Chapter Text
A wanderer. To have such a title, to keep such a standard definition, Kazuha believes a singular checkbox needs to be ticked: Continually on the move.
That was why he decided to stay in Sumeru City for only a day, then move on.
The city itself was charming, welcoming, and Kazuha enjoyed the fresh scent of spices thrashing in the air. Nature was different here, with heavy, suffocating blankets of humidity after each rainstorm. Not his favourite, yet not his hated. A new experience, a fresh mind.
He decided to explore the Grand Bazaar. Logically, to learn about the people's cultures, he needed to start where the people were. A few hours in the Grand Bazaar sounded delightful.
Callers for every exotic good imaginable crowded the streetsides; blankets of fruits, vegetables, pottery and treasures filled the tiled paths. A clear foreigner, Kazuha had expected merchants to upsell him on supposed antiques and valuables, but what he hadn’t expected was being manhandled .
“Good sir! You look to be from the faraway land of Inazuma!” The gruff man who gripped his upper arm had gnashing teeth that paralleled the deadly strikes of lightning on Yashiori island. Kazuha did his best not to struggle, but instead tugged his arm the best he could. No need to fear, he should have seen this coming.
“Come!” the merchant gripped harder, and Kazuha’s other hand itched for his sword. But he couldn’t draw it here, not in such a crowded atmosphere. “Come! You must see what beautiful pottery I have! It resembles your hometown!” He pulled Kazuha along, positively dragging the samurai and bumping into various shoppers.
“Good sir-” Kazuha tried to call, his normally quiet voice ripped from its gentle abode. “Good sir! Please-”
The man’s grip tightened. It was starting to hurt. And yet, Kazuha was unsure of what to do. Would he be arrested if he drew his blade? What if his actions hurt nearby customers? This was not Inazuma, he did not know every law or punishment. Was the Dendro Archon kind to a traveller’s sword? Was she, as relentless as Ei, in the seeking of eternity? Perhaps she wants the eternity of knowledge?
He did not like this fast unease growing in his stomach.
“Jut. Let him go.”
The samurai whipped around, turning his head as best he could to the voice behind him. Commanding, powerful, perhaps a sage? He had read and heard about the rumoured sages.
Instead, a boy stood there. An obnoxiously large hat, blue-clad clothes, an anemo vision. The stranger’s eyes were shielded by shadow, currently casting darkness towards the merchant — Jut.
The pressure on Kazuha’s arm lessened. “Ah…the Vahumana representative from the Interdarshan tournament!” Jut guffawed. “What a pleasure! Are you here to look at my wares?”
The figure scoffed. His arms folded. He had the stance of someone who used to command power, who still believed he commanded some sort of it. The spices in the air did not mask the fragrance Kazuha’s sharp nose picked up: bitter tea leaves.
“Let him go. You’re hurting a potential customer,” the figure said, its head raising ever so slightly. Kazuha caught a glimpse of his eyes: the colour of dimmed electro crystals, and yet still crackling with annoyance.
Jut gasped. “Oh my! My apologies!” In his haste to let go, he threw Kazuha forward. The samurai stumbled, his well-travelled footing nonetheless failing when his balance was forcefully put off.
A gentle hand steadied his shoulder.
He felt the spark from those crystal eyes, channelling him like some delusional power of electro. His senses roared, his connection with nature barricaded by this stroke of lightning.
How? How was this possible? A single touch?
The scent of bitter tea leaves faded. Kazuha regained his senses. He looked up, looked around, crimson eyes scanning and searching. What? Where? Did he leave?
A hint of blue in the distance, the silhouette walking out of the Grand Bazaar.
“I am so sorry, my dearest customer! Today has been a very rough day…I have sold nothing so far you see…hey! Where are you going?”
Kazuha dashed through the crowd, finding the exit. He reached with his sense — any trace, any aura, that anemo, blue-clad stranger. But, no, perhaps the humidity in the air and the thick scent of impending rain blanketed any clues.
He stared up at the gathering clouds. He was used to disappointment as a traveller, so why did this slight disruption feel so heavy? What was this strange longing within his beating chest?
He made a decision. He would stay in Sumeru City for a day more. He would find the stranger tomorrow and thank him.
A wanderer does not have to be on the move daily .