Chapter Text
Act 1: the Mother, Dukkha
There’s something akin to fear running through his veins; something along the same concept, yet different in the subtle nuance that connotation would bring. It isn't fear, though, for his body has become desensitized to that sensation long ago. He stares at the Shogunate samurai cleaving down soldiers, yet he does not waver. He stares death in the eyes, and she is glorious and true, yet he does not waver. He has lost all sense of self-preservation—half out of the resolve to fight for his nation, half out of a willingness to die.
He is war fodder. His blood will feed the dendrobiums and his decomposing corpse's rot will ebb by the ocean's gentle form of burial, the most soothing touch he has felt since birth.
He does not plan to die in a pure, clean instant, the same way he does not plan to be cremated—but returned to the earth naturally. He wants to die slowly, for perhaps in his last moment's sobriety, he will find the peace he wished for his entire life.
But he lived.
Kazuha, the symbol of mortal tenacity, the standing incarnate of hope, a mere wildflower amidst desolation, lived.
Kazuha roused from the dream with an aching head and a complicated mess of drool on his hammock. Seamen around him welcomed the day by milling about the lower decks, talking in light whispers so as to not wake others up. Kazuha threw his legs over the edge and clung to the thick blanket keeping him safe from the shock of the sea's cold weather. Though instead, he was surprised at the air temperature's warmth. He had forgotten; they were docked at one of Liyue's ports. The ship rocked just a little bit more as it would in the harbor and gave credence to Kazuha's conclusion.
Kazuha reached for the small collections of personal items he retained from his wanderings and retrieved a little journal he used to jot down his poetry.
Testament to pain, heavenly yet…
Kazuha failed to find proceeding words that fit the thought he was going for. Something divine yet marred with human imperfection. He thought of the Raiden Shogun, though ultimately, she was much more god than she was mortal. Something that was a living story, telling its past as the influence of its present actions.
It was a simple morning. As more people awoke as a result of the increasing bustle, it became time to go up, eat something, and start unloading shipments. Please don't assign me to the job of unloading animal pens, Kazuha mentally requested Captain Beidou. He made this prayer every time they docked, as when he was a newbie on the ship, he had the burden of dealing with stressed-out livestock thrashing as he lifted them and the near-repulsive cages they were kept in. As he looked back, he confidently considered that "hazing."
Climbing the ship's staircase, he was greeted by Liyue Harbor and the gentle morning sea fog.
"Kazuha!" Captain Beidou called out as soon as she noticed him, apparently talking to a Liyue accountant that had come aboard and promptly getting bored by a conversation of entirely numbers. "We're probably going to be staying a day or two, just so I can have time to see the wife. You can run around, find something to eat, but I think the Traveler wanted to come see you."
A curious look overcame him. "The Traveler? Are they not in Sumeru anymore?"
"Apparently. I'm not too sure about the details, but I guess it's been enough time for them to have kicked even more ass."
"Thank you for telling me, Captain," Kazuha noted with a smile. Then in anticipation of an assignment, he asked, "Is there work to be done?"
"Hm? Oh, no," she answered. "You just… 'mentally prepare yourself,' as the Traveler said in their letter."
"Prepare myself…? May I see it?"
Beidou handed it over, fresh with what appeared to be her own wine stains.
Dear Captain Beidou,
We are looking forward to meeting up with you next time you dock at Liyue Harbor and possibly staying for a little while if you would allow our company.
I know someone interesting, and I would like for him to meet you all.
With my thanks,
the Traveler
P.S. Please warn Kazuha ahead of time. Sorry can't explain currently being chased by boar
"Huh," Kazuha said as he finished.
Beidou huffed. "Yeah. Just see your job as welcoming them back or something. I gotta go before the wife skins me, as you know."
"Right," Kazuha laughed. "Good luck, Captain."
Beidou nodded goodbye to him before leaving (and ignoring the accountant angrily tailing her).
As she left, Kazuha found himself at a loss. Those small little instructions from Beidou gave him something to do; he found comfort in having the authoritative guidance that he knew would keep him in line, for he tended to worry about making mistakes and becoming a nuisance to others. Of course, Beidou never minded giving him something to do—there was always work to be done on the ship, and for the occasional night that “job” was to be a simple friend, she had him sit in her quarters and tell her about poetry. It helped her fall asleep.
“Ka~zu~ha!” a familiar voice called from the docks below. Xinyan waved at Kazuha as his head appeared from above the edge of the ship. Beside her was Xiangling with a certain Gouba held within her arms. Giving them a smile, he hurdled the ship’s railing and softened his landing with a gust of Anemo.
“How fancy,” Xinyan whistled.
“Hi,” Kazuha greeted, his Anemo picking up ginkgo leaves and casting them into the air around him as he touched the ground. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“We saw the Alcor in the harbor and thought it would be nice to say hello!” Xiangling responded, her voice high in energy despite the early morning hours. “I was wondering if you had time to teach me some new dishes from Inazuma, again!”
Kazuha gave her a half-hearted laugh. “I’m almost sure I haven’t eaten any food from Inazuma other than the dishes I’ve already taught you. Perhaps you can experiment with your own versions?”
Xiangling thought about Kazuha’s proposition. Then, lighting up, she said, “Of course! You’re a genius, Kazuha!”
Kazuha nodded as a breath of relief escaped him.
“Do you think I could fold fungal spores into egg rolls…?” Xiangling mumbled to herself, closing her eyes and frowning in deep thought.
Kazuha coughed as he envisioned the texture. “Go wild.”
Xinyan laughed along, then inched over to whisper something to Kazuha. “The Traveler gave her some new ingredients from Sumeru. I think they’re just enabling her, really, but I don’t have the heart to say anything.”
“The Traveler is in Liyue Harbor?” Kazuha asked.
Xinyan nodded. “We saw them not too long ago, actually. They were in somewhat of a hurry, don’t know why, but I just assumed they were doing commissions for the Adventurer’s Guild.”
“Huh… I see, thank you. I’m supposed to meet up with them sometime when we’re in the harbor,” Kazuha explained. “Please remind them if you do happen to spot them again.”
“Will do.” Xinyan gave him a thumbs up. “But how are you these days?”
Kazuha smiled warmly. “I’ve been good. I hold our summertime adventures close to my heart, and the memories alone have gotten me through the autumn without a hitch. And you? Any new songs?”
“All the time! I’m a constant stream of that stuff, I’m sure you know.”
Xiangling nodded enthusiastically, seconding the statement, “She’s gotten a little group of fans!”
Xinyan grew abashed. “Awh, it’s really not that big of a thing…”
“Well, it’s always a start. The hardest steps come in the beginning,” Kazuha noted.
“None really above the age of ten, though…” Xiangling trailed off.
“Ah,” Kazuha laughed.
Xinyan huffed. “Hey!” she raised her voice, feigning offense. “Any fan is a fan.”
“It’s true, it’s true.” Kazuha brushed hair from his face just to keep his hands busy. “I’m not much of a limelight person, but I wish you the best of luck. It’s no easy feat to single-handedly create your own music scene.”
“I’ve been trying to tell her she could always play by the restaurant, but she insists it’d scare the guests! Nothing could scare them when there’s a fire breathing Gouba running around the kitchen!”
Kazuha laughed along with the two (three?) of them. It was a pleasant conversation that kept his mind busy, and for that, he was thankful.
Though, nothing about the Crux Fleet tended to attract peace for that long.
“I don’t care about what you think, I’m not going on that boat,” a distant voice shouted, attracting heads from around the wharf.
“Oh, is that them? How coincidental.” As the three of them turned to look, Kazuha recognized the Traveler. “I heard they met someone ‘interesting.’”
“KAZUHA!!” Paimon’s familiarly obnoxious voice called from the distance.
“Should we help…?” Xiangling asked as three figures came into view. The Traveler and Paimon were pulling at another figure, tugging them down the harbor steps like a stubborn child.
Kazuha jogged over, leaving Xinyan and Xiangling to watch as things went down from the ship. As he approached, he saw a purple-haired stranger fighting with the Traveler so as to keep from wherever he was being brought.
“Just come on!” Paimon screamed as she pulled the stranger’s hair and dodged the hand swatting at her.
“What’s going on?” Kazuha said with urgency. Though, he eventually lowered his precautionary hand from the hilt of his sword as he realized the childish nature of the qualm.
The Traveler gestured erratically. Translating, Paimon cried, “We’re trying to get this man-child on that boat!”
“Says you. You’re the one wearing a fucking diaper,” the stranger retorted.
"The Traveler says fuck you, old man!"
"They didn't even say anything." The stranger fumed. "I am young and vivacious for my entire timeless existence, you ignorant mortals."
"Am I… needed here?" Kazuha asked, growing awkward where he stood.
Kazuha received two answers: "Do not touch me!" and "GRAB HIM!"
Kazuha shrugged. "Majority rules," he said promptly before grabbing hold of the stranger's arm and throwing him over his shoulder.
The Traveler and Paimon were struck silent.
Though, Kazuha was sure to cushion the stranger's fall with a burst of Anemo. He wasn't a monster. Thus, the man was awkwardly sprawled and levitating an inch from the floor, trying to find purchase along the stone.
They stood there staring at each other until the Traveler made an effort to grab the stranger once again, taking advantage of his moment of stupidity.
“What the —Archons—!” the stranger wheezed for air. As his glare dug into Kazuha’s eyes, Kazuha felt his chest tighten and throat dry.
If looks could kill… Kazuha thought to himself. His attention lingered over the man’s form as he was dragged away by the Traveler and towards the Alcor; he was particularly interested in the clothes he wore. It was of Inazuman style. Is this why the Traveler wanted me to meet him? He couldn’t help but wonder.
“He’s under house arrest for some time, but we managed to get permission for a supervised leave!” Paimon interjected and brought Kazuha out of his own ponderings.
“... House arrest?” Kazuha asked tentatively.
Paimon locked up as if they had said something they shouldn’t have. “Well—he’s just—you know, like you!”
Kazuha gave her a curious look, tilting his head. “Unjustly persecuted?”
Paimon pressed her fingertips together and floated around anxiously. “Something like that. Ah, look! The Traveler needs me!” she hurried to say and flew away after them. After being stuck for a moment staring at her shrinking figure board the Alcor, Kazuha managed to settle his remaining questions and follow.
Later that night, Kazuha would watch as the stranger and the Traveler tended to remain on the ship. It was odd for Kazuha, who knew them to be near impossible to locate given how active they were—though when he considered the fact they were supervising the Inazuman man, it made more sense.
They settled into the guest room below deck and scarcely came out for anything other than a snack. In fact, Kazuha spotted the stranger even less. The only time he did was when the stranger had come out to stare across the harbor, possibly admiring the scenery if it wasn't for his scowl. Kazuha was fixing rigging amidst the Alcor's sails and caught the man's gaze for only a brief moment. He seemed to acknowledge Kazuha's presence and the fact that the Traveler was adamant about the two meeting but couldn't personally care less about him.
It was an awkward dance for Kazuha, unsure whether to proceed out of correspondence with the Traveler's wishes or not, yet also deeply afraid of the man. The stranger's strength did not intimidate Kazuha, but he had a presence that seemed to naturally demand formality. It reminded Kazuha of his least favorite part about training as a samurai—the mannerisms. He had to withhold the urge to lower his eyes and bow before the stranger, reminding himself they were nothing but equals.
After breaking away from his conscious dreaming and finding a spot to eat his dinner in peace, Beidou called Kazuha to her quarters to share a word.
"You're both from Inazuma, are you not?" Beidou asked for clarification's sake, swirling a bottle of wine idly in her hand.
Kazuha sighed. "I assume so, but that still isn't many grounds for a proper reason to interact with him."
Beidou shrugged. "Just go hit him up. He's your type, surely. Pretty face, nice waist—"
"—No," Kazuha insisted firmly. Beidou smiled at him. She just liked getting under his skin from time to time. "I wouldn't 'hit' anyone up in the first place."
"You did nearly kill him with that throw, though."
"That's… different. I was asked to do that."
"Right," Beidou said, unamused. "Well, anyway. Your new job is to keep an eye on him for the duration of his and the Traveler's stay."
?
What?
"Me?" Kazuha was dumbfounded and blinked as if to confirm that she did, indeed, just say that.
"Yeah, why not? I trust you; you need some more friends on board; and there's no fucking way those three aren't going to get into hot shit."
"I'm… honored you'd trust me with this, but…"
"You don't have to pretend it's a noble job, Kazuha. It's at the bottom of the barrel, but someone needs to clean it," she added with a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, kid."
"I see. I'm fine with it when you phrase it like that," Kazuha responded. He was comfortable with serving others and liked the feeling of being helpful. Though, for some reason, he couldn't help but think it was a matter of something else. "I simply did not want to think this was an attempt to… what's the word…? Ah. 'Matchmake' me."
Beidou gave a hearty laugh that filled the room. "You're funny, Kazuha—smart, too, given that it is."
"I… do not know if you are joking with me anymore," Kazuha managed awkwardly.
"Who knows!" Beidou took a swig and shooed Kazuha out of her room.
Confused and defeated, Kazuha was shot out of the Captain's Quarters and left to his own devices.
It was a tame evening with warm city lights decorating the nighttime sky. Kazuha admired the color dynamics from afar, enjoying the liveliness of an unsleeping city as if he, too, was part of the crowd. Though, he was not the person for such constant bustle—Liyue felt like a breathing entity, but it was filled with individuals working every day as if it was their only means of survival. There was a culture of competition you wouldn't initially see beneath the city's surface, and Kazuha had put a lifetime of desperation and financial ruin behind him.
He let in a deep, grounding breath.
It did make him wonder, though, how things could have been—the curiosity lurked in the back of his mind, only ever reminding him of its existence in the form of residual solemnity.
He found himself running a hand along the Alcor's railing, continuing to admire Liyue Harbor. The air was clear, and the daytime clamor was quiet. He was at ease.
That was, well, until a certain someone interrupted his musings. It seemed as if fate, as well as everyone he knew, was inclined to make the two of them meet.
As Kazuha climbed to the higher overlook, he ran into the stranger that the Traveler had brought aboard. Because he didn't say anything, Kazuha hadn't realized he was there, but he carried a mean glare as if to deter Kazuha from taking another step closer.
"... Oh, sorry…" Kazuha managed under his breath and moved to leave. But as he stared up at the stranger, standing at the top of the stairs with his figure backlit by the full moon, he noticed an uncanny resemblance to the Raiden Shogun.
… to brave the lightning's glow…
The stranger looked down at him, his expression a muted version of the disgust he so naturally harbored. He seemed to mellow in the quieter hours of the day when no one was around to bother him.
His relationship with the Traveler, the Traveler halting their adventures just to supervise him—who was this stranger?
For some odd reason, Kazuha's fingers twitched in the desire to feel this stranger's glory—and for some odd reason, he understood why his friend so desperately wished to be struck down by the Shogun's divine righteousness.
His heart stopped and he became keenly aware of the winds around him, swirling between the two as if to say "beware;" for it didn't take a genius to see that the stranger was extremely powerful.
Footsteps behind Kazuha alerted him to the Traveler approaching.
Quelling his mind's intrigue of the man, Kazuha quickly left, shuffling around the Traveler as they turned the corner and saw the two.
"We're bac—Huh?" Paimon expressed, startled by Kazuha's sudden appearance. "K-Kazuha?"
"Good evening," he greeted.
"Were you two talking?" Paimon translated from the Traveler.
Kazuha opened his mouth to explain himself but was cut off.
"He was just fucking staring at me," the stranger quipped. "If you like what you see, you can always challenge me to a duel. To see me in your last moments would make dying an honor."
"Hey! You remember we're the ones that beat your ass!" Paimon chastised him.
" Language," the Traveler signed. "I did the ass beating."
"I'm not going to translate that!" Paimon huffed and crossed their arms.
As they bickered, Kazuha met the man’s gaze only briefly before slipping away. In that moment, it felt like a promise to meet again—not out of hope, but as an acknowledgment of how much their fates might be intertwined.
Though, perhaps, that was still merely Kazuha's desire.
When he slipped into his hammock that night, he clutched his chest, feeling his very core yearn to be within that man's presence. He wanted the way his knuckles whitened, his body tensed, and his throat tightened. He wanted to feel the weight of the world and histories untold. He wanted to be overwhelmed by him and the storms in his eyes.
He wanted there to be a reason for them to meet. For him, the descendant of a bygone clan, and the stranger, godly and simultaneously monstrous, yet all the same beyond his mortal comprehension.
His curiosity hung above him like a guillotine blade, like blood lingering in the back of his mouth.
He painted a thousand conclusions of the man's identity in his head, staring at the ceiling and drifting off to slumber to the gentle sway of the ship.
And, beyond him, said stranger grasped the delusion resting in his hand as if it were a mockery of his very existence. In it was the symbol of his mother's domain, electro, yet the delusion would only represent the fact he never amounted to her or her ideals.
The wicked would find no rest.
And he had not ever since his finer days of innocence and luxurious golden plumes.
“With all due regard, you don't want someone like me in charge of cleaning. You see, I’m very clumsy...”
Juza, the Chief Mate, sighed. “Listen, kid, you have to carry your own weight, here—”
His placid smile thinned, and his knuckles cracked as he flexed them. “—Ah, I'm no ‘kid,’ I’ll have you know. I’m older than your entire crew—”
“We’re so sorry for him!” Paimon cried as the Traveler desperately tried to pull the stranger aside. “We’ll do double the work to make up for it! Triple! You name it!”
“Don’t start making deals when I’m going to be the one working!” the Traveler signed while wrestling the stranger, their arms gripped around his waist.
“What’s going on here?” Beidou’s voice championed the clearing and gathered even more onlookers than before.
The stranger immediately sized her up, noticing the electro vision at her hip.
“Doesn’t want to wash the deck,” Juza explained as she walked up to stand beside him.
“I suppose he isn’t capable of anything else,” Beidou thought out loud.
The stranger perked up, his glare deepening. “Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? I could kill you where you stand.”
Beidou responded with a hearty laugh. “He’s got spunk, I guess. But I don’t take shit from someone who can’t do something as easy as sweeping a broom.”
He scoffed. Extending an arm and calling the broom to his hand, he ripped it out of Juza’s grasp. He raised it, imbued it with Electro, and acted as if to throw it, saying, “I’ll fucking show you—”
Thwarted by a gust of Anemo disarming the stranger, he pivoted on one foot to throw the Traveler to the ground and turn around to face Kazuha. Kazuha picked up the broom-turned-polearm and watched as the Electro that laced the cracks in its wood dissipated.
“You,” the stranger seethed.
Ignoring him, Kazuha turned to Beidou. “I can sweep the deck.”
Beidou considered it, letting out a groan as she thought. “Eaah, well, the whole point is to humble him, but… sure. Go for it.”
Meanwhile, the Traveler succeeded in tackling the stranger to the ground again and dragged him away below deck—with him screaming profanities the entire way down.
“Go check on him first, though,” Beidou asked Kazuha.
He nodded and quietly followed after the three, broom in hand.
“... Who the fuck do you think I am?” the stranger’s voice formed through the door. “I’m not doing fucking manual labor. I don’t even want to be here.”
“Hey! You’re forgetting this is the community service that’ll get you off house arrest!” Paimon fired back.
“I’m a fucking terrorist—”
“You were a fucking terrorist.”
“I was a fucking terrorist, and you think community service is going to stop the Akademiya from pissing themselves over the mere thought of me? You think I’m going to become a better person by becoming a fucking pirate?”
“You make things too complicated.”
Then all Kazuha heard was high-pitched screaming and the occasional thud.
“I am Scaramouche, Sixth of the Fatui fucking Harbingers, and you really fucking think I’m going to get on my fucking hands and knees for a bunch of fucking nobodies?”
Kazuha felt his body go rigid and the broom stumbled out of his hands.
Despite how he managed to catch it before it contacted the ground, Scaramouche still said from within the room, “Someone’s listening to us.”
Kazuha did not feel comfortable finding out what the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers did to eavesdroppers. Thus, he rushed back above deck and acted casual, sweeping the deck even as his adrenaline spiked within his bloodstream.
When Scaramouche followed him up the ship’s stairs and bore eyes into Kazuha’s back, Kazuha could feel his presence. Kazuha knew that Scaramouche most definitely recognized the elemental fingerprints left by him, yet Scaramouche did nothing but return below deck.
He could only wonder why Scaramouche stopped.
The Scaramouche responsible for the deaths of Watatsumi soldiers. The Scaramouche responsible for the strain put on the Resistance’s leadership, part of the same organization responsible for the Vision Hunt Decree in the first place.
Is that it, then? Is that the link between their fates?
Kazuha’s knuckles whitened around the handle of the broom, his mind distant in conflict and apprehension.
He didn’t know what to think of the man anymore. He was some hidden wonder, a diamond in the rough, a level of majesty Kazuha had only ever seen in the thrilling moments before death—yet at the same time, Scaramouche treated Kazuha’s short list of dislikes as if it were a challenge.
If this was his era of rehabilitation, Kazuha would be at peace—but coming to terms with such a villain was always better said than in practice. Additionally, Scaramouche barely evidenced that he was any better than he was before, he simply lacked the means to do any crime.
Then again, what did it change? If what Kazuha initially saw in Scaramouche was the same thrill of staring death in the eyes and it staring back, what more was Scaramouche’s identity than credence to this idea?
Kazuha let himself relax, taking another breath. He had to trust the Traveler, after all. He was sure he could, too, given it was the Traveler that suffered at his hand time and time again. If they could see him through this change, Kazuha could, too.
“So, his name is ‘Scaramouche?’” Kazuha asked.
Later that day, Kazuha, the Traveler, and Paimon were bonding over some fishing and sitting on the ship’s pulpit with their legs hanging off the edge.
The two companions knew from Scaramouche that Kazuha had been lurking outside, and thus knew about Scaramouche’s identity. Paimon looked at the Traveler, who nodded back at her and gave permission for her to explain. “Yes. He’s… better now, I think. You can trust him.”
The Traveler eagerly shook their head.
“Ok. You can’t trust him. But—” Paimon tried to recuperate, “But… ah, never mind. He’s still pretty terrible. But that’s why we’re here!”
Kazuha’s eyes remained cast over the surface of the water. “He’s the one responsible for smuggling delusions into the Resistance’s supplies, right?”
Paimon went silent. They sat there, continuing to fish for a couple of awkward moments.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to kill the mood,” Kazuha clarified. “Just wanted to confirm who we’re talking about. I was never part of Watatsumi’s leadership, but… I heard rumors.”
“When we confronted him, he said he was just following orders,” Paimon said on behalf of the Traveler. “If that’s any comfort.”
“I don’t hold any of it against him—not if you can attest that he’s changed now, to some extent,” Kazuha explained.
The Traveler’s lips were thinned into a line. “He never felt any remorse for the deaths he caused. He’s a monster, and still retains the traits that make him one. Do you still think that?” they signed.
Kazuha didn’t have to consider his answer. “I’m not one of the victims of his villainy, so I suppose I’m not the proper person to determine whether he deserves forgiveness or not, but I think everyone is capable of reform. Killing a murderer to end their slaughter only creates another murderer in the world.”
The Traveler sighed. “You are a good person.”
Kazuha laughed. “Thank you. Though, if he is ever to cause more trouble, I can assure you, I will be among the first to respond.”
Paimon coughed and laughed along.
“But I do have to ask, is he related to the Raiden Shogun in any fashion?” Kazuha asked. “He looks a lot like her.”
He looked at his reflection in the water, the white peaks of passing waves dissolving back into blue depths and framing his face with a sort of mysticism.
“He is,” the Traveler confirmed, yet left it at that.
“So, the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers was a descendant of Inazuma’s god…” Kazuha sighed, absorbing the inherent tragedy in that fact alone. He could only wonder what sort of history Scaramouche had—he betrayed his nation and his own god yet worked against the efforts of the Resistance. Kazuha was unsure what side Scaramouche was on—if he even had one, personally. “I can’t help but feel bad, in an odd sense.”
Paimon translated, “He doesn’t deserve your pity. I’m not sure he wants it, either.”
“I’m sure,” Kazuha acknowledged her. “But it doesn’t change the fact there’s an underlying sense of tragedy in every one of his movements. I do not know him or his motives, and perhaps this is merely my own wishes, but I wonder if that’s what brings him to make the decisions he does— his history, the burdens he can’t free himself from.”
“You are delusional,” the Traveler signed. They didn’t say anything after that. “But you are somewhat right.”
Kazuha laughed and stood up on the railing. “My instincts are like a stream of smoke in the sky—I trust them to tell me there’s a fire, but after that, I’m not sure I’m quite as accurate.”
Kazuha excused himself later that day from evening duties to pick up lotus flowers from the ponds of Yujing Terrance. He stood in the middle of the water with his pants rolled up and leggings soaked, collecting flowers as fish and curious onlookers alike stared on in curiosity.
“What are you doing?” the child from Bubu Pharmacy would ask him, her voice monotone. “You will get sick if you stay in there.”
Kazuha would come to the pathway’s edge and pat her head in reassurance. “I’m just picking a peace offering for someone I know. I won’t be in here long enough to get sick.”
“... I see,” she would respond before walking away. She turned back to give him one last tentative look before returning up the stairs to the pharmacy she came from.
And when he returned to the Alcor, he placed them by the base of Scaramouche’s door, accompanied with a note.
Kaedehara Kazuha, he signed it.