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Mist rolled with the waves over the beach below the Kamisato Estate. In the moonlight, the seafoam and violet-tinged mist was nearly indistinguishable from each other. Clouds threatened to roll over the lonely moon, only a sliver of what it once was just a few weeks prior.
A dark night to reflect his dark mood, he supposed. The exact sort of topic for poetry. The kind that the former head of the Kamisato clan might have preferred. Ayato remembered the time that he’d called Ayato over to his side to show him such a tome of poetry, to break it down and explain the importance of certain key words in the poems he’d loved so much.
And yet, Ayato had seen it in his eyes, the old doubts and unspoken suspicions in the eyes of the former head of the Kamisato clan. As much as he tried, for the sake of the Tri-Commission, the Kamisato clan, and the eternally-turbulent politics of Inazuma, there was still the knowledge and the lack thereof that interfered with such attempts at bonding. For the man knew that Ayaka was his daughter. But he never knew if Ayato was his son.
Not that it mattered anymore, Ayato supposed as he sat on the cliffside, watching the tide flee the beach. His mother and the closest thing to a father he had known were gone now. Their secrets died with them, and it was now Ayato’s job to clean up the mess.
He’d had no idea for how long the Kamisato clan had been in decline, how close they were to the same fall as their cousins, the Kaedeharas. His predecessor had done a little too well at maintaining the facade. When he died, the house of cards was one mild breeze from folding in and everyone could see it.
There had been so much leaving, in the past year. Servants who they could not afford to keep in pay or reputation, well-meaning family members who whispered how he should let such-and-such distant cousin of the Kamisato clan take up their place in the Tri-Commission instead before he left his sister in ruin, and long-time allies who changed their tune with the shifting of the winds.
Ayato had expected even Thoma to leave. Part of him had even wanted it, to send him back to Mondstadt and his mother’s family, just so he wouldn’t have to witness what came next. He’d stayed, and Ayato could never figure out how to tell him just how grateful he was.
Unfortunately, the leaving still had not stopped.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
He had not heard the footsteps, but he did not turn his head to see who had spoken. He did not need to, to identify the source of the voice. He couldn’t bear to look at her, because then all composure might be lost. And he could not afford to lose it ever, not nowadays.
“Chiori, you have you stop doing that.” He spoke evenly, injected a light teasing to it. “You might have made a fine recruit to the Shuumatsubaan, you know.”
“I wouldn’t have.” Her voice was just as even and stilted as she took her place beside him. “You and I both know I’m not one to follow rules.”
Ayato couldn’t help it, he huffed out a laugh. “No, you’re not. I seem to remember that you’ve chased away all the tailors in Inazuma.”
“I can’t help that they’re so rigid about tradition.” Chiori shuddered at the last word and drew her knee to her chest. The movement had drawn Ayato to steal a glance.
She rested her chin on her knee and stared out at the water. Her expression was guarded, stoic as usual. That’s what made her such a good TCG player, when he would sneak out to play with Itto or some of the other children down the mountain. It was what made him good at it, too.
Her scarlet eyes flicked back to him, and he was quick to look away.
“You’re leaving for Fontaine tomorrow, then?” He tried to speak as casually as possible, to avoid the impending grief, the part of him that wanted to beg like no head of the Kamisato clan ever should.
“Yes, the boat departs early in the morning.” She looked away again, and Ayato couldn’t help but steal another glance at her. “Once we arrive in Liyue Harbor, I’ll take a carriage to Chenyu Vale, and then another boat to Fontaine proper.”
She glanced back to him again, and this time he could not look away. Her scarlet eyes had a way of arresting his gaze, of locking onto him with the same sort of naked ambition and force of will that led to her leaving in her first place.
“You’re going to tell me not to go, aren’t you?” She raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re used to pulling off miracles, but you’re not going to pull off this one.”
“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I want to, don’t get me wrong.”
He felt for the pouch in his pocket. “I wish you wouldn’t leave, too. But I know you can’t stay either.”
“I can’t,” Chiori agreed. “Nothing ever changes here, Ayato. Not really. Everyone’s stuck in the past, in traditions, in what was and always will be. But that’s not what I want. I want to make something, something new, something that’s never existed before.”
She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, a few hasty astray stitches betraying it as her own work, a hasty job finished in late nights by candlelight. It was an experiment, a well-constructed one. But also one that denoted more to learn, more mastery to achieve.
And Ayato believed she would achieve it all the same.
“I wanted to give you something, just to help out.” He retrieved the pouch from his pocket, filled with carefully-counted mora. Not as much as he wanted to give her—but as much as he could afford. “Think of it as a going-away present.”
Her expression turned sour. “Put that away. I don’t need your mora.”
He sighed. “Come on, Chiori, don’t be stubborn.”
“Really, I don’t, my parents’ sum and my supplies are all I need.” She paused, and the sourness dissipated, with something more vulnerable and hesitant replacing it. “But, if you really want to give me a going-away-gift. . . I think I can think of one that we can give each other.”
“What?” Ayato was confused as he put the mora pouch away. “I don’t understand—what did you have in mind?”
Chiori sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, for such a clever boy, you can be some unfathomably stupid.”
Ayato couldn’t help but smile, recognizing what was behind her tongue, as sharp as her fabric-cutting blades. “I’ll miss you too, Chiori.”
She smiled, self-satisfied. “I would hope you would. You know, Itto won’t give you nearly so much as a challenge as I do.”
That was true. . . but the question lingered all the same.
“What did you mean, though, Chiori?”
Chiori raised her head and cupped a hand to his cheek. She closed her eyes and drew in close. That was when it finally connected for Ayato.
Oh.
Just in time for a kiss that tasted of bitter tea and salt-water.
It was over just as quickly as it had begun, and Chiori stood up. Still, she lingered for a moment.
“You should visit Fontaine, when my boutique becomes famous,” she said. “I’ll make you something then.”
“I will,” he said. He didn’t know when he’d ever have the time for such a trip, as the work was never-ending. But he wanted to promise it to her all the same. “You’ll do great things, Chiori.”
“I know.” She planted her hand on her hip, speaking with the intoxicating self-assuredness that drew him in so. Then her expression softened. “But thank you. That does mean something, coming from you.”
With that, she disappeared into the night as seamlessly as she arrived. Leaving Ayato alone with his thoughts, with grief brewing like the storms that formed on Inazuman seas.
He didn’t want her to leave, just like so many others had. Even though she had to, even though he’d never dream of stopping her, even if he could.
He could only hope there might be a day when she might come back, or when he might be able to visit her. Maybe they would share a kiss then that tasted of sweeter, brighter things.