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In traveling, Kazuha finds peace.
Traveling, once, was a form of self preservation; a way for Kazuha to remove himself from the situation at hand and digest it in a way that put his head in front of his heart. A great feat for someone like him, someone who feels so, so deeply and prefers to see the beauty amongst the rubble.
(“Running from his problems,” some may say, however venomously. Kazuha, however, prefers to think of it as running towards some sort of objective view, a way to see the rights, the wrongs, and the in-betweens.)
Kazuha finds beauty in travel the same way an artist finds beauty in a painting or a singer finds tranquility in a melody. Serenity, comfort, peace; a stroll down Nazuchi Beach or racing through the streets of Inazuma proper, the wind carrying Kazuha along to wherever it decides to take him like the seed of a maple tree. Whether the wind or Lord Barbatos himself, he is happy to let his feet – or perhaps his heart – be the guide.
So.
So, he finds himself standing on a branch atop the tree that houses Wangshu Inn, at the beginning of Lantern Rite just as Captain Beidou had predicted.
Kazuha rests back against the shingles of the Inn’s rooftop, hands folded behind his head and one ankle crossed over the other. He smiles as his eyes close, enjoying the smells of the kitchen on the bottom floor wafting along the breeze and the conversations around him keeping him company.
He hears a woman on the terrace scold her husband in a hushed tone, and though Kazuha had missed the beginning of it, he believes the man’s eyes had wandered. He hears children playing in the Bishui river at the foot of the inn’s great tree, splashing each other and yelping when the water is just a bit too cold. He hears pillowtalk from a pair of folks on the second story, a pair of lovers confessing their love for the first time.
And he hears–
“What are you doing up here?”
–the sounds of shoes hitting the rooftop.
Ah.
“Xiao,” Kazuha greets, peeping an eye open at him only once he hears the yaksha settle beside him. And he does, eventually; Kazuha can hear the stiffness in Xiao’s spine, the hesitation in his held breath as he relaxes, even if only slightly. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“Kazuha.”
“It’s been a long time,” Kazuha says cheerfully, but the smile on his face is soft, gentle; cautious, almost, as if he fears frightening a skittish bird. And maybe he is – maybe, deep down, Xiao is little more than a frightened finch, keeping an eye out for the easiest escape route.
Kazuha doesn’t frighten him. No, how could he – Xiao has heard the tale of Kazuha parrying the Shogun’s blade at Tenshukaku on the night that the traveler had nearly been victim to the very same fate as Kazuha’s old friend. A tale that had struck him to his very core, one that he could see the emotions playing on Kazuha’s face as though he were living it right there with him. A tale that, if Xiao were stupid, would make him take one look at the boy and think it’s a load of bulldung.
But Xiao isn’t stupid. Xiao knows that looks are deceiving, that it’s a matter of how the blade is used and not the size of its wielder. He knows all too well that skill and power come in all different shapes, different forms and altogether different walks of life. He can feel the power radiate gently from Kazuha’s being, warm like the smile that Xiao finds himself falling for over and over.
Xiao wants to run away – run from the possibility of closeness, of intimacy with somebody else. He’s lost too many in his lifetime to find himself with ties to another – and to a human, no less, who will be here and gone in the blink of an eye.
But still, he stays.
“It has.”
They sit in a comfortable silence, watching the lanterns rise in the far distance from the harbor, and Xiao wonders what it must feel like to feel so free as to celebrate another year without care.
(What Kazuha doesn’t tell him is that it feels like the weight of the world is pooling in his fingertips, in his feet – like the anemo he wields, it feels as though every ounce of sorrow and heartache that flows through him is a part of him, something that he must carry with him until his final breaths. Because, without it, how would Kazuha ever know for certain his lost loved ones were ever with him in the first place?
Xiao doesn’t say it out loud, but Kazuha knows he understands.)
“How do you do it?” Xiao asks finally, late into the night when Kazuha arrives on the rooftop once again.
It’s his second night at Wangshu after returning, a week after The Alcor had arrived in Liyue Harbor; a stop at the opera house finds him setting off later than expected, but with a little extra anemo in his step Kazuha finds himself at the foot of the tree before nightfall. Xiao joins him later, neither sweaty nor out of breath – if he were human, undoubtedly he would be.
It’s become a comfortable rhythm the past week. Kazuha whisks himself away in the early hours of the morning to return to the harbor, just after Xiao
“Do what?” Kazuha asks, twirling a leaf between his fingers.
Xiao continues to look at him. One moment, two too long – as if he doesn’t know. As if Kazuha, mindful and thoughtful and intuitive Kazuha, isn’t aware of just what he does.
He’s quiet again as he furrows his brow and looks out across Dihua Marsh. A band of hilichurls fight some slimes to the east, and just north some treasure hoarders are setting up camp for the night. Xiao wants – he doesn’t know what he wants, exactly. He wants to stay. He wants to flee. He wants to fight. He wants to bottle it all up and mash it down along with his karmic debt and move on without having to bare his soul to someone he tells himself he hardly knows.
He wants an answer.
“How do you stay so – happy?”
Xiao’s words come in a broken question, something unsure and laced with unfamiliarity. He’s not used to this, this vulnerability that make the insides of his eyeballs burn and his palms itch.
Unexpectedly, Kazuha pulls his knees to his chest and rests his cheek against them and for a moment, he looks sad; eyes staring a little too far away, smile a little too forced. Xiao knows that Kazuha has loved and lost, and he knows that the wandering samurai has faced more than enough hardship in his short life. The traveler had mentioned it in passing when returning to Liyue, and though Xiao is never one to pry, even he couldn’t help asking for a touch more information.
Still, when Kazuha refocuses, finds himself looking at Xiao again, present once more, Xiao thinks that his smile could rival the stars twinkling above them.
“I don’t.”
(He’s not “happy” in the traditional sense, as Kazuha later explains to the stars, Xiao watching on in silent awe.
He feels joy. He loves his friends and the scenery and good food and a beautiful poem or opera. It’s something he’s come to terms with, and is actively still coming to terms with; the pain of loss permeates his being, but yet, he remains carefree to the public, because it’s his grief, not theirs.
Xiao wonders if he’ll ever find his peace, his happiness, too.)
It’s the final night of Lantern Rite and finally, finally Xiao is able to sit back and relax.
Perhaps to say that he’s relaxed is generous; he’s still as on edge as ever, senses heightened with the fireworks that don’t seem to want to stop. Each one sends a thrum of panic through his veins and the hollering from the children at the foot of the tree don’t help ease his anxiety. The hairs at the back of his neck prickle with a static that he worries may release into the air and…
And what?
The knotting in his belly that he feels is, for once, not the feverish, penetrating feeling of his karmic debt. It’s not the usual feeling of doom that he feels creep up in his throat, nor the fire he feels behind his fingers as he grips his spear until his knuckles turn white. It’s little more than a twitching in his veins, a ruffling of his feathers that finds the soles of his feet itching to move.
It’s simply nervousness.
How silly, Xiao thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been in the presence of someone who may be susceptible to Xiao’s own debt, and longer still since he’s felt comfortable in the presence of someone who is not Rex Lapis.
And just like that, his nerves are whisked away with the gust of anemo that sends Kazuha in his direction.
“I brought you something,” Kazuha says when he lands, a smile on his face and a lantern in his hold. Xiao frowns at it, recognizing it as both foreign and all too familiar.
Many, many years have passed since he’s seen a xiao lantern so close like this. He’s lost count, now; so many years since, he’s foregone celebration to keep the harbor safe, to protect the people of Liyue as promised all those centuries ago. This year had been much quieter, oddly enough; for as active as the demons tend to be during the New Year festivities, Xiao has had an unusual amount of time to sit around and discuss the leaves.
The bird on the side looks oddly familiar, Xiao thinks, looking back to Kazuha’s face with a furrowed brow and a confused little frown.
“It’s a lantern,” he says flatly, and Kazuha laughs. Xiao tries not to think about how the mirth that it brings tickles at the edges of his ears.
“It is Lantern Rite, so that stands to reason.”
Xiao’s frown deepens as Kazuha settles beside him. And, for once, Xiao doesn’t scoot away – he allows Kazuha to sit so that their shoulders brush if they move the wrong way, so their knees touch if Xiao isn’t careful. Bubbles form in his stomach and he isn’t sure if, when he opens his mouth, they’ll escape or if he’ll choke on them.
Luckily, Kazuha speaks first, handing the lantern over.
“You’re familiar, then?”
Xiao’s jaw clenches, just a little. “Of course I am,” he says, though he only half means it.
The lantern itself isn’t much larger than Xiao’s palm, small enough to be carried without bringing much attention to its holder. It’s a pretty red with gold accenting that strikes a familiar chord in Xiao’s mind.
He inspects it quickly and finds a significant lack of maple leaves.
Kazuha pats his pockets, extracting a lighter from inside his haori. In a silent conversation, Xiao offers the lantern for lighting and Kazuha graciously accepts.
Their hands brush as Kazuha lights the wick on the tealight nestled inside the lantern, and neither are willing to admit the soft, gentle flush in their cheeks as they watch it go. It rises gently into the night sky, quickly finding its home within the stars. At the same time, Kazuha clasps his hands in front of him, bows his head and remains silent.
(He thinks of every time he’d promised to take his old friend to a Liyuean festival, every time he’d sworn to watch the lanterns float into the sky with him. Thinks about the empty vision frame sitting at the grave near the Kamisato estate where his feet take him every time he visits Narukami Island.
Kazuha wonders, briefly, if Tomo had ever seen fireworks that didn’t belong to Naganohara.)
Xiao watches on quietly, brows furrowed until he, too, bows his head.
(His thoughts are a little more chaotic, a little less organized; he thinks of Bosacius, loud and booming as ever, a stark contrast to Menogias’ calmer nature. He thinks of Indarias and Bonanus, taking each other’s side in all things except battle strategy, where Indarias insists that yes, she can fight fire with fire.
Xiao does not think about their gruesome end, and he does not allow himself to let his mind wander to anything past the dinners that Guizhong would once make them all share.
He wishes them well.
He misses them.)
When they raise their heads, silently, they agree to light the lantern, and together–
Together, they watch the lantern rise into the sky, taking with it a small bit of their grief.
Together, on the rooftop of the Wangshu Inn, is where they both say goodbye to lost loved ones. Where they separately tell them, thank you. I loved you. I’ll miss you.
Together, they grieve, but they walk a little lighter.