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Azhdaha had always hated Celestia. He had always called them thieves, savages, colonizers. He had always spat venom when his beliefs were questioned, bristling as he ranted about how his memories were stolen and his body buried deep below the earth and his power shattered and stripped from him, shards taken away to leave the rest of him an incomplete puzzle—a broken clay pot that would always have a jagged edge because a piece was gone.
And as Morax gazed at the shimmering chess-piece in his hands—
He thought he understood, just a little. For in his hands—the authority he had just been gifted, the gnosis, the right to rule Liyue—
Was a piece of Azhdaha's heart.
It thrummed sweetly between his bloodied palms, more docile and willing to roll over than Azhdaha had ever been in his life, and it was wrong.
It was wrong, wrong, wrong.
There was a pit in his stomach. He could not think.
(The Archon War had just ended. The wound in his heart from Guizhong’s passing still bled. He missed his elder sister. He had two-and-an-entire-nation’s worth of lives to care for, children under his wing as he fought and bled and killed for—
The scent of blood still filled his nostrils. His final conquest, his final victory, was fresh in his mind, glistening and metallic and red. )
The missing piece of Azhdaha’s heart lay in his hands. And Celestia had collared it into its own little tool to keep him in line along with the contracts chaining his tongue and his mind shut, for power was what he had been promised and obedience what he had promised, even if there had never been a choice at all.
(Had the other Sovereigns been violated as well?)
For the first time, Azhdaha’s fury was illuminated in his mind from every angle, clarity shining through to highlight every facet, every crack, every razor-sharp edge of his husband’s anger. Oh, how understandable he had thought it before, but now he knew firsthand the reasons why.
The gnosis sang to him, little tremors like the songs of the earth Azhdaha would sing and Morax could never understand because the stones and ore and soil had always loved his mate more, he who Irminsul and his predecessor had granted stewardship over Geo when he came of age.
(Even now, Morax did not know everything. He was not privy to the customs of Teyvat’s first peoples, and Azhdaha would not tell him. Whether it was because Azhdaha did not remember or because he did not wish to share, he did not know either.)
He could give it back. He could make Azhdaha whole again, and his mate would look upon him like he had brought him the very moon and stars themselves, quiet wonder and gratitude in those expressive, beautiful eyes carved by his own hand.
(He knew he could not. Oh, how the thought hurt, dreaming of Azhdaha’s joy and knowing he would consciously deny him the right to his own body.
Morax was, first and foremost, a god of his people. And now, an Archon. What would Guizhong think? What would his people think of him?
No. He would have to deny him, no matter how it pained him.)
Ah. He had thought his worries would disappear with the heartbeat of the final god he killed, leaving him as Liyue’s sole divinity with a final swing of his spear.
How foolish he was. How utterly foolish.
How could he face him…? How could he face his mate like this?
(He had never had to make a choice like this before, not really. Azhdaha’s well-being had always aligned with the well-being of Liyue, and Morax had never been forced to choose between his two greatest loves before.
It felt like tearing his heart in two.)
This will be the precedent, a voice in his mind whispered. This choice—this choice—
Oh, but it had never been a choice at all, had it?
Morax closed his eyes, and thought of the contracts constricting his vocal cords, searing his tongue.
He had given up so much for them, his people.
(The gnosis sank back into his chest, nestled against his heart. It sang, attuning to the heartbeat of the earth, and it felt like he was being whispered secrets that were not his to hear, so he ignored them.)
If this was the precedent that must be set, then…
“So be it, ” Morax whispered, and sealed the fate of his second-greatest love.
————————
“Morax! ”
The moment he set foot into camp, barefoot and bloody with glowing spear in fractured hands, he was swept up into strong, familiar arms and held tight, tight, as if he would crumble the instant he let go.
(All Morax could smell was blood, but so close to him, the faint scents of honey-osmanthus tickled the draconic recesses of his brain, settling him back where he belonged.
Home, that smell called. Safety. Comfort. Love.
Love. Should he feel guilty? Was this a betrayal?)
“Azhdaha,” Morax breathed, reaching up to cup his mate’s face, smearing matching crimson under his eye. “I’m alright.”
“You disappeared,” Azhdaha accused, pulling back just enough to cradle Morax’s face in his hands, eyes wide in half-hysteria, half-concern. “You disappeared, Morax, right after the battle ended, what happened, we were all so worried—”
He stopped short, pupils dilating, and his grip tightened on his face.
(But not enough to bruise. Never enough to bruise.)
“Azhdaha,” Morax repeated, but there was no hiding it.
“You smell like them, ” his mate hissed. Fangs poked through his snarl as he checked Morax over for injuries, rough hands smoothing him down and checking for blood before those fangs bit deep into his neck.
He shuddered, closing his eyes as the sharp sting registered as a comfort. A claim.
(A declaration of ownership. Mine, Azhdaha was saying.
A dedication of love. There it was again—he could not dwell. He had already made his choice.
So what if he knew Azhdaha would always take the other road?)
Morax lightly stroked through Azhdaha’s curls, somber, even as the older dragon’s shoulders trembled and his jaw tightened around Morax’s jugular. “I’m alright. They didn’t hurt me.”
“You smell like them,” Azhdaha repeated, finally letting him go with an agitated whine. He kissed the bloody marks, tenderly licking them clean. “Why? Why? What did those savages want with you? You’re mine. They cannot have you.” His voice rose, distressed. “Did they claim you? They are not permitted to, you belong to me! Morax, don’t tell me they’ve done something to you, I don’t want you associating with them, nothing good ever comes of it. Anything they could have given you, I could do the same, please tell me you haven’t done something foolish.” Gold eyes gazed into his, imploring, searching, pleading for an answer.
Morax did not deny any of it. It squeezed his heart to see Azhdaha’s face fall, but it hurt just a little less than it should have. Not by enough to be worried, but enough to notice. “You chose them,” the Sovereign said, faint. “You chose them, even knowing—”
Morax swallowed, dry. “We need to talk.”
————————
“Talk,” Azhdaha demanded four hours later, once Morax had bathed and eaten and seen a healer. He had wanted to have the conversation immediately, but Azhdaha would not hear of it, forever the one to keep him from falling apart. Even now, when Azhdaha was angry.
Whether it was at him or at the world, Morax did not know. But a cup of tea was pushed into his hands, and he took a tentative sip.
“The war is won,” Morax began, voice soft. “The war is over, my heart. I won.” He felt more than heard Azhdaha’s exhale, the familiar cadence of his husband’s breath hitching as he took in the new information.
“...no more fighting?”
“No more gods. I am the only one left standing,” he said, and in the silence that followed he knew they were both thinking of Guizhong, of Havria, of Marchosius. “There are no major forces left to fight.”
(Are you proud of me? Morax wanted to ask, but could not, because his sister and her allies were dead and gone.)
“There will be peace,” Azhdaha said, tentative. “Until a new god rises—”
Morax was already shaking his head. “There won’t be another. I have claimed Liyue’s heavenly throne for myself. None will ascend to it till I step down or die.”
“Everything they offer is poison, Morax,” he urged, and the exhaustion in his voice made him want to vomit. “They cannot be trusted.”
“I have already accepted.”
Azhdaha laughed, small and shaky. “Of course you did, my sun,” he breathed. “Fool.”
Perhaps an hour ago, it would have hurt. But he had already made his bloodstained decisions. All that was left to do was stand by them, because all the sacrifices that had been made must be honored, and he no longer had the liberty to be selfish. Perhaps he never had it to begin with. “I did what I must.”
“ Fool. What did they take from you?”
“Compliance. Silence. Obedience.”
“They chained you! How dare they!” Azhdaha burst out, eyes wild and hands shaking as he stood and summoned his bow, beautiful and terrible and utterly, utterly powerless against the might of the Heavenly Principles. “Irminsul help me, I will shoot their pathetic island from the stars-forsaken sky— ”
“You will do no such thing. ” Even now, he jumps to my defense.
He could practically hear Azhdaha’s voice in his mind. I do it because it is my duty as your mate, and because I love you. You would do the same for me, would you not?
(Morax did not think of what his answer would be. Of course he would. Choosing his people did not mean that he would not defend his Azhdaha. Of course he would. He could have both, most of the time. Surely he would not have to choose between them again—the war was over. What danger was left to tear them apart?)
“And why not?! They’ve laid claim to yet another thing that belongs to me!”
“Please sit,” Morax whispered, imploring. “Please. For me?” Because they would tear you apart for trying. Because I cannot imagine a world without you. Because I do not wish to see you broken and bleeding or chained as I have been. You have served enough time underground, my heart.
A few, tense moments later, Azhdaha swallowed, eyes still wide, and slowly sat back down. “My sun,” he breathed. “My sun, please. ”
“I have already made my decisions. I—I had to, to keep my people safe.”
“What did they give you in exchange for your freedom?”
“Authority,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “Power and status both, as the rightful, heavens-ordained ruler of the region we both call home.”
“...what of my people?”
“I’ll protect them too. I can protect everyone, my heart, don’t you understand?” Morax opened his eyes again, and he could almost see the way they glowed reflected in his lover’s gaze. “I can protect everyone. I must protect your people as well, it’s only right, since…” He faltered.
(He would deny Azhdaha. He would look him in the eyes and tell him no.
Morax would set the precedent. He had already made his decisions. There was no space for bedrock to change its mind when it had already chosen to become a support for the rest of the world atop it.)
“Since?” Azhdaha’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, tired and disappointed and angry but still loving and it had always been a marvel to him how his husband could just… stay. Even in the face of this betrayal.
(Azhdaha had always stayed. He always would. No matter what.
Morax knew this. It was a fact of life, wasn’t it?)
Instead of answering, Morax silently pulled the gnosis from his chest.
(It thrummed sweetly between his freshly repaired palms, more docile and willing to roll over than Azhdaha had ever been, and it was still so very wrong.)
He could pinpoint the moment Azhdaha recognized it. The choked breath, the whine, the trembling fingers that reached to touch the little shimmering chess-piece before recoiling like they had been burned. “That’s—”
There was nothing in Azhdaha’s eyes but sheer, pure longing. He could be whole again. He could be whole, and complete, and strong, and he would be so very happy. If only Morax would allow it.
(Morax could not allow it.)
“The missing piece of your heart, yes,” he confirmed, solemn. “They gave the Authority over Geo to me. With it I can protect my people—and yours.”
Morax braced himself for the question he was sure would follow, he saw Azhdaha’s lips part, and he straightened his spine to prepare for the denial—
“Okay,” Azhdaha said simply, closing his eyes and turning away.
—that never came.
(But it had. Morax just did not realize it. Azhdaha had wanted to ask, so, so terribly, because hadn’t he wanted to be whole? Hadn’t he deserved it, after everything that had been done to him?
But he looked at his sun, the way he treated the collared and saddled chunk of his power, and he just knew.
Morax would not give it to him. He would be complicit in the theft. He had chosen.
Perhaps he had known one day Morax would weigh him against everyone else and he was the one who would come up wanting. He had not known it would begin so soon.
…it was just one thing, right? A big thing. But the little things could still be his. Lazy mornings, little dates, evening strolls near the waterline. Now that the war was over, Morax would surely have time for him.
Azhdaha could see it in his sun’s countenance. Don’t make me deny you, the god’s demeanor pleaded, all tortured stone with cracks filled in with gold.
And when had Azhdaha ever been able to deny his sun anything that mattered?)
“...okay?” That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be—
Azhdaha smiled at him, sweet, but even he could not hide the tremble in his hands as he folded them in his lap. There was—there was something in his eyes, and he hated that he could not read him. Morax tried to sneak a look at his tail, but he could not make out any of the petals behind Azhdaha’s broad back.
“Okay,” Azhdaha said again, effortlessly soft, and…surely that meant that was it? “Do I not say that my heart belongs to you?”
“My heart, I do not think this is what you meant—”
“Shh.” He reached forward, covering his mouth with a warm palm. “It’s you. I’d give you anything you ever asked for. What’s a piece of my heart, when the whole of it has always been yours?”
“Azhdaha… ”
“I would trust no one else with this. Better you than anyone else, my sun. You understand that, don’t you?” Azhdaha ducked his head, closing his eyes, and his lips twisted a little into something that almost felt like grief and resignation but it was gone in an instant so he must have just imagined it. Oh. Azhdaha would surely tell him if something was wrong. “If anyone had to be granted stewardship of my Authority, Morax…I’m glad it was you. You and no one else.” He laughed. “I trust you.”
(Something was wrong. Something was wrong.)
“You do?” Morax asked, hesitantly reaching for the gnosis when Azhdaha did not move to take it again.
“Of course I do. You’re my mate. I know how your mind works, my sun.”
“But—aren’t you—you were just—”
“Angry?” Azhdaha exhaled, looking away. “I am. But how can I stay that way when you’ve chosen what you’ve chosen? You are entirely predictable. But you are alive. You are here, and the war is over, and that invites celebration, does it not?”
“...today is the dawn of Liyue’s new era,” he conceded, slotting the singing gnosis into its position next to his heart.
“Then let’s have a little celebration of our own before everyone else steals you away,” Azhdaha suggested, his impish smile almost reaching his golden eyes. “You can spare some time for your poor, neglected husband, can’t you?”
And in a few simple moves, all of Morax’s reservations and worries fled his mind because he was in those arms again, surrounded by the sweet scent of home and the realization that he no longer had to fear for the lives of his mate and children.
They weren’t going anywhere. There were lips kissing the bitemark on his neck and he laughed, breathless, because Azhdaha’s thick curls were in his face and he couldn’t see anything but that was alright, since they had an eternity and a half to spend in each others’ arms.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be a dawn to eclipse all other tomorrows, and Morax would lead his people to the lives he had promised them.
(The gnosis hummed a little melody. Its range wasn’t as large as Azhdaha’s, but maybe he could grow to love the defanged, thoughtless notes someday.)
But for now, there were lips that tasted of honey and comfort and love and he was wartorn enough to succumb to their call.
…tomorrow. He would pick up his duties once more tomorrow.