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In truth, when Furina challenged the Traveller to a duel, she’d expected: hesitance, fear, pleadings of “please don’t do this, oh almighty Archon!”
But the Traveller does nothing except point her sword straight at Furina, annoyance marring the placidness of her face. “...Bring it on,” Lumine says grimly. The tip of her blade is aimed right for Furina, a menacing glint of steel.
It wasn’t supposed to work this way. The script has been ripped apart, and the Traveller has ruined everything. She was supposed to cower under the weight of Furina’s challenge, beg for an Archon’s mercy, upon which Furina will magnanimously withdraw her intentions, citing, “I have better things to do than to torment the weak”.
And the Traveller’s eyes. Her eyes. Furina lives for the spotlight. The theatrics, the show. Everyone’s attention on her, dazzled by her, praising her. But somehow, none of the spotlights have never compared to the weight of Lumine’s eyes, burning under sunlight like righteous fire, daring Furina to step closer.
Furina is a coward. She steps back and retreats, fakes amusement by the Great Magician’s trick—relieved, in fact, for a way out of the trap she’d set herself.
That night, Furina dreamt: the world swallowed by a soft tidal wave, sweeping waters lapping at her feet as she sits upon her throne. The opera house, to crumbling ruins. Her people, melted water that flow past her feet in a gentle trickle. And Furina herself, sitting under the bright judgment of the skies, weeping uncontrollably, so interminable, so lonely, just how much longer.
It gets terribly isolating sometimes, being so brilliantly exceptional.
She looks up to the sun, a golden shower of light resting over her skin. It’s warm, warmer than the bone-chilling waters pooled at her ankles.
Furina wakes up with her eyes sore, her throat closed, and the Traveller doesn’t leave her mind. She finds herself seeking the gold of Lumine’s hair wherever she goes, only to come up empty handed, shy of eye.
Then, when Furina heard that the Traveller would be attending the magic show in Opera Epiclese, she seats herself above the stage for hours on end. An eternity of waiting, and when Lumine finally enters the opera house, Furina immediately sits herself up, poses in such a way that she knows will capture her best angle, all for…
What?
Just a glimmer of Lumine’s gaze, some form of acknowledgement, a casual glance as she speaks with Neuvillette before her attention is gone again, but even that is enough to make Furina swell with pride, I did it. I made her look.
It’s strange, how she longs for it; even though she craves the praise of her citizens, this is different. This is not the same as wishing to appear good and righteous and powerful. This is longing for allowance, as though a mere look from the Traveller will be enough to validate Furina’s entire existence.
Because sometimes, Furina looks into a mirror and wonders, For what do you continue to live?
And it’s humiliating, mortifying, shameful, how Furina continues to seek the Traveller’s attention, despite Lumine continuing to thwart her again and again. It’s all her fault, that Furina looked like a fool in court, made to look incompetent by the very play that she herself painstakingly put on. That Furina had to bluster her way out of the Fatui Harbinger’s trial like some sort of idiot who didn’t know how her own invention worked.
And it’s still all her fault, that Furina cannot help but seek her out, again and again. Stalking her like some obsessed fan, keeping tabs on her for more than just “matters of national security”. Furina hisses between her teeth as she looks out from the external balcony of the Opera House, raising her opera glasses as she follows the Traveller’s movements.
Stopping at the Fountain of Lucine with that absurd flying balloon animal she calls her companion, Lumine gazes into the flowing waters. She chats with Paimon absently, surveying every angle of her surroundings but somehow never noticing Furina.
Furina would not say that she is seething. She is above such mortal emotions. And yet, the thought never leaves, look at me, look at me, lookatme lookatme lookatme—
And then Lumine visibly jolts, eyes flying up—right toward the opera house’s balcony. Directly meeting Furina’s gaze.
Furina ducks immediately under the railings, heart pounding at her chest. The opera glasses clink as they land unceremoniously on the floor, slipped from her trembling hand with the sudden buckling of her legs. Only a brush of contact, and already, she is feeling lightheaded. Has she gained a sudden bout of anemia? But it’s strange, because Furina has never been sick, ever.
Furina stays like that for a while, breathing heavily, crouched under the railings of her own opera house. Weak at the knees, grappling for any explanation of what’s ailing her—only for a shadow to cast itself over her, the sound of ruffling fabrics besides her. Furina springs up, whirls around and immediately snaps, “Who would dare—”
And it’s the Traveller. Looking as bored as anything, standing besides Furina as she looks over the Court of Fontaine. “Who else were you expecting?” Lumine says.
“W-Who let you in?” Correcting her stutter, Furina says sharply, “The guards weren’t supposed to let anyone past.”
“I let myself in,” Lumine says. She jabs a backwards thumb at the ceiling of the opera house, a gesture done without even looking. “From up above. It’s not as if you have guards up there, right? Should look into that, maybe. It’s a security risk.”
Furina is a god. She does not gape. “But how did you get up here?”
“Climbed up,” Lumine says simply.
“You what—!”
“Climbed up,” Lumine repeats patiently, as though Furina was particularly dull of mind. Elbows propped on wooden railings, Lumine rests her chin over her hands. Gazes down below at the Fountain of Lucine. “It’s a nice view,” Lumine murmurs. “I can see why you like it here.”
And it’s still infuriating, how Lumine is still refusing to look at Furina. How her attention is still captured elsewhere. Furina draws herself up, about to go into a tirade, “I am the Hydro Archon, you will conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to my station” (i.e., you should be grovelling at my feet), “I could have you arrested for intruding upon here” (i.e., you should be begging me for mercy), etc. etc. All manner of things, ready to be shrieked, but then—
Lumine turns around suddenly, a dizzying blur of white and blue. “Throwing a tantrum won’t get you what you want,” Lumine says firmly, her fingers encircling the wrist of Furina’s outstretched hand.
Furina hadn’t even realized she’d been reaching.
And this time, when Lumine’s eyes land on her, golden irises illuminated by daylight, Furina shivers under the spotlight of her gaze. This was what she wanted. And yet, now that she has the Traveller’s full attention, it weighs so heavily.
“You don’t know what I want,” Furina says, a haughty lift of her chin as she jerks her hand back. Her skin felt burnt, peeling from the heat. “In fact, you know nothing about me, Traveller.”
“I heard you,” Lumine says softly. "You were crying." Lumine looks at Furina, a flit of aching pity across her face before it’s replaced by an unreadable calm. “You’re lonely. I know that much, at least.”
“What foolishness,” Furina scoffs, her voice rising higher and higher. “As if the Hydro Archon would ever debase herself by crying!”
Lumine shrugs. “If you say so,” she says.
“I do!” Furina insists.
“Then why…” Lumine takes a step forward, and Furina flinches. But she doesn’t step back a step. Allows, instead, for Lumine to crowd into her space, some exhilarating anticipation in her chest. Like putting a finger just above a candle; almost close enough to be burned, but not quite. “...do you keep looking to me?”
Lumine had noticed. She had noticed Furina’s gaze. And like that, Furina is trapped.
“...I could call for Clorinde,” Furina threatens, grabbing a hold of a stray strand of Lumine’s hair. There’s the scent of thunderstorm, fresh rain and dancing lightning. “She could be here in the blink of an eye, blade at the ready for your execution.”
“You won’t fight me yourself, almighty Archon?” Lumine mocks.
“I won’t bother dirtying my sword with your blood,” Furina says indignantly.
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to duel me? Why the sudden change in mind?”
“I’m just—” Furina splutters, cheeks flushed. She tugs at the golden hair gripped in her fist, but Lumine doesn’t look bothered. “—waiting for the right crowd first! It demands an attentive audience, the act of me vanquishing you!”
“Is that so? Then I’ll be waiting,” Lumine says, amused. Before Furina could say anything more, Lumine steps backward, silky hair slipping out of Furina’s fingers, and flings herself off the balcony. For a second, so caught by her worry, Furina almost tips over the railing as she attempts to grab a hold of the idiotic Traveller—only to realize her mistake, catching herself at the last moment as Lumine laughs before falling out of Furina's reach.
Suppressing a shrill shriek of fury and the urge to stamp her feet, Furina huffs instead. She grips the railing of the balcony, watching as feathered glider wings pop open to catch the wind.
When Furina opens her palm, there’s a single strand of tangled gold, a keepsake known to only her. Evidence of Lumine’s own admission: I noticed you.