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The itch is persistent under Neuvillette’s collar. 

He should be focusing on what Wriothesley is saying, and normally it isn’t any great difficulty to do so - on the occasions the Fortress of Meropide’s administrator meets him in his office at the Palais Mermonia, he presents his findings and analysis in a succinct manner that is still easy to follow and allows the listener to comprehend the situation quickly. It is not hard to imagine why Wriothesley has been this successful in reforming the Fortress within a few years of taking charge, thanks to this ability of his to compel others to take note of what he has to say.

Of course, he also has the Iudex’s ear for more than strictly business reasons; as much as he strives to exercise impartiality as representative of Fontaine’s justice, Neuvillette still values his personal relationships with those he considers trustworthy. The Melusines are dear to his heart of course, and the Traveller has proven to be a dependable companion over the course of recent major events; but over the centuries only once has he defended the awarding of a Duke’s title so strongly, no less on behalf of a person he’s not seen since their first meeting as judge and defendant years ago.   

“Neuvillette? Are you alright?”

A person who also has an uncanny knack for identifying the slightest change in his body language, it seems.

“I’m fine, perhaps just unaccustomed to the climate down here.” The statement isn’t a complete fabrication; this is the deepest Neuvillette has ever ventured inside the production zone underneath the Fortress of Meropide, not counting the time he sealed the Primordial Waters at the Forbidden Zone’s sluice gate. The air permeating the vast underground space is infused with a stale chill, unlike the natural breezes of the world above.

He assumes this atmosphere is manufactured intentionally for the purposes of the massive ship currently residing in its bowels.

“We have thermostat systems set up here in the production zone to regulate humidity and temperature for the Wingalet’s upkeep,” Wriothesley confirms as if reading his thoughts. “My apologies for the discomfort, I’ll try to keep our time here brief.”

“There is no need, I -” 

Again that thrum under the skin on his nape, almost like a second pulse that runs countercurrent to his own heartbeat. Neuvillette hides his grimace, instead willing his facial features to smooth into his usual professional demeanour that he adopts in the courtroom as he continues without missing a beat.

“ - would rather utilise this long overdue visit fully. Please, continue.”

The Wingalet had featured prominently in post-Flood reports about relief efforts and population headcounts, its contributions being responsible for a significant percentage of surviving Fontainians. He has read the articles by the Steambird and other publications regarding the Fortress of Meropide’s involvement in the nationwide rescues during the Flood, yet this was the first time he has actually been able to observe the giant vessel up close as they stand on its upper deck.

It was quite remiss of him really, to have put this visit off till now when months had passed since the floodwaters had receded. Granted, there were several rebuilding projects and restoration plans to oversee even with Fontaine’s people having largely averted their prophesied drowning, and now with the Hydro Archon departed the duty of monitoring these developments rested squarely on his shoulders. As new tasks and urgent matters cropped up every other week, the underwater prison unfortunately kept sliding lower down the list of priorities. 

Still, listening to Wriothesley explain the ship’s various structural details is almost like a respite after the past few months; it was still an official visit on behalf of the Palais Mermonia, but only to survey what had already been constructed and functioning ages ago. He had been introduced to the chief technical consultant Jurieu and other members of the engineering team earlier in the Duke’s office, a formality more than anything but a welcome opportunity nonetheless to be able to personally thank some of the people who assisted with the Wingalet’s creation. After all, he never really had any doubts about the reliability of the staff Wriothesley would entrust such an important undertaking to.

To think that just bearing witness to a man-made endeavour, without the need to provide input or make any crucial decisions, could feel like such a luxury.

Neuvillette makes a mental note not to grow accustomed to this feeling. Given his responsibilities now, he cannot afford to.

“... and so the mechanical claws are not predicted to see a lot of further use, since ideally we wouldn’t have to fish large numbers of people out of the Great Fontaine Lake in the foreseeable future.” He sees the upward quirk of Wriothesley’s mouth at the little quip he’s allowed himself, a type of humour Neuvillette doesn’t quite understand but has learned to appreciate based on the accompanying expressions. “Any questions so far?”

“Just one. You’ve previously noted that to power the ship during the Flood you used the Fortress’ inventory of Arkhium stored from before mining operations were suspended. Is the long-term goal to resume operations in the geode shafts and replenish the supply, or to seek alternative energy sources?”

Wriothesley grins more widely, a gleam in his pupils. “An excellent point that my consultants have been arguing over since the Wingalet’s maiden voyage. They have yet to reach a consensus, but I don’t have qualms letting you know that personally I’m leaning more towards the former. Thanks to the Traveller’s handling of the situation with Nacker and the remainder of Eastinghouse’s research, we are now better informed regarding the material than we were before the incident at the Fontaine Research Institute.”

“But this additional knowledge isn’t sufficient to convince everyone on your crew?”

“Unfortunately given the aftermath of said incident, there is a cautiousness when it comes to engaging with Eastinghouse’s work that won’t abate so easily. Can’t say I blame them either; after working so hard on bringing this ship to life, nobody would appreciate having the fruits of their labour be blown to smithereens.”

Neuvillette runs a hand across the railing of the deck to mask his wince at yet another jolt of some unknown origin ghosting down his spine. “If the Wingalet is said to be alive, would Arkhium serve as its heart then?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Wriothesley crosses his arms as they rest on the railing, supporting his weight as he leans forward to look at Neuvillette sideways. The spark in his eyes from earlier is still present, brighter than before even. “The engine room processes the Arkhium crystals, and the resulting reactions provide energy that is transmitted to the rest of the ship via pipes and wires. You can think of those as blood vessels.”

“And the energy is the blood,” he says quietly. Having witnessed the formation of the Fontaine Research Institute and the rise of kinetic engineering, he had subsequently been present for every new innovation that led to Fontaine’s current automaton-dotted landscape, even the Gardemeks associated with the Maison Gardiennage. Yet he had previously had little reason to think further about how they were formed, beyond the obvious accounts and figures involved with manufacturing and distribution.

If machines could be viewed as pseudo-organisms, then the ship they are currently standing on is nothing short of a gargantuan beast. Created entirely by human hands, yet no less Fontainian than its builders - who had only recently been absolved of the ‘sin’ tainting their own veins.

“I believe I may have a suggestion with regards to an alternative source of power for this vessel.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley crooks an eyebrow in interest. “Does this happen to have anything to do with your abilities as the Hydro Dragon?”

Neuvillette glances around them, but as expected they are the only people present in the production zone at this hour. 

“How long have you realised?”

“For quite some time now, but I already had my suspicions even before the incident with the sluice gate.” 

Wriothesley turns around, leaning his back against the railing instead as he regards the Chief Justice with the same unfaltering grin. “Why else did you think I would bet that you would come down to seal the Primordial Sea by yourself?”

“I thought the more apparent assumption would be that I was the Hydro Archon.”

“And yet here you are, as the Iudex of Fontaine assuming the Hydro Archon’s duties but not the title itself.” The Administrator gives a shrug before his eyes narrow with a more serious glint. “I could explain how I came to my conclusion, but before that I’m more interested in hearing about your proposed solution. From what I understand of the Palais Mermonia’s official press releases, the Oratrice no longer produces Indemnitium, correct?”

“Quite so, yes. After Lady Furina’s departure it has ceased operations and no longer provides either verdicts or energy. You may have read the announcement that states I will take over the former task.”

“And now you’re about to tell me you’ve taken on the latter as well.”

Neuvillette breathes in deeply, then lets out a slow exhale. “In the events leading to Lady Furina’s abdication, the full authority of the ancient dragons has been returned to me. I now have complete command over the Hydro element as its Dragon Sovereign… and as it turns out, the energies of Pneumousia as well.”

Wriothesley is silent for a moment, before a crease appears between his brows. “So that’s how the machines in the Court of Fontaine have continued functioning, by relying on this dragon’s authority of yours? Are you some sort of personified power generator for the entire nation now?”

“Whatever roles the Oratrice once performed are now carried out by myself,” he replies, choosing the most straightforward explanation.

The Duke seems to ponder this, fingers tightening and unfurling around the railing’s edge before he speaks again. “Pneuma and Ousia do not power anything by themselves, but rather collide with each other to cause mutual annihilation. That’s what produces the actual energy which machines like Clockwork Meka run on. Arkhium operates on slightly different principles but with a similar process of annihilation, so if you were to infuse the ship’s systems with your own power…”

“You seem apprehensive,” Neuvillette says after a long pause where Wriothesley does not continue. “Are you worried that if I attempt to power this ship it will, in your own words, be ‘blown to smithereens’?”

He gets a short barking laugh in return, and it’s as if a newly formed weight over his chest is lightened by the sound. “Possibly, but I also wouldn’t want the Chief Justice of all people to be involved in a workplace accident down here.”

“Your concern is touching,” he replies without a drop of irony; in truth, he didn’t expect Wriothesley to be thinking about the possible ill-effects that could befall someone who had only just revealed that they were a Dragon Sovereign. “I can assure you that the Court of Fontaine’s own automatons have largely adapted successfully to Pneumousia instead of Indemnitium as their energy source over the last few months, and despite some minor setbacks none of them displayed self-imploding tendencies.”

“That certainly is a relief to hear.” 

Wriothesley is smiling more easily now as he swings forward away from the railing. “Well, I suppose we might as well continue our tour from the engine room then?”

A few flights of stairs later they are standing in front of a metal frame locked securely with a wheel handle, which Wriothesley turns with ease to open the door and push it aside. Beyond the doorway lies a row of what appears to be boilers, except instead of coal the walls are lined with crates of yellow-green crystals instead. 

“Arkhium goes in here, energy goes out there,” he explains as he gestures from the boiler drums to the metal pipes leading up into vents that disappear through openings in the ceiling. “There’s more to it of course, but that’s how the generated energy is transmitted to the systems all over the ship. Everything is turned off at the moment, hence why we have this,” and he waves the cell-powered lantern in his hand briefly, “so that we’re not standing in complete darkness.”

Neuvillette turns around slowly, feeling more than seeing the outwardly unremarkable surroundings of the engine room with its dull-coloured walls and mined rocks illuminated by the faint light of the lantern. It is these rocks, these Arkhium crystals, that he can sense resonating with something in his core, and between one heartbeat and the next he realises this is the cause of the interminable tugging sensation he’d been feeling ever since he stepped foot on the Wingalet.  

“How would you start the boilers when everything’s switched off?”

Wriothesley smirks as he pats the surface of a locked chest on one of the shelves opposite the Arkhium crates, then takes out the same set of keys which he’d used to unlock the door to the engine room. He fiddles with the lock, then throws the lid open to reveal its glowing contents that bathe the wall behind it with alternating rays of dark blue and bright yellow.

“We keep these in here for a reason. They’re in short supply, nowhere near enough to substitute Arkhium completely and power a vessel of this size, but they’re more than sufficient as a fuse to get the engines going.” 

“A fuse… yes, I see it.” The Pneumousia Blocks appear to have an even greater attraction to his powers, their ethereal light pulsing in time to the currents he can now feel keenly as they skitter along the back of his arms all the way to the fingertips. It’s as if an unseen force is trying to escape his human form, reaching for the earth and air of Fontaine even as they stand miles below the water’s surface. He places a hand on the top of a boiler and closes his eyes, imagining tendrils of energy flowing from his open palm through the valves and up towards the entire ship.

When he opens his eyes again, Wriothesley’s brows are drawn as he regards Neuvillette like he’s a diagram of a new Specialist Mek model. 

“So for the Court of Fontaine’s automatons, it was simply a matter of diverting their remote energy source from the Oratrice’s Indemnitium to your own Pneumousia, correct?”

“Yes.” Except that Neuvillette had not felt like this even when he first assumed the Oratrice’s role in producing energy, so what was different here? Was it the proximity to these raw Arkhium caches? The possible amplification of his powers from being surrounded by tonnes of water bearing down on this underground space they’re in? 

“In a ship that powers itself by physically processing Arkhium onsite…” Wriothesley’s gaze diverts, falling on the crates of mined crystals to the dormant boilers before returning to the Wingalet’s visitor. “It’s an immense amount of energy, produced all in the same instant.” 

This is frankly the most anxious Neuvillette has ever seen the Duke, a man who in response to a centuries-old prophecy of nationwide dissolution went and built a seafaring vessel that could also fly. But considering this was the same kinetic power that decimated the Fontaine Research Institute and blew the leftovers into the sky, he could understand if Wriothesley hesitated to give the go-ahead to an attempt that might send his hard work flying in a similar way, or worse: bring the Fortress above their heads and the numerous souls in its walls toppling down around them into a watery grave. 

“If you have reservations, I will not proceed,” he states firmly. “My suggestion is not intended to cause unease to you as the lead architect.”

“No no, you misunderstand me. Sure I wouldn’t want the Wingalet to suffer any damage, but - ” Wriothesley’s arm rises, halts, then falls again to his side in hesitation that strikes Neuvillette as highly uncharacteristic of him. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the unspoken words ring clear between them. 

I’m also worried about you.

The Iudex clears his throat to break the silence. “Is this about the ‘workplace accident’ concern?”

He hears the edge in Wriothesley’s exhale, a hand running through unruly dark hair as he speaks. “Look, you said yourself that you’ve assumed all of the Oratrice’s duties ever since the Hydro Archon left, which was months ago. I’ve barely seen you in the time since then, and now you’ve been shaking almost non-stop ever since we first came on board this ship.” 

Neuvillette is certain that the brief flash of surprise that had just crossed his face does not go unnoticed, for the Duke takes a step further and then another until he’s standing on the other side of the boiler across from him. 

“I didn’t want to remark on it earlier, thought it may be just a symptom of your dragon powers or whatever, but it only seems to have gotten worse with every passing minute we spend in this engine room. Tell me the truth: are you in any pain right now?”

“I don’t understand-”

“Neuvillette.” In the dim light of the lantern Wriothesley’s normally-blue irises are pools of near black, lit only by the gold ringing his pupils.

“No,” he says honestly after another heartbeat has passed. A surge of energy passes through his limbs again, as if affirming his answer.

“Discomfort?”

“None, truly.”

Wriothesley sighs, crossing his arms as if he isn’t entirely reassured. “I know there were rumours among some of the inmates here that Arkhium crystals bring disaster, but now I wonder if it was referring to Hydro Dragons specifically,” he mutters absently.

The very notion of mere rocks bringing any kind of misfortune to himself is absurd enough for the corner of Neuvillette’s lips to lift slightly. He thinks on his next words, finally deciding on the most apt description. “It’s more of a sense of… anticipation.”

Now it seems to be Wriothesley’s turn to look surprised; gobsmacked even, an adjective Lady Furina had enjoyed using when recounting dramatic trials. “Anticipation?”

“It will be the first time I attempt to generate energy of a volume sufficient for a ship this large, and it seems my newly-gained control of Arkhe properties has been resonating with the Arkhium stored here.” He flexes his knuckles, feeling the rush of movement manifest the stirring energy inside him into something almost tangible between his fingers. “It appears to be seeking an appropriate outlet.”

“So the Court of Fontaine’s machines alone aren’t enough of a workout for you, huh?”

Wriothesley no longer looks as anxious; in fact there is a gleam in his eye that Neuvillette would call fascination. He’d had a similar look when he first found out Neuvillette had also read the complete volumes of The History of the Decline and Fall of Remuria , right before they’d stayed up the entire night discussing its contents in the Chief Justice’s office.

“I have not felt the urge to test the limits of my powers after regaining full sovereignty,” Neuvillette answers now. “Or rather, I had neither the need nor the time to. There was much to do after the Flood’s waters receded, and such activities would have been frivolous in comparison.”

“I should hope you don’t think powering the Wingalet by yourself is a frivolous matter!”

“I can assure you I do not.” Before Wriothesley can clarify anything, Neuvillette adds with a hint of satisfaction, “I am aware this is merely a jest.”

The Administrator can’t help but laugh, his amusement echoing in the engine room’s walls. “You’re learning fast, Monsieur.”

“Adapting quickly has become a necessity in my work these days. Which I am sure we will find useful on this occasion as well.” 

“Oh? Am I to be your assistant in this little experiment of yours then?” Wriothesley is grinning now as he follows Neuvillette’s lead to step back from the boilers towards the centre of the engine room.

“You’re the shipbuilder among the two of us, your expertise is vital to this endeavour.” He surveys the row of boilers, already able to feel the sparks practically leaping from his fingertips. “Furthermore, your innate Arkhe alignment is the opposite of mine. If I remember correctly, Clockwork Meka can be disabled by overloading them with the opposite of their Arkhe infusion, right?”

The Duke’s grin fades slightly. “I don’t think it’ll work quite the same way for a Hydro Dragon who’s generating energy for an entire ship.”

When he gets no response, he looks up to find amethyst eyes fixed unflinchingly on him. “Neuvillette?”

“Would it be odd to say that I find your concern for my well-being a little endearing?”

The sight of Wriothesley sputtering only deepens the impression. “I-I’m glad you don’t find offence in it at least?”

The Chief Justice blinks in confusion. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know, pride of the Dragon Sovereign or something, I guess. It’s not like I’ve met another one before, so I wouldn’t have known whether to be worried about them spontaneously vibrating all over my ship or - well, you get the point.”

Neuvillette’s draconic heritage has blessed him with keen eyesight, so he’s certain the flush in the other man’s ears isn’t a trick of the dim light. “I trust you, Wriothesley,” he says simply. “I wouldn’t have suggested attempting such a thing had you not been here with me.”

He didn’t know a flush could spread from the ears to the base of the neck so quickly. How intriguing.

“Leave that part to me then,” Wriothesley manages to get out, fumbling with the tie around his collar before flashing a thumbs up and a confident smile. “Give it your best shot.”

So Neuvillette takes a breath, letting his eyes fall shut as he concentrates on the waves of energy radiating off the Arkhium and the blocks. They resonate with a part of his core that he’d only felt within him for a few short months to date, yet now it feels like it’s always been present. He raises an arm slowly, opening his eyes as he directs the gathered Pneumousia - there .

Like an arrow being loosened from a tightly-wound bow to find the bulls-eye, flashes of dark and light pour forth to slip through the boilers’ metal frames and rush upwards into the pipes that would transmit them to the systems all across the Wingalet. There is a brief moment where nothing happens, and then the cell-powered lantern in Wriothesley’s hand blinks once. 

By the second blink, the lights installed on the engine room’s ceiling and the corridor outside are flashing in tandem.

“Holy shit,” Wriothesley swears in a hushed voice.

 In front of them the boilers are whirring, the metal jaws in their bellies clanking away as if there were Arkhium crystals inside that they were harvesting energy from, but instead they act as a conduit for an invisible source. Above their heads comes the buzzing of machinery, cogs and wheels and various gears turning in place. Without anyone at the bridge to control the ship’s wheel or its propellers, the Wingalet wasn’t in danger of imminent takeoff, but Neuvillette wonders whether he could steer the ship directly from its heart if he wanted to.  

He genuinely feels that it is possible. In fact, the only reason why he wouldn’t was because he doesn’t want to startle Wriothesley and lose sight of the boyish wonder in his face right now. 

Yet it is Wriothesley who speaks first, still with that sparkle in his eyes like a child seeing a magic trick for the first time. “Do you think you can still keep this up if we step outside this room?”

Neuvillette feels a prickle on his skin, that he knows is not from the Pneumousia now coursing freely through him and into the energy-charged air. This excitement is his alone, separate from any power he wields. “I would think we’d have a better view of the ship from up on the deck.”

“Let’s go then.” 

Before he realises what’s happening, his hand is picked up in an enthusiastic yet gentle grip as he’s tugged, this time physically, forward and out the engine room’s door.

It’s not exactly a run , more of a spirited jog through the corridors and up the flights of stairs. The same stale air of the production zone greets them as they emerge onto the upper deck again, but Neuvillette allows himself to imagine the caress of a faint breeze past his ear and down the side of his arm, towards where his gloved palm is still clasped by firm fingers.

“It’s still working. Look at that, it’s all ready to go.” Wriothesley gestures to the rest of the Wingalet with his free arm, the sweep of his hand encompassing the hulking structure standing above the deck that’s currently lit up as brightly as the Opera Epiclese at night. Under their feet the ship’s engines hum steadily, as if in response to its creator’s carefree laugh.

“Do you see this, Neuvillette? It’s amazing, I never - oh, sorry.” 

He can feel the jolt in the other’s body through where their hands remain joined, as if Wriothesley has only just realised he’s still holding the hand of Fontaine’s Iudex, yet instead of retreating all at once the fingers unwrap one by one as they relinquish their hold till he can no longer feel their warmth through the fabric of his glove.

Neuvillette looks up to meet eyes of deep blue, containing flecks of light from the illumination of the Wingalet’s various lamps and beacons coming to life around them. They act like an anchor keeping him in place, a focal point to ground himself even as Pneumousia pours out of what feels like every pore on his skin.

Every inch of it, except the solitary hand which he presently cannot bear to keep confined within its formal wear anymore. The fingers on his other hand reach up to yank the fabric off carefully, only for his mouth to part in surprise as the glove is removed to reveal digits more akin to claws than humanlike fingers. It’s a mystery to him, how the fine cloth of the glove’s fingerpads haven’t been torn by the sharp tips that had sprouted without him realising.

He turns his hand to regard the scales lining its back from wrist to knuckle, then inadvertently shifts his line of sight to meet Wriothesley’s face again despite not knowing what to expect. Shock, maybe. Wariness, or even revulsion at such an abrupt reveal of Neuvillette’s inhuman nature. Instead the expression he’s greeted with stirs a feeling of warmth that pools in his gut, for nobody has ever looked at him with such awe before.

It’s there and gone quicker than he’d let go of Neuvillette’s hand, but only because the flush he’d first seen in the engine room is now spreading across the Duke’s cheeks in full force under the Wingalet’s deck lights.

“You are not afraid,” Neuvillette says, an observation rather than a question. Despite not always being attuned to human emotions, he can somehow sense the lack of fear in Wriothesley’s averted gaze as keenly as if he’d drunk a glass of water filled with his current thoughts. Could Pneumousia have similar properties now that he had full command of it in the same way as his authority over Hydro?

“That’s the last thing on my mind, truth be told.” 

Wriothesley seems to have found courage from a new source, as he looks back up and steps forward much like he did in the engine room. Again he stops an arm’s length away from Neuvillette, well within reach if only either of them would move a pace closer. 

This time Neuvillette nods, an invitation and a granting of permission at the same time. 

He’d previously called it anticipation , this bubbling feeling like a hot volcanic spring that brings with it the urge to do something. To stand on his own two feet, to unleash the powers that surge within him in reaction to the traces of residual energy all over the length of the Wingalet. He hadn’t even needed to make physical contact with any part of the ship in order to channel electrifying force through its systems.

Wriothesley’s palm pressed against his bare, clawed hand is a sensation all its own, stealing the breath he didn’t know he was holding right out of his lungs. 

“Neuvillette,” the man says in little more than a whisper, yet somehow audible even over the growing roar of the engines several floors below. Blue is reflected in his face and the surface of the metallic chains and handcuffs on his person, which Neuvillette is pretty certain is from the two rhinophores that skirt over the crown of his head to trail behind him. A quick glance down at himself shows that the coattails of his formal court robes are glowing as well, resembling translucent fins that hang behind his waist like the full skirt of a ballgown. 

He’d once cast his seal over the raging waters of the Primordial Sea to confine them below Meropide’s base. He’d fought off an otherworldly whale that could consume all life on Teyvat. He’d soared above the flood that engulfed the entirety of Fontaine as he pardoned the original sin of every last one of its people. In comparison, this display of power and the features of his true form would pale in both magnitude and scale. And yet.

And yet .

Neuvillette had never thought that the ancient sovereignty of the elemental dragons could be used for anything close to leisure or what humans seem to be fond of calling ‘fun’, but there was no immediate need to power the Wingalet. The engine room clearly showed that there was still an ample supply of Arkhium, and the technicians had noted in his meeting with them that there were currently no plans to deploy the ship for the foreseeable future. Unlike most of the items on his agenda since the Flood had receded, there was no pressing deficiency which he was required to fill here. 

Yet he’d suggested this alternative option anyway, and Wriothesley had gone along with it for… what did he call it? An experiment? Something done to satisfy the curiosity, to see how far they could go in attempting what had never done before.

It is a very intoxicating feeling. 

“Neuvillette,” the gravelly voice calls again, hand still grasping his tapered claw-tipped fingers, and above them lightbulbs grow brighter in their glass enclosures. They spread their light across the vast cavern that is the production zone and the two figures in its middle, and he wonders if Wriothesley is truly unfazed by their skin-to-skin, or rather skin-to-scale contact when he’d just described him as shaking constantly not too long ago. Did he not feel the tremors of pure energy pulsing through the seams between their palms? Or was he actually correct in thinking that the Duke’s Ousia is able to neutralise his own Pneuma, so that they can maintain this unexpected contact that he finds himself welcoming wholeheartedly?

He smiles, feeling the warmth previously swirling within him now settle like a comforting weight over his heart. How lovely it is to have someone to hold onto.

“Neuvillette?”

The weight in his chest might be a bit too comforting in its heaviness.

“Hey, Neuvillette?”

And apparently spreading to his consciousness too; his eyelids suddenly feel as if they’ve transmuted into lead, hanging low over his line of vision.

“Oh boy - don’t worry, I got you.”

There is a slight fizzling sound from somewhere behind them, but he doesn’t see any showers of sparks or spontaneous flames as his knees slowly give way and he slides lower towards the deck’s floorboards. Like a clockwork toy winding down , his mind supplies randomly.

But he’s in safe hands, and so Neuvillette allows himself to slip off into the darkness as the thrumming in his core dies down peacefully.

He wakes up to a Bubbly Seahorse made of pure Hydro energy staring him in the face.

“What- ” he starts to say, but the seahorse interrupts him with an eager flap of its fins and floats down the length of the bed and out the door with an excited gurgling sound. 

It is then that Neuvillette notices he isn’t in his own quarters in the Palais Mermonia. The bed is of a foreign appearance though still comfortable, and the structure and decor of the room suggests Liyue-themed inspiration rather than the pearly aesthetics of Fontaine. The light streaming in through the window suggests the hour is dusk, yet the incandescent glow feels artificial in a way that doesn’t appear to be man-made. 

He closes his eyes and concentrates while he feels for any traces of energy, whether Arkhe or elemental. He comes up short on both counts, but he does sense a magical signature that he recognises as adeptal. A signature he had encountered before when visiting the Traveller’s Serenitea Pot.

“Had a good nap?”

His train of thought is interrupted by a familiar figure poking her head through the door left ajar by the Hydro creature earlier.

“Lady- I mean, Miss Furina. It’s good to see you.” 

The young woman tsks as she saunters into the room, her hairdo bobbing jauntily under her hat as she sits down on a nearby wood-carved chair next to a table laid with teacups and a pot. “I’ll let it pass this time, since you’ve just woken up. I told Surintendante Chevalmarin to get me the moment you were awake.”

“Surintendante…” The seahorse pops up next to its mistress and waves a fin as if to introduce itself. “Ah, I see. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Furina hums as she props her chin up on one arm, elbow resting on the table next to her. “Well, I guess this does count as your first meeting. You’ve not met the members of my Salon in their current forms, have you?”

“I suppose not.” He recognises the seahorse with a bow perched on its head now, recalling the identical plush toy Furina owned when she was still living in the Palais Mermonia. 

“I figured we shouldn’t overwhelm you with visitors when you’ve been out for so long, it must have been hours since Wriothesley and the Traveller came knocking on my door.” She shrugs as she stretches her legs in front of her, kicking her heels against the carpet. “Kind of hard to tell here though, that big ball of light outside hasn’t moved an inch since we got here. Do adepti like perennial sunsets or something?”

He’s not following her chatter closely, instead turning her words over in his head until he straightens stiffly against the headboard. “How long have I been here? Is court in session at the Opera Epiclese?”

Furina stares at him like he’d grown a second head. “You look like you’ve slept through the night for the first time in a century, and your first thought on waking up is to go back to work ?”

“I was only meant to visit the Fortress of Meropide for a few hours last night, not take a whole day of absence,” Neuvillette insists, even as his mind starts racing. Trials can be rescheduled, but what about the machines in the Court of Fontaine? Had his disappearance into an adeptal realm outside Teyvat’s boundaries resulted in a power outage through the night? 

Guilt tears through his chest; he shouldn’t have exhausted his limits as thoroughly as he had apparently done last night. It was truly shameful of him to have indulged himself so selfishly, with no thought for the consequences of leaving Fontaine-

Wait.

Why was there a need to take him out of Fontaine?

As if on cue, there is a sound of doors opening outside the room towards the front of the mansion, and the sound of footsteps drifts back through the doorway. Furina gets to her feet, and with a click of her fingers the seahorse pops out of existence again.

“Looks like you’ll be fine now that he’s back. I have to head out now, I’m supposed to be meeting with another acting troupe today. Lots of engagements for a popular director, you know!”

“Wait, Furina -” It suddenly strikes Neuvillette that this is the first time he’s talked to her face-to-face in weeks, she hadn’t dropped by the Palais Mermonia ever since that one request she’d submitted to use the Opera Epiclese for a performance.

She turns to look back at him as she holds the door open, her expression softer even if devoid of its usual affected glee. “We can talk another time when you’re more well rested. Do take care of yourself, won’t you?”

Before he can respond, she turns around to jab her finger at something - or someone - beyond the doorway. “And you, Monsieur le Duc! You’d better return him to the Palais Mermonia without a single missing hair on his head!”

“Duly noted, Miss Furina.” He can hear the grin in Wriothesley’s voice, and as Furina steps aside the door is pushed wider open to reveal the man himself. 

“Thanks again for coming here on such short notice while myself and the Traveller were away.”

“It was the least I could do, but you’d better watch out if you show up ringing my doorbell to tell me Neuvillette’s out cold and needs to recuperate in a tiny teapot a second time. I won’t be responsible for Mademoiselle Crabaletta’s actions then!” 

Furina has a hand planted on her hip as she stalks out the door, a familiar gesture that evokes memories of exasperation tinged with fondness. Neuvillette lies back against the pillows, wondering since when in his long life had he become this nostalgic for events that weren’t even more than a year ago.

Perhaps this too was part of learning to adapt to rapid changes. What was it that Furina had said, he looked like he’d slept properly for the first time in a century? The past few months had certainly felt that long at times.

“Feeling better now?”

Ah yes. He still needs answers.

“Why are we in the Serenitea Pot?” Neuvillette asks the man who had just seated himself on the chair opposite to where Furina sat a moment ago. “How long has the power outage gone on?”

Wriothesley raises an eyebrow, even though the tilt of his lips gives away his amusement. “What power outage? The Court of Fontaine is chugging along as smoothly as ever, except for the Opera Epiclese being closed for maintenance work today.”

“Maintenance work?” Bless the stars, was it that bad?

“Well yeah, it’s not like we could convert the basement to be able to harness Arkhium while trials were going on upstairs.” The Duke crosses a leg over his knee, regarding Neuvillette with a smile as he waits.

“You… converted the Oratrice’s basement to use Arkhium?”

“Only as a back-up in case you were asleep for longer,” Wriothesley reassures him. “There was definitely enough Pneumousia energy stored down there to last the city for a day, and I figured I couldn’t let you down after that amazing display that the Wingalet had the honour of hosting last night.”

Neuvillette feels the surface of his cheeks heat rapidly in a way that cannot be relegated to a fever, but he is still insistent on receiving his answer. “Why didn’t you just bring me to Sigewinne in the infirmary? Wouldn’t it have been closer to the Wingalet than the Serenitea Pot?”

“Ah, about that.” Wriothesley scratches the back of his neck as if he’s stalling to find the right words. 

“I did take you - or rather carried you - to Sigewinne first, but you were uh, making the lights in the infirmary flash rather alarmingly. Nothing was broken mind you,” he quickly adds, “either on the Wingalet or the infirmary or anywhere in Meropide really. Just some flickering and a couple brief blackouts, it’s all good - I’d say it’s more due to the Arkhe energy in the Fortress’ various systems resonating with your powers after you’d just used them, so it was bound to happen whether or not you walked off the ship by yourself.”

“I see,” Neuvillette mumbles, the situation making itself clear to him. “Thus you and Sigewinne thought of sending me to a place without Pneumousia in the environment, and the Traveller’s teapot was the closest location on short notice.”

“It’s a good thing they happened to be in town for the Fontinalia Festival yeah, even though they’re busy at the moment so they could only let Tubby know ahead of time that we would be coming.”

“I must send her my apologies for the inconvenience.”

“She figured you’d say that and wants us to tell you it’s no trouble at all,” Wriothesley says with a laugh. “Said all that matters is that you rest well and recover smoothly.”

Neuvillette winces, remembering the way he’d keeled over at the drop of a hat on the ship deck yesterday. “I went too far, didn’t I? I should’ve been more aware of my limits and not risk yourself or the ship.”

“Actually, no. Sigewinne checked you for any energy imbalances, but other than a heightened resonance with the surrounding Arkhe you were perfectly fine.”

Wriothesley’s demeanour shifts into that same hesitant anxiety Neuvillette had seen the previous night on the Wingalet, when he’d raised his arm only to set it down again without uttering the words he’d meant to say. But now he clears his throat, as if steeling himself before pressing on.

“Sigewinne thinks it’s due to excessive fatigue. You’d been wound up like a coil under pressure for too long, so the moment you were able to expend your powers freely rather than constrain it to meet the various needs of an entire nation, the ensuing relief was enough to send you straight into dreamland. That’s the current working hypothesis anyway.”

It wasn’t inaccurate, but also not the full picture - Neuvillette remembers that warm weight curled around his heart like water embracing his scales in the deep sea. The sense of security it brought definitely increased the urge to fall asleep and let his body replenish itself with some much-needed rest, and he couldn’t even blame Wriothesley for causing it.

Neither of them could’ve known the effect mere handholding would have on a Hydro Dragon Sovereign stretching himself to the very end of his tether for months on end. 

“How long is her prescribed bed-rest for me then?”

The Duke shrugs, though his eyes never leave Neuvillette’s face. “It all depends on how you’re feeling, really. I got some soup from Hotel Debord if you’re hungry.”

“I feel fine at present.” He stretches his arms above his head, feeling his joints slide into place. Now that he’s fully awake, he is aware of another throbbing in the hollow of his neck that beats a steady path down his sternum and towards his stomach. There is no Pneumousia, but even in an adeptal abode he still has his command of Hydro.

“If Sigewinne hasn’t said otherwise, I believe I could use some exercise.”

Wriothesley’s expression isn’t too dissimilar from Furina’s when he’d asked about the court sessions. “Not even the Wingalet was enough of an outlet for you?” he asks almost wonderingly.

“There isn’t any Arkhe energy here,” Neuvillette reminds him. “I just… I want to try something that would be better done outdoors rather than here inside the house.”

“Man, your dragon form must be huge then.” 

At the Iudex’s puzzled expression, Wriothesley waves a hand quickly to dismiss his own words. “Okay, not a dragon transformation. Need a hand?”

“I can get out of bed myself,” Neuvillette replies neutrally, before the set of his jaw softens. “But thank you. May I trouble you to bring my coat over?”

A short while later he’s standing fully dressed outside the mansion, gazing down at a cluster of round grass-covered islets floating among the clouds. Wriothesley comes over to stand beside him, whistling as he peers at the seemingly bottomless depths on either side of the Adeptus Bridge in front of them.

“Seems like a long drop down. Plenty of space for flying about at least.”

“Do you wish to gaze upon my draconic form that badly?”

“Oh, so you can fly as a dragon?”

Neuvillette sighs under the grin of the other man. “That would be too much exercise for now,” he states as he turns around; truth be told, he wasn’t even sure what his purest form in the shape of his ancestry would look like. A rather large Vishap with wings? Was that what Wriothesley was hoping to see?

Another day, he tells himself. Right now the restlessness in his limbs has a strong desire to build instead, like how the Wingalet was constructed with every bolt and rivet driven into its side.

“Have you met Surintendante Chevalmarin?”

“The… seahorse with Miss Furina? Yeah, what about it?”

Neuvillette simply smiles, and in the next moment the seahorse consisting of Hydro energy appears with a pop.

“Oh hey little buddy, did Miss Furina send you down here to check on us?” Wriothesley bends down to pat the little creature, only to halt when he sees two of them instead of the one from a second ago. “Um…?”

The twin seahorses flap their winglike fins happily, then separate into four and eight before colliding into each other till only three are left. They then circle around the two men before merging into one giant seahorse that twirls in place merrily before dissipating into a shower of soft rain falling around them.

The Duke lifts a hand to catch the raindrops, tilting his palm to let the ethereal light of the eternal dusk above them create refractions off the droplets’ surface. “Your exercise is turning out to be quite the show.”

“I’m not quite finished yet either.”

“You don’t say?” The sight of Wriothesley’s smile is like a spoonful of warm consommé down the throat, settling in his gut comfortably. “What else have you got up your sleeve then, Hydro Dragon?”

Neuvillette holds out a hand in response, and the raindrops freeze in their path before flowing back upwards to condense into a tight cloud in front of and above them. The cloud shifts and stirs as it lowers itself to the ground, finally making contact with the stone path as it solidifies into the shape of -

“Ah yes, you certainly have Sedene’s expression down very accurately,” Wriothesley remarks as he mimics shaking the hand of a Hydro construct in the familiar shape of the Palais Mermonia’s receptionist. “She looked decidedly less impressed when I spoke to her about closing the Opera Epiclese off this morning, but she still pulled through with her amazing aid as always.”

“I should send her something to express my gratitude and apologies as well,” Neuvillette muses aloud.

Wriothesley chuckles as he pats the head of the blue replica of Sedene and comes away with his hand dripping wet. “Then I’ll have to get her something too, to thank her for allowing my technical team to hustle around the Opera’s basement. Sigewinne should have some gift ideas.”

In the next minute, a Hydro-infused Sigewinne is standing next to Sedene while beaming at them, causing him to laugh out loud. “Do you want me to ask her now?”

“You are welcome to try.”

The other man only shakes his head while grinning. “I’ll pass then, I don’t think I speak the language of Hydro life-forms.”

Neuvillette thinks hard. “Perhaps…” he murmurs absentmindedly, and with another wave of his hand the two Melusines disappear, only to be replaced by none other than a facsimile of the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide himself.

The original walks around his watery doppelganger, inspecting the details up close before turning back to look at its conjurer. “Didn’t know you paid that much attention to my likeness,” he drawls, his current cheerful smirk a departure from the more solemn look on his Hydro copycat.

Neuvillette understands there is some sort of suggestion in the remark, but he answers honestly. “I’ve always paid a fair amount of attention to yourself, Wriothesley. Though regrettably not as much of late.”

No intricate Hydro manifestation can replicate the faint red like burnished copper across Wriothesley’s cheeks as he steps closer into the Chief Justice’s personal space, leaving his Hydro copy several paces behind. “You should know I don’t blame you for that; I myself was occupied with numerous matters in the Flood’s wake, and I’m sure you’ve had much more on your plate.”

“Nevertheless, with how much the Wingalet has contributed towards the initial Flood rescue efforts -”

“Is it only because of the Wingalet?”

Where he had previously felt his breath taken away by the feeling of Wriothesley’s palm against his, Neuvillette now feels a similar sensation just by meeting the intensity of the other man’s stare alone. They hold each other’s gaze for a long while, even as the Hydro-Wriothesley behind them loses its form and devolves into an energy-infused puddle.

Without further warning, Neuvillette summons the puddle forward along with several streams of pure Hydro that seemingly appear out of nowhere. They twist and turn every which way in the air, catching the Floating Abode’s golden glow on their surfaces and shining brightly as a result while they intertwine to form a hulking silhouette that grows larger by the moment.

He watches Wriothesley’s face all the while, witnesses its shifting from curiosity to bemusement to sudden recognition to… there it is again, that unbridled awe and wonder he’d first seen last night.

“How did you… how do you remember all of this just from one tour?”

He finally lowers his arms, turning to his companion as the lifesize replica of the Wingalet made entirely from Hydro hovers in mid-air, almost as if it’s ready to take flight and rescue more people from flooding lakes.

“The Arkhe energy in the ship’s systems leave imprints, and when I was channelling Pneumousia into those systems I could map out how far the systems go and where they intersect. Not to mention you were an excellent tour guide with your explanations.”

“Still though.” Wriothesley’s eyes rove from port to stern, taking in every characteristic of the ship he knows like the back of his hand. He nods twice as if to affirm its perfect completion, then slowly turns to look at Neuvillette.

“I guess I’m not the only shipbuilder among the two of us now.”

“This is only mimicry; I still have a long way to go before I am able to master creating something entirely new.” Even as he speaks he can feel his feet rooting themselves onto the ground, lest he float away from the euphoria coursing through his veins right now.

“If this isn’t mastery of your element I wouldn’t know what is. I mean look at it, it’s huge enough to pick up any number of Fontainians - although I guess Hydro-formed aid may not be the most helpful during a flood,” Wriothesley adds quickly. “But seriously, there are many researchers who would kill for an ability like this, to be able to memorise a structure’s design and integrity after only one encounter.”

“It’s only because of my control over Pneumousia, and even then I still have much to learn.” About Pneumousia and about Hydro, about his command over both and what that means for Fontaine and himself as the Dragon Sovereign.

But also learning how to pace himself, how to avoid tiring himself out with his new duties in a new Fontaine, for a fatigued Chief Justice would not be a helpful one. How to plan for the future where the Court of Fontaine should be able to continue with its operations even if he could not continue to be its power source.

How to ask the man he trusts if they could join hands again, not as a failsafe when exerting his powers but just because they felt like doing so. Perhaps that was what his Hydro-constructed Wingalet was missing in the end: a spark to make it come alive, to make the boilers whirr and the engines hum and all the spare parts fall in place.

That same spark is now standing closer than before, lips parted as if in the process of forming the right words. When he finally finds his voice, Neuvillette listens as always.

“Would you allow me to teach you something then?”  

Their hands find each other, fingers gliding gently over where claws used to be. Perhaps in the future he’ll show Wriothesley more of the form he can shift into now that his dragon sovereignty has been returned. Perhaps they may even soar through the skies here, nosediving headfirst into the ‘long drop’ with no end in sight.

But for now, he revels in the feeling of being illuminated like a cell-powered lantern in the dingy darkness, shining brightly while being held.

“Yes, go ahead.”

This time the anticipation tells him to close his eyes, and when lips find his own he is glad of it. It’s over much too soon, but the ghost of their kiss etches its sensation as an indelible mark in his mind, the one that all future kisses will be held up to be measured against.

He watches the rays of gold light dance across the grey in Wriothesley’s hair, and looks forward to the next lesson already.