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“...Sylvie.”
Their name, which often rolls off Zhongli’s tongue so naturally, felt heavy—poised hands settling down his tea which he has been taking long, tentative sips from. “May I suggest holding a funeral?”
“A wh—a funeral?” Thick eyebrows knitted in as Sylvie’s own, now empty, teacup came to a rest upon the same table, confusion spilling across their face as a weird and uncomfortable knot seemed to lump within their stomach, like a sudden lurch.
“For Foras … and you,” he continued, straight to the point and leaving no room for doubt on what he meant. “ … forgive my forwardness, but this has been weighing on my mind for quite some time. Since the Rite of Parting, I've deeply pondered if I could offer the same to you.”
… of course, at a glance, the deceased in question is still very much alive—talking and smiling as one does, telling jokes about ‘hooters’ and ‘boobie’ birds that would get a groan to rise out of him. But for those like the Geo Archon who lived through countless millennia, he knew they were a dead God walking. Very few could recall them as Foras, God of Trees and Lord of Forests who once roamed the lands of Sumeru, whom people worshipped and adorned with garlands of flowers, whom people prayed to for safety, health, and bountiful harvests.
Now, little traces of them remain in the world. They bled into the casualties that were forgotten and buried in war. If people mourned and searched for them, they would not know it.
Sylvie’s tongue nervously darted out to lick at dry lips, mind lost between racing and having absolutely no coherent thought, as if it were frozen—something violently thrashed within their chest for a few moments as a cold seed spreads through their stomach, like icicles; it was only his gentle touch and squeeze to their hands that brought their focus back from the dark haze that edged their mind.
The sincerity in his eyes was nothing short of good intentions. They know that as a consultant—but most importantly, as their partner and an old friend—there was no one better fit for this task than him to offer such a thing.
So what was that fear that was keeping them from directly saying yes?
Perhaps it was the finality of saying goodbye to 'Foras' that scared them more than holding a funeral for their own death. But they wanted that and have wanted to snip that past identity for a while, so why did it make them want to cry merely thinking about it?
Why did it feel like it was asking to tear themselves in two?
No easy answer came, just waves and waves of emotions that seemed to tear at the seams of their heart, torn between wanting to release, and wanting to hold 'Foras' closer. A sharp inhale followed, deep and filling—before slowly being exhaled through their nose, feeling the pressure of Zhongli’s hands squeezing around theirs patiently—worryingly.
“I … I dunno. Like I …I think it might be worth ... the um ... no, it's a good idea. Yeah." Sylvie’s voice was quiet, meek, lacking any of their usual bravado and confidence. "Please be slow with me, I ... I want to, but the idea scares me. Silly as ... I feel silly for being so scared of ... burying myself. I'm scared, but I trust you. I trust you."
And he would hold their trust close to his chest.
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Of course, no ceremony was one that could be done in the mere span of a day, so it gave the Dendro God time to sit and ruminate. Except, they did anything and everything to keep themselves from doing so, throwing themselves into commissions, around crowds, into conversations and hobbies that kept their mind occupied from the looming fog.
Sylvie had already long come to terms with their own ‘death’ three thousand years ago; the only remnants of the effect was the deep scar running through their whole torso—almost bisecting them—and the bitter dislike of the cold from dying in old, frigid Mondstadt in some futile attempt to get shelter elsewhere for their people.
That was whatever.
What they never wanted to revisit, was the aftermath of that upon their reawakening.
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There was no one there anymore for Foras.
Morax now donned the mantle of Rex Lapis, the weight of Liyue heavy on his shoulders; he had more than enough on his shoulders, they would not—could not—add to that, when they knew all too well what it meant to be a God.
Guizhong was gone, many were gone, taken away in the war without any goodbye. The rest withdrew—all carrying their own aches and pains they were healing from. Some, they wouldn't even know where to search for across the span of Teyvat, the god having no idea if they were dead, or alive.
Sumeru was not an option, for even thinking of visiting made them feel shaken with shame for their failure as a God to their people—leaving ████ as a distant thought instead, even though they so, so sorely wished they could talk to her, to listen to her wisdom once more as fingers threaded through their hair to decorate it with flowers.
They were alone.
No one could answer the anguished calls of their heart, not when their own were still hurting and bleeding.
Who were they?
What were they meant to do now that all their people were gone?
And why hadn’t they just stayed dead?
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“I hope you don’t mind the request, Director Hu Tao.”
Hu Tao looked up towards her consultant, hands resting on her hips as her expression was thoughtful; it was rare for Zhongli to request much outside of work and clientele, especially in a way where he didn’t wish to divulge the reasoning behind it. “Of course I don’t mind it, seeing you with such a serious face when you ask me that … go, take all the time you need.”
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Sylvie quietly observed the green jade within their grasp, turning it in their hands as it glistened underneath the light of the sun, clear as the water that often washed over these gemstones in an embrace; they know the rite should be using Noctilucous jade, blue in its luster and glow … but they know Zhongli picked it because green was representative of them, shimmering with a warming glint. A deviation from tradition, a gesture of kindness in a way that would not betray the original intention of the ceremony as the jade was carved.
Silk Flower perfume, incense, bell …
“And you dragged the traveller along to get all of these?” they laughed out quietly, turning to look towards him.
“Mm, yes. It was quite an experience, I will say, especially as they had to sing to open up the Glaze Lilies; I’m glad that it was not a requirement this time around, with your hand in recreating the needed ingredients.” His smile mirrored their own, small and subtle. “I’m sure you would’ve enjoyed it had you been around to see the negotiations and hurdles that must’ve been crossed in the process.”
“Ones that had someone else bartering for you because you very conveniently forgot your money? And for three million Mora for incense of all things? And the … ahem, cocogoat you had to hunt down?”
“Everburning Incense. You must be aware and mindful, my jade, I was merely learning at that stage, and anyone could’ve easily mistaken Qiqi’s request.”
“Uh huh, considering even the six thousand-year-old god did. And now you do it on purpose to leave your mora at home and use your big puppy eyes towards me to buy you stuff on occasion.” Their elbow nudged into his side, watching. “How the hell did you even manage to get the incense this time around?”
“Baizhu owed me a favour.” Sylvie could only respond with a raised eyebrow towards him. “Legal loopholes allow him to import some external herbs that within Liyue are often regulated and need months of paperwork processing ahead of time, but were necessary for a critical patient in absorbing and removing miasma without reliance on adeptal arts.”
“Mm, I’d call that a very big favour. Makes sense.”
The jade was placed back down upon the table, settled into a quiet room within the funeral parlour that was secluded and private, housing the items that were to make up the Rite of Parting; although nothing like the one held for Rex Lapis. This was just for the two of them, and no one else.
They could not bear to have anyone else see this.“… I suppose that makes all of it,” they murmured quietly, not looking back up towards him.
“Outside needing to carve the jade to its needed shape, yes. It should not be longer than a few more days before we can enact the rite.”
They know this funeral is also for him as well, and is why he is pouring all of himself into doing it; in the tides of war, where grief and vulnerability were not allowed, the weight of their death had not dawned on him until it was far too late. Feelings slowly eroded and washed away like rivers over stones, dulling them down into something they can shelve far, far behind.
Ironic that he’s picked up the mantle of a funeral consultant when he needed it the most.
And though it all rests in the past now, memories flicker for both of them, of the anguish and hurt as he held their torn body within their own cold, dying dreamscape, of the apologizes spilling out amongst sobs they could never imagine leaving him, of the regrets he's had over so many years as he felt Sylvie’s essence slipping between his fingers, of their own words assuring him in their time of peril that it’ll all be okay (oh, he thought, they were always so selfless, down to their last breath) … to him, it still felt very much real when he thought back to it, even if it was merely a dream he walked into on pure happenstance.
So, Sylvie thinks, when has he ever had time to mourn? For them? For lost friends and companions? For the people of Liyue who had died for him? It’s why they wanted him to have this opportunity to do so, even if it was only for them, even if they were still here.
It eases up a bit of the dread coiled in their stomach.
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It took a few days for the jade carvings to return, and one more day until the actual procession and rite itself. Sylvie occupied themselves during those days, wanting to exhaust their body until they fell asleep and to not leave any moment to think. Of course, they prepared, mentally as much as they could, but it didn’t keep the fear from bubbling in their stomach.
White chrysanthemums and a bowl of fresh fruit decorated the small altar, with a wooden deer-carved figurine topping it; there was no body to mourn, when the body was still breathing, blinking, and moving about, so their own hands carved something symbolic of themselves to place atop the altar.
The door was closed behind them, finalizing the fact that this was happening, as the two quietly gathered around the altar.
“We are here today to honour and remember Foras, known as the God of Trees, of Harvests, of Fertility, of Health, a god born of Sumeru’s lands, beloved by those who looked up to them. Although many years have passed, one should admire their courage, dedication and love they returned for their people across many years.”
The heavy scent of the incense and the perfume washed over them, the flicker of light blurred in their eyesight as Zhongli’s voice filled their thoughts.
“Thank you, Foras, for all your kind words, and laughter you’ve brought, of all the times you’ve been there. May you have the same in return, in gentle hands that will hold your own and will listen to you. May the earth welcome you back with open arms..”
This was a goodbye that was three millennia in the making.
A goodbye to the laughter of the past, to the small hands of children holding their robes, to smiling faces thanking them for watching over them, to feasts held in their name, to old friends they will not see again, to a Sumeru that’s long been outgrown.
Gods, did it feel like a stab through the insides to say goodbye to that part of themselves, no matter how much it still lived within them, shaped them.
It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts.
The quietness of the rite and his voice was only interrupted by their sobs, raw and aching as they were unable to hold back the waves of emotions that tore through them—indiscernible in name—that sent their body shuddering with a detached coldness as it shook with their voice.
They didn’t want to say it.
But they needed to.
The God of Trees was dead.
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Sylvie could not tell how much time passed, lost in thoughts and emotions that felt like mud. They could vaguely feel the shape of hands smoothing over their shoulders in soothing circles. Their knees ache a bit, realizing they had curled down into a squat at some point—and that Zhongli was beside them, his hand being the one to rest on their back. Green eyes lifted to look towards him, finding his expression bare—worried, concerned, and with a glassy look to his own golden eyes.
Their lips parted for a moment, before closing with a soft, “I’m sorry.”
“For doing what would come naturally in a situation like this, you do not need to apologize.” There is a quiet tenderness to his words, vulnerable and open—a funeral for both to find closure, and to both help each other up from.
His hand moved to reach out towards them, palm splayed open … and they took his offer, stumbling up to their feet and finding their legs numb and asleep. The smell of the incense had faded out a bit, leaving only a taste of Glaze Lilies in the air.
“Thank you, Zhongli.”
Words could not cover their full gratitude, instead wrapping their arms around him in a tight embrace, a heavy sigh sinking their body down into him and face burying against the side of his head, focusing on the scent that was him instead—subtle, of sandalwood and something floral from that shampoo they gifted him. They could feel his arms in return around them, squeezing them with a pressure that grounded them further into the present. Everything still felt raw, like an open wound—but now it could close for them both.
“… could you make me a gravestone, Zhongli, saying Foras was buried there? I—I don’t know if that’s a part of the rite, but I … want one back in Sumeru. Actually, two gravestones, if that’s alright—though with the second being blank.”
Sylvie’s words tumbled a little over the latter half of their statement; something felt wrong about the concept of their gravestone being alone. Something equally felt wrong about not having a gravestone for … for someone who never had a chance to be mourned over. Perhaps just an open invitation for any visitor to see someone they wish to say goodbye to.
It took him a few moments, untangling himself out of their grasp to peer towards them. Fingers cupped their face gently, thumbs moving to press over their cheeks and to wipe the wetness underneath their eyes.
“Of course, Sylvie. I would’ve offered myself, but you thought of it first before I could say. I will; for you.”
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It was a simple gravestone, etched with Sylvie’s true, old name. Besides it rested a mirrored one, though lacking any engravings and simple in its nature. Zhongli’s eyes remained downcasted and half-lidded; the bundle of flowers within his arms was placed down in front of the named gravestone, looking over the small additional offerings of fruits, carvings, wheat … things drawn from nature itself that were placed in thanks.
He’s not all too surprised, given that upon the grave was written: “Here lies an old god that once called this place their home. Rest your weary head and leave your weight here, for the forest will listen to you.”
“It’s funny, seeing my grave is kind of a weird relief.” Sylvie’s voice spoke up beside him. “Maybe I’m just weirdly happy there’s some remnant left behind of myself, even if it’s in the form of my death and rebirth.” Zhongli’s eyes lifted to look towards them as they talked, patient and quiet … and eventually their own eyes lifted to meet his gaze. “Thank you, Zhongli. I hope it has helped you, too.”
“It has. Thank you, Foras.”