before me, and I must carry on. Such losses will wear away at me, until I am no more.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that it hurts. It is easy to remember that Zhongli, once Morax, is one of the oldest beings in Teyvat, but it is much harder to understand that in practice.
Zhongli looks at Childe, a painful smile etched upon his face. “You, too, shall be a form of erosion for me. When your mortal body is due to rejoin the earth, so will the fissures in my being deepen.”
“You say that as if I have a choice,” Childe retorts, a small laugh punctuating to lighten the severity of the discussion.
He doesn’t like the reminder. Being mortal has never bothered Childe; after all, the thrill from life or death situations is an innate perk to the limitation. A set time span lends urgency to his goals.
He never expected to fall in love with a god.
And part and parcel of that deal is that the god will long outlive his human partner.
They settle into silence, not wholly comfortable. Childe watches as the geo energy continues to swirl and undulate around Zhongli, seeping into his skin. The glow of it is beautiful, like xiao lanterns drifting through the air. He nudges at a half-buried starconch with the toe of his boot—how did that even get all the way here?
After some time, Zhongli rises and quietly walks toward the entrance of the cave. He looks out across the land, the day falling to slumber. “This place...used to be full of glaze lilies. A sea on land, blue and silver as far as the eye could see, no different from the sky.”
Childe watches, knowing that Zhongli is not with him now. The entity in front of him is the Geo Archon, lost in the minutiae of millennia long gone. “We brought some to the plains, and they spread there, thriving, until–”
Zhongli shakes his head. “When you live as long as I have...you no longer regret. There is only what happened, and the passage of time. To regret would be to dishonor those who have passed before you.” Zhongli looks at Childe then, the gold of his eyes a mirror to the radiant sunset beyond the mountains. “But sometimes. When I think of you. I regret. Not that we met, nor what transpired between us. But that I was not born as a human, and that the time will come when I will know a world with you no longer in it.”
There are no signs of tears in his eyes. Childe suspects if Zhongli were capable of crying, any tears have probably long dried up. Zhongli’s sorrows are a barren land ravaged by memories he has been damned to remember.
His father had named him after a fierce warrior, one whose name persisted through the ages. He is the Tsaritsa’s vanguard, the Eleventh Harbinger, who has claimed victories on her glorious behalf and will claim countless more to realize her goals. Ajax believes he is destined to splatter his mark in blood upon the pages of this world’s history. But Zhongli’s next words do not depict the kind of renown he has always dreamed of.
“You will be immortal in my heart.”
Because it means leaving Zhongli behind one day, another drop of loneliness to his already full bucket.
How selfish of him to love a god. How cruel of this world to condemn them for it.
His feet move of their own accord, his body rising to close the short distance, step upon step. His heart aches at seeing Zhongli holding back the pain that longs to etch itself upon his face, still so graceful despite the ravaging of thousands of years of wear and tear.
If they were to be punished, then Childe would fight against those heavenly principles, tooth and nail, bone and blood, with his very spirit.
“Then promise me,” Childe says, grabbing onto Zhongli’s hands and squeezing them intently, “Pledge yourself to me for the rest of my days here, and I will do the same to you. Allow me to fill what erosion has rendered to dust. And come hell or high water, I will return to you. Again and again and again, even after Celestia has fallen from the heavens.”
Zhongli frowns, but he does not try to move from Childe’s hold. “This contract is unbalanced. There exists no way for you to promise that.”
If you give someone a dream, you defend it to the end. He had told the Traveler that, hadn’t he? Childe is not someone to go back on his words, just because it might be convenient. And if Visions are the gods’ acknowledgement of one’s ambitions, then they should have seen this coming when they granted one to him and set him upon this path. “I will find a way. I will defy anything that stands in the way of me returning to you. Trust me.”
Looking down at their joined hands, Zhongli returns to silence. His brow is furrowed, and the corners of his mouth are downturned in displeasure. Childe wants to know what is going on in that fathomless mind of his, but he has come to realize that Zhongli moves at his own pace, and no one else’s. So he waits, contrary to the nature of how he rushes through life, for this old and tired god to catch up to him.
It’s a monumental step in his life: one that Zhongli can affirm or deny at his whim. And while it might have been a spur of the moment proposition, Childe knows everything he said to be true. He wants Zhongli at his side for the remainder of time granted to him; he can’t imagine anyone else beside him, and he doesn’t want to imagine Zhongli belonging to anyone else. There is no other reason why Childe inexplicably finds himself always running back to this foreign god, despite his duties, loyalty, and their rocky beginning.
He is in deep. Deeper than when he fell into that dark and endless chasm of nightmares. So deep that he’s drowning, gasping for air that can only be found from the breath of the man standing before him.
“I heard your cries as you were born,” Zhongli says at last, meeting Childe’s gaze, “and I knew that you were mine.” His eyes are sharp and so clear—resolute—and Childe steels himself so as to not shrink under that divine gaze. “I did not bless you, because I wanted you to be free. I knew another would see you and protect you until it was time.
“I took this form knowing it would please you, knowing your desires, because you are mine,” Zhongli continues solemnly. “And despite all this, none of it would have mattered. You could have ignored me, forsaken me, or walked away while I waited here, unmoving as stone.”
His face softens, and for the first time since Childe found him here, a small yet happy smile spreads across Zhongli’s lips. “Yet you chose me. And so, I am yours.”
He’s drowning. He can’t breathe. His chest feels so tight–
“I will always be yours. Even after you are gone, and I finally cease to be.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, but there’s only one thing Childe wants to do at the moment. He tugs Zhongli forward and wraps his arms around him in a crushing embrace. Zhongli tenses, then relaxes and presses into Childe, geo energy continuing to coil around him. Close proximity to an adeptus and a concentrated element so contrary to his own should be detrimental to him, but Childe doesn’t care. He isn’t exactly entirely human anymore, anyway.
Tenderly, Childe cups Zhongli’s jaw, thumb stroking along a high cheekbone. Zhongli’s skin is so fair, even more so next to gilded scales. Zhongli watches him carefully, cor lapis gleaming as he nuzzles into the touch. Childe moves his other hand to rest at Zhongli’s nape, idly playing with his unbound hair. It feels like spun silk, so unlike his own. Zhongli lets out a contented sigh, the tip of his tail brushing against Childe’s leg, and this close, Childe can smell the sweetness of Zhongli’s breath. It stirs something within him, and Zhongli must know it, too, for he wordlessly closes his eyes in anticipation.
Leaning forward, Childe captures Zhongli’s lips with his. Zhongli melts against him in welcoming, and it feels like the fulfillment at a long journey’s end. Like an unspoken vow. Childe pulls Zhongli closer to him, devouring the low gasp the other lets out and returning it with urgency. This will never get old, not the softness of Zhongli’s lips or the warm slide of their tongues against each other, or the solid weight of his body against Childe’s, brimming with restrained power yet vulnerable for Childe to do as he pleases.
It will be his undoing.
Childe sighs, exasperated, and rests his forehead against Zhongli’s. “Don’t run off without a word again! I don’t expect you to report every little thing you do, but even I get worried sometimes. At least leave a note next time.”
Zhongli chuckles, gently patting Childe’s hair. “I apologize. I am still unused to being accountable to someone else in such a fashion.”
“Well, get used to it,” Childe laughs, “I might not get to live forever, but I plan on sticking around as long as I can.”
Reluctantly, they break apart. Zhongli returns to the center of the cave and carefully rearranges his hanfu around him. “I require only a few more moments of recovery. I do not mind if you wish to stay here, but should you choose to return to the harbor, I will be right behind you.”
“How often must you do…this?” Childe asks, gesturing vaguely to the glowing energy encompassing the other man as he reclaims his own seat across the way.
“It has been a while since I needed such an activity, but the recent ley line disruptions have made me feel…unsettled,” Zhongli admits, folding his hands together and closing his eyes once more. “But fret not, I am still in sound health.”
This time, the silence is comfortable and familiar. Childe watches the golden strands shift and fade, like gentle waves across the sea. He commits this moment to memory, sealing it within the depths of his heart. He wants to remember this when he’s older: this secluded place that birthed a new dream for him, this beautiful man who is worth that dream.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, but by the time Zhongli opens his eyes, twilight stretches across the Liyuen plains. Zhongli rises; the bands of energy dissipate, but their glow lingers upon his skin. Childe wonders if this is how the venerated Rex Lapis looked when he descended to impart his wisdom upon his people. Had he not been dedicated to a god of his own, perhaps Childe would have dropped to his knees in reverence.
“Tell me,” Childe starts, when the golden glimmer has left Zhongli’s eyes, “What did you mean that you knew?”
“Some call it fate,” Zhongli answers, taking Childe’s offered hand.
Childe makes a face, to which Zhongli laughs behind his sleeve. “Fate is fact, but it also requires choice. You could have headed down a separate path that never led to me, and I would not have imposed upon that. It would not have changed the fact that the world deemed you to be mine.”
Childe gives a tiny squeeze to Zhongli’s fingers as he helps him up, ghosting a kiss over his knuckles when he stands. “I’m glad it’s you.”
“C’mon,” he nudges against Zhongli’s shoulder, “let’s head home. I’ll cook dinner for us, and you can finish reading that story to me.”
“Of course.” Zhongli manifests a floating orb of luminescent crystal, and Childe encases it in hydro to diffuse its glow. Droplets crystallize around it, creating a makeshift lantern to light their way.
Turning, they set out. Zhongli slips back into his human visage, his normal garb replacing the delicate hanfu. Seeing his adeptus side will never cease to amaze Childe.
With Zhongli’s hand in his, Childe resolves that no matter what uncertain future awaits them, they will meet it together.