Chapter Text
“We of the Alberich Clan should lead lives as those who blaze like fire, rather than those who wallow in embers…”
Well, Reign’s honor had been in pieces ever since his son turned into a hilichurl and the last bits of his pride had perished with his wife on that ill-fated trip through her homeland.
So when the Thing of New Khaenri’ah turned aside any request for aid, despite having approved the “spy” plan, and forbid him from returning with his freshly cursed son, he did the only thing he could think of and went the one place they hadn’t bothered to bar him from.
After all, who would dare brave the Abyss to seek the aid of the Mad Star Prince of the Abyss himself?
“No one survives the desert alone,” his wife Makeda used to say. And if he was going to get an ally, he was going to get the best abyss-damned ally there was. Literally.
“Blaze like Fire” and all that.
The cost of his aid was already known to be high. Whispers left behind from Caribert himself. But Regin was desperate, Makeda had always made the plans for the two of them and without her the only thing he could think was that one who regularly took humanity away must surely know how to reverse it.
“Don’t worry too much about the process,” came the cheerful voice of the Abyss Prince as he walked down the hall filled with the technology of Regin’s ancestors. “I’ve figured out what went wrong with Caribert the first time, and that’s not going to happen again. You can try spreading the word to the rest of New Khaenri’ah …if you can handle getting them here I should be able to reverse most of the effects of the curse of the wilderness….”
His mad…Uncle? Great-great uncle? What did one even call the adopted immortal heir of his long dead ancestor?...His mad prince talked lightly and walked with a skip while surrounded by the revitalized corpses of their countrymen. Not even blinking at the masks or furs that in the faint glow of the fire-less light made them look too much like the Abyss monsters they had once hunted.
For someone who’s reputation was bathed in blood, madness, and stealing the crown from under their noises, Aether had been surprisingly willing to help. He seemed eager for a new ally, eager to show off what that abyss damned crystal could do, and eager to have another Alberich on the team after Chlothar had passed away. Excited too, no doubt, to put that old succession crisis to rest by finally having the true Alberich heir under his thumb, one all of New Khaenri’ah would have to follow.
Not that they would, Lord Fafnir and the rest of the Thing were quite pleased to have an excuse to relieve the title of Steward of Irmin from their wayward heir. They’d been looking for a reason since he’d dared to marry the Sumeru woman who fell from above.
But his Aether didn’t need to know that.
“Here he is!” Aether said as he walked through a space in a wall that had not been there before Aether had tapped it. He stepped in and gestured to the table where the beast of Regin’s son had been strapped in. “I told you not to worry! Mostly human and everything….”
Regin’s breath hitched.
His son, his Kaeya, was there, alive, and mostly in one piece. The fur was gone, and in its place the salvar,and yelek. Makeda had cobbled it together from the only pre-embroidered cloak Regin could find for their son’s first time seeing his mother’s home.
They’d been so stupid to think Caribert’s blood would protect him.
Now Kaeya sits in clothing far to fine for the cold around him, shivering and looking up around at the surrounding monsters with a single scared lavender eye peeking out from his blue bangs.
“Hey little guy, I’m your cousin,” Aether said kneeling down next to him. “How do you feel about Cyro? You look like a Cyro. What with the blue…”
Regin swallowed as he sank down next to his son. Brushing his hair back to see the black abyss taint still in his right eye. He fought the urge to recoil, “What…”
Aether glanced over, “hmm? Oh that’ll make the transformation in a few years much less painful, no need to freak the kid out. It works well with the eyepatch thing you all have going on. A real Irmin’s eye, behind your Irmin’s eye.” He grins as he places his hand over his own eye like a mock eyepatch, “I’ll get one for you before you transform.”
Regin felt his blood run cold at that. That was right. The transformation. The deal he’d made with his ever paranoid and very dangerous cousin to join his little Abyss Order. A deal for him, not Kaeya. And now their mad cousin would turn his son into a monster after Regin’s transformation, when he was no longer able to stop him …
Damn it to the Abyss what would Makeda say? Something clever probably. She’d always been smarter then him. Marking Kaeya’s mask so they could find him should he wander off, figuring out where those child-kidnapping scholars were going and heading them off, this spy idea in the first place…they’d all been her plans. She’d come up with the arguments and Regin would do the talking. What good was his talking if he didn’t know what he was supposed to be arguing for?
All Regin could think of was the same old plan, again.
“If you transform him, he can’t work as a spy,” Regin said to the second person in three months.
Aether looked up, “Spy?”
“Spy,” said Regin, time to go all in now the hook had landed. “That’s the whole plan, you see. New Khaenri’ah wanting to make a move. But since we’re joining you, the plan can be for the Abyss order. A spy, one that will be able to get information in places your men can never go. No one tells their plans to an abyss mage, but they’ll let it slip around a child.”
“You’d be surprised what people will say to an Abyss Mage,” Aether hummed, “They just have to apply a little pressure.” He paused and tilted his head, “But perhaps that will be your job.”
Kaeya, dreaming-ancestors bless him, caught enough of the meaning to burst into tears.
“You’re scaring him,” Regin said, “He’s really only trained for one type of espionage, he’s too young for that type right now. Even the idea of leaving his parents is frightening at this age. Just let me have a moment alone with him, I’ll be able to calm him down…”
“He’s old enough to foster isn’t he?” said Aether, “Spying is only fostering with a few more steps.” He paused and cocked his head to the side, “Do you not foster anymore?”
As the primary heir of New Khaenri’ah Regin had, of course, been fostered. Important to establish allies his mother, ever the Alberich, had said. A tradition with much honor. His father, of a far less noble line, had been more practical: Regin would need allies should both of them perish to the abyss or the hard underground life. Allies like his father’s kin. Little good that had done anyone in the end, Lord Fafnir had been all to eager to use his status as Regin’s foster father to become the Lawspeaker of the Thing and quick to throw him aside when he strayed too far from line.
“No,” Regin lied. “That’s an antiquated tradition.”
“It was still going strong when I fostered Caribert,” said the Abyss prince. “He’d just stopped being a hilichurl too, and was still reeling from his mother’s death.”
Regin froze and carefully glanced at his son. Kaeya was still giving performative howls he’d perfected as a toddler, and seemed to have missed the implication.
“Chlother stayed with me after,” Aether added casually. He caught Regin’s gaze with a faint smile and raised eyebrow.
“That was 500 years ago,” said Regin, meeting his gaze with steady eyes. Looking away would only confirm guilt or weakness and he could afford suspicion of either growing in the Mad Prince’s head. “From what the Saga’s record, he was quite a bit older then my Kaeya,” And to show how unimpressed he was, he raised an eyebrow back.
“I suppose he’s a bit young,” sighed Aether. “Though I am more than certain he’ll rise to the challenge. And in a year or two, when the fostering is over, he should be ready to be an abyss mage. But if you change your mind and want it sooner, just grab the nearest Mage or Lector. We should not be too far from where you’ll be stationed. Cryo would look good on you both.”
And then he left, calm and easy strides away not even bothering to leave guards as if he believed every word Regin had said… and why wouldn’t he? He’d actually walked the court of Khaenri’ah, the real Khaenri’ah and not the ruins Regin called home. The Alberichs of that time had a spotless reputation of honesty and honor. Men who thought little of guile and the games of court and made their opinion known often.
But almost 500 years of their civilization declining in that sunless hole with nothing but fungus, Khemia, and whatever could be traded in the Abyss grew up different sorts of people, no matter what the elders said. Or how hard his mother had tried to instill the Alberich vows it in him. Growing up among the ruins of a destroyed civilization, only to watch what little hope he’d managed to find torn from him by the still jealous gods…that bitterness had killed any hope that Regin could ever be that honest man. Survival instinct for him and his son was all that was left.
“Did they turn mama into a monster?” Kaeya whispers.
“No,” said Regin. “She….” She died to get you back to us. She died because my Abyss-damned Uncle Fafnir left you to roam a surface world who saw you as nothing more than a monster. But she didn’t, she found you she saved you.
His son deserves a real explanation. But a real explanation takes time, time Regin doesn’t have. Not here, not now, not when the Abyss prince has made one small error and left them alone for the last time in who knows how long. The truth would only bring his son to tears and Regin did not have time for tears.
“She’s outside,” he says silencing the questions he can see forming on his son’s lips. “She needs you to be very quiet right now, Abyss-quiet when we go with…”
“Our cousin?”
“Our very dangerous and quite mad cousin.”
“Then why are we going with him? You said…”
“I know what I said,” said Regin, “For now we just… we are just going to go along with the plan, it just changed who we’re reporting too. And you get to be fostered for a few years, like…” like I was “…the kings of old. But that’s not for you to worry about.”
“It’s for Mama to worry about?” his boy said, gazing up at him with a half-smile.
Regin felt his heart clench, “Yeah,” he said as he glanced aside.
Blaze like fire was their motto so if he was going to lie, it was going to be the greatest lie ever told. The example that the Abyss order would point to for the rest of time as to why you never trust strange Alberichs looking for help.
Slap a uniform on him and call him the Bough-Keeper, he was pulling a Dainsleif.
Time to scam the Abyss order and live to tell the tale.
His son could be a better Alberich, an honorable one, but for that he’d need to be alive and not under the sway of whatever mad man was in that crystal.
When his wife had shown him her maps of her surface homeland she’d spoken of shifting golden dunes and warm sun, cities carved into caves without the technology of Old Khaenri’ah, great lumbering sumpter beasts that were loyal companions, and an endless sky even bluer then their son’s hair.
Blue and gold, warm sunlight, ever shifting sands that would hide their footprints well… that’s what he’d dreamed of.
What did he get?
Rain.
Water coming from the sky. Water was supposed to be scarce!
The book he’d once read about the land of freedom, a rare thing in New Khaenri’ah, always mentioned the weather and how the Anemo Archon kept it as mild for his chosen children. As mild as his character.
With the wind whipping in the air, throwing rain at every angle to so no one could avoid soaking even with their meagre shelter, was what mild weather looked like then Regin shuttered to think what counted for bad.
Or what that said about the supposed sleeping Archons character.
Beside him Kaeya let out a sniffle.
His son was looking around with an expression on his face that betrayed every bit of exhaustion Regin was desperately trying not to show.
That’s good, he tried to remind the pang in his heart, he won’t have to bother with faking it when he gets there.
Because that was coming up. Kaeya would be staying here for who knows long.
In this wet, cold, miserable plain with little shelter and the cursed corpses of their people wandering about. Nothing like the sparkling crystal waters sheltered by swaying palms heavy with nuts he’d dreamed he’d be sending his son too when he’d first proposed this plan. The original plan had been Sumeru, Makeda’s land, where Kaeya’d easily blend in perhaps even have some power. Sumeru where he wouldn’t be without his mother or father, if Regin had anything to say about it.
No one survives in the desert alone.
Sure, the original spy plan had really been a paper thin excuse to justify why his wife should be allowed to return home to the surface after years of being denied an opportunity to do something as simple as “climb back out that hole she fell in.” A chance to give their son the sky and stars that were his by his mother’s line. But Lord Fafnir and the rest of the Thing did not need to know that. Just like they did not need to know how much the plans had changed since then.
If they weren’t willing to aid a freshly turned Kaeya… not even letting them try to see if returning would undo the effects…. well then they didn’t get to complain when said plan took a very different twist.
Just as the Mad Prince didn’t need to know just that they were absolutely not going to be his new little spy in Sumeru.
And even if Makeda hadn’t taken her last stand there, even if they weren’t being chased by the Abyss order who was no doubt going to find out soon their spies had flown the coop, Regin didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back there. Not to the land ruled by those knowledge driven vultures who treated his son like a test subject and wife like dirt.
He really rather hoped Aether went after Academia when he finally started to look for his missing spy.
Regin had picked a direction, any direction so long as it was out of Sumeru, and started walking. Walking until he found the boarders of his wife’s map and beyond it. Wandering through lands described in books written some 500 years ago and legends still circulating about bountiful fields and mild weather watched over by the green god.
That was the last time he based his hopes off the book of half remembered fairy tales he’d heard someone got from the Bough-Keeper.
“Are we almost there?” Kaeya whispered. His stomach growled
“Soon,” said Regin ignoring the pain in his own stomach. They’d run out of food a day ago, the last bit had all gone to Kaeya but even that had not been enough. His poor boy had too much to worry about now to add any more uncertainty. “It’s just past the statue of their archon.”
“The Dragon-slayer?” Kaeya asked. “What does he look like?”
“Winged,” said Regin. “So keep your head down when you hear the flapping of great wings…”
“Like those?”
Regin followed his son’s tiny finger as it followed the flight of a falcon. Regin let out a relieved sigh, “No, Kaeya, those are normal sized wings. That’s a bird.”
“It’s too small to eat us,” said Kaeya matter-of-fact, “Can we eat it?”
“If we can catch it,” said Regin. He was vaguely sure that birds could be eaten. How to prepare them he was not sure, his knowledge of food was limited to Khemia, but at this point he’d take anything. Teyvat’s wildlife was supposed to be far less poisonous then abyss monsters.
Then again, its weather was supposedly mild.
He noticed with a start that Kaeya was no longer by his side, the little boy already sloshing through puddles and mud in hopes of a meal. Regin cursed his reflexes, a moment like that would get him killed in the Abyss and Kaeya knew better then to run off! Especially in enemy territory with an irritated archon and the whole damn abyss order who have no doubt found out they weren’t in Sumeru anymore…
Kaeya had stopped dead.
Regin sped up with the speed honed from dodging trouble in Abyss and the surface. He did not stop until he’d stumbled in between his son and the danger.
The rising wings and outstretched arms of the Anemo Archon. Stone flesh as cold and unfeeling as his land.
A statue.
Just a statue.
The statue.
He looked around, descriptions had led him to believe the statue was upon a hill of sorts, one that should leave their target in sight. A large winery, with a master so well known for his charitable habits towards young orphans that it had reached the lips of the last caravan they hitched a ride with. Someone who’d most certainly offer a nice apprenticeship right in the center of the beating heart of Mondstadt’s economy. One with three squares meals a day, warm room, and no more constant danger save the eye of the sleeping Anemo Archon…
A loud cry snapped him out of his thoughts. It seemed to have come from the bird, go figure, which was divebombing a dark lump upon the trees upper branches.
A figure that began to stir.
Regin pushed Kaeya behind him, prepared for a walking corpse, Gold’s monstrous hounds, or worse: one of the mad prince’s loyal followers finally sniffed them out…
Instead of attacking the lump fell all the way to the bottom of the tree with a loud cry.
“Okay, okay, I get it, Nessa, I’m up.” The thing said as it pushed itself up with a groan. “Well met, strange yet respectable stranger….”
The lump did not look intimidating when it stood. Drenched in the rain and wind as much as they were, what was no doubt once a merry outfit reduced to bedraggled green lumps. Front hair half undone. A good foot shorter then Regin, with some of the awkwardness of one who barely knew what to do with their new height. And a slight frame he’d seen in so many who grew up without enough food.
But Regin had met enough of those new to manhood whose eyes were hardened by survival in the Abyss to jump to the conclusion that those gangly limbs would get in the way of any serious attempt to harm.
“Who are you?” said Regin.
“A traveling bard!” he said the cheerfulness of his tone despite the weather gave testament to the truth of his words. For who else but someone who had slept out in the weather many a time, be so indifferent to its plight? Regin and Kaeya had barely been out of the shelter of the underground six months and Regin could never imagine being that cheerful in this storm.
“And yourself?” the bard said, breaking Regin from his thoughts.
“Travelers,” Regin said, the less words the better.
“Wonderful!” said the bard jumping up a bit, “I love meeting fellow travelers. Are you headed to the city up ahead?”
“City?” The Winery wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the city.
Then again this statue was supposed to be on a hill.
He looked over at the bard, weighing how much he could tell him. “We happen to be in search of some fine grape juice.” No way the bard wouldn’t know the location of the biggest seller of alcohol in the region.
The bards eyes practically shone a faint green, “A fellow connoisseur of alcohol! What a delight, well you have met a stroke of good fortune today! I happen to be well acquainted with all the local taverns. There’s the angel’s share, the cat’s tail….”
“We’re looking for a Master Ragnvindr” Regin cut him off.
“Oh, him,” said the Bard deflating,
“What’s the matter with him?” Regin said.
The bard glanced to the side, “He’s just, well let’s say he and I don’t really see eye to eye.”
Regin felt Kaeya grip his cloak and pull close. All the stories he’d heard of Master Crepus had been good. Could they have missed something?
“On what?”
“The drinking age,” said the bard with a sigh.
Regin relaxed, that was much easier to fix. But still, he could feel Kaeya clinging to him. Perhaps…perhaps he should get a look at this Master Crepus himself before he left his boy there. Something subtle that wouldn’t draw to much attention. Getting information to decide for himself if the man would be kind to a lost child.
He’d need to find the man for that and find a way to distract him enough that he wouldn’t connect the man he’d seen the night before with the lost child he’d find tomorrow.
No one survives in the desert alone.
And the solution to both those problems was in front of him. Walk into a tavern when every eye was drawn to whatever trouble this bard squabbling with the management over alcohol drinking age. He’d be just another face in the crowd and would get to see how the man he’d leave his son with behaved when angry.
“I’m afraid we’re too tight for mora right now to afford drinking,” he said with deep forced sigh.
“No fear for that,” the bard laughed, “I’m always tight for mora before I begin to sing, I can make up the price of a few good drinks in an hour if the crowds right!”
“What a pair we make,” Regin said and shook his head, “Me without the mora to afford any, and you with the mora but unable to buy.” He then paused, dangling the solution in front of the bard; he’d need to come the conclusion himself.
Fortunately, the Bard was quicker on the uptake then any on the Thing had ever been, “Then our meeting must have been written in the stars!” he laughed, “You can buy me alcohol, and I’ll pay for you!”
“If it’s not too far out of your way…” Regin began as if he wasn’t deeply interested.
“Nonsense, no point waiting out here in the rain when we could be inside drinking and making merry!” He turned and started out across the plain.
“Do you have food?” said Kaeya peeking out from behind his father.
The bard turned with a smile that was, gentler then it had been before, “They’ll have food at the tavern Little Star.”
Regin felt himself tense again. Little Star…it could just be an endearment up here, where the stars supposedly shone. But the star in Kaeya’s eyes was all he had inherited from Regin. And with those eight pointed stars decorated all the ruins of Old Khaenri’ah …
A bard by a statue, the slight glow of his green eyes, that tickled at the edges of Regin’s mind and made something old and instinctual rear its head and scream danger.
The Bard knew….or perhaps he did not and Regin was over thinking this. If he knew, was he friendly or a danger? If he was leading them into a trap, would he become violent upon being confronted? If he did not realize the danger of lost Khaenri’ahns, would speaking only alert him of it? And if he did not know what Khaenri’ah meant and Regin began to speak, would he not tip him off, and put Kaeya in danger? Regin could hold his tongue, gambling on the bard failing to notice he knew he knew, until his guard dropped and Regin could strike…but if the Bard was truly innocent and Regin’s paranoia drove him to lash out at their only friendly face in this wet wasteland….
No one survives the desert alone
Blaze like Fire
An Alberich would not hesitate to speak out. To demand answers and a dual if the foe was dangerous.
Regin would speak to, but he’d do it in his own way.
“You know,” he said conversationally, purposely speeding his pace up to be before Kaeya. “I’ve heard the weather in Mondstadt reflects the mood of the Anemo Archon.”
“Then he must have quite the hangover,” said the bard.
The casual irreverence caught Regin off guard, he bit back a laugh. “Can archons even get hangovers?”
“There’s never been any stories that say they can’t get a hangover.” The bard said with a skip in his step. “And you know what with the wine being Barbados favorite he’s sure to get them quite often. Why look at all the winter storms after Weinlesefest! If that’s not the Anemo Archon throwing up I don’t know what is!”
Regin didn’t hide his laugh this time.
Venti proved himself an interesting guide. He did seem to know the lay out of the land, but seemed to care little for the paths, with Regin having to remind him that perhaps taking the path around was better than trying to scale an admittedly small cliff in the rain. Venti had looked confused at that, “but this is the fastest way”
“Maybe on a map,” muttered Regin. “But you should know straight lines don’t work on the ground.”
“Ground, right,” said Venti, “I need to teach you how to use a windglider….”
“Uh huh,” said Regin, “But in the interest of my son not freezing to death in this archon-forsaken land,” he pointedly ignored Venti’s snicker, “where is the tavern?”
“Right, right,” Venti, “It’ll be right past the main gate on the right….”
Regin glanced ahead, past the sole bridge to a large gate, barely visible the glimmering armor or guards, “Its guarded. I had not expected that from the City of Freedom.”
Venti glanced at him, “they do keep out slimes. They’re more for show then anything. In this weather, I’d be surprised if they even noticed us!”
And with that he took off confidently down the drawbridge. Waving at the guards and laughing.
Regin kept his pace steady and in front of Kaeya, his head down. But the guards barely spared him a glance to focused on the rain and the energetic bard who stopped to chat.
Plan Let-The-Bard-Do-The-Talking was going off without a hitch.
Venti might have been a poor guide when it came to the lands beyond the walls, but the closer they got to the tavern the more familiar he seemed. “This place has been in business since the revolution against the Aristocracy. Venessa and I used to go back in the day.”
The only revolution that Regin remembered from Mondstadt was a vague story about a revolution against a god. Which had clearly not been to successful but even still…
“Then let’s hope some of that revolutionary spirit still lingers.” He muttered.
“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Venti. “If it needs reigniting, I’ve got a dozen or so ballads full of the stuff.” He leaned to the door one ear pressed to it. Then he gestured for Regin to do the same.
Kaeya leaned on the door and then looked up at Regin with serious eyes so he leaned as well. All three of them now balanced against the wooden door, the eaves now giving the faintest shelter from the storm.
“Listen,” said Venti, “What do you hear.”
Noise mostly. A dull roar of it that meant someone instead was talking loudly. But nothing more specific.
“Am I supposed to be hearing something?”
“You aren’t!” Venti grinned, “It’s what you aren’t hearing that matters!”
“Talk of revolution?” Regin offered.
“Music!” said Venti practically pounding on the door, “there’s no song within, they’ll be eager for any din! A performance while they sup to fill up our cups!”
Regin sighed and pushed the door open as Kaeya giggled at Venti’s strange rhymes lack of alliteration.
The inside of the tavern was small, smaller then he would have liked. People grouped around tables, some still in armor. But it was warm and lively with the clamor of people talking. Or they had been talking.
Now they were all staring at them.
No, not them
Venti.
Venti who skipped right up to the bar with a grin and pulled out a lyre that Regin hadn’t noticed in the rain and let out a series of the worst rhymes he’d ever heard:
“Come my friends lend me an ear, for a song to lift you up and give you cheer. Your mora for a song and I will sing all night long.”
The stress pattern was almost nonexistent, and Regin had heard his own performances. Not a single alliteration in the whole thing! It was truly the worst bit of poetry he’d ever heard.
So naturally, it grabbed the whole tavern’s attention.
“We don’t serve children,” came the voice of the innkeeper. A redheaded fellow with a sharp beard who was wiping down the counter, “Or blasphemers”
Regin froze, mind racing. How could this guy know? No one who’d seen them as they’d walked up from Liyue had said a thing.
Or had that amber-eyed fellow just been keeping their mouth shut until they could get them out of his cart?
“Master Creeeepus,” Venti said with a deep sigh, “surely the last of the line of Ragnvindr, famed for their hospitality since the days of Venessa would not turn away three weary, wet, and exhausted travelers seeking shelter from a terrible storm?”
Regin stiffened as Master Crepus’ eyes slid over to him.
Take back everything, Venti was a terrible choice in distraction.
Kaeya had the good sense to stay behind him, hidden from view.
Or he was until Venti pulled him out. “Look at this face, Master Crepus, look how badly this little guy needs some food!”
Kaeya’s eyes widened at the mention of food. And took on a pleading look, identical to Venti’s.
An Alberich would never stoop so far as to beg.
Blaze like fire
If he was going to beg he was going to do it right.
And if they couldn’t keep Crepus Ragnvindr from seeing them now, he’d give him a damn good reason to assume that Kaeya’d been abandoned due to desperation.
“We’ll take anything,” he said letting all the desperation leak into his voice, until he sounded like the most desperate of beggars, “Scraps, leftovers, or just a place to shelter.”
“What has the Ragnvindr name come to?” Venti let out a dramatic sigh, “Letting a poor starving child only have moldy bread and sour wine? Is this truly all Mondstadt’s face of generosity can offer? Why this man should have the very best you have!”
Regin wished he was working with Makeda right now. If it was Makeda, he’d know that was a cue to raise his offer while still seeming the most reasonable of the two options. There was a dance to bargaining, though not one he was used to bringing in when asking for something which should be as freely offered as sacred hospitality. But what did he know of Mondstadt’s customs? They weren’t in New Khaenri’ah or even the desert anymore, hospitality must come with catches up here.
But perhaps, a man who dealt with merchants would understand at least part of the request.
“We are just here for some food for weary travelers, we don’t want trouble” and after a pause, “we claim sacred hospitality, if you still offer that this far north.”
Venti beamed at him.
“And I apologize for my son’s behavior”
Kaeya gave a pout, as if he had not been trying to swindle the man who was going to be raising him soon and jeopardized what was left of their mission.
He ended up looking like Venti, who had turned his exaggerated puppy dog eyes on Regin. Was that a cue of some sort? Or was it for Crepus’ benefit?
He gave up and just gave Venti the sternest look he could muster. Serves him right for going on a con without any preparation.
“While I highly doubt your oldest has any sense of “sacred” with the blasphemy he says,” Crepus began waving his hand at Venti as if he was the oldest among them, “We have our own brand of hospitality, not as grand as what you’re used to in Sumeru, but I’ll see what I can find for you three.”
He waved them to a corner table, “If you push the chairs together, the little one can take a nap. My boy does it all the time.”
They made their way over to the table, Regin unsteady with relief. “What’s this about Blasphemy?” he said to Venti, curiosity overwhelming his good sense as bent down to sit upon the hard chair.
Venti opened his mouth eyes sparkling in what was either about to be a horribly irreverent joke or the biggest lie he could muster, but was cut off by a voice behind him. The red-haired innkeeper and Kaeya’s future foster father.
“He pretended to be Barbados to get around the alcohol limit,” said Crepus Ragnvindr who no doubt had enough influence to lower such things if he pleased.
Venti seemed to realize this as well from the way he argued back, “Who’s idea was it even to raise the limit to 18? It used to be 14! Whatever had Mondstadt come too? Restricting people’s freedoms….” He pushed himself back with the same dramatic air he’d had before.
“Don’t pretend to be devote now.” Crepus shook his head as he placed a plate of food down in front of Kaeya and then Venti. Kebobs of meat and mushroom, closest to his wife’s shawarma.
When he turned his attention back to Regin he said, “This one’s quite the handful. You have my condolences,” and inclined his head to Venti without breaking eye contact.
“He has his moments…” Regin began before he realized the full implication of what Crepus had said. With his pale skin and dark hair, Venti looked more like him then Kaeya. Save for the star eyes.
The bartender was gone before Regin could set him straight.
Kaeya wasted no time devouring the food in front of him but Regin could not afford to mindlessly fill his stomach. They were unlikely to get any seconds from the begrudging hospitality of the bartender so every bit of food they had mattered. Kaeya was still growing, he’d need the most. Venti got the mora for them, so for the sake of their continued goodwill he’d need the second most…
Kaeya began devouring his third kebob. One that had not been there a moment before.
Regin glanced to the side, but the bartender was on the other side of tavern, engaging some knights in conversation, his back to them both.
Regin turned back to find his two kebobs had also multiplied. A reverse thief.
One who was humming sweetly above an empty plate.
Venti caught his look, “I ate before.”
Regin had heard that one before. Had given it to Kaeya enough times that the boy stops eating and looks up, eyes narrowed.
“Right,” said Regin, “A moraless bard like you, not hungry.” He held out the kebob.
“You need to eat, I do not,” said Venti as he leaned backwards and spread his hands, “Archon, remember?”
The trick worked about as well on Regin as it did on the bartender. Never mind Regin already knew from Crepus’ complaint what Venti’s favorite ploy was, the faux casualness and bold claim from a homeless, moraless, bard was enough to disprove his statement.
A clever strategy all things considered. Venti told the loudest lie and stuck to it, clinging to something so fiercely everyone would give up trying to reason with him. And in doing so, miss whatever he wanted to hide.
But Regin had been doing the same, clinging to the lie that everything was fine, he could spot a performance when he saw one.
And it’s not like the actual Anemo Archon would stoop to feeding two sinners from a nation he had a hand in destroying.
No this was the work of a man still young enough to keep the letter of the oldest hospitality rules and think it wouldn’t come back to haunt him. Regin had been like that once, prideful wherever he could afford to be, not yet beaten out of their core principles.
Blaze like fire.
Regin was no longer that same man, and he knew how to play this old game. What would have worked with him, when he’d still had enough pride to try something like this?
“Then how about a trade?” he said with a drawl in his voice.
“A trade?” Venti said slowly, “You mean to give me food in exchange for a favor? Careful there little star, one might think you’re making an offering to a god.”
Regin rolled his eyes. “Sure, an offering. But for this offering you do something for me.” He held out the kebobs
Venti slowly reached out and took it slowly, eyeing Regin with a cautious wariness. “And what would you have me do?”
No one survives in the desert alone.
When Kaeya was first turned, Makeda had kept her head while Regin panicked. She’d written a rune on Kaeya’s fresh mask so they could find him should he run off. And then when she was unable to contain the flailing of their newly six foot tall son, it was Regin’s strength that had kept him from hurting them or himself.
But that had taken all their eyes and attention. They’d had no one to watch their backs. No one to notice they’d been watched.
A man in green, which he’d later learn marked him as part of the Academia, and his companions, had found a way to overpower them all. Babbling excitedly about what could make a human boy become such a monster. How ironic that Regin could have told him then and there the answer to his little mystery and solved them all the pain….but the scholar hadn’t been too interested in listening to the parents of the kid he was kidnapping and had left them for dead.
Trying to get Kaeya back had been one of the worst times of Regin’s life. Cut off from any of his own people with no foster families or allies to support him, wandering in a strange land. But he’d learned. Learned how the surface world operated beyond his wife’s rosy memories.
The desert was not to different from New Khaenri’ah. Harsh lands that needed many hands. Eremites survived in groups for a reason.
It had been connections that had got them through it. Connections to people, people like Venti.
No one survives in the desert alone.
“I want you to look after my son,” he said.
Kaeya would need connections to survive. These wet rainy lands may not be the desert but they presented their own dangers. And Venti seemed familiar enough with how to navigate it.
Venti’s eyes softened, “Of course.”
“And I don’t just mean look out for him occasionally,” Regin began, “We…Makeda was from the desert. Eremite if that means something to you.”
“I haven’t been out there in a while…” Venti began slowly but Regin cut him off.
“Don’t go, that land…if I did not know better I’d say its cursed. The scholars there, they just went along with mad experiments, they treated my wife like dirt, and they are no help to anyone. When I was there, Kaeya got….kidnapped. The scholars were no help and nor were their guards, whatever they were called. You know who was helping? Makeda’s family, her extended family, the people who they knew. We…” he trailed off. “…I survived because of those connections. That’s what I’m asking of you. To be that for Kaeya. ”
“Not for you?” said Venti quietly.
“Kaeya needs you most,” said Regin. “For however long this may take. I need your promise.”
“Would you really take just my word…?” Venti began.
“I know you’re a liar,” said Regin, “And that’s fine, useful even. I’m one too. But you have been kind in a way I haven’t seen since…since I got here. So I’m asking you, one survivor to another, to care for my son.”
Venti looked him dead in the eyes and very slowly and deliberately took a bite from the kebob and swallowed. When he spoke his voice was more serious then Regin had ever heard from him, “Then from one survivor to another, I accept your offering. I will watch and care for your son as if he is one of mine.”
An idea struck Regin, and he glanced at the tankard the innkeeper had left. He took a swig and handed it to Venti. “I don’t have another cup, so bear with it, but a Heitstrenging, like that one, really should be made with a toast of alcohol.”
“A solemn oath?” said Venti reaching forward, “I must say I do like this tradition. We have something like this in Mondstadt …”
“Alcohol to seal the deal?” said Regin. “I heard that in Lyiue…though it might have been with tea or something… Heitstrengings are sort of like their contracts.” They weren’t really, but he wasn’t sure how to explain the full meaning behind this without a sword or ring or any sense of tribute.
“A contract?” said Venti, “Did you just lock me, god of wind and freedom, into a contract?”
Regin rolled his eyes, he had to hand it to Venti, he stuck with his lies with the same devotion Regin had once had to his own oaths. Now, if even a tenth of that transferred over to protecting Kaeya, his son would be fine, even with this whole plan as mucked up as it was.
He took the tankard back from a pouting Venti. It was almost empty but he raised his glass anyways, toasting to getting a plan at least partly back on track. “Blaze like Fire,” he said meeting his new ally’s eyes for a moment before throwing his head back to catch the last drops.
Instead of the last drips of liquid something cold and hard fell from the cup onto his face.
He sputtered and moved to brush it off. What sort of prank was this? Had Venti put a stone in?
Or was it some sort of Mondstadt tradition to have rocks in the bottom of their wine?
He reached for the offending stone, expecting to have to give someone an earful on why this was not a good idea… perhaps if it was from the bartender use it to get a bit more food…when his eyes caught the faint golden light.
Set in a metal frame with two small wings was a small round stone, glowing faintly gold with a stylized diamond inscribed within.
Regin may have grown up in New Khaenri’ah, but even he’d been on the surface long enough to recognize what that was. The only thing it could be. The eye of the gods.
Proof he’d run out of time.
“Geo,” he heard Venti sigh but it was as if he was underwater, all sound muted, “One contract joke and its Geo?”
“What do you mean contract joke made me get a vision?”
“Oh that’s probably not what caused it, I think. I’m not sure,” he laughed sheepishly in a manner that would have been amusing if it wasn’t Regin’s life on the line. “It’s got something to do with you really, what element matches you best. I really would have thought you were anemo, what with the traveling. Maybe hydro. Not geo.”
He drew out his own eye of the gods, this one belonging to the sleeping archon and Regin felt himself half hysterically wishing that Venti had been right and he had gotten anemo. At least then he’d know the god was sleeping and not constantly peeking through. Oh Dream-of-Dreaming, the Geo Archon was still alive and well and he’d definitely been one of the participants in Khaenri’ah destruction, and now he knew where Regin was…
…But not his son. Kaeya was sleeping, or had at least had the sense to keep his head down if he was awake. The eye in the stone had not seen him.
He had moments. He needed to think. What could he do. How could he keep Kaeya safe.
But his head was floating in the Dark Sea and all thoughts were darting away from him into those black waters. All that was left was the fear.
He wished Makeda was here. She’d think of something new.
All he could do was fall back on the old plan.
“Venti,” he said the fear in his voice was fine, it would convey the urgency of his request, “Listen to me, I need you to look after Kaeya. I’m out of time. I have to go, Kaeya…Kaeya should know where to go…”
“He’s here,” said Venti, “You can….”
“I can’t let it see him,” Regin says wishing he sounded less terrified.
Venti blinks confused glancing from him to the stone. “Kaeya can still hear you.”
“You’re our last hope,” there had been more he’d meant to say, to explain but now all he had was this, “Forgive me Kaeya.”
Kaeya didn’t make a peep but Regin heard him shuffle on the chair.
That would have to be enough.
Someone grabbed his hand as he left but he shook it off when he caught sight of the too green, glowing eyes attached to it and stumbled out the door into the cool air.
Blaze like Fire, Kaeya. In all the ways I could not