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A heaviness settled upon Sumeru City; the night weighed down by the humidity commonplace throughout the Nation of Dendro. The soft glow of the lanterns guided lost souls back home as the hustle and bustle of the day was long ago replaced by the silence – and the occasional chirping of a cricket – that came with the late hours of the night.
Under the blanket of the gentle moonglow, the green tiled roofs resembled moss-covered roots of the Divine Tree, stretching, and writhing away to veil all available space. Each street of the city was empty – a small, cobbled vein among the shades of green. The branches of the Divine Tree stretched skyward, greeting the Moon; its foliage basking in the silver light, each leaf so glossy and humble, as only nature can be.
How many secrets did those leaves hold? How many unfulfilled promises and wishes had the Divine Tree bore witness to? Forced forever to observe Sumerians and outlanders alike fall short of their ambitions due to mortal constraints.
Wanderer scoffed: now it could add his name to its long list of unfulfilled potential.
A cool, night breeze ruffled the foliage above him, causing a gentle hum to ring through the air as the leaves danced in the wind. With a chime, the shakujo finials attached to his wide hat joined their waltz.
He had spent enough time in Sumeru City to know where he would be left undisturbed, and now leaning over the banister of one of Sumeru City’s many paths heading to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Wanderer could lose himself in his thoughts freely.
Without the annoying chatter of students and sages alike, grasping onto trickles of knowledge and their own false wisdom.
Here, in the late hours of the night with only the Divine Tree as his witness, the short-haired puppet could rue the mistakes of his forebearer in peace.
Some weeks earlier, with the help of the Dendro Archon and the Traveler, he had regained the memories of his former self and had spent the nights since ruminating their meaning. It’s not like he needed to sleep anyways; so had instead used the quiet and peaceful hours to replay those moments in private, discovering new names and events each night.
He had had so many names: the puppet; the eccentric Kabukimono; the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, the Balladeer. Each of these was a thread of fate tying down the puppet’s joints, weighing him down with their broken promises and empty dreams.
Indigo eyes trained on the horizon, he sighed, his orbs catching sight of the soft glow of Gaandharva Ville in the distance – so fragile in its strength.
Wanderer was a stranger to his own past – the memories he had regained belonging to his former self, causing him to feel like a spectator within the echoes of his own consciousness. The ache of his abandonment by his mother; the fluttery joy in his chest at the sight of Katsuragi, Mikoshi Nagamasa; Niwa, Miyazaki in his mind’s eyes; the heart-wrenching pain of their deaths; the renewed hope at meeting his new friend, followed by the inevitable despair of the final betrayal; the dull anger that infected him as the Balladeer. They were all familiar to him - their caresses under his skin akin to an old friend’s as they gripped the emptiness within his chest.
Familiar yet not fully his.
If he had a heart, he supposed it would’ve been shrivelled and black by now, thanks to his former self’s hatred for the world.
A darkness descended upon the city as a thick cloud covered the moon, blocking the light from reaching down and painting the landscape a silver shimmer. Glancing skyward, Wanderer turned his head up towards the heavens; the movement causing his shakujo finials to chime once again. Catching sight of Celestia behind the imposing cloud, a twinge of anguish ripped through the puppet – a sore reminder of the cause of his abandonment docked high above the continent of Teyvat.
He didn’t blame his former self for his blind search to belong, to feel human – to be enough.
He couldn’t; Wanderer himself had felt empty without a heart even while leading a life of charity and empathy. The lack of a human heart caused him to long for a purpose he never found – whether it was waging war or helping strangers on his travels, nothing could fill the turbulent void.
Reclaiming his past sins helped Wanderer restore a part of him locked away by time and Irminsul itself; a stain upon a life led with kindness and honesty.
But what worth does a lifetime rewritten by fate have? Is it even real if the one leading it is so hollow, missing a part of themselves?
In that moment, some weeks ago, as Wanderer face the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom – the entity his former self swore would rise him to Archonhood – he saw himself, or rather a version of himself, which had grown desperate for any pitiful scraps of power he could scavenge.
The puppet was a discarded milksop, the Kabukimono unaccomplished and sheltered while Scaramouche as the Balladeer was a schemer – one who eventually went against divine decree and the tides of the world.
Yet, as he beheld their reflections in his mind’s eye – covering in fear, pathetic in his agony, laughable in his arrogance – each one was vivid, real, living and most importantly…
Him.
To accept the past was to acknowledge the past him – the real him – had never disappeared, never died, for it lived on deep within him. No matter how many times he restarted his life, he would always tread the same path.
It was this realisation and his acceptance of it that had allowed him to defeat the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom. In that moment, as the wind enthusiastically greeted him, carrying with it scents old and nostalgic, that a blind light came between him, and the crude imitation of his former self and a glimmering Vision descended into Wanderer’s hands.
On his chest, the Anemo Vision pulsated in turquoise waves, emitting a low hum as it did so. Overhead, the moon peaked behind the dark cloud, its moonlight rays showering the Wanderer in a silver hue as he closed his eyes – a peaceful expression on his face despite the inner turmoil.
It was rare that the puppet could allow himself a moment of respite – where the silence wasn’t disturbed by a scholar or sage or… other people.
“Would you mind if I join you?”, a juvenile voice spoke behind him.
With an exasperated sigh, he peeled his eyes open and turned towards the source of the voice, an unamused expression of his face – his peaceful and calm demeanour gone in the wind. Cloaked in his long, dark shadows was a deceptively small-looking child, her large green eyes glowing in the darkness like a Dendro Crystalfly.
Speak of the devil…
Dismissively, Wanderer turned back to the horizon, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be walking around, Lesser Lord Kusanali,” his voice biting and sharp.
“Or early, depending on how you look at it,” Nahida smiled as she settled next to him, looking up at the puppet, “Have you found what you were looking for?”
A pregnant pause enveloped the air around the two, before the indigo-eyed puppet scowled, his gaze flickering to her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you haven’t been stowing away here at night for weeks because you like the view, Wanderer,” the white-haired god sighed.
Damned Dendro Archon and her perceptiveness.
Stubbornly, Wanderer kept his eyes glued to the horizon, the moon falling slowly to the sprawling golden sands to the west behind them.
With another heavy sigh, Nahida continued, “Your past does not define your future, Wanderer. You can’t atone for your sins by looking back – the past is set in stone, but you can keep moving forward. And the longer your future lasts, the shorter your past will become, until one day it is but a tiny fraction of your life. You’re free to choose your present and weave your own future.”
“So hypothetically,” he paused, “you’d let me leave Sumeru if I wished?”
His question rang through the still air, seemingly a challenge to the agreement the pair had struck a few weeks prior. Provocation swam in the indigo oceans of his eyes as amusement settled on his face.
Nahida answered his question with a gentle smile, “If that’s what you want, you’re free to go.”
In a flash of a moment, Wanderer’s amused expression fell, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“You’d let me go?” He repeated softly.
“Of course. You’re not a prisoner.”
A stunned silence blanketed over the puppet and the Archon as Wanderer repeated her words over and over again in his head; a sense of awe and wonder filling his hollow insides as he turned his head away from the lightening horizon towards the small child-like god next to him.
Lesser Lord Kusanali – or Nahida as she kept imploring him to call her – never stopped ceasing to amaze him in the past few weeks they had known each other. Her small stature and childish features hid a wise and noble soul, one which had accumulated knowledge over millennia. Her each metaphor – no matter how strange and abstract they sometimes were - were cleverly disguised vehicles for their intended target to reach an objective of their own volition, all the while guided by Nahida’s insights and perceptiveness.
Unlike the anger and hatred Wanderer believed he deserved for all he had done previously, she looked at him with hope shining in her eyes. The emotion swam in her Dendro-coloured orbs like a fledgling flying high above its nest, its chest puffed with pride at its success.
Why? He had done nothing for the Dendro Archon to like him; as Scaramouche he had attempted to overthrow her rule for his own selfish gain.
So why?
As if sensing his question, Nahida turned her eyes to the distant mountains as a shy purple started to paint the eastern skies, signalling the imminent arrival of the dawn.
A small smile on her face, she glanced at his surprised expression, “You’ve done more for Sumeru than you realise – unintentionally but still. Without you and the sages’ plan to build their mechanical god, I would still be imprisoned within the Sanctuary of Surasthana, powerless, and Sumeru would still be a divided nation. Thanks to you, weed within the Akademiya has been removed and the Land of Dendro welcomes the dawn of a new era – one where knowledge is no longer a currency used to enslave others.”
With a soft sigh, her smile widened slightly as she turned to the coming dawn, “Whether you choose to stay in Sumeru or not is up to you. But if you do, this land and its people will welcome you with open arms.”
No words slipped past Wanderer’s lips – such kindness felt undeserved. After everything he had done, atrocities he had committed – even if committed under another name – to think some would show him forgiveness, pure unadulterated forgiveness.
It was… unexpected to say the least.
With furrowed brows and a piercing gaze, he studied Nahida’s face for any sign of an ulterior motive, a hidden agenda behind her impossibly gentle words. Distrust brewed inside him as he focused on the relaxed lines of her face - her grass-green eyes brimming with understanding.
She had to have been lying… right?
How many times had he lied while living under the name Balladeer, how many souls had he damned simply for breathing near him – he had forgotten the count. He didn’t deserve her gentle words or her pure understanding. And as distrust slivered up his throat and chocked him with its poisoned thoughts, he turned to the young god with his eyes narrowed.
Eyeing her suspiciously, Wanderer countered, “You’d extend such a curtesy to someone who tried to overthrow you, to destroy you?”
“Scaramouche the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers tried to overthrow me, not Wanderer,” Nahida gently answered, each word uttered weighing heavily on the puppet’s mind, “Your past does not define who you can be. If you wish to atone for your former self’s sins – perceived and real alike – living your life for yourself is the best remedy.”
The skies above Avidya Forest were a blend of pinks, purples, and blue shades now as a golden light crowned the distant mountains. The warm light dribbled over the land like syrup on candied Ajilenakh nuts. Like mirror flecked mosaics, the leaves of the Divine Tree shimmered while the early morning dew sparkled on the bejewelled cobwebs and grass.
With the early sunrays hitting his face, Wanderer closed his eyes and repeated her words in his head, her meaning sinking deeper into the dark pools of his consciousness.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the Lesser Lord Kusanali – Nahida – was right, no matter how much Wanderer refused to acknowledge it aloud. His former selves have all lived their lives in service to something – their innocence, fear, agony and finally greed and arrogance. And were only rewarded by further suffering.
No more.
With the sunrise as his witness, Wanderer swore to reweave a new future for himself – one where he lived for his own ambitions and walked the length and breadth of the world, as free as the breeze he commanded. He would live for himself and would atone for his sins by acting in the shadows on the behalf of the young god beside him. No longer would the pitiful hunger for power of his former self chain him down – he will be as free as fledgling birds in the morning sun.
The name ‘Wanderer’ would not be found on the Divine Tree’s list of unfulfilled potential.
“I think I’ll stay in Sumeru City a while longer,” his eyes shone with determination and resolve as he glanced at her, a satisfied grin on his lips.
Beside him, Nahida observed him as he turned away from her and towards the rising sun; their silhouettes bathed in a golden glow.
Her smile widening, Nahida added, “Good. I was hoping to hear that since I enrolled you in the Vahumana Darshan as a student.”
An indigo eye twitched in annoyance.