Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were completely drenched in rain.

Light pollution didn’t stop the night from being dark, but it did stop the stars from showing. It was a black abyss with the occasional orange-tinted streetlight to show the bursts of trees and leaves above. The rain was a comfortable white noise, and under each light post, it made everything look hazy and meld together. The water fell in sheets that kept coming in phases of hard, heavy, and fast droplets, and then into faint, misty streaks. It was summer; they were warm to the touch. 

the Gravel and the sticks crunched underneath your shoes. The well-kept path beside the creek was slowly slicked down into mud from the streaming rain, which made it a little hard to keep your footing. Only occasionally did you slip, but you never fell. You could catch yourself easily before it got to that point. 

Lightning flicked in the distance, far enough away for you to only know it was there because the clouds lightened in color for a split second. You counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. Seven. Eighteen. Twenty. Crack. Twenty-one miles away. You had time.

Your house was nearby. Close enough to walk, far enough for the walk to be a bit too long. The kind of walk that makes your ankles hurt and your clothes drenched, if the rain wasn’t already helping with that. You didn’t check the weather beforehand, so you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. You walked with just a bit of swiftness, less because of the rain and more because you had something waiting for you at home. For some reason, the rain didn’t matter in your mind. It was relaxing, rather than a hindrance. It always felt nice to change wet clothes into clean ones.

The lightning flicked again, and you couldn’t help but count again. One. Two. Three. Seven. Eighteen. Crack. Nineteen miles, now. You remembered the statistic of getting hit by lightning that you looked up during a walk like this: one in one fifteen thousand. A low likelihood of getting hit, with a lower likelihood of getting injured, and an extremely low likelihood of dying by it. Logically, you couldn’t get hurt here. The storm would rage around you.

You took your phone out of your pocket to check the time and switch the song that was playing on your earbuds. You had to crudely shield most of the screen since a wash of larger raindrops decided to start splashing down again. It took a lot longer to do anything since too much water on the screen meant you had to rub the water off on your pants leg and try again faster. But it happened eventually. The screen determined it was close to midnight. The song got switched. You walked on for a while. 

One. Two. Three. Seven. Ten. Crack. Eleven miles away that time. And you weren’t even on concrete sidewalks, yet. 

You tried not to think about it, but you still had an earbud taken out of one side just to still hear around you. Another bout of thunder sounded off when it was back to sixteen miles away, and you reminded yourself about the statistics again. You walked. You slipped, but you didn’t fall.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Crack. Eight miles away.

You thought about how funny it’d be to die by lightning. The same way you thought about death when you heard a noise downstairs and wondered if it was a burglar, or walked under construction scaffolding and wondered if it’ll collapse from under you just as you appeared. How a series of actions draws to only one conclusion, and you don’t realize you’ve backed yourself into a corner until it’s your last moments. But, you think, if you’re aware of the fact that it’s happening, and you tell yourself it won’t, then it’ll be a funny irony when it is the one in a million. You went on a poorly timed walk, and then nature decided to hate you. Wouldn’t that suck? But it wouldn’t happen. One in fifteen-thousand. Even less likely that you die.

The lightning flickered in the sky again, surprisingly brightly this time. One—

The thunder boomed so close you could feel the rumble like a second heartbeat. You never had a fear of thunderstorms. Suddenly, in the most irrational sense, you were afraid.

You felt your shoes dive into wet sections of puddles and mud, flicking water up onto your legs. Your earbud fell out of place, and you caught the cord to stuff it into your pocket. You could still hear the faint music playing through them, but you wouldn’t stop to try and pause the music. You needed to be home and fast. Before something could happen. Before something went wrong.

Why did you always feel like something would go wrong? And why did you believe it every time?

Thunder cracked quieter than before, but still within the five-mile range. It started to overlap with lightning and thunder from various lengths away, so it was hard to count. It was also hard to count when you were sprinting down the length of a creek, getting snagged by shrubs and only taking solace in small, hazy lamp posts. When the thunder felt louder, it felt loud. The statistics could no longer give comfort when the animal, the living nature inside you, had the gut reaction to be safe rather than sorry. 

You kept almost slipping. It was an embarrassing sight, to be tripping down the public path. No one but the trees could see the stumblings. Your mind grew to just keep counting. Not even for the thunder anymore. Just to know time was passing. That you were a bit closer to home. Your breath grew rapid, to the point that your lungs hurt. 

When the lightning flashed in a blinding white blink a few feet up the path, you didn’t even realize the thunder had already hit. Mentally, you started counting, even with the ring in your ears.

One. two. You slipped. The mud had a snag of a tree root in it, and it made you only have time to gasp as you tumbled. Your ankle jerked in an unnatural way that led you to get thrown to the left— Thrown in the direction of the rushing water. Down onto the rocks, slicked with rain and more than willing to run you straight into the creek.

Three. Four. Cold pain rushed around you as frothy jets of dark water swallowed you whole. You screamed when there was air and drowned when there wasn’t, being twisted and contorted with the tides.

Seven. Ten. Your back hit something sharp, and it felt like a firework exploded behind you. You couldn’t keep track of seconds after that. 

Water, then air, and sharp, sharp rocks. Normally, this creek was quiet, but rain always made it violent. If it sounded loud next to the path, it sounded just like thunder while surrounded by it. You clawed at nothing, trying to keep your head above water, trying to find something to stop yourself from moving further down, and trying to stay alive for a moment longer. Don’t die, you thought. This can just be an embarrassing story where I fell into the water. Don’t die. 

The bubbles blinded your vision as your hands caught something rough and sharp. You were just under the water’s surface. You kicked your feet and jerked your head back. Pain stemmed from your ankle, but you barely felt it in the icy bath. A stick. It was driftwood, wedged between a narrower slip in the water. You couldn’t feel your hands. It hurt to stay there, and it hurt to stay above water. 

The fear was that you’d die if you stayed there. The greater fear was that you’d die if you didn’t.

Your hands couldn’t take the cold. They trembled and loosened without your control. It was hard to tell that you started to move from the branch when you resurfaced and the branch wasn’t wrapped around your hands anymore. You took a breath. But you went under for too long. And you took in too much water. And the sharp rocks kept clawing, rocking your body every time you got hit. One made you burst to the surface only to feel the pounding of something hitting the side of your skull, which made everything in your vision dance. 

The water took you back under. You didn’t resurface. 

…

…

…

…

You felt… like you weren’t in the water anymore. You didn’t feel anything, actually. Completely light. Like nothing.

It was a quiet, open sky.

Spires of white marble and ornate trims constructed themselves slowly around you. Archways and connecting bridges slowly built themselves between the spaces. Clouds swirled beneath them. The sky was a midnight blue, and the stars were beautiful. You took steps forward even though you didn’t have feet to walk on. 

The path knew to follow with you. The marble sections rose from the clouds just as you moved over them. Unknown symbols with unknown meanings silently nestled themselves into the grooves. It was quiet. You just knew to walk, as the path just knew to construct itself. 

You let yourself slow down to a stop. The path went on, just for a few more paces, then it too slowed. Instead, it built a door. Twice as tall as yourself. Gray marble, waiting in the night. You turned your head to look back at where the path returned to, where you came from, but the curiosity of the door won. You never saw what was behind you. Something made you think if you did find out, the door would be gone when you looked back. So, you padded to the door instead. 

You didn’t have hands, but your hands pressed against the door. It let you push the two sides open, it welcomed you. The other side was a white void, but you knew it had to be more. You walked in. You stopped remembering after that.

…

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…

…

One. Two. Three. Seven. Eighteen. Twenty. Crack.

When you opened your eyes, you realized you weren’t in the water anymore. Gravity bore its weight down onto your body, pinning it to the grass underneath. Everything seemed to still hurt. You figured you were bleeding, even if it was too dark to see it. 

You shivered. The rain was cold. Slowly, you wiggled your hands, then checked if you could move your legs. You could— it hurt and exploded hot pain in certain places, but you could. Sitting up made you hiss audibly. You coughed, realizing with a relieving breath that there wasn’t any water left in your airways, and you could breathe deep and sharp. 

It took far too long to stand up. You felt like a baby deer with legs too long for its body, you stumbled and wriggled, eventually crawling to a nearby tree to clamber upright. You leaned onto the leg that didn’t hurt as much and tried not to move your back, which was like getting blood out of a stone. 

You looked around. There was a lot of wind and no light posts. You don’t know how far downstream you went, or how long you were passed out. The place didn’t look familiar. the trees certainly weren’t the same species anymore. And there wasn’t a pathway. But you knew the trail wasn’t that big. Straying off the path for any length of time always led to turning up in someone else’s backyard. Just pick a direction and go. 

Thunder struck in the distance. You counted nineteen miles. You shuddered at the thought. 

A trail of blood dripped behind into an ephemeral pathway, quickly melding together with the rain and washing away into the ground. The blood caught onto bushes, ferns, and dry sticks. The forest was… thicker. The plants didn’t look the same. And it was taking a long time to find a path. 

Am I dead? You tried not to think about that. 

Farther up ahead, a light glowed. You heaved a sigh of relief. Your pace could quicken even with the pain, with the adrenaline helping to boost you forward. A light post, which meant a path. You were glad to be bathed in orange light once more. You leaned onto its structure, taking the pressure off of your legs again. 

But… It was wrong. Too short, made of square wood, and an iron lamp dangling at the top. Not circular, with No metal ladder things jutting out of it, and certainly not connected to more wires. The light was bright, but it flickered within. Like candlelight, even though that wasn’t possible, because candles can’t cast that much light. 

Where were you?

You followed the path. The wind whipped at you, and the rain was cold. You knew that, but now that you thought more, that was wrong. It was humid before, with not much wind. Now, the gales felt like they had a mission to knock you down. 

You saw buildings in the distance. Dark outlines for most of them. They felt like looming, skulking monsters nestled within the side of the rocks. Past them, a river ( not a creek, it was too large) rushed by. The banks were made of sand instead of sharp rocks. It took standing there for a long minute to shake off the disbelief and continue walking. 

One was large. A manor. Dark, save for two windows, and chimney smoke came from somewhere on the roof. It felt familiar, and also terrifyingly large. Your senses said it was dangerous. Your senses also worried you’d look weird to anyone inside if you showed up on their doorstep asking for help. What do you even say to start that conversation? ‘Can I borrow your phone for a second, mine’s a bit waterlogged’?

You shuffled to it, despite everything screaming. Your mind screaming to avoid any human interaction, your body screaming with every muscle that gets pulled. Walking to the front of it, you wade through vast fields of… something. A farm, this was a farm. And from the closest light post, you spotted the swirling vines and dark fruit of grapes nestled in the leaves and wooden poles. 

You got out of the thickest rows, and ended up on the main path, straight to the entrance. The fields were large, however. It was about sixty feet away. You didn’t want to move anymore, but you did, anyway. 

However, you heard something. Through the wind, the rain, the rushing water, the sharper sound of boots crunching on the ground. The shadowed figure was on the opposite end of the path from where the manor was. They stilled and you froze. 

You shifted your weight. Hunched down slightly, clutching your sides, you didn’t take your eyes off as you slowly stepped backward to the manor. When they started to move, you tried to run. Something told you they were dangerous. You weren’t rational enough to not believe it.

It wasn’t much of a chase. It was hell to stay upright. Your breath went ragged with every step on your ankle, and they were fast. They called out something, something stern and angry. You could only focus on getting to the house. You fell, hitting the ground hard. More pain, to add onto the rest of it. 

The boots following stopped when they reached you. Claws grabbed and ripped into your shoulders, and you couldn’t help but scream. You didn’t want this to happen. 

You just escaped death, only for it to happen to you again. 

When your voice couldn’t scream anymore, you felt yourself being lifted. It was all just darkness from there. 

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…

You stared up at the ceiling, unmoving. A warm room, with dim candlelight. The sheets were dry and clean. The mud and dirt had been wiped away, but there was still blood underneath your fingers. You just listened to them talking.

”—I thought it was the usual kids daring each other to hide in the fields. I wasn’t expecting blood to be spilled.” The voice had a roughness to it. Stern, yet calm and cool-headed.

The other voice was higher and softer, with concern evident in the tone. ”It’s not unheard of that adventurers from Liyue find themselves lost and decide to follow the river down, but… I haven’t seen anything like this. The paths are well-worn so monsters don’t stick around, yet they look mangled .” 

The first voice hummed. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. The storms are bad tonight. It may very well be that they didn’t see where they were going and took a bad fall. Besides,” the voice went low in thought, “What gets me is how little they have. That doesn’t seem like any adventurer I’ve seen before.”

You shifted your head on the pillow to see them. They stood at the doorway across the room, one with their back to you and one being backlit by the hallway. The maid’s face was visible, with short light brown hair and a stained apron. The other figure was tall, in all-dark clothing, with red wet hair put back into a ponytail. You knew who it was at this point. You still didn’t accept it. All you could do was sit and listen as everything went down. 

You missed some of the dialogue. Something about “the Cathedral”. 

“There’s no way the storm is going to end tonight. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but I’m just making sure you’re certain,” cautioned the maid.

”It won’t stop,” He agreed. “But it will die down. I’d rather take the risk than attempt to treat something that we aren’t prepared for. The Cathedral will have what they need.” 

The maid nodded. “I understand. It’s… oh.” The maid glanced over to you, tilting her head past the man as she locked eyes unexpectedly with you. The man turned as well, his eyebrows raised. 

Red hair, red eyes, a winery, maids. You weren’t in your world anymore. Or maybe you were dead and hallucinating, but Diluc Ragnvindr never had that much detailing to him in-game. You watched a raindrop pool at the base of a strand of hair, and flick off when he straightened himself. It felt unnatural.

He didn’t glance for very long. He looked enough to see him consider saying something, but instead, he turned back to the maid. “I’ll… leave their care in your hands.” He sounded a bit more stilted. He fell back on a formal tone when he wasn’t quite sure how else to fill the space. “I’ll call the transport staff. Someone will get you when it’s decided it’s clear enough to head off.”

He walked past, through the doorway, not giving another glance. The maid turned to the side to let him, then walked over to you.

”Are you awake?” She touched a hand to your forehead, feeling the temperature. You didn’t say anything back, just slowly blinked. 

She was good at keeping a soft and welcoming tone. “It’s alright if you can’t speak. I’m Adelinde, I’m the head maid. You’re at Dawn Winery if you know where that is. You’ve been injured pretty badly, so we’re taking you to some healers who can help. You’ll be just fine.”

There was the sound of a cloth getting squeezed out of its water, and she set a cold washcloth over your forehead. “Though, I wish you were just a bit more conscious,” She whispered more to herself, “Just what exactly were you doing in a storm like that?”

If she said more, you don’t remember. It was in and out from there on. Your memories mixed with dreams mixed with reality. You were at home, in your bed, a warm computer on your lap, laying motionless, save for clicking WASD with your left hand and the mouse with your right, feeling your eyes droop lower and lower. You heard Adelinde’s voice. You felt yourself drowning in the water again, and then the creek’s rushing tides lowered down until the stream was just an empty carving of rocks and algae. You see glimpses of bright red hair. You feel your parents take you out of the car when your body is the size of a child, snoring softly, going up the stairs. You feel the shaking of thunder, then you feel the carriage beneath your back. You feel like you’re dying again. You’re too exhausted to fight it off.

You can’t tell if it’s a dream or if you’re awake when you have the conversation. You don’t remember what they said, but you remember what you responded with.

”I think it’s because I’m dead.” Your voice was weak and whispered. Up until that point, you weren’t sure you had one. 

Softly, with quiet and strained laughter, they respond. “You can’t be dead if we’re talking right now. Everything will make more sense, soon.”

”Can’t it be over already?”

“Mm, not quite yet. Just a little more. I know it’s hard, but you’ve been brave.”

You hear singing. That’s the last thing that echoes before you are conscious of yourself again.

Chapter Text

You can say with modest certainty that you’ve officially been asleep in this place longer than you’ve been awake.

You slowly pulled yourself up against the metal backboard of the bed, the bandages pulling and moving with you. You were surrounded by white curtains, it’s what you’d been staring at for days. They were a heavy sort of cloth that didn’t move completely freely, but the fabric still danced if there was a draft, or if someone walked past. Outside of it, you knew there were more beds, exactly like the one you rested on, lined up in rows. People chattered quietly a few rows down as heel clicks echoed on the floor as others walked around. 

The infirmary inside the Cathedral. It makes sense that the Church of Favonius had one. You didn’t know this place existed.

The shadow of a figure on your right heard the sounds of your pained movements, and a hand gently pulled the curtain back to peek in. Her round blue eyes met yours. You stared with bewilderment, but she looked almost relieved.

“Awake again? Here— don’t move, let me help.” If Adelinde’s voice was gentle, hers was like a sucking dove. Maybe a bit more expressive, which made sense, seeing as she was a teenager. Pale blond hair in wavy twin pigtails, a white dress, and a book of songs at her hip. Barbara . 

The game doesn’t show how blemished her skin is , you thought. Certainly better than how teens usually fare with their skincare, but even as she stood over you to adjust your pillows to a more comfortable position, you could see the bumps and texture that skin is supposed to have. She had a few acne scars right next to her ear on her hairline. You should be used to it, but at the same time, you couldn’t be. These characters never were meant to be alive.

( Are they alive? Are you? You can’t be. )

You jolted when she said your name. You zoned out for a second, and it called you back immediately. You didn’t realize she knew your name. You were under the impression that you hadn’t told anyone that. 

”Uh— Yes?” You responded, not knowing how or if you should address it. She gave a smile. A genuine one, too. The kind that makes your eyes crinkle with it.

“You’re talking again. It’s been a while since you have.”

“I don’t remember saying much to you,” You answered honestly. It’s been a haze. You know she’s been around, you’ve heard her voice a lot in dreams and while you were staring at the curtains, but all of the times you’ve spoken, you thought it was just dreams.

”Do you remember my name?” She tried. You don’t know whether or not it’d be good to tell her that you did. Your hesitation was taken as a different answer. “That’s just fine. I’m Barbara, I’m a deaconess at the church here. Now that I think of it, you must’ve also forgotten you told me your name, sorry for scaring you. I can imagine how this might be pretty scary.”

”It’s… fine.” You rubbed your eyes of exhaustion. “You can’t really feel scared when you’re super out of it. Or maybe you can, but I'm not.”

Barbara nodded in understanding. “Well, how about we get introduced to each other properly this time?” She extends out her hand, “What’s your name, stranger?”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit. You gave her hand a small shake and repeated your name back to her. “I’m… well. Everything’s still a bit fuzzy, but I definitely know I’m in a place that I shouldn’t be.”

Which was almost not a lie. You remembered vaguely her story quest had a detail about her wanting to put trust in people, so you figured she wouldn’t bat an eye if you told her you still didn’t have your memories yet. And you didn’t have a lot of memories — at least with the process of getting here — but you knew a lot more than you should. 

Another part of you thinks that this is just the length of time it takes for brain death to occur, so you’ll just be dead at any moment. But even so, it didn’t stop your anxiety at the thought of having to explain that she was just a fictional character to you.

Thunder boomed faintly outside. The lighting in the infirmary was day, but not very bright. You changed the subject before she got the idea to help you remember more or something. “Is the storm still going on?” You asked.

Barbara peeked her head out of the curtains (even though the cathedral’s windows were tall enough to see them from above), then shut them, sighing dejectedly. “It’s been days. And if it’s not storming, the wind’s so violent. I had to make sure not to hold any choir sheets outside because all of them get ripped out of my hands!” Instinctively, she clutched at the book on her side, like a breeze would take it away. “The storms just seem to last for longer and longer these days.”

You glanced up at the window. Now that you thought of it, you didn’t know what point in time you were in the game. If storms were terrorizing Mondstadt… 

Well, there was no good way to ask if there was a dragon still around without looking weird or suspicious. You’ll find out eventually.

You heard rustling from the other side of the curtain, and what sounded like someone stretching from their bed. You watched Barbara’s eyes brighten. She whispered a “Sorry, one second,” before dashing out.

”Bennett! How’d you sleep?” 

Ah. You remembered there were a few people around that you kept hearing. His voice was definitely familiar during your stay. It would make sense that he’d be here, given his accident-prone nature. 

You heard the sound of the other disgruntled teenager trying to wake up. “Surprisingly good. My leg is feeling loads better— all thanks to you, Barbara.”

“I’m glad, though please, try to be careful. I truly am worried about what could happen to you if you got caught in this thunderstorm.” 

“I know, I know.” He sounded apologetic for existing. “Normally, I’d go right back into action, but it might be best if I just stick around the church for a bit longer, just until the lightning stops. You never know what might happen, y’know?”

Barbara lets out a laugh. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

“How’s…” You heard shuffling, which you figured was the sound of him gesturing, “The new adventurer?”

Her voice was quieter, though you didn’t see a point seeing how the curtains didn’t block much sound. “Well, they’re awake and better, but probably still out of it. I’m not sure if they’ll remember you or me during the last few days. Master Diluc’s head maid mentioned they got hit on the head. It’s honestly a gamble with head injuries.” Her voice was filled with sympathy. 

“Oh. Well, can I try talking to them again?” 

Barbara hummed. Her shadow grew as she stepped closer to the curtains, and you snapped your eyes to somewhere else to make it look like you weren’t paying attention.

”A friend of mine wants to talk to you,” She whispered. “Can I open the curtains?”

Even though you said yes, your stomach still felt uneasy after having that little barrier for so long. It got a bit brighter with the added light, and you could see the rows of beds again. Sure enough, Bennett was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked under his chin and the other bandaged and dangling off the side. All of his gear was crudely tucked underneath the bed, including his goggles, so he looked a lot plainer than what you expected. His white hair was frizzy from sleeping on it. 

Barbara excused herself to go fetch some clean bandages, leaving only you and Bennett. For a brief moment, you worried it’d be awkward, but Bennett was far better at leading conversations, so it worked fine.

“Howdy. I’m Bennett, but some people call me Benny. We’ve met before. Er, Sort of.” You remember a weird hazy nonsensical conversation you had with a voice similar to his during the in-between states. 

“Barbara was right. What she told you, I mean. I don’t remember much of what I was doing when I was here.”

”You didn’t talk much,” He admitted. He laughed a little, scratching the back of his hair. “Actually, most of our conversations were me talking about my adventures and then realizing you fell asleep in the middle of the story. But you never complained, so I kept doing it.”

”Ah. I’m… glad I was helpful.” 

”In a weird way, you were. I mean I end up here a lot , and at this point, all of the church workers besides Barbara have gotten preeetty sick of me. It was nice to have a fresh new face here.” On brand, he gave a thumbs up.

He continued, adding, “Even if the things you said were nonsensical. I was asleep when you came here, but the things you said were enough to make Barbara immediately volunteer to oversee you. She watched you like a hawk for the whole night.”

”…Really?” It made some sense to you; you still weren’t sure if you were dead or not, even now. If you said the quiet part out loud, it would worry someone like Barbara. 

“Yeah. All I got were just sentence fragments, or asking if we knew your name and asking if it was real, stuff like that. Pretty normal stuff, but you repeated questions a lot.” He brightened a little. “You did always say ‘oh wow’ whenever I told stories! That made me happy, even if it doesn’t matter now that you don’t remember anything I said. But it felt like you were listening.” That was a bit funny.

 You gestured to his leg. “Did you ever tell me about how you got here?” Then you thought about your own experience, and then thinking about it being invasive, added “—If it’s alright to talk about. Not too painful to recount or something.”

He waved his hands, which made you figure out another thing that looked wrong about him: you never saw him without gloves. His palms had a lot of calluses on them. ”No, no, It’s fine!” He assured. “Like I said, I've been here a lot. This sort of thing happens all the time, I’m just very unlucky.” 

He picked at the frays of the old bandages, his cheek still squished on top of his knee. “It was a wild boar, er— Do you know what a wild boar is?”

“Uh. Yes, I do.”

“Okay, just making sure. Anyway, during the storm, lightning happened to strike at a place where it scared a pack of wild boars near Wolvendom— you wouldn’t know Wolvendom. It’s a forest, and a scary one— and I happened to accidentally get swept up in the stampede. Let me tell you, boars are heavy , and if they’re coming at you, they can pack a punch.” He tried to lift his leg for proof before wincing and remembering the limb still was injured. “This is what I’ve got to show for it. Though I’m lucky the break was clean, so it got put back in place a lot easier. Now it just needs to heal.”

You mentally thought about how large the boars were in-game and shuddered at the thought of having to deal with a stampede of them. “I’m surprised you could get out of that with just one of your legs broken.”

“Oh, it’s happened before, so I know how to avoid most of the pain,” He said a bit too casually. “You should’ve seen it the first time. Barbara wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to use my legs after all of that, haha.”

Well. You should’ve expected those sorts of stories from Bennett. Hearing them as actual tales instead of lines of dialogue for comedy made them feel a bit more different. You tried to laugh, even if it came out strained. You still hadn’t figured out how to make fake laughter sound genuine.

He already noticed your discomfort and his voice rose an octave higher on instinct. “It’s fine with me, though! Comes with the territory of adventuring, even if it happens a bit more often for me. Can’t let it dishearten me, Y’know?”

“Right…” You wished the way you said it didn’t seem so incredulous. For some reason, the silence that followed made you feel even worse. You felt if you didn’t fill it, you’d really die on the spot.

”For me, I was sort of drowning,” you blurted, your hands fidgeting. “Lightning struck for me too. In front of me. I lost my balance, and,” You swallowed. You thought you’d be able to continue the sentence, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was weird that you couldn’t talk about it even if you thought about it a lot.

 You didn’t want to test them. You pivoted from the details to make the pause unnoticeable. “I wish I had my old clothes. Not quite the best night I’ve faced, but hey, I’m still alive.” It sounded more like a question at the end. 

He stilled, his eyes flicking up to the bandages poking out of your clothes. The pity in his eyes made you go back to rubbing your thumbs on your arms. 

You spoke again. “I’m guessing I never mentioned what happened until now.” 

That part was evident. Bennett still nodded.

”You didn’t,” He exhaled, nervous laughter escaping him again. “You know, I haven’t actually drowned before. Most of my near-death experiences involve running from monsters, not high tides. In this storm? I’m not sure what I’d do. I get your feeling of not really… comprehending you made it out?” 

You gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

You had a spike of fear that you misspoke. “I mean— For your words. It helps to hear. That’s what I meant.” 

He seemed bashful. “Ohh, gotcha! Hehe, well, happy to help.”

You stumbled your way through more conversations with him. It was easy if you made him tell more adventuring stories. Cautionary tales , as he called them, even if that was also the description of every breath he took. He didn’t have a lot of people who’d let him talk that long without breaks, so eventually you stopped talking altogether. The exception was the addition of “oh, wow”s you sprinkled through his stories. It was easy to talk to someone when they told you how you should talk to them.

Barbara came back with the supplies she needed. You could tell because her heels had a lighter clicking than the rest of the nuns wandering around. She seemed pleased at the sight of Bennett’s ravings.

“Sorry I took so long, I got caught up in helping someone find something they misplaced. Let’s take a look at your bandages then, alright?” 

She turned to Bennett. “I’ll shut the curtains for just a moment, but you can go right back to your talk after.” He gave a thumbs up and a toothy grin, and she slid the curtains back. You could still hear him humming to himself from the other side.

”Is that why I’m the only one with curtains?” You asked. 

She slipped the thin blankets off of your legs. You knew your clothes were changed, but you hadn’t gotten a good look until now. The pants and a longer shirt that bordered on being a nightgown fit the world more than wherever they put your old sopping-wet attire. 

“The infirmary doesn’t have much privacy, so it’s the best we can offer when we get patients with injuries that might be uncomfortable to treat.” Her rummage through the medkit stopped abruptly. “Ah! Right, I’ve normally been changing the bandages when you’ve been unconscious, but now that you’re awake, is it still alright?”

Your shoulders stiffened at the thought. This wasn’t weird for her as a person who gave medical care every day, and she was obviously a very judgment-free person, but it still felt wrong and weird given the circumstances. You had previously read her entire life’s story, complete with all her inner turmoil and potentially the things she would experience in the future, and now she was here to ask you to remove your top or lower your pants to bandage up the bruises. She was the one who had to do the invasive job, and yet it felt like the other way around. 

It’s just her job, she just said she’s done this before , you consoled yourself. “You can go ahead, I don’t mind.”

On the bright side, you got to see the extent of the damage. It was an unnatural improvement for just a few days, especially considering the circumstances. Some things had skipped the broken scabbing and ugly dark red portion of healing and were already straight to the part where all that was left was a textured scar. The magic of the world worked better for cuts than it did bruises, however. The broken blood cells at the surface of everywhere on the skin made ugly blotches of purple and yellow appear. The best Barbara could do was give you medicine that took the pain off a little. Once she had helped to bandage everything back up (which, much to your surprise, stayed embarrassing the entire way through despite how good she was about it) she did the part you were most curious about: actual magic.

Her Hydro vision glowed in thrumming pulses, and light just below the skin of her palm pulsed with it. Small sparkles of glimmering water drops came and went around the air like little bubbles with stars encased in them. Relief soaked into your body as strands of musical notes flowed over the bandages and then disappeared into more shiny particles. 

It was a magic show. You didn’t know how much of the display she had control over, but if she could control it, she was definitely doing her best to make it pretty. 

She stifled a giggle. “Your eyes are so wide. I’m glad I could do this while you were awake this time.”

You wiggled your fingers to test. The pain and aching had come back a bit when the lights were gone, but there was a clear difference between before and after. You stared down at your wrist “You are incredible at your work,” you breathed. 

“Awe, thank you,” she put a hand to her cheek, smiling. 

She pulled back the curtain again, and Bennett stopped his humming. 

“That makes two of us,” he said. 

Flattery went a long way for Barbara. She looked peppier the whole way through replacing Bennett’s bandaging as well.

…

…

…

The rest of the day was spent trying not to spiral. 

You had now been awake and conscious for the longest stretch of time since arriving in Teyvat. You had successfully pulled yourself out of the mindset that you were dead, but that just led to more questions. What was this, if this wasn’t death? Did you die? Is Earth even a thing that can be returned to here? And— The thing that you really didn’t want to think about— What would happen if you had to meet death again?

Because the previous death seemed more like a fluke. When people ask what happens after death, the answer is not a generic light-novel concept. It’s nothing, or heaven, or purgatory. Heaven was not something made by a gaming company. What you learned from your death wasn’t just a net zero, it was a loss. You felt your brain twisting into knots at the thought of what any of this meant.

It was better with Bennett to pass the time with, though. With you in more stable condition, Barbara went off to do the church duties she was missing because of being in her care, so it was up to the green-eyed milksop of a boy to bring back the sanity you missed.

Mostly by playing cards. Boy, was he delighted about playing cards with you. If you had to guess, it was because his friends were either too busy (Barbara), didn’t know how to play (Razor), or felt that the game was above them (Fischl). He buzzed with an excitement that didn’t go away even after he was consistently on a losing streak. 

Well— correction, maybe it did knock a little wind out of his sails. Most card games are easy because they’re luck-based (You still felt guilty for suggesting to play Trash). But it was the idea of spending time that made him feel content with it. He was stubborn enough to want to play through all ten rounds and only went down to nine by the end of it. 

When cards became boring (and you had used up all your knowledge of the various card games you could recall), the next best bet was a game closet Bennett knew the location of within the Cathedral.

”Are we allowed to use them if it’s the church's property?” You inquired.

“Oh yeah. It was made specifically for anyone to use, but no one uses it. The nuns who work here are more wary of me somehow making something go wrong instead of stealing game pieces, which is fair.”

You looked back to your bruised and scratched legs you were lazily kicking behind you, then to Bennett’s leg that was bandaged and still hanging off the bed’s side. 

“Can’t hurt to try?” He gave a crooked smile. 

Still on your stomach, you slid yourself back until your feet were dangled in the air, and then touched down onto the cold floor. Slowly, you pushed yourself up. 

You hissed at the feeling. Your legs just had the normal amount of aching and numbness, but your side contributed to the worst of the pain. 

“All good?” Bennett asked.

“Maybe?” 

He stood up as well. He stumbled a bit and had to fall back to the bed, but eventually, he got the balance down.

“Are you sure you can put any pressure on that leg?” You asked.

“Naaah, I’ll be just fine.” 

He said that, but he practically hopped the entire way through. Halfway through the journey, it somehow turned into a stealth mission, as you had to avoid the wandering church workers who’d no doubt escort you back to the infirmary with a scolding if they saw the state the two of you were in. Bennett was more prone to risk-taking (or at least had more confidence in his steps) because, in comparison, you faltered and hesitated in every movement, waiting for long moments to his behind the church benches or pillars not just to make absolutely sure no one would see, but also to quell your heart from exploding at the thought of it. 

Stress over just a closet storing game boards? Entirely not worth it. You were halfway through the process, though. It was hard to back out.

( For some reason, you always find yourself picking the choices that close off all the other options. Do you always pick the choices that railroad you into hopeless outcomes, or is it just that you were destined to fail in the first place? )

The closet was a treasure trove! A chess board with missing pieces, Mancala with glass tokens scattered across each shelf, and actual game boards that you couldn’t recognize, but seemed to share similarities with games from Earth. 

Bennett slipped the chessboard underneath his arm as you picked the top game on a stack. You wiped the dust off of the top quickly as Bennett shut the door back up, and the two of you awkwardly stumbled your way back. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t as sneaky as you thought. Or rather, luck didn’t seem to be on your side. Trying to slip back into the infirmary led to one of the Sisters blocking your path with crossed arms and a stern look. Her frown only deepened when she saw what you and Bennett had snuck away.

“Sister Jilliana…” Bennett said through his smile. Your throat closed up in her presence. “Good morning. I… uh…” 

She sighed in exasperation. “I’d expect this sort of mischief from anyone else, Bennett. You of all people should know that wounds need time to heal!”

“Sorry. We were just— we wanted to—“

She held up her hand. “I can excuse it this time around, but don’t. Make it a habit. Ask any of the Sisters next time, and they’d be happy to fetch them for you. And you-“

You jolted when her eyes turned to you. Her tone changed to be more friendly, but you couldn’t tell if she meant it or if she was just faking it to not be rude to the new patient.

“An outrider from the Knights of Favonius came for you in your… absence. She asked for you specifically. Something about filling out a report.”

“…oh,” You replied dumbly. “I’m sorry.”

Sister Jilliana stepped back and turned to let them into the infirmary. “I can escort you two back.”

Sure enough, the person you suspected was there, was there. Outrider Amber of the Knights of Favonius. She stood above the two beds, hands on her hips, shifting the weight on her legs casually. Her hair was even prettier in real life .

When she spotted the Sister, and the two sheepish-looking game board thieves in tow, her eyes brightened.

“Well, there you are,” she clasped her hands together, “And here I thought I scared you off.”

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone, I honestly thought no one would notice-” your words spilled out. 

“Hey, hey, don’t sweat it. I won’t bite, so there’s no need for apologizing. We’ll just call it bad luck and move on.” She didn’t catch the glance Bennett gave you at the mention of luck.

Bennett slid the chess board under his bed for safekeeping, while you sat back on your bed with your board game set in your lap. Amber, not wanting to invade either space, instead crouched next to your bed with a thin book in her hand. 

She repeats the same thing the Sister said to you and the same things you already knew before you even came to this world: what an outrider was, what the Knights of Favonius were tasked to do, why she was there. 

“Normally, the Knights don’t just make reports on any injuries, besides anything done to the members themselves, but we were given a tip from the church that you were still unidentified and had lost your memories.” She pressed the back of her pen to her chest to point at herself. “And that’s where I’m supposed to come in to help!”

”So… you’re here to help me get back my memories?”

”Technically, I’m just supposed to log your progress, but If you need help, I’d be happy to lend a hand. It’s either that or being stuck on Hilichurl camp cleanup for the umpteenth time.”

You furrowed your brows. “But what if I don’t remember? Like— the brain injury doesn’t ever just go away.”

Amber exhaled, thinking. She tapped her pen to her chin. ”Well… Then, I guess all that would be left is to submit you for citizenship. We wouldn’t want you aimlessly wandering the world without any legal identity, that would be cruel.”

Something in your stomach flittered at her words. The idea of moving on so easily, of just accepting your place in the world, felt wrong. Too easy. You had a life before. A boring one, filled with escapism and video games, but it didn’t mean there weren't things to still ground you in reality. It didn’t mean the world had the right to rip you out of it. 

You liked Teyvat enough to sink hours into it. You faltered in story quests (sometimes the information felt like a slog), so you spam-clicked through some quests and paid close attention to the actually interesting ones, or ones with particularly enjoyable characters. The game became a comfort, and then became something you did because you were in the habit of playing, and then you barely touched it until you started getting recommended videos that mentioned a new main quest release. But it was still a prominent thing in your life. It was a quiet, easy interest. Light fantasy never killed anyone.

( You still remember the home you wanted so desperately to return to. Would they find your body? Would they mourn you just as you mourned them? )

You just nodded along to her explanation. 

The report called for questions you couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. The worst ones were “Where are you from” and “What’s your date of birth”. You could give Amber your age, but the date, because you weren’t sure what year the game was set in. It doesn’t follow the same passage of time in real life, and most of its worldbuilding involved concepts from hundreds of years ago. Would it be an earlier year, then? Do they have a different common era? Where the hell would the start of the “Common Era” even begin? The Archon War? You didn’t know and were too scared to ask. It made you feel awful to give her such little information to go off of. It only made her determination to crack your case rise.

One part caught Bennett’s attention enough to butt in. “You aren’t an adventurer?”

”Not at all. I’ve camped sometimes. I’m not trained in weapon fighting.” 

This made Amber scratch something off at the top of the page. She frowned. “Augh, I should’ve known sooner before writing ‘adventurer’ so much on it! I’ll rewrite all that later.”

”My bad.”

”No, not your bad,” She corrected, “Everyone just assumed it since that’s usually the people we find that far out. This report is the perfect time to clear up those assumptions. For example!” She slipped her hands underneath your bed, pulling out a pile of folded, mud-crusted clothes. It took a long time for you to see what they were.

”My… old outfit?”

”The maid I talked to before about you said she thought you were from Fontaine. Is that true?”

This deeply confused you. Did Fontaine have a distinct fashion of modern-looking clothes? “I— No? What?” 

“That’s what I thought, too, but she immediately noticed the stitching on the inside.” She flipped the base of the top open to show what you thought looked like normal stitching. “Factory machines,” she added. “Which Mondstadt doesn’t even have. It’s clothing by commission or done family-to-family. But in Fontaine, they have all sorts of machinery to do that for them. Since we had nothing else to go by, your profile has been a ‘Potential Fontainian Adventurer’ this whole time.”

That… actually made sense. Adelinde would have to work with sewing clothes, so she’d be most likely to catch that. 

“That’s really impressive guesswork,” you rubbed at your arms again. 

( If people are that observant with you, will they find you out sooner? )

“It’s just what has to be done when you want to figure out who someone is. But all of that goes down the drain if it's wrong, so I’ll scratch that part off, too.”

Bennett still looked dejected. “Not even trained in a weapon…?” He said, more to himself than you.

“I’ve… thrown darts?” 

He brightened “At enemies?”

”At a board.” 

“Oh.”

“And I didn’t hit the board. Went cleanly into the wood below it. Fun fact, that doesn’t get you points in darts.”

“Well, maybe I can teach you some sword fighting after we get out. We could spar !”

The game made it sound easy to have weapons in this universe, but that was probably because people needed to learn them at really young ages, and it was normal to learn them. You weren’t a part of that chivalrous age of knights. You doubted you’d be much for a sparring partner.

Instead of saying all that, you responded with a “Yeah, sounds fun.”

Amber got you back on track. She logged the injuries, and your account on how you got them. Your throat still closed up when you had to do it. You felt embarrassed that your voice still trembled over it. And then there was an entire section just asking simple questions to make sure your memory was right, and it was both a balance of making sure you answered questions about things that weren’t of this world like you were oblivious and also correctly answering questions about harmless things you could know. You had to pause and think for a long time about how to answer “What color is my headband?” Because you forgot the name for red and debated if maroon was actually a type of red or if you were mistaking it for something else. Amber had to tell you multiple times that this wasn’t something to panic about. You did, anyway. 

Bennett and Barbara agree to give their testimony as well. You hadn’t realized how awake you had been during the last few days, but you were. They talked about leading you to the bathrooms, about asking for different food items, and what time it was. You had been more messed up than you realized. Both separately described you as nervous and also mentioned that you barely made eye contact. Apparently, that was a noticeable trait. You thought you stared at people the normal amount.  

“This one’s a toughie,” Amber said after a long (and nerve-wracking) silence while looking at her finished compilation of notes. “There isn’t much to go off of as of now. I don’t want to jump to the worst conclusions, but there very well could be foul play here. You remember world concepts, but nothing magic or elemental. It could be that someone did something to alter your memories and forget something that was related to information they knew.”

You forgot if she accepted the idea that the traveler was from another world. But you can’t say that now after how much time you spent not saying that during the whole questioning (for fear of being suspicious, or worse , a strange person), so you shrugged. “Maybe.”

”But you still know things! So I’m confident that you’ll recover. It’ll all just tumble back into your skull, and everything will be right as wind.”

The strength in her voice almost made you believe it. 

The whole report took up all your mental energy that you completely forgot you wanted to ask something. “Oh, hey— er, Amber?” She looked up from her writing expectantly. ”Can I ask something?”

”Shoot.”

“Barbara mentioned the storms were getting worse, lately. Do you know anything about that?”

”Ahh, right, you haven’t been outside enough to hear any of the commotion! Yes, actually. Mondstadt is the nation of wind, but trust me, it’s not usually this bad. We’ve got this… Little problem named Stormterror.”

Holy shit, your gut feeling was right. This is the beginning of the game.

”Stormterror?” You pressed, like you knew none of this.

”A dragon. Sort of like a mix between a lizard and a bird, and gigantic . He’s been terrorizing Mondstadt city for months at this point. Where he goes, bad weather has followed. If you saw the state of the city right now, it’s barren of people. Most of my job has been to warn people to stay inside and corral any outsiders found outside the walls. It’s been bad enough that the Acting Grand Master decided to temporarily cease background checks for any merchants wanting refuge in the walls. If she didn’t, people might be left vulnerable to Stormterror’s wrath.”

You didn’t remember that part. You wondered if that’s how the Fatui got access to that one hotel in the city. 

“Do you know why D-“ Not Dvalin, they don’t know that . “-why Stormterror is doing all of that?”

” I don’t. Jean might have an idea— She’s the Acting GrandMaster here in Mondstadt. But I haven’t asked about it. I’ve been more focused on keeping people in the city than I have been trying to look for answers. With how thin the Knight’s numbers are, it’s all we can do.”

You wondered if you’d be able to wrap your head around all of this information if you didn’t already know all of it. Is that something I should fake, too? You wondered. How long did it take me to understand element reactions and character relations?

”So the Acting Grandmaster is the one looking to stop it?”

”She’s been looking up old records recently, last time I checked. I think the problem has something to do with the old history of Mondstadt. But I’m sure the issue will be resolved soon, so don’t worry. The dragon hasn’t gone so far as to attack the city directly yet, and I’m keeping it that way if I have any say in it.”

You tried to think of a casual way to ask if the traveler had shown up yet. You don’t quite remember how their meeting goes, just that Amber is there to meet them. “Have you met many people wandering around Mondstadt during these attacks?”

”Oh, plenty. Farms and wineries still want to keep their trades flowing, obviously. In fact, I ran into the carriage you were being transported in while I was doing my rounds, even if I didn’t know at the time it was you who was in it.” She had a placid smile. “Funny how fate works like that.”

Not quite as helpful of an answer, you thought. “Yeah, really weird,” you replied.

That was all she needed from you. “Do you have anything else you want to ask? I should say, I’m a pretty good guide if you want me to be.”

”No, no, I think I’ve got all I need. Thank you. I’ll… Tell you if I think of anything else.”

She said she’d be back later, and you waved goodbye. 

Physically, you were tired. Mentally, your brain started clicking. You shut your curtains back up, much to the disappointment of Bennett. Chess would have to be tomorrow’s activity. You need to think.

If it starts at the beginning, then the Traveler has been here for a few months on some random beach. Actually, for longer than a few months, it’s been centuries , just sealed away. They tried to leave, a god stopped them, they ended up here. They were characterized as good-natured and willing to help and would believe you're from another world. All you’d need to do was explain your own situation: You fell into a river, you died, you opened a door, you woke up in the forest—

The door!

The sound of you jolting straight up from your bed echoed in the dimly lit infirmary. You stayed silent, straining to hear if anyone was woken or bothered by the noise, and then let yourself breathe again. 

Why was that something you ignored? You already knew the answer. You’ve been tangled in dissociation hell for days as reality and dream melded together. But it was too clear to be just a dream. Or maybe it was, but it was the first dream, and you never had it again during your healing. It only happened before you woke up here. The door in the loading screen. Isn’t that the boundary of this world and the rest?

So you had something. Not much, but you pushed away the fear that you were being delusional. There was a door, and you opened it. It might be able to get opened again. And the one person you could think of that would know anything about the boundary of this world is the only living soul that was there as well. 

That’s the only thing I can think of that would work, you decided. Find the Traveler, get help with returning home from a person who might know something. 

How hard can that be?

Chapter Text

”Like I told you the last time, no pets are allowed within the infirmary! People have allergies, I need to sterilize everything!”

“I beg your pardon! My dear familiar is no trivial pet, but a humble and loyal night-bringing raven who does my bidding. I will not have this injustice be tolerated.”

”A bird that does tricks is still a bird. Look, it’s already shedding feathers!”

This was the conversation you had woken up to when light filtered through the large cathedral windows. Still cloudy, but no sight of rain, and no sound of thunder.

Groaning, you sat up. The last time you took any medicine was in the morning yesterday, but they wore off in the afternoon. Barbara’s spectacular numbing magic wasn’t helping your pain anymore. You rolled your head and twisted your body slowly to try and stretch the muscles without feeling more hot electricity shooting through your nervous system.

”Not again…” You heard Bennett mutter from the other side of the curtain. You didn’t have enough energy or commitment to get up and open the curtain, but it didn’t matter much. You could hear the scribbling of a charcoal pen on paper from him.

”What’s happening?” You asked. The argument continued in the background, with Shakespearean-level insults being thrown.

You heard a book being shut. “My friend, Fischl. She’s wonderful, I promise! Just… passionate. But at this rate, I’m worried she’ll get blacklisted from the church if she keeps picking fights with the nuns.”

A few more back and forths went on, long enough for you to get your feet planted on the floor and the curtains drawn back. 

“ Fine. I relent my title to you and relinquish my hold on Oz to this realm. Oz, You may take your leave.”

”…As you wish, mein Fräulein. I will be back when you call.”

Shortly after, a young girl with light blonde hair and black batwing accessories furiously clicked her heels into the room, her arms crossed and chin held high. Two thin novels were clutched in one hand. She ignored the incredulous looks of the other patients in the room, making a beeline to Bennett’s bed.

She scoffed and then cleared her throat, clearly still miffed but trying to deal with it. ”My dearest apologies, my dearest retinue. The protectors of holy anemo light had rudely attempted to banish my familiar Oz, so I had to temporarily seal him off.”

Bennett smiled, showing his canines. “That’s alright. I’m no Oz, but I can translate just well on my own.” He gestured over to you, giving Fischl your name. “Remember? They were asleep when you came here, but they’re awake now.” Then Bennett looked to you and gestured to her, “This is Fischl, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung. She’s an adventurer— like me!”

She gazed upon you with a stern glare, staring deeply with fixed concentration. You worried she was about to decide you were her opponent, or enemy, or some other long tangent, so you gave her a small bow from your sitting position.

”Um— It’s a pleasure, your— your grace.” You panicked on the title. You hoped it didn’t matter which one you used, so long as it sounded proper.

She closed her eyes, stepped back, and unfolded her arms. “Hm. The pleasure is mine, my loyal subject. Stars have foretold our meetings for a millennia, their whispered words echoed to me through the threads of fate to bind our souls to the same path in time.”

You couldn’t tell if that meant nothing, or if it meant that she had previously heard of you. She had been in the same room as you at some point, according to Bennett. Fischl-speak wasn’t as confusing as the game made it sound, although if you hadn’t known beforehand, you’d probably be caught off guard.

”Have you consumed the knowledge up to the previous prophecies yet, Bennett?” Fischl asked, extending the books for Bennett to take. The cover of the book you could see was an ornate purple book with a pink-haired, cape-wearing woman and a shy green-haired lady. You couldn’t read what the text said. 

“Haha, about that…” He scratched the back of his head, taking the books in his hand. “I got a bit sidetracked, so I only got a few more pages into it.”

Fischl gasped in horror. “Bennett!” 

”Sorry. I’ll make sure to get some more reading done tonight. If I don’t, we can go back to the library and renew them again. I know you always want to be punctual with turning them back in.”

She looked only a little peeved when he slid them on top of the growing pile of books that had (unknown to you) been kept underneath his pillow. 

“I can look past it, since you are in recovery and therefore at a time of mental strain, where ink and parchment may be utterly shattering to the brain. But the dues are still dues, even at midnight's peak hour.”

“Right, right, get to chapter seven, I know.”

”So…” You piped up, curious about the comment about her visiting when you were there. “You visited during the thunderstorm a few days ago?” 

Her hands moved with practiced precision to smooth down her hair from the violent wind outside, which tangled it in some spots. ”Indeed. Betwixt the hurricane and the rattling of old gods beneath, I managed to traverse my way through the in-between of realms and make it here unharmed, as always.” 

Bennett leaned in your direction to add, “She always visits me if I get stuck for long times at the church.”

”Of course!” She huffs, “For it is my duty to my people to oversee and bear the burden of the evil that lurks nearby them.”

You could almost hear Oz’s translation in your head. He is unlucky and she is worried. 

“Any news on the Adventurers Guild?” Bennett asked. 

Fischl had a long description about it, which was like hearing Twelfth Night on stage without first looking at theater analysis websites. But it sounded like nothing was happening, everyone in the guild was going crazy from not being out in the wild, and it was all fine.

She eventually got tired of standing on her heels, and sat down next to Bennett on his bed, facing your direction. 

“This clandestine castle stands blinding and solemn around you,” She notes. Her eyes flicked over to the drawn curtains.

“Hm? Oh— Yeah, It’s for privacy. I got scraped really high up my thigh, among… Other places. But I haven’t had to change my bandages as frequently, so there hasn’t been much of a need for them.”

Her face changed a bit at your reply. Somewhat surprised, somewhat perplexed. You weren’t sure where it was coming from.

Bennett spoke up. “You still use them for sleep, though.”

You shrug. “Yeah, well privacy curtains are nice to have privacy in. But they weren’t drawn for most of the day yesterday. I mean, you can’t play cards that way.”

Bennett gasped. “Oh, right!” He bent down until his head was upside down and facing the bottom of his bed, then he extended his arms between his legs and pulled out the chess board. It didn’t have any dust on the top of it like the board game you took did. Must be the game Bennett plays with Fischl when she’s here .

Fischl silently clapped her hands together in excitement, then glanced over at you, who saw her do that, then straightened her back and changed her expression into a more serious expression. “A battle of wits. If you are declaring this war upon me and my kingdom, I have no choice but to answer your call to the ensuing destruction.”

Bennett didn’t even flinch at the heartfelt declaration. He opened the box and started pulling out the pieces. “Do you know how to play?” He asked you.

You held your hands up. “I’d be content to just watch. I don’t understand the rules well enough.” Which was true, you never played enough to feel confident you could ever win against someone. You didn’t like how, when chess was done between professionals, their downfall could be determined before one ever even reached checkmate. The better the player, the sooner they knew during the game whether or not they’d lose. You, on the other hand, didn’t know the game was over until the king was staring down a bishop, and a hand silently removed your piece off the board.

Bennett pressed you only a little bit before relenting. You were sure he was thinking you might get intimidated by Fischl and wanted to still include you. But you weren’t lying when you said you were content with watching. 

The pieces that were missing were replaced with other stolen game board pieces, but as the two set the game up, they already knew which of the random pieces went to which side of the board. Bennett got a six-sided die in place of a pawn, A metallic lion for a knight, and a tiny wooden carving of a sword stuck in a stone for a rook. Fischl had two blue twenty-sided dies for pawns, A little bunny in a hat for one knight, a bird’s nest for the other knight, and a tall purple cat for the queen (which almost didn’t fit on the tile it was on). 

Their dynamic was different than when it was just you and Bennett. Now, it was Bennett’s turn to be the quiet one, as Fischl droved on and on with her loud spiels of dialogue. With each and every turn of hers, she started it with an ode to the stars, then a declaration of vengeance, a description of the state of her army, and then finally the fierce and bloody action the piece she chose commits as she slams it down onto the tile. You never spoke up with a single word during the match. 

She really liked moving the knight that looked like a bird in a nest, complete with a clutch of little eggs at the bottom of the crafted straw. You didn’t think it was out of strategy. She just wanted an excuse to narrate her favorite character.

”The constellations have blessed my path onwards, for all that is left is my destined victory. My dearest fourth subject on the left may have held the title of pawn to their last breath, but even within the confines of your pocket are they a hero. For this, retribution must be planned. Within my mighty ranks, still slowly scattering the board, I call upon my shining knight of dusk, Munin! May you fly within our swirling skies to let the world bleed between your claws. Now, behold the night of our supremacy!”

Clink.

“…Fischl? I think you placed the piece in the wrong place.”

”What? It’s— no. I— You, you are mistaken, dear retainer, for you simply cannot comprehend the magnitude of my schemes.”

”No, really. Knights go in L shapes, it's two spaces up, one to the side, so that could put them… here and here. So you can take my rook, or just stand next to your pawn.”

”No, no, one, two… Oh. What? It was this pawn to this space, rook to there, knight to… and that leaves…”

“No— wait, I counted that wrong, too. Two spaces beside your pawn that’s the blue dice.”

”I… Really? I could’ve sworn… I counted the spaces in my head before I…”

”It’s okay. I mess up the spaces all the time. Checkerboard patterns all blend together in my head.”

”Hmph… Well, according to the law of the land, one piece touched is one piece unable to be chained. I’ve made my bed to lie within.”

”Hey- Not with illegal moves, you can’t!”

”The stars have ordained this from past the birth of this universe, it’s out of my hands now!”

Fischl lost the round. She took it like a champ, even if her monologue still somehow made it so that Bennett’s army all died as well. She called it a draw.

As they reset the board again (and you turned down another request to play), a familiar red-headbanded brunette stepped through the door frame of the infirmary. 

“Oh, wow, looks like a party in here,” she said, walking up to the beds.

”Morning, Amber!” Bennett called.

Fischl tapped her hand to her eyepatch. “Salutations, girl of embers-blazing.” 

”…Hi,” You said. “They’re playing chess, and I’m overseeing it.”

“Points tracking?” She asked. You shook your head. 

”Just watching. I didn’t even notice when Fischl misplaced a piece.”

”I-I did no such thing! My hand slipped.”

That made Amber burst into laughter. “Archons. Well, it sounds like you’re doing well.”

Plagued by thoughts about my death and an intense urge to go out and find the future hero of your whole world might not be the perfect description of ‘doing well’, you thought. 

But she’s right, another part of you spoke up. You have a plan now. You will get answers as soon as today, depending on how you play it.

“How's… the Out-Riding…?” You spoke clumsily because you felt like you were supposed to ask something in response. Usually, you didn’t have any interest in asking anything at all, but you got self-conscious if you noticed someone was asking questions about your life, and you couldn’t think of any questions to ask back. If Amber thought it was unnaturally said, she didn’t point it out.

She put a hand on her hip. “Better than patrolling in a storm, that’s for sure. The wind isn’t even that bad today. No doubt why Bennett’s friend came out so early this morning, right?”

”The torrent before us is no match for a Prinzessin. It just so happened to align with my schedule that I came here earlier,” Fischl corrected, putting one leg over the other and crossing her arms.

Amber smiled, tilting her head. ”Riiiiiight.” She turned back to you. “Also, I have a tiny gift for you. I got it on my way here from the library.”

Bennett continued to reset the chess board, telling Fischl to focus back on their game. She was more than willing to, though she explained her moves with a lower voice now that a Knight of Favonius was sitting maybe five feet away from her on a different bed.

Not wanting Amber to have to crouch next to you like before, you patted the empty space of the bed. She nodded, sitting down and slipping something out of one of her side pouches to set in your hands. 

”A… Book?” You questioned, slipping your thumbs around the leather-bound object.

“A journal! I was reading up about memory loss support, and journaling seems to be a very helpful process. So, I figured I’d just get you one.”

Your eyes widened at the journal. Only the length of the bottom of your palm to the tip of your finger, it was but a little pocketbook. 

You don’t know why you weren’t expecting kindness like that. When you lived through your computer screen, the game made it perfectly clear that the characters in this world were nice, welcoming, and friendly. They had to be, or else no one would want to spend money to unlock them. But now, translated into real living beings, you thought they’d just be regular people. Regular people weren’t this nice. 

(You just didn’t have anything to compare to. You never talked to them.)

Amber was close enough to hear her expectant breathing as you flipped through the empty pages of the book. She didn’t breathe as a character in the game. The voice lines always cut out those parts. These were real people. You don’t understand why a simple act of kindness could make you feel aware of that fact.

”Thanks,” You eventually said. You glanced at her face, then thought that might’ve not been a good enough description of gratitude. “It’s— I like the spine engravings on it. I’ll do my best to put it to good use. ”

”That’s the spirit! And on the subject, how’s the memory?”

You had to think for a second. You still had your old memories, it wouldn’t be logical of you to say you suddenly remembered anything from their world. Then it hit you. You did remember something since last time.

“There was a door,” You answered. 

Amber furrowed her brows.

”—It was a dream,” You added before she said anything else. “The first dream I had right after the… creek.” You explained the contents of it again. The pillars, the door, the pathway, and then waking up after you walked through. “I don’t know if it helps, but it was vivid.”

“It might be useful…” She tapped her pen to her chin again. “I should have also read up on dreams, too. Maybe there’s a meaning behind it. Were you running to the door?”

You shook your head. “No, but I had a feeling I couldn’t turn back. I went through the door willingly.”

”That’s interesting. I’m sure if you asked anyone else, they might say it’s a sign from the archons, but coming from a not-at-all expert, it seems like a nice conclusion, despite the situation. Maybe it was your brain finding peace in death without realizing you were still alive…?”

If it was from your subconscious, she might’ve been right. But even then, you’d argue that it wasn’t peaceful. If you weren’t allowed to turn back, the only choice you were given was to walk through the door. All you could do was march on.

(You can only go so far before you die, right?)

Don’t think about that. The door was real, not a metaphor, and it meant that there was a way to return home.

You fiddled with the end of the little string that tied the book together. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t so vivid. I wish I had more than that to give.”

She gave you a funny look. “Seriously, you worry too much. This sort of thing can’t be rushed. Stressing about it might make it harder to concentrate.” She nudged your shoulder with her elbow playfully. “Just ride with the wind, and then before you know it, you’ve already remembered everything you needed to.” 

“Ride with the wind,” You repeated. Oh, how I wish I could do that.

You watched Bennett wiggle his fingers over his rook, before ultimately deciding to pick up a pawn and move it one space forward. Fischl almost started up her declaration, but grew tongue-tied, concentrating on the board and whispering to herself.

”Have you ever heard of wind gliding?” Amber asked out of the blue. 

“No,” You answered easily. Too easily, maybe? You thought. How does a person act if they haven’t heard of something before? “Um. What’s that?”

”Ooh, it’s loads of fun. Mondstadt’s specialty, in fact. It’s in the name. We use wind gliders to catch the breeze and sail around the sky. Ignoring the whole dragon thing, it’d be a perfect day for it.”

You figured this would be an easy way to put your whole ‘finding the traveler’ plan into action. ”Could we? Like, am I free to leave if my wounds are healed enough?” 

”Haha, slow down there, scout. You’d need a license first. I happen to be the one to facilitate the tests, but in your state today , I wouldn’t be comfortable having you up in the air yet. Don’t think I didn’t see you wince when I nudged your shoulder.”

Did you? Damnit. “What about just going outside?”

”Well…” She thought hard. Fischl confidently moved her bishop. “I’d ask the staff about it. If they say you're fine, I don’t see an issue with it. Can you stand on your own?”

“…A little?” 

She looked amused. “There’s no such thing as standing ‘a little’ on your own. Come on, up and at 'em, let’s see.”

You planted your hands against the bed and pulled yourself up. To make your victory certain, you tried not to contort your face in pain when the ridges of your spine creaked and screamed at you again. You wobbled, almost stumbled. Amber was already standing up, and holding her arms out in case you collapsed under the weight, but your knees didn’t buckle. You were good at catching yourself before you tripped.

Mimicking Bennett, you gave her a thumbs up. “Tada.”

Amber gave you a look. “You can’t walk in that state, no way.”

”I did it before,” your tone was defensive. 

“Moving short distances within the church is one thing, but you’ll need some help if you want to go any further. The church has things to help with that.” She was already going through the infirmary entrance. “Don’t you run off!”

You felt helpless. Even with magic in this world, injuries take too long to heal. The bed’s springs let out a chirpy squeak when your body slumps back down onto them. You move your ankle in small circles.

You didn’t notice how Fischl and Bennett quieted down completely, looking at you and then exchanging glances with each other.

”Hey,” Bennett started. “You doing alright?”

You fidgeted with the fabric of your gown. “How is it that you can stay here for such long amounts of time? This is torture.”

He scratches the back of his head again. ”Ah, well… My Vision has something to do with my improved healing time. And I’ve just gotten used to it. If you want to adventure, you’ll be close friends with pain, haha…” He cleared his throat. “Is it getting to you already?”

It was easier when it was all hazy, that’s for sure. “A bit. I don’t know.”

Fischl put the back of her hand to her forehead in a melodramatic flourish. Her voice echoed loud enough for a nun from across the room to shoot her a glance. “Augh! The darkness clutches me so! The Auge der Verurteilung, it holds the vision to your anguish, the tears shed in the moon’s gaze. I feel your emotions deeply bound within the soul in my own chest. Dear citizen of my kingdom, I hear your pain. I have been pushed past the bounds of maiden’s patience, and have no other part to play than to vanquish your woes.”

You blinked. Patient zero of empaths, you thought.

You figured you understood what was being said, but didn’t have the full confidence to not confirm it without clarifying. “Are… you saying you want to cheer me up?”

She adjusted her gloved hand. “That understatement is a detriment to mine own prophetic ballads, but…” Her voice went quieter, “Yes. If I can do it for my retinue, I don’t see why I shouldn’t extend the favor to another subject.”

You gave her a smile. “That’s sweet, but… I’m not sure how you can. Unless you’re willing to watch me shuffle around outside in the wind, that is.”

“How rhetorical of a question,” she sounded dramatically offended. “And in any way, I would not be accompanying you, but the other way around.” She pointed at you with her gloved hand and repeated your name, “I hereby order you to guard me along our stroll within my realm!”

“Can I come, too?” Bennett asked.

Fischl coughed. “Ahem, I believe it was implied.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Cool!”

The clicking of light heels. Barbara called your name from behind you. You twisted around to see her with her arms behind her back. “Amber asked about you going out?”

“Is it okay, do you think?”

“Oh, it’s fine! Just avoid any strenuous activity, and come back before the evening so I can fix your bandages again. I’ll be in the church for the whole day, so don’t worry about having to track me down.”

Bennett frowned. “You don’t want to come with?”

“You must!” Fischl proclaimed. “I declare it upon the tides of fate that you will attend our journey,” 

Barbara stiffened. “I’d— I’d like to, don’t get me wrong. But I’m afraid it’s not the best time for me. Some of my fans are outside more than usual since the storm has made people tense.”

“Oh no, not the fan club again…” Bennett sounded surprisingly indignant. 

“It’s fine! They’re harmless and just want comfort, don’t worry about me. I’ll just do some choir practice. Please, have fun.”

Of course. Her in-game story emphasized the creepy people that lingered around the church for her. The game only went far enough to establish her weird invasive fans to set up the protagonist as a savior of her troubles for one day. In practice, she was a sixteen-year-old still believing in the notion that looking away from the bad things might make them go away eventually. 

Not even the hangout event went so far as to fix her problem. It made something in your chest shift. 

Barbara called your name instead of continuing the topic. She stepped closer to your bed. Moving her arms to her front, she showed what was behind her back: a pair of clean clothes. Your old ones. You didn’t know why you thought they were taken away for evidence, or worse, destroyed. The Knights of Favonius had better things to do than catalog Fontainian garbs.

“I figured you would want your clothes back. Old hospital garbs might not be your first pick for an outing,” she laughed, handing them off to you.

You could only muster a small “Thanks''. The clothing had a slight weight that drip-drying brought. 

~~~

God, it was cold.

The sky was tinted a grey with the sweeping of clouds, having blotches of darker and lighter patches, but no sunlight ever broke through. The wind whipped loudly like a bird beating its wings against your skull, making the fabric of your outfit flutter violently. It almost knocked you over a few times. If Amber and Fischl hadn’t sandwiched you between them, you wondered if you would have fallen. 

Smooth wooden crutches dug into your underarms. You already got the hang of the motion when you walked a lap in the church to test it; swing, tap to the ground, press your body weight down into the crutches, swing your leg forward, release, repeat. They had no rubber stop like what you’d expect from modern crutches, just a hollow wooden tapping against the stone bricks. 

Mondstadt during the Stormterror incident was like going into an amusement park after hours. The breathtaking sights were overgrown with nostalgia and abandoned silence. You could imagine what it would feel like on a functioning day, the people haunting the stones with the weathering of use. The space was meant to be filled, so when it isn’t, the silence is ever-present. 

The group let you stare at the large statue in the plaza for a long, long time. Everything was larger from the game, but some things proved it inherently. A statue that you could once easily climb for some dumb achievement was now a prodigious monument. Intimidating. Silent, still. It felt even more prominent when there was no one to watch it. It stood alone, even against the wind. 

“Starting at the church really lets you see the best of the city first, huh?” Amber piped up.

“Yeah. Real— real pretty.” You didn’t take your gaze off of the large cupped hands.

Bennett tapped your shoulder, with more excitement in his tone. He wasn’t using crutches like you were in favor of a simple cane. 

“That’s our Archon, Barbatos. He guides all of those within Mondstadt. People pray to this statue all the time. If you focus close enough, you’ll hear his answer through the voice of the wind— or, er, that’s what Barbara tells me. She could give you a lot better information about everything, she’s so awesome.”

You nodded along, though you didn’t believe the part about the mightiness of the Anemo Archon. The gods did brief miracles on occasion, but knowing the truth made it hard to buy into the spirituality of it. Barbatos let them do what they want. If you were to pray for help, would he bother to respond?

(No he wouldn’t, that cruel and honest part of you tells you. You aren’t special enough to win the favor of a god. And if you did, it was because that god was weak.)

You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to linger longer. The idea of deities being able to read what you’re thinking makes you nervous enough to leave the presence of the stone god. 

“I’ve gotten the gawking out of my system now, uh— Fischl, didn’t you want to lead?”

Fischl blinked, then grinned. “Why yes! I do recall my invitation for you to accompany me on a quest most devious.” She took her hand up to her eye. “While originally I had envisioned opening a portal to the Immernachtreich, alternatively a simple stride to the cave of opportunity may suffice.”

This time, you weren’t quite sure what she meant. And you were doing so good, would she feel bad if you said you didn’t understand now?

 “I…” 

A deep and composed voice came from behind the princess— “Mein Fraulein means to say she has unfinished work at the Adventurers Guild.” 

The bird familiar you only heard before flapped forward to be right beside his majesty. Fischl had a brief moment of surprise flash on her face. “There you are, my loyal night-raven! This is Ozvaldo Hrafnavins, the aforementioned sealed-away familiar.”

”A pleasure to meet you,” Oz bowed his beak, “I help translate the Prinzessin to alleviate confusion.”

”That’s a relief then,” Said Amber. “I was having a hard time keeping up. Maybe it means I should get involved with the theaters more?” 

Fischl started to walk away, which made Bennett follow her and you follow the both of them for worry of being left behind. 

“Maybe next time you go to the church you can lead with him being the translator?” You suggested. “Wouldn’t he… I don’t know, count as a service animal?”

Amber shook her head. ”Service animals can’t be elemental beings if you go off of Mondstadt’s laws. But even if they were, the last time I read up, I don’t think ‘monologue translator’ is a valid reason to bring a bird into the infirmary.”

“He is a night raven,” Fischl interjected.

Amber relented with playful amusement. “Sorry. Night raven. But hey, socially speaking, I’d say he counts as a service animal. He just isn’t allowed in places if the places don’t want him there. Like the church.”

“Oh how well aware I am of that fact,” Fischl muttered with a bitter taste on her tongue. 

It seemed fine when you were at the plaza.

The conversation went on, but you focused on the large, wide, long set of stone stairs that was in front of you. You stopped at the top of the stairs, the crutches clicking down and digging into your skin again. If you hadn’t stopped yourself willingly, your legs would have frozen up from the inherently daunting nature. It was instinctual to you to not want to.

Your stomach didn’t even sink because of the stairs, at least not at first. It was how unflinching the others were to go. Not even Bennett hesitated. They could do it while still talking and laughing, and you faltered at the first step. You felt stupid for it getting to you. This was just a normal walk, and you are just walking down stairs. Why is this something that is making you feel so awful, so suddenly?

A stone in your throat tightened when Fischl turned her head around, realized you weren’t keeping up, and stopped her climb down. The others followed suit immediately. You were walking with three prominent and eccentric characters favored by the gods, and they had to look up to see a lone outsider, in an outsider's attire, white-knuckling their crutches and frozen with the fear of getting something wrong. You didn’t want to watch their faces changing, realizing what you were. 

Amber called your name first. Her heels clicked up a step, and for whatever reason, it made you want to take a step back from her. “Shoot, I should’ve— Do you need help?”

“No—“ Your knee-jerk reaction spoke before you did. “Maybe. No, no, not maybe, I can do it.” You weren’t sure if you were saying this to Amber anymore.

She advanced back up the ten or so steps they got down. The last time someone rushed that quickly at you, it was in a thunderstorm, and you were running between grapevine patches thinking if you just got through the door of the Manor, maybe everything would just let you calm down. You felt the claws against your shoulder and metal in your mouth.

“AH!” Amber yelped after you did. “Archons, settle down. You looked like you were about to fall over. Sheesh,” She set the other hand (the one that wasn’t on your upper back to keep you steady) onto her heart. “You are one jumpy person.”

”Sorry.”

Fischl followed back up. Bennett only went one step up in favor of planting his cane and watching. He got the same orders to not over-exert himself, which would include walking up more stairs than needed.

“Our mortal enemy, the steps of flight…” Fischl hummed. “I should have known they would rear their ugly head as a problem once more. How shadowed their malice is apon the walking. How wide the toll they take.”

”Mein Fraulein means to say she also hates walking up these stairs every day,” Translated Oz.

You didn’t meet Amber’s eyes, still looking down at the stairs. This is a non-issue, you think. I was fine before, I can be fine again. This doesn’t matter.  

She squinted at you. You fixed the balance on your leg. You didn’t understand what her actions meant. “Uh… why are you—“

”Aha! I’ve got it.” Amber rolled up her sleeves. “Fischl, hold their crutches.”

Both you and Fischl looked concerned. It was enough to make you look over at Amber. She had a look of resolute confidence. You looked to Fischl, who didn’t have any answers. With the conviction the brunette displayed, you didn’t know how to clarify, much less object.

The moment your hands slipped off of the wooden supports and were safely (and hesitantly) handed over to Fischl, you felt like you were tackled. 

There was a period of falling, where the seconds slowed, where the counting started up before the thunder. You let out a noise of surprise. Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced yourself for the pain of hitting against the concrete, of the bruises getting blacker and the fireworks starting up. Briefly, you were back in the creek again.

But no ground ever hit you. Instead, the fall swerved. Some of the bruises hit the sides of cloth and it hurt, but not to any intensity. The wind felt different. You felt lighter, and your body was bobbing. When you opened your eyes, Fischl and Bennett were higher on the steps, wide-eyed, already getting farther away. Amber’s boots clicked swiftly. 

You were being carried.

Your arms scrambled for a better position. Your legs couldn’t squirm from how securely her arms wrapped beneath your knees, which was a good thing. Her sharp breaths held laughter underneath them. You tried very hard to not scream the whole way down.

You were afraid. You always were. But there was something else when you turned your head and forced your eyes open against the wind and saw the city ahead of you. The large windmills, the buildings as far as the eye could see. Flags whipping. Leaves dancing in swirling clusters. It felt like you were the one running. 

You could feel Amber's legs, almost as your own. The bruises shrunk back, their petals and stems returning to the ground. You had a memory of feet wading through an outstretched prairie. You went faster and faster. It didn’t matter if your breath went ragged because you were running, and still had more grass to tumble around in. Your screams down the staircase weren’t ever screams, they were laughter.

At that moment, you believed that Amber could outrun the wind. 

When you got lower down the stairs, you no longer had the vantage point to see the city. The closest buildings shrouded it, but Amber never stopped her pace. You didn’t release your tight hold, either, even if at that point the both of you were locked in and it was obvious that Amber could handle your weight. The next wrong step will always be in front of you. 

You didn’t realize you were at the bottom, even when the ground flattened. She kept running for a few paces to slowly come to a stop. Even if she chided you, you let yourself starfish out onto the cement. A water fountain trickled nearby. You were trying to get your heartbeat out of your ears. You hadn’t even been the one running, and you still felt sweat on you.

”Maybe… include a— a warning,” you finally said something.

”Would you have let me if I did?” She panted, using the back of her glove to wipe off her sweat.

“Probably not,” You answered. “Running down… a staircase…? Unbelievably scary.”

”But wasn’t it fun?” She leaned over you, her hands on her knees. You had to inhale and exhale fully before you gave a response.

“It… Was fun…” You conceded. “Thrilling. It’s been a while since I’ve done… whew, anything like that.”

”Haha, well something told me that was the case. I figured If you were freezing up you needed a nudge.”

“ That’s a nudge?”

“Like a baby bird leaving a nest!” 

Fischl and Bennett took a lot longer to get down. By the time they reached the bottom, you had regained stable breathing, although you were still starfished. You shifted your head to see Bennett, Fischl, and the two crutches she still held with both her hands.

“By the power bestowed and imbedded within my veins, what on Teyvat was the purpose of such a feat to be enacted?” Fischl sounded out of breath, too, even without running. 

“That was so cool!” Bennett beamed, touching down from the last step. “No wonder you’re an outrider, I've never seen speed like that before!”

”It’s the most efficient way up and down these steps. You know how impatient I am every time I have to go up the whole flight? It’s running or nothing.”

Fischl crouched down to you and set the crutches on top of your stomach. “There. Now you are reunited.”

You walked your arms back up to a sitting position, heaving your way back to standing. “Thanks. I didn’t think you’d be left with them the whole way down. Sorry.”

”You are blameless, fret not. Come, it’s not far from here, now.”

In your head, you knew where the guild was, which was making you fearful of the amount of walking you’d need to do. If the back of the city had the Cathedral, and the very front of the city had the Adventurer’s Guild, wouldn’t this be agonizingly long? Not to mention the uneven speeds the group had. It was a constant tug-and-pull of speeding up and slowing down the paces. Most of the slowing down was done because of you. But it didn’t work out that way. Even though the city was certainly larger (there were a lot more buildings between the places you remembered, like the hotel or the Knights of Favonius’ headquarters), it only took maybe fifteen minutes, and not all of that was done on foot— Mainly because the others wouldn’t let you. You fell behind slightly, and Amber was already crouched down and ready to make you clamber onto her back. It was less embarrassing than being hoisted in her arms. 

The entire time, even when being carried, Fischl kept her word. It was a bizarre experience to talk normally when someone only responded in high fantasy evil princess roleplay, but it wasn’t bad. Mostly, you asked her questions, she responded, and then you said what you think she just said. Bennett interjected with cool facts about the Immernachtreich sometimes. He clearly took the brunt of her lore dump talks, but it worked out since he was so intrigued by it. By the end, you certainly got better at understanding her speech. 

For fun, Fischl also asked about what it’d be like to try carrying you, but she couldn’t do it for more than maybe ten seconds before having to set you back down. Bennett asked too, but you and the others told him it’d be a bad idea, even if he could walk on his leg far better than you could. He thought it was for the best.

~~~

The first thing you thought about the Adventurer’s Guild was how disappointing it was. 

You felt bad for thinking like that. The Stormterror incident made everything in the city tinted with green and disgustingly empty. But the first sight was the black dirt and mulch spilling out across the cobblestone trail, and flower petals being shredded into piles of stems and root systems. The boxes were tipped back to their spots, but the ghost of the dirt trail remained. Even the board outside of the doors was sad. It had only two listings, and one was already in the process of being torn off halfway across the street.

You slipped off of Amber's back, and Fischl returned your crutches. Amber rolled her shoulders a few times, catching her breath after a thorough workout.

Bennett frowned at the bed. “No one on flower duty?”

Fischl glared at the empty, dead flower bed like it was her sworn enemy. Which it probably was. “It seems my prior foretellings weren’t taken with the significance I anticipated.”

“Mein Fraulein told Pallad it wasn’t her turn to fix the garden beds,” Oz clarified. “Last time he was seen, he was headed straight to the tavern.”

Fischl rolled her eyes. “Petulant.”

The most impressive part of it was the outdoor receptionist’s desk, which getting a good look at it, was beautifully designed. Curved wood, ornate carvings, you’d seen things like it in real life only in pictures from Renaissance Festivals. It didn’t have the usual purple clothes propped up around the top awning, however. You could see bits of torn cloth from where they should be.

As per usual, Katheryne the doll was there. A black and white dress, black corset, and dark green accessories, with black bobbed hair and a frilled headband. She looked sweet. She was staring off aimlessly, until the group got close enough, and she turned herself to look at them, smiling. 

“Ah, Bennett, you have recovered. I’m happy to see you doing well.”

“Katheryne!” He beamed. “Well, not recovered recovered. But pretty much! Any new commissions?”

“Plenty– Though, none go outside city walls. I’m afraid they all have to do with assistance in storm-resistant measures and repair.”

His shoulders slumped. “That’s okay. I think if I took any, I’d somehow break everything.”

“Noted. I’ll tell you if a commission comes that’s more up your alley. Also, some of the guild members were asking for you. They missed you when you were gone.”

“It’s why I had to get back here as soon as possible!” He gave a thumbs up. “I’ll be right in. Thanks, Katheryne!” 

You wanted so desperately to say something to her. She was a fountain of knowledge, and the most likely person who could definitively say if the traveler had already passed by. Questions fumbled around in your mouth, but the group was already heading inside. The receptionist looked at you. You took a step forward, looked at the door slowly closing, and silently nodded at her. You couldn’t even give her a “hello”, let alone any preamble. 

The game never allowed the player to see inside the guild. It didn’t because it didn’t matter. It was still interesting to see what the Mondstadt branch of the world-reaching Adventurers Guild had to offer.

 The guild had a bunch of tables, some with swords and half-broken shields littered in piles on top, others with notebooks, maps, and compasses. More boards lined the wall, completely coated in missing persons posters, old events, calendars, the type of boards that you just stack new papers on top of instead of ripping off the old ones. It was warm from the fireplace crackling in the background. On the side of the place that had Kathryne’s desk, the door led to more counter space, with shelves of books and records.

People were inside. It sounded lively, but not as raucous as a tavern. The clusters varied greatly, from older greying men to younger glasses-wearing women. One table looked to be planning out a route on a map, while a group of older men were simply talking. The men turned and saw the incoming people. The other groups looked up, only to go back to what they were previously doing.

“There’s the little rascal,” Boomed the voice of an adventurer you had never seen before. “Nice cane there. You’re startin’ to look like your old man, now. Good to be back, little buddy?”

The dads, you thought. I guess it does take a village to raise a child.

Bennett rushed over, getting his hair ruffled by another random guy passing between the tables. “Hey, Velten! I’m just visiting. But I’ll be back in the game by next morning. Did everyone do okay without me?”

Another adventurer, a woman with deep wrinkles showing how much she smiled, answered. “Oh, we still know how to handle ourselves just fine on our own. Didi even administered his medication all on his own last afternoon. A veteran adventurer, and he’s still afraid of needles.”

“Watch it,” Didi(?) glared at her, but there was no malice behind it. 

“Augh, sorry, I should’ve been there,” Said Bennett. “I’ll be there for it next time, promise.”

She gestured a hand to you and Amber, “Who’s the friends? Don’t tell me you found recruits in this weather.”

Fischl walked away over to a little staircase in the back and disappeared somewhere upstairs. When Amber walked forward to the table, you felt you had no choice but to follow like a scared mouse. 

“Not quite recruits. The knights don’t give us enough free time for me to get even part-time here,” Amber smiled. The woman adjusted her spectacles, sitting back against her chair after seeing the Favonius insignias on the outrider’s outfit.

“Well, by the Archons. What sort of trouble have you gotten into with the Knights of Favonius while you were injured, Benny?” asked the lady. The other adventurers at the table cackled. Bennett waved his hands defensively.

“She’s just overseeing us! Well, overseeing them,” He tilted his head in the direction of you, and their eyes followed. You froze at the sudden attention.

Amber patted your back gently, and it did not quell your fear. “I filed a port with Kathryne about a ‘Fontainian Adventurer’-” She made quotation marks with her fingers– “just a few days ago. That was quickly disproven the moment I questioned them.”

The group looked you up and down, then looked to each other. 

Velten spoke up first. “Well, no wonder! Any adventurer could tell you that much just at a glance.” The rest had an uproar of cackling. “But hey, you’re young, and young people are so malleable. Just pick up a sword and get to work, eh? You’ll rule the world one day, no sweat.”

To your further horror, Amber had to stifle giggling of her own. “Don’t tease them too much. They’re quite the fraidy-cat, you know.”

Great. Even Amber was in on this, now. You glanced over at her with a betrayed look. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” The lady waved her hands, “A good teasing makes the heart tougher. But I can’t go too hard. Any more and they might start shakin’. What’s your name, kid?”

You rubbed your thumbs on the holding bar on the crutches. “Me?”

“Who else? I already know this little guy’s name–” She reached over the table to also ruffle Bennett’s hair. He had to readjust his goggles before they fell off his head. The others laughed again. 

You gave it to them. Didi repeated the name. “Not Fontanian,” He concluded. “Sounds like the investigation team on your case might’ve been doing it half-awake, haha!”

Amber put her hands on her hips. “Hey! In my defense, they weren’t conscious, so how even…”

The talking and laughing continued on. You were mortified. The elders sure still acted like elders, and the attention was sort of a lot. You found a way to slip back from that particular table, nearly knocking into a woman holding a random array of pages. Your apology was too loud. When you made it to the wall across the room, you wished you could scream. 

Your heart died back down when you got to watch the group from afar, sometimes catching snippets of their words. Amber caught your gaze, but didn’t walk over. You could here here saying something about “scaring them off for real” and “just give them space”. They looked… happy. Bennett seemed the brightest he’s been the entire time he was in your presence. Amber never even met the old veteran adventurers until that moment, and she could perfectly match their energy and laugh along with them. That wasn’t something you could do. 

“Most commissions are just busywork in the city now,” Someone in the conversation said. “It’s fine for the youngins to go get some experience in busywork, but we’ve got legends out there moving apple crates. That damn dragon…”

Why couldn’t you? You knew you could laugh at things, and feel emotions, but for some reason, they always were clouded with worry that you weren’t supposed to feel that way in that moment. You always watched. At this point, it wasn’t to learn from them anymore. You resigned yourself to watching, even when you wanted to move your legs forward and just talk .

“It’s more than the storms,” Another voice in the conversation said. “Even the wildlife is restless. Cleaning monster camps nearby is all knights and adventurers can do these days. If you step outside, it’s one Hilichurl after another…”

(You swallowed more words than you spoke. No wonder they didn’t care that you were there.)

You snapped yourself out of it. Don’t think about that now. There’s something else you can do instead of moping.

Katheryne had been inside the whole time. Problem was, walking up to her would mean that Amber and Bennett were right there. You couldn’t get anything done if they overheard you. You remembered a bell on the outdoor counter and only assumed it meant Kathryne would be called out by using it. But doing so meant going out alone, and then eventually being questioned on why you’d do that. 

Your gut told you it wasn’t worth it, it wasn’t safe, and to stay on the wall. A separate, smaller voice told you that if you just got outside, then everything would be okay.

You didn’t quite remove yourself from the wall, you just slid against it in the direction of the door. Some tables gave you weird looks as you crossed near them, but you didn’t dare look back. You only glanced at the table where Amber and Bennett were talking. They had their backs turned, and the veteran adventurers couldn’t care less about what you were doing. If you slipped out, they wouldn’t see it. It would give you enough time to do the thing you wanted to do in the first place.

The wind blew around you. It was colder on the other side of the doors. Silently, you turned to the guild’s desk and walked over.

You were right. The only thing that was there was a small desk bell. You overthought it for a long moment (is this the thing that you’re meant to use to call Katheryne? She’s never not there in-game, so what’s the procedure?  What if this isn’t how she’s called? What if this is wrong? Etc.) and then shifted your arm to keep the crutch up as you pressed on the bell.

 It was done so softly that it didn’t even ring. The second time was done a long pause after the first, just in case the first bell did actually work and you were rude for ringing it a second time. You pressed it hard and fast onto your palm, and the sound would’ve been far too loud if the wind wasn’t slightly drowning it out. Your eyes flickered to the Guild’s door. Your gut was telling you that at any moment, Fischl would just walk right back out and berate you for lying to her about not being someone who was from this world. You had excuses on your tongue lined up, just in case.

You almost had a heart attack when the doors opened— not the guild’s doors, but the door into the little round room. As expected, Kathryne walked out. She always had her smile on, and her eyes stared at you with nothing behind them. 

She gently clasped her hands together and set them on the wooden counter that separated you. “Ad Astra Abyssosque,” Her voice was polite and monotonous, “Welcome to the adventurers guild. How may I assist you?”

“Well,” you fidgeted, trying to form the words. You were so focused on what you’d say to explain to someone else why you were talking with her that you never thought to go through what exactly your wording would be. “I’m— I need— Do you have missing people?”

She tilted her head, thinking through the words. “As in missing members in the guild?”

”No— Sorry— I mean—“ god, this was going great. You already regretted this. “Do you have a database of missing people? I’m looking for someone. I- they have blond hair, and,” You paused, realizing that you didn’t know if this world had Lumine or Aether as the protagonist, “Well, I’m looking for two people, actually. Twins.”

”Twins,” Katheryne nodded, “I understand. Any more details of them?”

You explained what you remembered. Luckily, playing through the game meant staring at one and hearing about the other, so the main details were easy. “One male, one female, both older but underage. The male has darker blond hair, long enough to braid. Black clothes, um, like a weird cropped top? He has one earring with a little dangly ball and then a feather thing attached to it. The female has lighter blond hair cut to here—“ You indicated the length as just below your chin— “but the front side bangs are like… here?” Your hand moved down to around your collarbone. “She has a white dress, two white and blue flowers in her hair, and weird feather earrings on one side. Both wield swords. Both have scarves around their necks. Has anyone come by that looks like that?”

Katheryne went silent, her eyes unfocused in the distance. Like the game, you couldn't hear her breathe, and this time it felt out of place. She looked back at you with disappointment. “Our records don’t seem to have anyone matching those descriptions. Do they hail from Mondstadt?”

You shook your head. ”Outlanders. Not from this world. But they are adventurers, so I figured if they came by here then they might have tried to join the guild.”

“I most certainly have not met someone with that description, but I will be sure to log it and notify any member that’s available to help in finding them. What was the last place you saw them?”

Fuck. That wasn’t what you wanted. Notifying people was the last thing you needed, because currently two of the most eager and helpful people that you had met were in that guild, and would love to solve this mystery without even realizing it. “No— It’s…” But you said missing people. You can’t back out. You almost cursed out loud trying to think of an excuse.

You stammered for a second before you could make words come out of your mouth. ”I’m— I misspoke. They aren’t exactly missing missing, I just haven’t… seen them in a while? You know, ad- adventuring does that to people. I thought this would be an easy way to find them. If they do show up, can you just…” How would the traveler ever get back in contact with you? “Say that another outlander is looking for them, and that I’ll be around.”

”Understood.” She had no trace of concern or suspicion. As always, she just did her job. You didn’t know if it made you feel better that she clearly had no emotion about your mess-ups, or even worse that she might have a mask up and was actually judging you a lot harder than what was visible. You decided the former, just so that your hands could settle down with scratching against the wooden crutch handles. 

You glanced at the door. Still no one. You had time, still, somehow. “Could I ask something else? Completely off topic from this.”

“I am always available,” She smiled. 

“I need directions somewhere in Mondstadt. How much information can you give when you um. When you aren’t a part of the guild?”

”Some things I am not allowed to divulge unless you are under contracts, but directions to areas are completely free access, and encouraged by the guild,” She explains. “Where were you thinking?”

“Starfall Lake,” You said quickly, “Or I think that’s what it’s called. There’s an area in the mountain that has water and a statue of Barbatos in the middle of it. There’s a beach somewhere past it. Do you know where that is?”

”Yes, Starfell Lake and Stormbearer Beach,” She said. She crouched down out of sight for a moment and came back up with a map. Unfurling it showed the entire region of Mondstadt, just like the game’s map, only in ink, black and white, and showing no traces of the waypoints or the statues. 

“There’s an easy path that cuts through the Whispering Woods, though the Adventurer’s Guild recommends not traveling anywhere up in the mountains without being accompanied by a trained professional. The trail fades right about here,” She pressed her finger to a section of the map, “But if you continue going northeast, the lake will be right there. From there, the path picks back up to Stormbearer Beach.”

You mentally memorized it in your head. You already felt the effects of not having an in-game map. Even if you’d wandered through the map of Teyvat seven times over, you spent a third of that time staring at that little triangle in the upper left corner, spinning around and changing directions. Maps in real life didn’t just tell you where you were, you had to approximate and then assume. 

“If you’d like, you’re free to take this map,” She slid it closer to you.

You stopped staring so intently at the details to look back up to her. “You’d let me?”

”Of course. We always have spare maps. And it looks like it would be useful for you, if you wanted to become an adventurer with the guild.”

You’re head screamed no almost immediately. In comparison to Bennett, Fischl, or even the Traveler, there was no way you could hold a candle to the job. It required physical endurance and any semblance of the ability to talk to someone. It also required that you could be helpful, which at this point, you felt like you hadn’t done anything that could qualify. They knew what they were doing; you didn’t. It’s why they had visions and you were amongst the rest of the population without one. 

“I… I don’t know. Maybe. Can I think about it?” 

Her smile brightened. “Like I said, I’m always available.”

”One more thing— Can you not tell anyone it was me who asked these questions? Aside from telling either missing twin.” You remembered in-game some moments where Katheryne had told the traveler the description of people who had asked for information or had posted commissions with the Adventurer’s Guild. It doesn’t match with your current story that you have no memories, yet know the names of places and are looking for people you have clear memories of. 

“Unless it is in an investigation, formally requested by the Knights of Favonius, or the guild’s Branch Master asks for it, I will not tell anyone about it.” 

Make sure Amber doesn’t think to ask what I was saying , you mentally reminded yourself.

”Thank you.” You stared back at the map in your hands again, feeling slightly better now that the memorization part was no longer necessary. “This will—“

You jolted when the doors opened, almost losing your balance. Someone stepped outside.

 “This will help,” You finished the sentence, hastily grabbing the map and trying to fold it with one hand. Kathryne extended a hand, seeing how much the crutches were getting in your way.

 “I can help with that. One moment.” 

It’s okay , you soothed yourself. This isn’t suspicious. They couldn’t have been eavesdropping. It’s just a map. 

Amber held the door open, the sound pouring into the wind and air around. Bennett followed out, waving back into the room. His can was different; It looked more ornate and well-used. “Thanks for the tip, Marcy! I’ll keep it in mind next adventure.” Fischl followed after him. She crossed her arms and shivered when in contact with the air. 

You fumbled with folding up the map one-handed. Kathryne noticed this and took back the map to assist, creasing it seamlessly until it was an easy square. You whispered a thank-you before facing the others. 

“Hey you, where’d you think you were going?” Amber stepped away from the door when Fischl left fully. She sounded ever so slightly more accusatory, and it made you worry again.

“I–” What was the excuse again? Damnit, I was too focused on the conversations. “Sorry. I wanted air, and the bell was right there.” 

“For a second, I worried you were going to try walking back all by yourself,” She exhaled but gave you a reassuring smile. “Those adventurers didn’t get to you too bad, right?”

You shook your head instinctively. “I wouldn’t go back by myself, either,” You felt the need to correct. “That's the last thing I'd want."

“The dads can be a little mean, but really, they’re great,” Bennett said. “They don’t mean to make you feel bad. They’re just a bit… Stuck in their ways? Anyway, I hope it didn’t put a bad taste in your mouth. The Guild is very welcoming,” He insisted. 

You looked down at the folded map in your hand, then back to him. “I’m just… not good in loud spaces. I don’t think badly of them.”

He looked at the map, too. He tried not to look excited. “What were you talking to Kathryne about?”

Going to Starfell, you almost said. In truth, you had no chance that those words would come out of your mouth, but you imagined what it’d be like to have Bennett hear them, and then have to come clean about lying, and it made you pause to think for a lot longer than normal. “Ah. Em. Maybe joining?”

He stopped dialing his excitement back when you confirmed it. “Really?”

No. “...Really. I don’t know if–”

“That’s so awesome! Take it from me, I spent my whole life in the Guild, and it’s been great. You don’t even need experience with weapons if you just want to stick with domestic commissions first. I could even–”

Amber cut in, “Bennett, your words are slurring from how fast you’re talking. Let them think about it.”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, sorry, hehe,” He didn’t stop smiling. It sounded like you might be screwed. Oh, okay, so I really am just doing this.

You turned to the shivering girl and her raven. “Fischl, did you accomplish your quest?”

“My enemies have been vanquished, and returned to their places in the underworld,” She nodded.

“Mein Fraulein had some reports she forgot to tidy up and send,” Translated Oz.

Fischl gasped. “My memory is as clear as flowing waters! I was merely… preoccupied.”

You smiled at her. “I get that. So, are we going back h–” not home. “Um. Back to the infirmary now? My legs feel a bit bad now.” And also, now that I’m checking up on how I feel physically, I realize I’m starving, you thought. You did not say that out loud. 

Amber was already coaxing you to get lifted onto her back again. “If we leave now, we’ll get back to the Cathedral just before noon.”

You didn’t grumble about it. Fischl took your crutches, and you were lifted back up into the air. 

As you walked back to the church, up the same winding roads, and passed the same shops, you heard something through the strong breeze. You tilted your head up and away from Amber’s body, craning your ears to hear. Amber turned her head when you did. 

“Do you hear that? On the wind.” You asked. Everyone in the group stopped. Fischl looked up to you, then touched her eyepatch in concentration.

“...The ode of a bard,” She closed her eye. “One can hear the strings of a harp. The melody… isn’t familiar.”

“Out in this weather? Hm.” Amber tilted her head up to signal that she was talking to you. “You wouldn’t be here to see this, but Mondstadt is known for its bards,” She explained. “They used to litter every street corner, with… ehh, varying degrees of talent. Still… Because of the rain and the storms, the streets don’t feel like Mondstadt’s streets. Just places for people to walk through.”

“Before I got injured, the dads said the bards all stay indoors now, in the taverns,” Said Bennett. “I’ve only heard maybe one guy still playing outside. It’s bad for the instruments to be around this much moisture, you know?”

You listened further. You could hear the vibrations of the strings. Being upwind from the song made it harder to hear, but it sounded like it was also above you, on a rooftop. You couldn’t make out the lyrics. It sounded calm. Maybe melancholic. Or maybe that was you projecting since the idea of a lone bard still sitting outside and playing to a city of empty streets was depressing by itself.

The group keeps moving. “I hope I get to stick around and see the music back in the streets, then,” You say.

“You will,” Amber replies. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You can still almost make out the song of the lonesome bard, even as you’re back in front of the church, underneath Barbatos’s statue.

Chapter Text

The sword you held in your hands was barely sharp enough to slice through the thickets of bushes. 

You grew a routine after about three hours into your intense death march of a hike. It wouldn’t have taken that long if you just went in a straight shot, but you halted every fifteen-ish minutes, which added up quickly. You stop, check the map, readjust the compass point, look up through the trees to check the sun’s position, and continue. If there’s any landmark the map shows, you watch for it like a hawk until you find what you think is the milestone, check again on the map, and then search for the next one. The only time you’d ever willingly stray from the path was when you spotted a fruit tree and proceeded to pluck and stuff as many of the Sunsettias into your small sack of a bag as you could. You were making absolutely certain you would not get lost, even if it made it a day trip instead of a morning trip. 

Aside from the usual burn of hikes, your legs worked completely painlessly now–Three more days of quiet, boring nothing passed by in the infirmary. Bennett was let out the morning after your little walk to the Adventurer’s Guild, and he hadn’t visited you after that. And since Fischl was only there for Bennett, neither did Fischl. You couldn’t blame either of them, since the most amount of time you spent around them was unconscious. Bennett also clearly assumed you’d run into him when you would go sign up at the Adventurer’s Guild (which you still had your reservations about, and then guilt for having said reservations). Amber came around every morning to check in but was gone in a flash since the knight’s numbers were thin. You knew this, and you told yourself this, but it didn’t stop you from feeling lonely, and worse, insignificant. These people don’t have time for you.

But you ignored that voice in your head that kept spiraling over and over about being left alone while you were healing. Those sorts of thoughts went away if you forced them enough to by replacing them with bigger worries, such as going the wrong way. You checked the map again. Readjusted the compass point. looked through the trees. Just about noon, at this point. You kept your feet walking. Your sword hacked through more ferns, and your clothes were splashed with the rows of little water droplets resting on the leaves.

When you started up your trek to “Stormbearer Beach”, the sky was barely tinted orange and had light showers with heavy wind. The dead quiet of the city would’ve been terrifying enough to not want to step foot through any of it, but you could swallow it down at the thought of finding the one person who could fix everything. Even when the knights positioned at the front of the gates tried to strike up a conversation (which would be mortifying enough to slam your head against the stone wall when you stammered out the wrong answer) you didn’t even fidget. The little things didn’t add up like they used to in your mind when you had a goal to push towards. 

The forest was still slicked with the morning’s rain, however. That was evident from how much water was collected onto your socks. You were grateful that the bad weather stopped now, since the only other option would be that it got worse, and you wouldn’t know what you’d do if you got caught in yet another storm. Even if you didn’t stiffen at the sound of every clap of thunder, you had no umbrella, and one hand needed to hold the (very much made of disintegratable paper) map. It would’ve gotten ugly quickly.

But it didn’t , you reminded yourself. It was a nice day. The wind wasn’t even too bad, thanks to the forestry protecting you from the brunt of it. The sound of whistling breezes echoed around you as they swirled in ribbons through the trunks of trees. Nothing had jumped out at you or bothered you when walking around. You were fine.

There weren’t any noises of animals or lifeforms, however. Not even bird chirps, despite being late spring and the land of freedom. The barrage of storms and wind was scaring the wildlife away, leaving empty forests, broken branches, and ripped-up wildflowers. Most areas on the main path had some amount of debris scattered around, despite being a trail that had consistent maintenance done being so close to the city. The knights just couldn’t keep up with repairs. It hadn’t reached a boiling point, but they were clearly struggling.

The game never went into much detail about how long or how brutal the terror of Dvalin was before the traveler hand-waved the problem away. It wouldn’t be as pretty of a sight to start the game if all it showed was the destruction and misery a pissed-off dragon brings. The main selling point of the game was its stunning visuals, after all. You wished this version of Teyvat didn’t have to be more realistic than the original game. It would’ve made things a lot easier right from the jump.

You still hadn’t run into Hilichurls yet. You hoped and prayed that it’d stay that way.

You ducked underneath a propped-up dead log and teetered onto one large boulder after another, sliding down to find the forest was opening up. It got windier. The trees thinned out to the flatter landscape in front of you, filled with rolling hills surrounded by taller cliffs. Far away to the left was the beach to Cider Lake, and even farther away was where you could only assume the path to the statue. The game usually had blue light coming from the statues, didn’t it? Could I see that from here? 

You didn’t see anything so far. Check the map. Readjust the compass. The sun hadn’t changed. The lake would be just barely out of view. 

The fruits felt heavier than they needed to be. You decided that meant you should finally take a break.

You sat yourself down on one of the smaller rock ledges littered around the larger field and snapped open the clasp of the bag. None of the fruit looked too banged up, and none had broken or soiled the bag in juice, which was good, since the journal Amber gave you was the only other thing in there.. When you got them, you tried picking the ones that looked riper, but most were too young—Correction, most of the perfectly decent of-age fruits were smeared against the ground and being harvested by worms, and the ones on the tree were too young and still attached strongly to the branches. In comparison to the Sunsettias that hit the deck, you could handle the ripeness of the ones you picked.

Before you took a bite, you imagined the flavor would be like a nectarine. Soft inside, sweet, juicy, a bit of tart if you squinted, maybe in the peach family. Instead, there was a crunch. It was more like an unripe pear, including the insides of it being completely white and a bit too tough. It did taste sweet, but there wasn’t as much water as you’d thought. It was fine . Better than starving. You suspected a lot of its flaws came from the fact that it was off-season, so you couldn’t be too mean. But it made you rethink your opinion on Sunsettias when you were still on Earth.

As you filled your stomach bite by bite with overly crunchy fantasy fruits, you wondered about the traveler again. The story never mentioned food as an issue, outside of Paimon’s appetite. If it was brought up, it was either a reward, like someone treating them to a restaurant, or an occasion, like an important party or a meeting they got invited to for diplomatic talks. The traveler always had situations where people would give them food just for being useful to them. 

You, on the other hand, hadn’t earned a single meal you ate since you came here. Barbara came over with food during your stay because that’s how hospitals worked, but you didn’t have a better plan for food in the long run once you got out. If you convinced the traveler to let you tag along, maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad about tagging along to all of those parties and diplomatic meetings, then. Paimon could eat more than you ever could, so maybe you wouldn’t even be called out for being a leech. But until then, You didn’t see why the abundant fruit trees chilling around the entirety of Teyvat couldn’t suffice. They were quick, they were free, and— most importantly— they didn’t involve having to talk to anyone to eat them.

Chucking out the last core of the sunsettia in your hand, you got right back onto your slightly aching feet and kept moving. Map, compass, up towards the sun. A little after noon. Huff it, and you wouldn’t be caught in the woods at dark.

Starfell Lake was a pretty impressive sight. Twenty feet of water encircled on all sides of the island in the middle as it harbored a decently tall statue. It was hard to make out the details, but you could tell it wasn’t glowing. It wasn’t activated yet. You almost wanted to reach out and touch it, since you hadn’t tried touching anything yet, but your main hesitation was the lake itself. You didn’t want to be wet right now. You decided to wait until you got back from the beach.

Even so, something felt off about the statue. You didn’t realize just how broken and neglected they were. Your eyes stayed on it as you walked around the lake, making out the moss and cracks within the winds.

 You shook your hands off and rolled your shoulders in circles to expel the nervous jitters that crept their way around you. As a game, the traveler was just a generic hero. They were meant to be easy to step into, and basic enough so that every character around them would always be able to step away with a positive interaction. World-changing feats were easy if all you needed to do was spam-click your right mouse button. When you took the game out of it, the traveler was extraordinary and downright inhuman. They went through the world the way they did because their power was sealed. They could easily do a lot of damage to everything, and yet they didn’t. An outlander that charmed their way into every space in the world and befriended almost every god and government official that had any influence over anything. If the previous characters weren’t already jarring to meet, the traveler would certainly be. 

You didn’t need a map to look where you were going anymore. The path was straightforward, even for you. Sweat beaded as the path went upwards, and got rocky enough to have to ungracefully heave yourself up various edges. You could set the map and compass away into a pocket, but you still needed to hold the sword. The thing was rusted, anyway. No one was going to miss the half-buried weapon wedged in the corner of the Cathedral courtyard. You started flinging it over the rocks, even with the large metallic clattering as a consequence. It was easier than maneuvering with it.

You wondered which twin it would be. Lumine or Aether. It didn’t personally matter to you, since they acted the same, functionally. People made forums and accounts online dedicated to deducing the little shifts and changes each one had between animations or dialogue intonations, but they both reacted the same way to things, and they both said the same responses. So long as they were both the same about kindness, you could get help. At the very start of the game, both Lumine and Aether decided to save one mostly useless yet sort of book-smart companion, what's one more?

The path evened out. You remembered it like the backyard of a childhood home. The small waterfall trickled down nearby. The first sunsettia tree that’s meant to show you how to collect items. Then the path that leads down to a small, smooth cliff to teach you how to climb. Sliding down from that, the grass quickly morphs into fine, slightly damp sand. Waves crash roughly onto the shore. The wind is loud.

You slowed your pace to a walk. You wandered over to the middle of the beach, looking up to see the incredibly large structure of Stormbearer Point. Tilting your head back as you continued to walk, Starsnatch cliff was even taller, even larger, and just above your head, like the claw of a large beast frozen mid-swipe. Looking back down to the beach, there was nothing. No people in sight. 

You worried that might be the case. The traveler most likely free-roamed a bit before the game started. But at least having a hint of their presence could be beneficial. You walked down the full length and back with your head pointed down at the sand as if the traveler would be on the ground like a seashell to collect. There were no sand drawings of two stars. 

“Hello?” You shouted. You didn’t know why. “Aether? Lumine?”

The word echoed off of the cliffs surrounding the beach before the wind smothered them.

You chucked the remaining unripe sunsettias as far as you could into the ocean out of frustration, and then carefully tore a page out of your pocket journal. If you couldn’t meet them, you could show your presence.

The first draft was simple. Hello, it read, I know you’re looking for your sibling. You two are twins named Aether and Lumine. I am an outlander like you, and I sort of desperately need your help. PLEASE FIND ME IN MONDSTADT. TALK TO THE ADVENTURERS GUILD. AMBER KNOWS THE WAY. You fretted over if it needed more explanation on how you knew, or more pleads about being harmless, before a different problem struck you.

Did the travelers know English?

The game didn’t explicitly say they were from Earth. There was a voice line in Noelle’s character that implied the traveler came from a culture that viewed red roses as symbols of romance, which fit with Earth, but that didn’t mean it had to be Earth. Nor did it mean the Earth in this world could even have English as a language. You didn’t think to write down whatever the common written language was, but you knew that the written language in Teyvat was the same as the in-game language. You had been reading nonsense signs and could only tell what they were because of context clues or prior knowledge. The note could very well mean nothing to them. 

Why could you speak normally with them, then? You thought. You didn’t want to think about that, especially when the game mentioned directly the traveler needing to learn it first. One followed the rule, and the other didn’t. You felt a headache oncoming trying to figure it out, so you called it divine luck and called it a day.

You ripped out a second page and instead pivoted to drawing. The rendition was decent, it had enough details to clearly understand the message: The two twins, the weird cube things that sucked them both up, then the adventurers guild receptionist desk with four different arrows pointing to the person inside of it. If they find it and think it's concerning, they’ll investigate it, and go straight to Kathryne for answers. 

For good measure, you set both of them underneath a very obvious black rock in the center of the beach, making sure the edges stick out a little. Maybe the foreign language would further help your case. It was the best you could work with. 

You took a final sweep of the area, and then raced back to the lake.

 Walking in large, open areas felt frustrating when you could feel time moving and yet see visibly how much ground you had to cover and how slowly you could cover it. But, now seeing exactly where you had to be, you sprinted, dodging roots and stones. You were back down the stairs with Amber again, as your heart pounded and you went toe-to-toe with racing the wind.  

You even felt emboldened to keep your momentum and take running leaps up onto higher elevated ground. You imagined it was how being a protagonist felt. Alone in the woods, racing to an adventure with no need to care about anything but the destination ahead and a world of possibilities after that. You didn’t trip or stumble once.

You slowed down to a walking speed when you got to the edge of the lake, circling it for a moment as you caught your breath and laughed to yourself. Continuing to walk, you slowly started shedding your layers. The bag, your shoes, your socks, and any part of your outfit that you didn’t need getting wet. If you were courageous enough, you could’ve gone in naked, but that was also never in a million years going to happen. No amount of secluded woods would make you feel that safe. 

Your feet sloshed into the water and you couldn’t help but shiver. It was already cold and windy, even with the run right before. The type of cold that made your limbs feel like locking up as you swam. You kicked as hard as you could, trying to keep your head out of the water as your breath kept hitching and gasping. Could this give me hypothermia? You thought. You kicked harder.

It was slow, but not too far. The moment your hands felt sand again out in front of you, you stood up and raced out of the lake, dripping onto the grass and hugging yourself when the wind picked up. 

The statue was like how you saw it before. Cracked, abandoned, neglected, cold. Barbatos silently held the stone sphere like he always did. A gold ring hovered around the statue out of reach. 

You figured out what felt wrong about it before. The blue rings near the top and the blue markings at the bottom weren’t fully blue. They glowed dimmer, pulsing slowly, a dying heartbeat. The color was tinted red, making it almost purple, but not quite. Statues were meant to be red when untouched, and blue when touched. This one looked to be in between the two. Like a weird glitch.

Did that mean the traveler had been there? Someone had to touch the statue for it to be blue, right? 

You focused on the main purpose of going through all this trouble. Your biggest curiosity was the statue’s powers. The game emphasized many rules that the traveler broke by virtue of being out of the world, the elemental system being one of them. It’d be a big help if it did work.

It’s exactly why you didn’t hesitate when you reached out to touch the statue, right on top of the little four-pointed star symbol at the bottom of it. Why there were no worries in your mind as your fingers slid themselves across the surface down to your palm. There was no downside to trying. 

You wish you hesitated. When you registered the statue’s glowing pieces turning from blue to red, it was when you were knocked back by a burst of searing energy, and when your head slammed down into the cold dirt, two feet from the lake’s water. 

All you felt after was pain. You didn’t want to die again.

Chapter Text

It was hard to describe the feeling of elemental energy from the perspective of a person who didn’t come from a world with elemental anything . Magic is always described as a tingling sensation, mostly based on vibes. The writers never experienced it, and neither did the readers, but both still picked up exactly what “magic” would hypothetically feel like. 

They got it wrong. Or at the very least the feeling of elemental energy was just another experience that was hard to sum up using words. You can’t explain how drowning feels. You couldn’t explain how Anemo felt, either. 

It started in the lungs. 

Suddenly, your chest was full to bursting, like squeezing a fruit until it popped. Like filling a balloon halfway with water, blowing it up, and letting the water spiral and slosh around, over and over until a consistent ring of motion enveloped the entire inside. Only the water was more air, but it was heavy air. Like a disease that spread and rotted into every crevice, you could feel it pour into the veins and airways in your organs. 

You forgot how to breathe normally. This wasn’t a pain that you knew, it was sharp, and uncomfortable, and quickly becoming everywhere inside your body. You could suddenly feel every placement of your ribs, where every organ’s walls squished together with every other organ. Wind wasn’t supposed to touch the inside of the body, yet it felt like you suddenly had a gust shoot through your bloodstream in one quick, fluid motion. Your body wasn’t ready for that. You weren’t ready for that.

And it didn’t die down when it hit every section. It shot to your toes and, not knowing where else to go, bumbled around back up between the leg muscles. It shot up your face. You felt it in your teeth, gums, tongue, nostrils, right behind your eyes. You felt it wriggle between the ridges in your brain and swim around the inside of your skull. Your brain was already thrumming from the knockback. 

You couldn’t take it. Your heaves became whines, but the energy didn’t leave you even when you wanted it to. 

The worst of the vortex happened when it went down your throat and into the stomach. You felt the acid and the digesting chunks have to make space for the pure wind, and then you really were a balloon filled with water. You writhed, trying to get off your back, trying to get on your feet, like that could help you run from this. The intensity of the elements was frantic and all over, but the nausea was only in one spot and came in pulsing waves. You gagged, but didn’t throw up.

You felt the lake when your hand accidentally splashed the water from flailing, and for a brief and terrifying moment, you thought it was more wind inside you. You cried out, and then lifting your head, you were met with the sight of the outstretched lake. 

The wind kept swirling and lurching in you. You twisted and jerked back, scrambling on hands and knees, away from the water, away from the wind. The wind followed you, kept shooting around the divets in your spine and the tendons in your hands.

You couldn’t help but start screaming. Even if you weren’t deep in the woods, no one could hear through the wind.

You then had to face the statue again. The tall, lurking figure. The rings were now fully red, the color of the sun being tinted after the smoke of a forest fire. And that scared you, too. Your gut told you it would kill you if you moved closer, and you believed it. Every part of your body wouldn’t stop shaking, hurting, dying. 

You curled up on the cold ground in the sharp feeling grass. You knew your cries sounded pathetic, but you couldn’t stop yourself any more than you could stop the elemental energy inside you. Your internal dialogue was flipping rapidly between not wanting to die and just wanting it all to stop . 

The traveler wasn’t from Earth. This was a reaction that could only come from something that had never felt magic in any capacity before. The magic didn’t sit right on your bones.

Stop moving stop moving stop moving , you begged in your mind. Shutting your eyes didn’t stop you from feeling it swim in your eye sockets. None of what was happening was a physical, tangible injury. You can’t apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding.

Then the spasms started up. They could only be described as Anemo hiccups. The energy congregated straight to the chest, and a burst of light green flickered from your skin, enough wind to make the grass jolt. It would’ve felt cathartic to have the energy expelled if the nausea didn’t follow right after, when the elemental energy replaced itself and swelled further around the outside walls of the stomach. You gagged again, hard enough for your entire body to flinch from it.

You coughed, swallowing. “Stop,” you begged to nothing. “Let me go, stop.”

You stayed there, counting. Rocking back and forth, letting low hisses and groans escape to ease the pain. 

It took maybe fifteen long minutes curled up and shaking and staring down across the lake when two truths became clear: One, you had to cross the water again if you wanted to leave there by dark. Two, If you didn’t, you would die alone.

( It always had to be water. You always had to die by drowning. You caged yourself in again, didn’t you? This wouldn’t be just an embarrassing story, would it? They’d find your body bloated in the lake, and you didn’t have any more worlds to return to .)

You didn’t have tears to cry, but your voice sounded like you were sobbing. You got onto your knees, ignoring another pulse that pushed sand away from you. 

Nothing was coming to save you. Katheryne did say she suggested bringing trained professionals, didn’t she? No wonder.

You still had to hype yourself up into it. You stared into the water for a long moment, your breathing getting more and more erratic until it grew deeper and slower. Pushing out one last large exhale, you went for it. 

Cold water touched you again. Your gut screamed at you to run away again, but you forced it. You forced your hand to feel the needles. You forced your already wet and shaking body to return to the water, even if it meant you’d drown again. You already did. If I was already dead, then it doesn’t matter. Just get me out of here, you told yourself.

Another spasm. The water splashed around you from the gust it produced. Enough saliva pooled in your mouth that you spit it out into the waters. 

You flipped over to your back instead. You didn’t bother to stop yourself from letting out a yelp from the cold at this point, but it helped to numb everything again. Your feet kicked off from the safety of the middle island and fear overtook you through the bobbing of the water. You figured you’d feel more nauseous if the freezing water didn’t force you to focus on a completely separate sensory nightmare.

 You kicked as hard as you could when you were swimming, and when you felt as if you’d tire out or get knocked over, you switched to floating. You spread your arms as far as they could go, pointed your legs straight down, and (as much as you didn’t want to) tilted your head back slightly. It kept you up and breathing. Over and over, until everything felt like it was shutting down. Until the shore was only a body’s length away.

Your head went under twice. Twice, you begged harder not to die. 

Excess water spilled onto the clean articles of clothing you put on swiftly. Your feet still had sand on them when you put your socks back into them, but it wasn’t like you could feel that. Your fingers felt too big and never stopped shaking. You picked up your bag and grabbed the map. Your hands made the edges of the paper darker with water.

Another spasm. Saliva pooled in your mouth, but you choked it back down. You stayed standing, even if you swayed.

I’m alive , you breathed. I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. 

You looked up to the sun. Still in the sky. Lower than you wanted. You could make it back. You started making your way back, even as your shivering made it hard to take steps forward. Your sword dragged on the ground with how weak your grip was on it.

You walked for a while. Not a long time, not very fast.

Above the trees, you heard the sound of thunder.

You didn’t notice the lighting, it was so nearby. Your stomach sank and you clutched your arm to your lower chest when the wind swirled again. You’d get stuck again, hours from any living person in another fucking storm, and you wished you had never died in the first place. 

But… It wasn't thunder. It dragged on too long and sounded too guttural. It took the large shadow to black out what little light there was on the forest path to figure out that’s just what the sound of Dvalin of the Four Winds sounded like when he roared.

You panicked, stumbling to press against a nearby tree as you saw the glimpses of the gigantic feathered wings through the swaying branches. Dvalin was unfathomably larger than any other living creature you had seen before. Longer than a blue whale, with wingspans of school buses. 

It flew off-kilter, showing the pulsing purple spikes stabbed into its back. Another roar, and he dove out of sight. 

You counted: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Seven. Crack . He’d crashed into the forest up ahead. Farther up the path that you needed to cross through.

Just like the opening of the game. You didn’t want to think about that.

The dragon stumbled in the air the same way you stumbled as you ran to follow him. 

~~~

You begged in your mind to not be right. You begged with everything in you that this wouldn’t be the same opening scene you remembered faintly yet fondly from the game you spent so much time playing. You begged because if you saw that bard and that dragon perched on that rock, as a god tried to console an old friend being lost to corruption, you knew there wasn’t anyone coming to save you. 

You couldn’t be railroaded into being this world's savior. Aether or Lumine, you weren’t picky. Just please don’t make it be you.

You heard its pained groans and its feet scraping up the ground as you quieted your steps as much as possible. It was easy, given how loud the wind whistled. You collapsed at the base of a nearby boulder, letting your face press against the rock as your stomach kept twisting and the energy kept racing through your system. 

“Hey, hey,” That voice sounded. Young and measured, with an undercurrent of panic that was trying to be swept under the rug. “Dvalin? I’m here. It’s your friend.”

A loud hiss, and then a deep, booming rumble. He was scared and unsure. 

“You’re hurt. I just want to help,” His voice was barely a whisper, and hard to pick up. You curled yourself harder into the rock. Please no, don’t be happening. 

The dragon roared, but it was only a small burst, equivalent to a yelp. 

“Listen to me,” His voice stayed gentle and moved slower, “I won’t make it worse.” 

You shuffled closer to the edge of the rock, pressing your hand that held your sword down into the dirt in front of you to let you lean over. You could only see the carnage of Dvalin’s fall; trees were knocked over, and the dirt held a large streak from where he came from. His tail was in view, flicking from left to right like an anxious cat.

Growling. You couldn’t understand it. The tail shifted in a way to indicate Dvalin was moving backward.

Please, stop, don’t make me see this. No other figures were watching from any other areas. 

“I won’t move forward if you don’t want me to,” the voice insisted again. “There’s no tricks, it’s just me.”

You bristled, wincing. You felt the Anemo in your bones lurch again, and bit your tongue again as you dared to shift further. You left the sword on the ground to move your hand further, then slowly sliding your body. It felt louder, but only because you noticed the wind started to die down.

Dvalin’s tail stopped flicking as much. You saw him in his full, monstrous glory, pressed down against the forest floor, shifting his shoulders in painful jerks. His wings drooped flat like a dead butterfly.

A few paces from the dragon's snout, Venti was there. 

His back was turned, so the most you could make out was his green cape. His hands stuck out, both palms turned up to the sky and pulled close together, just like the statues. The dragon's head bobbed and shook like it hurt to stay still, but it didn’t growl as loudly. 

Venti took a step. Even from that far away, you could see how hard he was trying to keep composure. The dragon didn’t move or snap at him. Venti’s shoulders relaxed.

“...Don’t be afraid. It’s alright now, I’m back.”

Your hand scratched the ground as it balled into a fist. That voice line was the same. You fell right back into the path the traveler took, and you hadn’t ever realized it. It was worthless to write that note. No one was coming to save you.

Venti was only inches away from Dvalin now, his hands just about to touch the old dragon’s beak. You forgot why the scene ended how it did until you felt the Anemo in your body shoot back to pool into your chest again. No, not like this , you thought.

You crossed your arms, but you had no chance to know how to stop it. The energy pulsed again, and you felt nauseous as the light burst from you. Your mouth parted. Dvalin’s head already shot up in your direction. Venti already stepped back with confusion and panic.

“Who's there?” He called. Your hand moved back to the ground as you pushed your head forward. You couldn’t hide the fear on your face when you locked eyes with him. It only took a few seconds, but it felt like time slowed. Neither of you moved.

You didn’t have time to figure out Venti’s reaction to you. Dvalin roared, pulling himself up on his feet, swaying. His limbs creaked with obvious pain. His slumped wings extended again. The wind picked up. Venti turned to the dragon. He stepped back again, away from the enraged beast. His hands clasped together. He brought them up to his lips, and then was gone in a burst of light and wind. 

Dvalin snapped to you. You pressed a hand to your mouth and stifled a scream. You knew all he’d do was roar again and fly away, but you also knew that lightning would never strike you. You still had to look death in the eye. 

His wings were powerful enough to almost knock you back, despite being halfway behind a boulder. The trees kept swaying, long after Dvalin leapt off the ground. You heard the sounds of him running into more trees before he got the momentum to fly off higher.

All that was left was the wind. You heaved in a breath.

 You got to your feet and moved slowly to the middle of the field. You look up to the sky. Another spasm took you down to your knees. You growled out of the frustration of it all.

That’s when you spotted something low to the ground, nestled and hiding between the blades of grass. A small flash of red. Something you definitely forgot from the game. A small red gem in the shape of a tear.

Dvalin’s tears. The corruption that got pooled into a physical crystal. It looked pretty. They were important, for some reason. What were they there for, again?

You pulled your hand out, but the Anemo stopped you. You felt it shift around between your finger bones and expel itself without warning from your hand, blowing the tear a few feet farther away. It was unexpected. You gasped from the shock, especially when you didn’t feel anything else wrong with it. The energy reacted for you. Dangerous , it screamed. 

You tried to pick it up again. The wind jolted through you, but nothing shot out from you again. You didn’t feel any pain when you touched it. It felt like a rock. You sat with the nausea until the wind calmed down inside you, to the normal amount of discomfort. 

Your brain started whirring again. The traveler had purifying powers , you recalled. That’s what I’m missing. You turned the stone over again. At least I’m also not affected by corruption, but that doesn’t help me much. Damnit.

Things started to make sense. The statue was red, just as the tear was red. A state of full disrepair. You were lucky enough to find it with some power left in it, but instead of the traveler purifying it and taking what was off the top, you took what was left. At least, that’s how you theorized it. 

That would mean in the game the traveler obtained even more anemo than what was currently making every bone in your body tremble. The thought scared you.

The waypoints wouldn’t work either, then. The thought crossed your mind when you passed one at the entrance of Mondstadt, but you didn’t go up to it. They were red. You didn’t know how to purify nor activate them. You wondered how many more things you wouldn’t be able to accomplish without the skills they had. 

A small part of you wondered if maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe the traveler was there, you just so happened to see some things that they were supposed to. But that wasn’t how stories about falling into pre-existing plots worked. Either you were no one, or you replaced the role of someone. And it seemed you were the worst of both: A no one who was the worse replacement. 

You got back to your feet. You stayed standing for a long moment as everything sunk in just a little deeper. 

You figured out what Venti’s expression was when he looked at you. He was just as afraid as you were that you were there.

~~~

You didn’t bother checking the map, you knew it didn’t matter at this point. It was a straight shot. You wasted a lot of time on it before to get that conclusion.

You didn’t have control over your legs anymore. Your autopilot replaced walking instead of breathing. It was now a struggle to control your breaths at a normal pace or to keep your lungs from shaking within your chest. 

You were cold, in pain, and sick to the stomach. The spasms didn’t stop, and each one reminded you that you were utterly alone.

You weren’t hopeful you’d make it back. You didn’t bother looking up at the sky anymore, you could tell it was getting darker. Not quite sunset, but later in the day. If you let yourself fall to the ground, you wondered if your heart would give up, too. 

Your hands didn’t hold anything anymore. The map was stowed in the bag. The sword had left your hand, and you didn’t realize it. The wind was already cold enough that every sense was dull. 

One foot after the other. Sticks snapped. Wind howled. You pressed your hands to the trees you passed and used them to push yourself further. The wind howled around outside you. The wind inside kept pressing itself to the front of your skin, only deviating when you turned off course. Like an inner compass. Despite that, some little clusters were pressed back in the opposite direction. You hadn’t figured out why. God knows how long into the walk, and you started to get used to the elemental energy being there. 

“Hey you, stop right there!”

There she is. 

You turned your head to see Amber leaping from off the higher elevated stone and rolling down nearby you. Now that the forest opened up more, you could see the city in the distance. Seemed like the correct place for her to show up. 

The cutscene deviated when she looked back at you. She looked horrified. She called your name like she was asking a question.

“Hey Amber,” Your voice cracked.

She raced to you, patting your arms and gently tilting your head to check for scrapes. “You weren’t at the church when I came looking for you. No one knew where you went, they thought you got kidnapped, and now you’re on the outskirts and you’re– you’re drenched and shivering, what–” She looked back to your face and for once, you met her gaze– “What happened ?” 

You spent some of the walk trying to think of something to say. But you came up with nothing. “I went into the woods alone and then nearly died.” 

“For… For what reason?” She sounded exasperated. “You’ve spent all your time around the most capable people to have ventured with you, and you decided to leave alone in the morning after you barely finished a full recovery! That’s–” She half laughed, half scoffed. “That has to be the most adventurer thing you’ve done so far. And that’s not a compliment.”

“It was stupid,” You conceded. “I–”

The Anemo swirled to your chest again. You wouldn’t fall from a spasm at this point, but Amber still grabbed your arms to catch you as your face contorted again from the pain.

“Sorry,” You said, your arms latching onto hers to try and guide them off of you. 

She didn’t budge. If she looked worried before, she was something else entirely now.

“You’re coated in elemental energy. Oh, lord Barbatos– did something attack you?”

You shook your head fervently. “I only hit my back when I fell, I…” You felt more saliva in your mouth again. You had to talk slower and softer to not want to gag. “Touched a statue. It’s been in me for hours. Wind, just swirling nonstop. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It hurts.”

She shook her head in disbelief, already slipping off her red half-sweater from her top and shoving it over your head and shoulders. “We’ve got to get you into the city. It isn’t safe, not when Stormterror has been sighted nearby, and your nonstop shaking concerns me. You can tell me everything and I can yell at you properly when I know you’re safe and not concussed or freezing to death back at Mondstadt.”

You almost wanted to cry. You wished it would be like that. You wished she could just take you back to that infirmary and give you an earful with a blanket over your shoulders, but you already knew. You heard the thunder of Dvalin in the distance. 

You couldn’t do anything to change it. You slumped over in Amber’s hold when she hoisted you back into her arms and started running again, knowing the moment you got to the city, it would be attacked.

“It’ll be alright,” She called to you. “I’ll get there in no time.”

The wind inside you pointed in the direction of the city. Your hands still clutched the red teardrop.

You prayed. Not to anything. Just an aimless hope to whatever could listen. If anything could change, if anything could be different, please, let the hero of Mondstadt step in now. I can’t do what you want me to do.

Chapter Text

Your feet thudded against the stone of the unending bridge. Light swirling skies had shifted quickly into a torrent storm, darkening the wall in the distance so all that could be made out was the flickering firelights soon being consumed by the wind. A hand clutched your forearm tightly, pulling you along as she ran across with you. Her brown hair tumbled around when she twisted her head back to check on you. For a skilled outrider, she looked exhausted. You felt guilt every time your legs stumbled while running.

“Can you still make it?” She said between breaths.

“ Yes ,” you exclaimed, despite everything screaming in you that you couldn’t, “Don’t worry, just keep going!”

Dvalin roared from somewhere above the clouds. You already knew what was going to happen. You didn’t know how to tell her she was leading you into the worst possible place to go. The Anemo in you spasmed, and you almost lost your momentum again, but Amber kept tugging you upright. 

Amber called out to the guards at the front of the gates when they became more than just small dots in the distance. “What’s the situation?” 

They were far enough away, even when running at them, that it was hard to make out aside from the fact that they were shouting. She seemed to be hearing it perfectly. 

“It’s Stormterror!” She shouted back, “Has he given warning shots yet?”

“It’s no warning!” You could hear them say. “We’re preparing for the worst! Orders are to get people inside as soon as possible!”

You heard her sharply curse under her breath. She glanced at you again, pulling your arm forward to have you running beside her. Her arm stretched behind your back and held onto the red fabric draped on your shoulder, keeping you steady.

“May the wind lead you!” She called to her two fellow knights as you both passed over the arch into the city. 

“May Barbatos protect you,” You heard them say behind you, with the urgency of people who didn’t know if they’d ever again say that to her. “May Barbatos protect all of us!”

There wasn’t anyone out on the streets besides you and her. The Adventurer’s Guild receptionist desk was empty. You caught faces in windows and fearful peeks through front doors. You ran past torn-up flower beds and climbed up the steps. You wanted more air in your lungs. Anemo burst from you again, and she squeezed you closer.

You didn’t want to move forward. The steps became a mud-slicked path. The dragon swirling overhead, casting dark shadows on the city, became a lightning bolt that struck in front of you. Amber became the rushing water that pulled you to the sharp rocks. 

She was just as determined as that creek was. It was palpable how much she wanted to help the people around her, and you didn’t have the words to tell her she was just another force to pull you to a fate you didn’t want.

( Could you have done this differently? No, you decide. The only way this could have gone differently is if you were someone different. )

“Please, stop,” You said it too quietly. “Don’t make me do this.”

“We’re close to the Knights of Favonius building, it’s alright,” She said.

“It’s not, it’s not! ” you cried. 

“Just a little more,” She insisted, “Just a little more, and it’ll be okay!”

Your feet kept moving. One. two. Three. Four. Seven. Ten. Crack .

The billow of a dark grey tornado ran at you the moment you both surfaced at the top of the stairs. She jerked you to the side, Running to use one of the large windmills for cover as you both pivoted away from the twisting behemoth. Above you, where the statue resided, another touched down. Dvalin swept around again; the purple was visible and glowing through the thick clouds. You could hear screams from people as buildings were hit, and more were forced to flee to the open. 

“No–” You gasped. Amber’s hand started to slip back to just holding your wrist. You didn’t dare look back, but you heard the beast of the cyclone hunting you two. Even sprinting as fast as you could, the tornado was faster. You heard and felt the gap closing. 

You didn’t blame her. In her mind, there was always a chance. The possibility of a future where she could return you home safely was still there. She didn’t know anything of what would happen, and therefore could still think that if she ran a little farther and held you a little closer, then everything would be okay. You don’t think she was the reason that everything played out the way things did. She just happened to be the pawn to help it all fall down.

She looked back one last time, calling your name quickly. Your legs stopped touching the ground, and her palm was slipping from your skin.

“ Amber! ” The cyclone tugged you back. She lunged forward, one arm moving behind her and one arm outstretched to you. Then a burst of particles melding and reconstructing. There was a click, and something fell. 

It was in an instant. She threw it at you with all of her strength as you were taken away. It hit your stomach. You clung to it with everything you could.

There was no direction. No up or down, just pressure. Endlessly getting tugged. Your eyes shut from the particles and the force of the wind. It was all loud . Chaotic noise that just overlapped onto more chaotic noise until you felt like your ears were bleeding. 

You clutched the mess of fabric and straps that you held in your arms. The wind tried to slip the thing out of your hands at every chance it got, but you’d rather your muscles give out than have it get removed from your grasp. 

Your hands brushed against the texture between the stitches. Fabric feathers. Wind glider.

There was no way to put it on. Not with the torrent of buzzing, or the jerking, or the pressure. Amber did the only thing she could think of to try to save you, and it wouldn’t work because you couldn’t pry your fingers open without having the entire contraption slam right out into the storm. The wind didn’t even let you open your mouth to scream.

You never wanted to believe the gods could hear your thoughts, but in the instance before your death, you put everything you could into getting the message to the boy you just saw in the woods. The Anemo Archon. Help me. I’m so sorry. Help me leave. I’m scared.

Your head pounded. At any moment, you felt like it would explode from the weight the wind bore onto you. 

And then… it all went quiet. You felt hands take you upwards. Barely there, delicate and gentle. Fingers that slid under the tummy of a fallen baby bird to lift it back up into the nest. You were no longer tumbling in every direction. You forced your eyes open. Everything was blurry from the water seeping out.

You were far higher in the sky than you could ever imagine. Far above the darkened clouds. The sun's last rays of daylight could still reach here, tinting the tops of the storm with gold. You felt weightless. The wind spun around you. You hugged the wind glider tighter.

The clouds below barely moved closer, even when you knew you were falling fast. The wind didn’t fill your ears like it did in the tornado. Rather, it was like someone was pressing their palms against the world’s noise to let it all be silent. 

You sucked in breaths. “Are you there?” You shouted. The sound didn’t travel like it would in the sky. You called into a void. You heard the echo. You almost thought he wouldn’t respond. Almost.

Open your arms , the voice rang from nowhere. Put your trust in me, and open your arms.

Your gut said to just curl up, but you knew it was the only option. Despite your fears of losing the glider, you did so, using the force pushing up against you to keep it in place on one arm. Your body almost flipped over out of control because of it, but the weight adjusted. You were stable, but still falling.

Right behind the clouds beneath you, you saw the flash of purple. In the next moment, Dvalin resurfaced. His beak and glowing eyes appeared first, then the wings, the shoulders, his back, and the corruption. 

Panic set in. There was no way to figure out how to put a glider on in time. Amber might’ve shown you how to use it if you were a capable person in the first place, but you weren’t. This cutscene couldn’t work. You’d just get eaten by a dragon. 

Dvalin soared upwards, not even passing you a glance as he flew far too close for comfort. You felt the hands that guided you to latch onto the scaled plating on his back. You couldn’t tell if it was the wind inside you making you nauseous, or the confirmation that you wouldn’t be able to stop this from happening.

Dvalin was even larger when you were pressed against him. The biggest scales were half the size of your body, and as thick as your wrist. The width across his back was the length of a car, and the feathers were larger than people. You would feel like nothing to this creature. Like a tick to a bird. Like a mouse to a cat. 

You slid farther down the dragon’s back as he soared. You felt your entire body tingle with the electricity that only happens when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and leaning over to look down; It’s the phantom pain of hitting the bottom. One hand scrambled to latch onto the scales as your legs straddled the surface, just as Dvalin dove down into the thick clouds. Your stomach lifted, but your hands and feet thankfully stayed in place. The moisture felt cold and unwelcome. 

You called out to the voice, not sure if he’d hear it. “Don’t make me do this! I’m not the one you wanted!”

Dvalin tilted again, The force almost knocking you off if you hadn’t ducked your head down and slammed yourself against the scales to let the wind rush over you instead. You stayed hooked in the same place on the scales, getting tossed around by the turbulence, your hands shaking.

Concentrate , the voice urged you on. The wind will lead you.

You felt your vocal cords strain from how much force you screamed. “ You’ve got the wrong person, Barbatos! ”

You have what you need. I will be here with you.

Suddenly, the sound stopped getting muffled. You felt the vibrations of Dvalin’s roar like an earthquake underneath your body. The wind howled. Time moved like it always did— too fast.

You wanted to beg harder. To scream until your voice gave out. To unhook your feet and fall away from it all. You stayed pressed down between the black scales. Nausea swam around inside you. You didn’t want to feel it anymore.

But you did, anyway. You closed your eyes and sensed the wind in you. The energy was pooling up at your fingertips, beckoning you again. You felt it in the top of your head, too, until you looked up and it moved down to your face. Like the sun hitting the skin, it pooled in one direction. An invisible string connected you and the corrupted, glowing mass a few paces ahead. Letting the wind lead wasn’t metaphor. It was a literal guide. 

You couldn’t get out of this. Every time you were pushed to the brink, the fear of ending always forced you to scramble. It was like all the other times. You had nowhere to go, so you went forward. 

You had a simple plan. Hit the crystals, put the glider on, and hop off when he runs. You moved one of your hands up to confirm you could still move at all. With the other, you gripped the glider, bringing a section of the straps to your teeth and biting down hard enough to feel like your teeth would crack. You started the climb.

Dvalin wouldn’t stop moving. For a beast as large as him, he was surprisingly fast and made no indication of where he’d move next. Erratic. Writhing. It reminded you of when you were at the statue. You couldn’t get away from yourself, either. The same thing was happening, the only difference was his corruption was getting worse. His roars stopped sounding like anger to you. When his body shook from the vigor of his cries, it was just pain. 

The scales were rough. They had grooves and bumps like overgrown calluses. Hundreds of years of buildup you used like holds on a rock wall, gripping them down to your nails and sliding yourself up further. They were sturdy. No matter how hard you pulled when you hoisted yourself up, they didn’t even wiggle. 

You used your teeth to keep the glider in place, then you slipped one foot up, pressed yourself back down to pin the contraption down under your body, and eased your jaw's grip. You did it with a hand, then a foot, then a hand, over and over. One large scale at a time. The wind in you flickered, and you learned to hold tighter onto the scales when it happened. A second later, Dvalin pivotes. Somehow, the wind knew to warn you of his movements. You took every warning because you knew missing one would make you slide back down all over again— or worse. You had small slips when you couldn’t get your foot in between the scales fast enough, and you felt the electricity jitters, but you never fell. You made sure you never fell. Venti probably made sure you didn’t, either.

The scales grew smaller as you traveled past the middle of the body and up to the neck. Fur replaced the sides. It was thick, coarse, and mangy. Your feet stayed in place when standing on it, even as you felt his movements more now that you were on an area that moved a lot.

The crystal was right there. 

Your body had another spasm of energy. You couldn’t feel, see, or hear it because of the wind and the pressure, you only knew because you had less Anemo in you momentarily, and the nausea replaced it. The elements knew the mass was dangerous. But instead of you, who felt nothing from the corruption, the elements felt it and wanted to destroy it.

Tucking the glider under an arm, you could slide right up to the thing. The wind flickered. Dvalin roared. You jerked to wrap your arms around the base of the sharp corruption before he could fling you off. 

Your hands pressed into the corruption. For once during the entire day, nothing burst out from you. The wind was jammed.

Panic bubbled up. Aside from the bursts that happened when you didn’t want them to, you didn’t know how to control the Anemo. The energy bumbled underneath your fingernails and between the layers of your skin, and you had no idea how to force them out. Your already thin confidence became an internal monologue of confusion and distress. This wasn’t like the game where you could just tap a button, you never used magic before. If it were as easy as thinking hard about making it dispel and then having the Anemo listen, you would have done that already.

 It was like trying to make your heart stop. The longer it went, the more painful it was to have the wind sitting so condensed in one area. Any more and you thought the flesh would burn off. 

So it kept growing. The wind filled every space in your fingers, every hollow space in the bones, then up the arms and slowly into the chest. More and more, it piled, condensing as much as it could. The more it condensed the more it hurt. When you opened your eyes from the wind, you saw your hand glowing with a faint green light. You watched the veins fill up.

If it doesn’t dispel soon, it might kill me, too , you thought. You couldn’t breathe. You bit your tongue from the pain and begged the energy to leave you.

The hands returned. They weren’t there, but they were. You saw them and you didn’t. They pushed down on top of your hands sprawled out against the corrupted stone. There was no voice to follow it, but you could hear his presence the way you could hear the buzzing of an overhead light. 

The pain ceased drop by drop as the storm under your skin felt like nothing but a gentle tickle. For once, the wind didn’t hurt to have inside. It slipped through you quietly. 

You don’t know how it worked. It didn’t happen physically, but you swore you could hear the click as the gates opened, and let the energy spill back out of you. You took in a last, long breath.

Time felt slower as it happened. You watched the burst from your body, how it started in the fingertips and enveloped the crystal. And then, like lighting, you watched a crack form straight down the center of the surface. 

The Anemo exploded. The balloon popped. Dvalin made a noise that was akin to caterwauling. When you realized what was happening, you were already thrown off by the impact. You saw the crystal splinter further, and then Dvalin flailed, diving down into the clouds.

Your head lulled. You saw the last moments of sunset above the clouds. A sliver of the golden light flickered in the distance. Your hand reached out for the sun, your palm blocking it from your eyes. When you balled it into a fist and moved it back to your side, the sun had finally gone. The slight orange tint in the sky was the only remnant of the day.

Dark storm clouds blocked your vision once again, as you fell below. 

…

…

…

Your back faced the ground. Your stomach faced the sky. You watched the details of the clouds grow fainter above you. The wind stopped being too loud, since the ringing in your ears was far more audible. You felt light, tingly. 

You still clutched the glider in your hand. You reached both your hands underneath you to try and fumble with the straps of it, but all it did was throw you off balance and make you spin. The wings could open, but without your arms to keep them in place, they either wouldn’t stay open or wouldn’t be at the right angle to catch the wind. You didn’t know what you were doing before, and you didn’t know now.

The cathedral’s spires came into view. The details on the houses grew clearer. You clutched the glider, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful. 

You should have figured there was more divine intervention. You could feel a resistance to your fall, more gusts pushing up onto you. You let your limbs open up in an attempt to make the wind break your fall further. You slowed considerably. The ground was still approaching quickly despite it.

You touched down back to the stone of the plaza, your body hitting the ground like an awkward skipping stone. You tumbled a few feet from your initial point, eventually landing on your back. You didn’t hit your head, but you felt the scrapes freshly blooming. It wasn’t pretty, but given the shock, you didn’t feel it.

For a short moment, you looked up at the sky with quiet eyes. You were just underneath the statue of Barbatos and saw the underside of his cupped stone hands. You watched as the clouds already started breaking apart, showing a dark blue night sky behind them. It was just as pretty as in the game.

And all at once, everything decided to hit you. I’m alive .

Your eyes widened as you choked down the rising pressure on your throat. You only had enough time for you to flip to your side before the contents of your stomach splattered out of you. Scalding remains of white Sunsettias was all there was to get rid of. They slid over your tongue in a way that made your whole body shudder. You were kneeling, your forehead pressed against the stone, your mouth parted with spit still falling off your teeth like a leaking faucet. Your shoulders shook when more came out. Even when there was nothing left to remove, your body wouldn’t stop trying to get rid of it. Your airway still closed up the same and liquid still pushed out, but there was nothing else. You wondered if this went on long enough it could get rid of the Anemo, too.

In the middle of the throwing up nothing, you heard Amber calling your name. She ran to you in no time, dropping to her knees and putting her hands on your shoulders to turn you over. She quickly understood why you were curled up when she saw your guts spilled out and still spreading in between the cobblestone crevices.

You were still panting with your mouth slightly parted. You focused on looking at her goggles instead of her face. “Hey,” you said weakly.

“ Archons ,” She breathed, “Where’s it hurt? Can you feel anything broken?” She didn’t start by asking if you were okay, because usually under these circumstances, there’s no way you were. You had never had this intense full-body shaking for this long amount of time.

On cue, the Anemo spasmed. For god’s sake, you thought you had it under control, but you didn’t. It almost made you throw up again. Amber backed off momentarily, clearly thinking you would.

You concentrated on the wind, for once. You couldn’t feel any new cracks around any of the bones that it swam over. “N… Nothing broken. Just… A little weak in the everywhere. And my mouth tastes sour.” you swallowed thickly. “The glider was harder to equip than I thought.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m surprised you still had it in your hands.” She inhaled, unable to contain her astonishment, “You just took down Stormterror. Alone and in the sky.”

You worried she was angry. “Did you see?”

She laughed, the answer obvious. “No, but that explosion of light was large enough to see it through the clouds. It was a miracle. From those… bursts, right?” She wasn’t very sure of what they were, either.

“I couldn’t control it. Sort of. It pooled into my arms, and… I think I was the one to let it go?”

She held up your arm, shaking it. Nothing happened. She looked… Well, not mad, that was for sure. Curious? Dazzled? “Did you know you could do that?”

“Never,” You twitched, choking down an urge to gag, “ Never in a million years would I think that would happen.” 

You believed your words wholeheartedly. Because you weren’t supposed to do that.

Part of you felt bad that you tapped out of what she was saying after that. In your defense, you were straining to hear the footsteps of the Cavalry captain's entrance in this cutscene. 

Amber called your name, and shook you again, which made you think she asked a question. She was about to repeat it, but her head turned to the sound of clapping echoing behind you. You followed the sound once she acknowledged it first, just in case it would seem suspicious.

Kaeya Alberich . You knew he’d eventually show up. It was all you remembered about this situation after the fight. 

You genuinely couldn’t tell if you should be afraid of him or not. It was hard to see any of the characters as threatening, even when you knew they would be if you had to meet them. It only worsened when the only showing of his character was through a protagonist who was agreeable with all but one playable character in the main game, not some random worthless literal washup. 

The white fur on his shoulders ruffled in the lighter breeze. His gold dangling accessories swayed after each light clap of his gloved hands. His pace wasn’t slow, but he was in no rush to get to you. When you met the gaze of his one uncovered eye, and he too saw the full extent of your state, you could tell he was trying not to show his surprise (and partial disgust) visibly. His mouth kept the slight upturn to it.

“Quite the impressive stunt you pulled up there,” He stopped a few feet from you and Amber, “I wouldn’t have expected you to have the power to take down the likes of a dragon.”

”Captain! Stormterror, is it still—“

Kaeya held up a hand, which made Amber stop her sentence. “All under control now. Besides,” His gaze turned to you, and you jolted. “We still haven’t been properly introduced, Amber.”

Amber looked to you, then to him. “Oh… Right. Though, it’s not under the best circumstances. Can you stand?”

You didn’t need to answer the question. Amber already had you pulled up to her side, slinging your arm over her shoulder. 

”Thank you,” You said. You thought Kaeya’s description of you as impressive was untrue, since most of your weight was being held up by her, and your legs still shook.

She nodded over to him. “This is Kaeya, the Cavalry Captain for the Knights of Favonius.”

You looked him over again. It was hard to make it look like you were surprised. You’d known of his existence for years. What was my first reaction to him in the game? Just use that.

“Cool eye.”

“Grew it myself.”

“I meant the- Nevermind. Sorry.”

She said your name. “They’re the one I mentioned for that report. The person from afar who lost their memories? I told you about them this morning, too.”

She really did tell as many people as she could to find you , you noted. Kaeya never would’ve been the first person she’d feel the need to tell. You felt guilty again for it.

He hummed. “They do match the description you gave me, now that you reminded me.” He looked both amused and intrigued. “My guess was right, then? A runaway instead of a conspiracy?”

”Yeah, yeah,” Amber rolled her eyes, “I know it was far-fetched, but in my defense, they never seemed to be the woodsy type. Let alone the type to go out alone into the heart of the mountains. ”

You glanced over at him. He held his smile, but his eyes raised. You didn’t know why that interested him so much. He looked at you in a way that made you feel the need to explain yourself. You didn’t know how to start. 

Kaeya looked to Amber instead, resting a hand just above his hip bone. “You shouldn’t be too harsh, you know. Poor thing can’t even stand on their own after that explosion. They’re harmless .”

You clocked the tone shift instantly. Amber didn’t. Something about his wording was very particular. A bit colder, more sarcastic. The emphasis on “harmless” made it sound like he was implying the opposite. Only a person looking for hidden meanings would find them. You were far too anxious to not overanalyze it.

”I do what I want,” Amber said sharply. There wasn’t malice to it. Playful annoyance that melted away instantly. “Were you here for anything else?”

”As a matter of fact, I am.” With his free hand, he slipped it under the layers of clothes to pull out a small wax-sealed letter from his breast pocket. It was small enough to hold between two fingers. “Orders from the Acting Grandmaster,” He explained. “It’s been one meltdown after another— The Leylines are on the fritz at the Four Winds temples. You and I have been assigned to clean up duty.”

Amber nodded. “Right now?”

Kaeya shook his head. “Bright and early when the sun comes up, but Jean does want us all back at headquarters for a head count.”

“I’ll be there,” She doesn’t hesitate. She shifted your weight and pulled you up just slightly. “I have to get them back into the cathedral first, but I’ll meet you.”

You noticed something wrong with Kaeya again. This time, you couldn’t put a finger on what. The wind inside you pulled away physically, resting and swimming around the skin on your back or the balls of your feet. Better than more Anemo spasms , you thought. But still concerning .

He said your name, staring at you. You stammered a response, not thinking he’d have more to say to you. “Yeah?”

“I wish you a speedy recovery.” You swore he leaned down to you just slightly, despite the distance. He stashed the letter away where it came from. “I’ll be the one to take your testimony on this incident once your health is stable. I trust you’ll cooperate?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You pressed your mouth into a line and nodded fervently instead.

He took a step back. “Good. There wouldn’t be any point in hiding details, anyway. They always come to light when they have to.”

You felt your body temperature physically grow colder. Your memory got jogged. Under normal circumstances, this would’ve been the moment the traveler was recognized for their actions. Where Kaeya was understanding and sympathetic, where they’d tag along to meet the Acting Grandmaster, who personally invited them to help with Mondstadt’s plights.

You fucked the job up somewhere. Instead of the title of Honorary Knight, you had become an enemy to their captain. A risk. So much for having a seat at the table. So much for pretending to be a hero.

“I bid you both farewell.” He did a lazy bowing motion with his hand, turning on his heel back in the direction of the Favonius headquarters.

You tried not to react too visibly. You could blame your shaking on the fatigue, at least.

Amber turned to lead you back over to the church.

”Well…” You wondered if you should try to address how off and subtextually threatening he was that entire time. “That was weird.” 

After a small amount of silence, she patted your hand. “Don’t worry about him. Kaeya’s just like that. The Knights of Favonius are filled with all sorts of eccentric people.”

So she didn’t pick up on that, you thought. 

As you walked up to the front gates, you cast a glance over to the long stairway Kaeya disappeared down. Even if he once was fictional, the thought of being stuck in a room with Kaeya for “testimony” suddenly filled you with looming dread. 

You decided to be afraid of him. “Yeah,” You agreed. “Looks like it.”

~~~

The infirmary was filled with people. 

There was an organized chaos to it. The sisters were wheeling in more beds between empty spaces of the wall as patients were wheeled out to different sections. Children dangled on the edges of sheets, some crying as they got bandaged and some frustratedly trying to console their younger siblings. Low murmurs of conversations echoed everywhere, as well as the occasional shushing, should someone speak too loud. The people were always in clusters, family sticking with family. Fathers cleaning the dirt off of their daughters' faces. Partners holding each other's hands as broken bones were set back into place. 

When you walked through the door, you winced at the noise volume. “It’s changed a lot in here,” You muttered. 

Barbara just so happened to rush past, carrying a silver tray of used, darkened bandages. She looked like she was on a thin wire, and you could see her sanity fraying more when she caught the sight of you and Amber. She nearly dropped the entire tray bolting over.

“Lord Barbatos!” She gasped, “I thought I’d never see you again— Oh, you’re shaking— here, here, please, they’re already setting up the excess cots— Annette! Please, take over that couple in the bed there, there’s more incoming patients…”

Amber helped you to sit down. The wind in you spasmed as you tried to rest your back against the wall, and Barbara looked horrified at the light that flickered. 

You were peeled out of your still damp attire and yet again were swapped into their hospital clothing. Amber warmed you up with her vision (which worked momentarily) but then, the spasms of Anemo got worse. Your body could barely handle one element, let alone two interacting. It made you afraid of Barbara’s healing, now, even if you didn’t show any problems with it before. 

Barbara inspected you closely using two fingers to pry your eye open. “Can you see okay? Or— or understand what I'm saying?”

You nodded. “I can hear you, there’s just a lot going on in here,” Your eyes moved over to the other beds briefly before returning to her. Even if you weren’t forced to be hyper-aware of your entire body, it would be too much.

She rapid-fired questions about specific symptoms relating to specific parts of the body. The sorts of questions you knew were connected to types of head injuries or other conditions, but you didn’t know what question went to what, or what answers worried her more or less than others.

“And you're sure there's no broken bones or internal bleeding?” She repeated. You almost thought she was about to ask another flurry of specific medical questions again.

”There has been elemental energy swimming in every corner of my insides, I would feel the injury with an ungodly amount of accuracy.” There was a brief pause. “I threw up in front of the Barbatos statue, also. Sorry for— You know. Uh. Defiling… Church property.”

She said your name in the same tone she said Bennett’s when he walked through the door. “Thank you for telling me, but that is just about the last thing I’m concerned about. So long as the bad is out of your system, which… sounds like it isn’t, given the Anemo reactions. Could you tell me more about what happened in the woods, exactly?”

Amber crossed her arms. It seemed like she was going to stick around for the explanation, too.

”I—“ You inhaled a breath. It felt easier to say in half-truths and omissions. “There was a place that seemed interesting— the lake with the statue. I didn’t realize how large the map was until I was already there, so I figured I’d just go for it. I touched the statue, it knocked the wind out of- well. Knocked the wind into me, and it’s been like this.”

”Statue of the Seven… Starfell Lake…?” She dabbed a cloth with some sort of ointment and was dabbing it over the scratched sections. “People use those statues to pray to the archons, but that one isn’t used at all, last I checked. I think whatever elemental beings took refuge in the woods left enough Anemo on the statue to elicit this reaction,” She explained.

“That would have to be a lot of energy to make a reaction that violent,” Amber added. “Or… otherwise, you could just be overly sensitive to elements?”

”It could be both?” You suggested.

”But it doesn’t explain how you were able to then harness it in the sky,” She put her hand to her chin in thought, “Residual elemental energy from slimes can’t scare away Stormterror, it just doesn’t make sense.”

Barbara opened her mouth. Closed it, then spoke anyway. “Could also be a gift from our lord,” She said a bit quieter. 

Amber looked to her, then to you. ”Did you see any gems around you?” She clicked her vision off of her belt, “Like this, but green?”

Not a bad thought, seeing as normal people couldn’t just suddenly use Anemo without one. ”No,” You answered honestly. “Nothing like that.”

Barbara looked a little disappointed. “Forget what I asked, then. I figured it was a leap.”

Amber looked at Barbara again. “Hey, it was worth exploring. And it’s still too soon to know anything for sure. We’d have to wait a few days and see how the energy disperses.”

Barbara tested her hydro vision on you. The nausea increased, but there weren't any spasms. She worked on the body in segments, which worked well to not freak out the wind since it would scatter to other areas. It wasn’t fun to have to feel it scatter between your organs, but it was better than not getting healed at all.

It was a major help. You still couldn’t use your feet but now everything didn’t hurt. And since the flesh wounds were recent and small, they went away without a trace. 

It would’ve felt a lot more relieving if Amber hadn’t also taken the time to lecture you during it. Mostly going over the basic safety procedures of adventuring into the wilderness (the phrases “Rule of three” and “buddy system” started to not sound like real words). You looked to Barbara for some sort of out from it, but she refused to get involved, saying Amber was helping you “stay conscious in case of a concussion”— Really, you heard Barbara holding her laughs back. It was good that she looked less stressed, it was bad that your humiliation had an audience. 

Barbara ran off to check up on other beds. Amber knelt to the side of the cot once she caught her breath and her rant concluded. “I’ve overstayed,” she sounded surprisingly tired, “The knights need me. Can I trust you’ll stay put?”

Does she not trust me anymore ? Your mind raced, Does she think I'm a troublemaker now? ”Yes,” you blurted, “I won’t run, I promise.”

She made a flicking motion at your forehead, but didn’t touch you. “Don’t you know it’s less fun to tease you when you sound that scared?”

I just don’t want the fictional characters I’ve spent my time caring for to hate me , you thought. You did not say that out loud.

”Sor-“

She squinted at you.

“R—er…” Damnit, what else can I say besides an apology? “I’ll… take that under advisement?”

She smiled. ”Better.”

You thought she’d just leave after that, as unceremonious as it usually was. But instead, as she got to her feet, you felt yourself tugged forward. Your face was pressed into her shoulder as her arms wrapped around your upper back. She leaned forward to reach your sitting form. She wasn’t there for long, but it was enough for her warmth to seep in. 

Your stomach flipped, but in the normal way this time. For whatever reason, the wind in you died down in the moment. 

She squeezed you, a non-verbal reminder of her steadfast conviction in keeping you safe. Knight’s honor. “I’ll find you again when I can.”

“I— Right. I’ll be here, still,” You stammered. Your brain was scrambled on whether or not you should move your arms to reciprocate the hug or if that would be weird.

When she slid her arms away, you leaned forward impulsively, still surprised and not quite willing to let it go. Maybe a touch-starved thing. Maybe also the same problem you’d been facing the entire time that these people could be nice to you. 

You pretended like it didn’t mess you up as much as it did internally. “Don’t die,” you waved.

She gave one of the knight’s salutes. ”Wasn’t planning on it!”

You briefly sat there unmoving. Your eyes landed on the red cropped sweater still splayed out on top of the pile with the rest of your removed clothes. You wanted to call her back and remind her it was still there, but she was far from earshot. 

You listened to the clusters of families talking around you. Your hands rubbed at your shoulders. You noticed you hadn’t been shaking for a while.

Chapter Text

You are back at the creek again. Your mouth never moves, but you can hear your voice counting somewhere far off. One, two, three, four, seven…

You check your phone. Rain pelts the screen, warping and distorting the message notifications. So many people, the ones you love, are so upset at you. They don’t have the profile pictures they usually do. You can’t distinguish any of them. Panic pits itself into your stomach as you can’t recall how long you’ve been gone. 

Unfamiliar trees are mixed with familiar ones. Some trails are the same paths you’ve walked to your house before. Some of it is too green and out of season. Sometimes you are holding a sword, sometimes you are holding your phone to change the music, and sometimes your hands are holding nothing, and covered in blood. The river is the only constant.

You pick up your pace. Maybe if you run faster, you’ll get back fast enough to explain yourself to them.

The messages from people blend together. Amalgamations of all the people you have ever met, condensed into angry, angry messages. You keep scrolling through. There are so many. It’s been far too long. You understand how late you now are.

The lightning keeps cracking rhythmically. It keeps striking in front of you, even though the sound of thunder is so far off. Your voice always counts it as twenty miles, muttering comforting words about how far off it is. 

You try to text back, but you can’t quite tap the buttons, and none of the letters look like letters. Slowly, the symbols become the same as the ones you’ve been seeing on taverns and road signs. 

They can’t understand you. It makes them angrier. The messages are nonsense, but they make you feel guilty and panicked. You type paragraphs and paragraphs, about how the traveler wasn’t on the beach. They don’t know what you’re talking about. You want to scream. 

You try to joke, texting “I don’t think this is working out.” They misread your tone. “Yeah, it’s not,” the message replies genuinely, “do you know how hard it is to yell at a person who’s dead in a river?”

You look up from your phone. The creek has flooded, and the cold water is rising calmly, lapping and engulfing your ankles. 

Your hands fall to your side. Your earbuds get ripped out from the force, and your phone splashes unceremoniously. It gets carried downstream. The water is now at your knees. Your voice from above doesn’t stop counting. “One. Two. Three. Four. Seven. Ten…” 

Crack.

Your heart leapt from your chest. You felt your body still and frozen in half-sleeping paralysis. You blinked rapidly, your breath gasping, until you realized you could move. You were already up, your arm slamming into the wall and your nails trying to dig into nothing.

It was pitch black. The sky outside didn’t show signs of light in the slightest. You felt your thin blanket crumpled up at the foot of your cot, having been kicked off during your sleep. 

You breathed. The air filled your lungs, even if it felt uncomfortable to do that with the wind in there, too. It was shaky, but it was breathing. Your heart wouldn’t stop beating loudly. 

You sat staring long enough for your eyes to adjust. You made out the shapes of other beds and cots. Families were bundled in piles. A man propped himself up against the wall so his two daughters had a warm body to lean against. A woman sat on a chair next to the bed, hunched over, her hand holding onto an elderly lady’s. No one slept alone. Everyone had a hand to hold in the dark to make sure the people they loved were still there. 

You breathed. And breathed. And kept breathing, half expecting yourself to be dead. Briefly, the room flickered with green light. The wind coiled itself around the tendons of your throat.

( You thought too hard about your death. You wondered if you were caught in the shallow rocks of the river. You wondered if they found you yet.)

The infirmary was silent, save for the echoes of breathing. You kept your sobbing to a minimum. 

…

…

…

…

…

This was fine.

The sun was fully up now. The quiet whisperings of other people had started to build up into louder chattering as it became more accepted that people were awake. Some nuns were doing rounds, checking in briefly with some folks and then disappearing back through doorways. Only once did a sister come up to you, and it was to ask if you had any allergies to avoid when serving breakfast. You tried to hide your notebook when she walked up. You were still writing in English and not the common written language, and you didn’t want it being brought to attention. Only briefly did you worry if hiding your words had the opposite effect. 

You scribbled out the section of a sentence. You wrote it too fast and it was so unintelligible not even you could discern it. Checking the previous pages, the rest seemed rushed but generally fine. You wished the notebook was just a little bit larger, but you understood why Amber picked pocket size. You put every space you had to good use.

You put down everything you could think of about the Mondstadt Archon quest. Arguably, it wasn’t much, but it helped to jog your memory. Something about the Fatui pressuring the Knights of Favonius, Venti making the traveler steal the Holy Lyre, Diluc covering for the two and inevitably calling Jean to help. Vague generic questing to track down abyss mages, cloudy memories of adventuring to shut down Dvalin’s wind barriers, and some time after it all, Signora showing up to take the Anemo Archon’s Gnosis. The details centered mostly around the cutscenes. You knew what happened in them, but not all of the context was fully there. 

It was a lot, and yet it felt like nothing. Genshin’s storylines were fetch quests and finding secret hideouts, and you would never remember where any of it was. You couldn’t march up to Diluc’s tavern and say the exact location of the abyss mage’s hideouts or where the Fatui were going to stash the lyre, for example. Maybe you would have if you had to do any of it yourself without following a map marker the whole time. You were still mildly miffed that you had no completely accurate and safe navigation system. How the hell did the traveler do this before?

You went back a few pages again. You circled the bullet point meeting Venti , which already had an arrow immediately pointing to Holy Lyre Heist . You tapped the tip of the pencil against the side of the page in thought. 

You’d already talked to him in the sky. He’d already shown you that he knew of your presence, and was willing to help. Probably because he read your mind, or something. You were having a really hard time getting over that idea of omnipotent beings you can tangibly interact with. But then again, if that was the case, why was he so surprised that you were there with him and Dvalin? So maybe he was just putting a lot of faith into a complete stranger. Either way, you could spill your guts all you wanted to about the whole situation without reservation. Which was the best plan you had.

But it still wasn’t completely certain he’d find use in you, a different part of you countered. He took an interest in the traveler because of the crystal purification thing. Which, if you tried to remember, was the same purification thing needed for the Lyre. If you couldn’t do the actually useful thing, and the future you know hinges on a power you didn’t have, what’s the point in keeping you around?

( Rushing water keeps lapping at your ankles. You can hear the way the water in the creek throws itself onto the rocks and sprays into little foam-white particles.)

You shut your eyes and shook off the thought. You were fine. You’d be fine. You moved on and ignored it.

The church workers returned with breakfast. Sister Jilliana and another nun you forgot the name of wheeled in carts, and a few celebratory cheers and prayers of thanks were heard through the crowd. The able-bodied of the various people congregated to help pass out the silver trays to their loved ones.

You couldn’t tell if the constricting in your stomach was Anemo-based or hunger-based. It all felt the same. But you’d rather die than try to speak up or grab a tray (that could potentially be someone’s specially-made allergy-free tray!), so you watched it happen. 

A gloved hand appeared in the jumble of people coming to and fro like ants, drowning in the sea of people. Tan-ish coloring, a red cloth tied to the wrist. When you caught sight of the tips of his white hair, you realized who it was. For some reason, you hoped he didn’t see you.

He did. 

Bennett got to the front and picked two trays, then spotted you, surprised. He nearly dropped both, but recovered somehow, balancing each on his hands. He walked over to your place on the cot, smiling.

”Hospital pal!” He called out, “You’re here, too? That’s so cool! Well— not the injury part. I’ve been here the whole time, too!”

He didn’t have a set of hospital garbs like you did. For the first time, you got to see him with all of his gear on. The belt around his waist held plenty of tools you didn’t know the purpose of, a sword you did know the purpose of, and his signature goggles that rested on his head. “I thought the next time I’d see you would be at the guild when you got out. Then again, I would never have expected a dragon attack, haha…”

You tried to casually hide your notebook by putting both arms behind your back. “I should’ve known you’d be here. I’d have looked for you if my legs weren’t so messed up.”

He looked concerned. “Oh, no, did the storm do that?”

”Yep,” You lied. You thought if you told Bennett about going out on your first adventure without telling him, he’d look so heartbroken that you would have to immediately throw yourself into the closest body of water. Which, given your track record, wouldn’t end well. “Mostly it was overexertion from running. The cyclones kind of wanted me dead.”

“Barbatos, they were so bad,” he agreed, “Some of the dads got hit when the guild’s roof collapsed from one. That's why I’m here in the first place.”

“The Guild?” You weren’t expecting that. “Did they— is everyone alright?”

”They’re fine,” He replied quickly, “I’ve been worrying about it more than they have. They’ve been taking bets on who's going to ‘succumb first’, and the first to die is getting the world’s most obnoxious funeral. Veteran adventurer things. They do this every catastrophe.”

You tried not to laugh. “I’m glad they’re having fun.”

“Speaking of the dads, I’ve gotta run these over,” He lifted the two trays as if you hadn’t been staring at them the whole time in worry they’d somehow blow up. “I can pick up one for you, if you want. Maybe we could eat together?”

A spike of happiness shot through you at the request. “Sure, why not.” You were impressed you sounded so casual about it. “Your… shoes are untied, by the way.”

He sighed. “Yeah, they always are. Don’t worry, I do this all the time.”

You watched him almost trip about three times before he left your view completely. The moment he did, you wrapped the string of leather back around the pocketbook and slipped it beneath your pillow, right next to the small red crystal. You felt your hand touch the cool smooth teardrop, and your Anemo pooled itself into your fingertips. It didn’t leave your body (blessed be) but it did feel sharp and tingly.

He had to do three more trips for more trays. The first one was successful. The second one… You acted like you hadn’t been staring at him the entire time. He walked up with broken pride, slumped shoulders, and two new plates, pretending nothing had happened.

He slipped the tray cautiously onto your crossed legs. You shifted to the side to open up a space on the cot for him to sit, and he silently plopped down. You previously spent an entire day lazing on the same infirmary bed to play cards, you found it nice that you had some little unspoken thing with him, even if it only happened because he had no other options for conversing with people. If Fischl was here, he might’ve never seen you.

The Cathedral’s food wasn’t all that bad. Breakfast never deviated much day-to-day, so you knew what to expect; sourdough bread slices with an incredibly tart and bitter (Wolfhook?) jam, sliced Sunsettia’s with what you assumed was cinnamon, and plain, nothing-added porridge. 

You learned from copying Bennett before that the cup of Sunsettia’s was meant to get mixed into the porridge. But that was before the dragon ride and before your body disposed of your stomach filled with the unripe fruit. Now, smelling the insides of the perfectly softened white fruit, no matter how sweet it was, made you feel nauseous. That stupid human mechanism to make anything, no matter how harmless, utterly unappetizing the moment you have to throw it up kicked in. And since Sunsettia’s were the only added sweetener for the porridge, now the porridge was inedible, because the texture was abysmal if you had nothing to distract it from.

You relented. You were just going to be a bit hungrier than usual. Biting into the slathered bread, you offered up the cup of Sunsettia’s to Bennett. He paused mid-bite, sliding the spoon out of his mouth. “You sure?”

“It’s fine,” you assured. “I can’t stomach it.”

He didn’t question it. The cup promptly got dumped into the bowl of his own. 

You pushed around the porridge aimlessly. The conversation quickly got pushed to the dragon attack again. ”Have you heard news around the whole… light explosion thing?” You tested. 

“Oh, plenty,” he replied. Your heart jumped with the implication he’d known or seen you, but then he continued, “Nothing of substance, though, which means no one really knows. I’m just glad it was over pretty quickly, but I get why people would want answers.”

So no one knew it was me . Well, Amber and Kaeya and maybe Barbara knew it was you, but two of those three had been off early in the morning and were going through tutorial-phase trial temples scattered across Mondstadt, and the other one wasn’t much of a gossip and also probably had patient confidentiality in her way, or something. 

You didn’t know exactly how to take having everyone not know it was you. You would hate the thought of eyes being on you, but then again, that’s how it was for the traveler. And you were only as useful for your foresight so long as you stayed in line with what happened to them, so a divergence like this was going to stray you from the game’s events and inevitably make you unable to be of any help. 

Maybe it didn’t matter at this point. Maybe the whole fucking up the honorary knight thing meant you were already doomed, and you had to watch this slow-motion car crash whether you wanted to or not.

Do you sacrifice the comfort of staying in comfort, or force yourself into a box you don’t want and can’t fill anyway just for the potential to be valuable? You didn’t have an answer.

Bennett said your name. “You good? You’re staring really intently at that oatmeal.”

Shit, you were zoning out again. “What? Oh. Sorry, yeah, I was thinking too hard. Uh, I hope the knights find the guy. It would be useful to have someone with those sorts of powers to take down Dv- ah, Stormterror.”

“Augh, I wanna meet them, honestly. I wish I had that kind of power and bravery. That’s the sort of stuff that marks a hero,” Bennett says dreamily, taking another bite.

Your gut twisted. Something told you he’d find disappointment in the truth.

( Lies of omission are still lies. White lies are still lies. Lies to save yourself are still lies to save yourself, no matter how much it stems from the anxiety of the truth. This does not make a good person. )

”Barbara!” Bennett called. You snapped your head up to look around, seeing her already walking up to the two of you, a stack of a few silver trays and a stack of a few bowls on top of that.

“Have you been outside yet?” Bennett asked as Barbara made a motion to take his tray as well. “The bards are finally back! I haven’t seen the plaza so lively, there’s finally music again.”

“Good morning Bennett,” she yawned. “I haven’t yet, but I heard them when I went out back to fetch water from the pump. It’s so delightful to hear after all this time…”

That got your attention. “Bards are outside?”

”It’s the best spot to play, you know,” Barbara beckoned forth your tray as well, and you let her take it, despite the entire uneaten bowl. “You can hear all of their songs from that high up. My church choir also sings there for our spring concerts— oh, how’s your elemental particles? Have they dissipated?”

You pat your chest, “Still there. So are the random spasms, but they’re… manageable?”

”So an improvement?” You nodded. Despite her tired eyes, she looked relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

“When did you go out and see them?” You asked Bennett. He shrugged. 

“Dunno, Just a bit before the food was served? I didn’t walk out very far.”

”Did you see a guy your height in all green? A cape and hair that looks exactly like Barbato's statue?”

Barbara cut in, “You mean Venti?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, him— uh, probably. Did you?”

Bennett had to think about it. He put a hand to his chin. “Dunno? Probably.”

”He’s down there a lot,” Barbara nodded. “If there’s a crowd already there, then I’m sure he is. What for?”

“If he’s there, I need to see him. He helped me during the attack. At the least, I wanted to give him my thanks.”

Barbara hummed. “I’d be happy to send a message when I get the chance, but I don’t think you can be moving around at all. Given your state last night… It’ll be another few days of healing.”

Your brows furrowed. Now that it was mentioned, you felt mostly fine physically. There was a slight ache, but it was the best your legs had felt in a while. You shifted your legs from crossed to dangling over the edge with ease. You didn’t even wince.

Barbara couldn’t physically stop you, given her preoccupied hands, but there was apprehension in her tone, “Wait wait, hold on, I don’t think you should st…”

You already were on both feet and painlessly, too. The Anemo lingered around uncomfortably in your veins. 

“…stand,” She finished, clearly horrified. “Are you… everything’s okay?”

You shifted your weight. You paused to feel where the wind moved between bones and organs, and everything internally was unharmed, too. Finally, it seemed like your body was getting a handle on the amount of strenuous activity you had been doing. You could feel the callouses forming on your feet. 

You gave a thumbs up. You had accidentally been copying it from Bennett as of late. “Yeah, there’s nothing. Does this… solve the problem?” You gave an awkward smile.

Barbara looked around for a second, like someone else would show up to tell her how to navigate this situation. When no one appeared, she looked at you. “Ah. Well… If you feel okay, and if it’s just outside the church… I suppose it’s alright?” 

“Great,” You clapped your hands together. “Thank you lots. I promise I won’t run off.” 

You quickly turned to the cot, leaning over Bennett to reach for the pillow and sweep your arm underneath it. Bennett pressed himself to the wall when you did this, trying not to get in your way. You fumbled for the teardrop and managed to press it to your palm in a way that let you hold the pocketbook while still keeping the crystal out of view. You pulled back, pocketing both seamlessly. 

“I’ll be back,” You waved to Bennett. “Raid the board games for me, I have a mission to complete. Don’t die.”

”Oh,” He said. He looked confused, but unbothered. “Okay! Tell Venti cool lyre!”

As you slipped between the people moving around, you could faintly hear the last of the conversation. “Sister Jilliana isn’t going to be very happy when I say I’ve let them go…”

“…I won’t tell if you don’t?”

~~~

The moment you opened the large Cathedral doors, the air felt different.

You finally could catch a glimpse of what Mondstadt might have looked like before the chaos and fear. There were clusters of people wandering around— some civilians, some street performers with violin cases slowly getting Mora flicked into them, some children flicking frisbee-looking objects at Border Collies. People peered over the edge of the plaza to look out at the entirety of Mondstadt city. There were even a few gatherings of children doing chalk art on the smoother parts of stone; you saw the various element symbols crudely drawn out in all of the correct colors (aside from Pyro, which was colored in yellow, not red.)

And the music . The bards had plenty of space in the plaza area to spread out in sections and not be forced to overlap or get messed up by each other. From the church steps you could hear all of them faintly, through different time signatures and different melodies. As you walked around, using the stone railing of the edge as a guide to circle your way through, each musician grew louder, softer, and then was replaced by the next. An accordion slipped into a duo with a violin and what you could only assume was the Teyvat equivalent of a ukulele, and then a cello, trumpet, and a young girl on a triangle all playing as a trio. A daughter and her bard parents, you figured. Every set was filled with energy. After so long cowering from the outside, they finally could do what they were passionate about in the open. No wonder Amber wanted you to see what Mondstadt was really like; it was undeniably beautiful. 

You scanned each crowd, looking for green. As you walked, you listened in for the right instrument, but the rest of the music drowned everything out. For a circular area, especially one so easily navigable in-game, you thought it’d be easy. It was not.

Occasionally, people gave you strange looks. You figured it was easy to tell you were an outsider. You also figured it didn’t help you were wearing a hospital gown and went barefoot, but you spotted others around who also had the same tanned almost-nightgowns with complementing overly large pants. The difference might’ve been that they were all taking it easy and had families around them, and you were alone and very nervously flickering around the entire area. This isn’t a crime, is it? You thought. No, it literally can’t be, this is freedom city, city of freedom, I’m fine… right?

Turns out, the bard you wanted was hidden in plain sight. His crowd of people was large enough that on the sides you were walking, there was no glimpse of any of his features, and he was unfortunately placed right in the middle of two bards. Even if he was on the opposite side of them, those two were closer to you, and you couldn’t hear him. 

You should’ve figured he was underneath the statue. The crowd itself scared you, but obviously, he’d choose the spot right underneath the stone hands. Walking up to it confirmed it for you. That was the sound of a lyre and the voice of the boy sitting alone on the rooftop.

You didn’t shove through people— too rude of an act, also a high likelihood of your feet getting stepped on. You stood awkwardly at the outside edge, your fingers fidgeting incessantly and the wind pointing straight forward. His song from that far still sounded sweet. Out of all of them, he was the only bard who chose to play more somber melodies, rather than upbeat and optimistic ones.

You heard the applause when it ended, and him cheerily saying something that you couldn’t hear through the audience's chatter. Whatever it was, the people started to scatter off like a firework, falling away from the center. More and more people walked off, and then there he was, lyre in hand.

He looked… Well. Your first thought went to his dead friend. The knowledge of his form being a tribute made you far more aware of the features he presented. Some parts drew more attention, like his large, round eyes with clear mixes of dark blues and bright greens. Or how his cheeks were softer and round on the edges. Or how his hair stuck and curled up in messy parts. You wondered how long he spent looking at his face to get those details like how he always knew them.

( You thought about your own death. Your own face. How that face will be remembered. )

You stopped thinking about it. He was alive, so were you. You were fine.

He was still waving around to the people, giving smiles and thank yous before eventually, his round eyes landed on you. It took a while for him to do that. You could tell he was doing a lot to pretend to have never met you.

You opened your mouth, having countless topics and questions compiled. You weren’t quite sure how this would start. Come out of the gate swinging about how you know he was an Archon? Keep it casual? You couldn’t pick.

So he went first instead. ”Have you come to give praise for my performance? I’m afraid I can’t do autographs today, but, hm… maybe if you asked nicely…” The lilt of his voice was playful. 

”I…” You sighed, then inhaled. “Can we talk? Somewhere with… less people?”

He gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know that private performances cost Mora, unlike my free crowd work.”

You winced at how loud he said that. You briefly glanced to your side to see if others were looking. “This isn’t— It’s not—“ you shook your hands off to try and reset yourself. “I have some things to tell you,” Your voice went quieter, “I think you can help me?”

He plucked at his last chord aimlessly, testing it. There was a long pause of time filled with your fingers going back to fidgeting and the bard effortlessly tuning the string. By the end of the process, you couldn’t hear a difference, but he seemed satisfied. 

“Well, alright then. I won’t lie and say you haven’t caught my attention.” He raised a fist to the sky, “Onwards!”

He led you a bit farther away from the plaza, down the steps, and into a stairway that didn’t have much foot traffic. Really, it was more like a chase scene, since he took it upon himself to skip down the whole way, and you were still barefoot and paranoid. By the time you had gotten to the wall to lean against, he’d propped himself up on the opposite stone railing, one leg dangling and the other slightly propped up to keep his lyre upright as he continued to pluck the strings aimlessly. Sometimes it bumbled together to make a melody, sometimes it was disharmony. 

He knew you were in hospital robes and where you had walked in the woods before. What was the point of running?

“So we meet again, my frightened fevered fan,” He said, as you slid down to a sitting position on one of the steps. 

”Is there… any way you could,” You took in a breath, steadying your voice more, “Spare the theatrics for this, just a little?”

He laughed, “You’re funny.” He extended his hand to you, despite how far apart you were from each other. “I’m Venti, the bard. You forgot to introduce yourself before.” His voice went a bit sing-song at the tail end. 

It was hard to remember how one-sided every single relationship was with these people. Spending so much time in-game made it easy to forget they’ve never really met you. You shook your head apologetically and gave him your name. “I’m the one from the forest.” You mimed shaking his hand from your distance to complete the transaction.

”Ah, so that was you!” He smiled. “I mean, I knew it the second I felt the elemental energy coming off of you, but there could always be doubles. You never know.” 

It didn’t look like he’d be taking your request to leave the theatrics at the door. You figured at this point being anything but direct would lead you nowhere.

”Okay, listen. I know you’re a god—an archon. The Anemo Archon Barbatos.” There was a pause long enough for you to add, “Right? —No, I know it as fact.” 

You looked up to him. He just stared, smiling. What if I’m wrong? Your brain started to worry. “…Right?”

He twirled a braid in his hair. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m from another world,” You blurted. His head cocked to the side in intrigue. “I died in the other one, walked through a door, and showed up here.”

”Died?” He repeated.

( You feel the water rushing, twisting you. The rock hits you just between your back and shoulder blade, and in the moment, you think the skin and bone have been stripped clean off.)

You stopped thinking about that.

 ”Drowned.” You didn’t elaborate, he didn’t ask. “But I knew who you were. And what you’re disguised as. And also the fate of Teyvat. Sort of. It’s— It’s weird. It’s all messed up, and it might be because of me?”

He decides to stop his pizzicato. The instrument breaks up into small particles of light, disappearing into nothing. He pulls his leg higher up, resting his elbow on the top. “…Well? I’m listening. What things are there to tell me?”

…

…

…

…

…

Your tongue felt weird from how much non-stop rambling you did.

You took a breath. “So…” you didn’t know how to conclude any of that. “What do you think of— of this?”

There was a moment of contemplation. Your stomach twisted itself into knots. Then he huffed.

 “I think I deserve an apology for my statue so rudely getting the remaining blessings taken from it without my consent,” He crossed his arms. “Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘leave it better than you found it? You didn’t even polish my beautiful face…”

You paused your fidgeting. “…I was… a little preoccupied.” 

You found some relief that he confirmed his Archon status, even if you knew. You were also a little taken aback that the first thing he said after your impassioned nervous ramblings was teasing. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, really,” you explained, “I didn’t think it would play out the way it did.”

He inhaled. His eyes flickered around like he was trying to mentally map everything out. ”Let me try to recap everything. Teyvat is a story in your old world centered around this traveler character going around and helping everyone, including Dvalin’s corruption, all to reconnect with a lost sibling. And they’ve been as far as Fontaine from what you’ve read, with all the fame and glory attached to dueling and defeating powerful entities and governments. I’m right so far?”

You nodded.

”And you… Are also an Outlander like them, but you only showed up here after dying. And, knowing this was already a story, quickly figured out the traveler wasn’t there, and also events that were supposed to happen to them happened to you instead. Like meeting me. And talking with me right now.”

“Well, okay, sort of like right now. Only when they did it before you sang an entire ancient song about how Dvalin got the corruption from that other dragon.”

“Which, I can still fulfill.”

The thought of it sounded incredibly awkward. Especially since you still had a slight tremble from spilling your guts to him— which was the first time you spoke about this to anyone in this world— about the truth of your situation. “I’m… fine. For now. Maybe next time.”

He hummed. His upbeat demeanor didn’t falter with his words. “I could certainly see why they’d want to find me, especially if I chose to aid them like I did you. What you haven’t explained, however, is why exactly I picked them for the lyre heist.”

”You… didn’t already have a plan in mind for taking the Holy Lyre?”

That really amused him. “Oh, I always have a plan for taking the Holy Lyre, for more… personal reasons, but I haven’t gone through with it because I haven’t figured out a good way to give any of its old power back. The best I could do is restring it with normal strings. Maybe get my face on a wanted poster.”

Throughout the ramblings, you seemed to forget to mention all of those random useless powers the traveler happened to have on them. You felt a little silly now that you took a lot of time to explain all of their actions during all of the nations but not quite how those actions happened.

You pulled out the crystal, holding it up between your thumb and pointer finger. Venti knew what it was immediately. 

“I picked this up from that first meeting place. It was left there in the story, too, but… When the traveler had it on them, it eventually turned back to green.”

“Purification…” he hopped off the ledge, stepping closer to inspect the crystal. You stood up from your spot to let him see it better. “Now I see why you put so much emphasis on me thinking this traveler was so important. If you had the ability to purify the tears, that would definitely get us somewhere.”

You stared down at the gem in disappointment. “I thought I had the same powers as them. Or that in theory, I could. When they touched the statue, they fixed it. When I did it, I thought it’d do nothing, but I hoped it’d do… Well, not that.”

His hand moved to try and touch it, but he was already jolting back and shaking his hand off from the pain. Your breath hitched at the way the Anemo in you jittered painfully from the contact during the reaction. You could see his finger turning dark magenta, but it was already dissipating back to his usual skin tone. 

He looked over his hand. “Now, you may not be able to purify things, but you can touch corruption. I’ll bet Mora that's the part that comes from being an outlander.” 

You turned the gem over again. You felt the Anemo want to pool onto your finger pads. “Really? That’s not normal?” You couldn’t remember if that was in the game or not. Then again, the only other Outlander was Aloy, and she wasn’t ever mentioned in the slightest in any stories. 

”I’m sure you’ve felt the elemental energy in you react to it. The elements know it's dangerous, even if your body can’t.” 

It reminded you of clinging to the dragon. The wind was eager to fight, but you could sense fear in it. Your skin only started to burn when the elemental energy decided to pile as close as it could, which would be the part the corruption did affect. 

“Is that… wait, hold on,” you pressed your hand to your chest, “Is that why you picked me?”

He smiled. ”Picked you for what?”

“To be the hero,” you clarify. “Fight the dragon? Save the day? Because I could touch the thing?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t pick you for anything. You were the one who blew Dvalin up, not me.”

“But you helped. And just after I stole your power and ruined your shot at reconciling with him. I mean, I felt your hands there. I couldn’t have done it without– I mean, I’d be dead without the help. Why put that much trust in me?”

He stepped back until his back hit the side of the stairway wall. Then propped himself back onto the ledge. “Why did you think I trusted the traveler in your story?”

You thought about it for a second. “Because… They were strong? Capable? …Clearly skilled at swordsmanship and controlling any magic they possessed?”

He chuckled. “Well, you’d be right. That fits the description of a perfect hero and honorary knight.”

“So why me?” You insisted. “I’m none of that. Why me?”

His face changed. His playful, innocent mask sobered just a bit. Behind his eyes held a form far greater than a simple human bard. It held… poignance.

”I don’t think there’s a satisfying answer I could give to you,” he said softer, “Unfortunately, it is as simple as it looks— I trusted you because I wanted to. If you need something better, we can just call it fate. Another beat in the story. Right?”

You didn’t push it further. He was the God of Freedom and had the freedom to do what he wanted to. You would be foolish to try and apply logic to a celestial entity. Because logically, you weren’t anyone’s first choice.

”So… According to you, this is the part where I’d say we should take the holy lyre. What would change if we didn’t take it, and went straight to Dvalin at the old kingdom’s ruins?” He asked.

The thought made you nervous. “If we don’t try taking it, then the Fatui will. And when they find some way to use it, they’ll kill Dvalin.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting how you used ‘when’ and not ‘if’, right there. What makes you so sure?”

“They’re powerful and cocky enough to take every single Archon’s Gnosis, and they don’t do things unless they think about them. That lyre serves a purpose in their plans, one way or another.”

“You do make a fair point.”

”But…” You made a growling noise out of frustration, “Damnit, I don’t know. Every other event in the story has ended the same way. Finding you in the woods, getting swept up in the storm… If we do the same plan, it’ll end up all the same.”

”But this isn’t the same timeline,” He pointed out, “Clearly, the story has already deviated. Who’s to say it won’t go better?”

“Because I’m not them? I know I sound like a broken record, but the traveler was seriously overpowered. I’ve never done a physical stealth mission before. They were competent when it came to heists.”

“—but not competent enough to thwart the thief?”

You gave him a look. You held your stance on this. “I can’t match up. It’s—“ You laugh, bitterly, “It’s putting a bell on a cat.”

He wasn’t buying it. Clearly, you weren’t convincing enough. “I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

Really? You think. But then when you gave it a second, that would make sense. The phrase isn’t a common one, and this is a different world. ”It comes from a folk tale about a group of mice who want to put a bell on a cat,” You explained. “They’re planning this perfect plan to put this bell on the cat so they can hear the cat— Whatever, it’s all just this metaphor for saying plans, in theory, don’t get executed how you want because the best plan isn’t ever the feasible plan. The best plan was the traveler’s path, faulty holy lyre heist and all.”

A moment of silence passed. You watched him thinking. You could tell he was already plotting something. When he looked over to you, you sat up straighter.

Hmm…” He looks up to the sky, then back to you. “Alright! I’ve decided. We’ll steal it tonight!”

”What? Even after I-“

“—You’ve already decided to trust me,” he cut in, “This is how I can help. I know it’ll work.” 

He held out his hand, even though the distance was too far yet again. He tucked his three fingers down, leaving his pinky extended towards you. Any world’s most simplistic way to seal in a promise. 

“Everything will work out, but you need to take a leap.” He smiled. Not out of happiness, but more like… an attempt to soothe your nerves. “Can you do that for me?”

You stared at his outstretched hand. You pocketed your notes and the gem, your hands clasped together in front of your chest apprehensively. 

( Your gut tells you every decision you make is the wrong one. When you take a path, it ends in death. When you pick a hill, you die on it. )

You feel the need to push those thoughts away, even if you thought they were right. 

“…I might not make it to midnight. Kaeya’s suspicious of me. And I am really, really good at cracking under pressure.” That, and anyone would , your mind added, he tried to kill Collei when he thought she was a threat. “I’ve seen… things about him. He’ll be keeping watch the moment he gets back.”

”Then he won’t get back tonight.”

”…Meaning?”

”Hehe, leave the details to me. An Archon needs to have at least a few card tricks, right?” He wiggled his pinky. “Now come on, my arm’s getting tired. Trust or no trust?”

You took in a breath. Your thoughts clashed on what to do, so you moved thoughtlessly. Peeling yourself off the wall, you stepped up and hooked a pinky of your own onto his. Like before, the wind in you quieted down into nothing. You could feel the energy flowing in and out of his body.

Correction: The energy was his body. There was no skin between it. The wind only sensed more wind.

“Yes!” He cheered. He used your hooked hand to lead you closer, leaning in. “Okay, so here’s how this is going to work…”

~~~

You kept zoning out during the card games.

It was hard to act normal when you knew something was going to go down later in the very church you were lazily entertaining yourself in. Your nerves were shot from racking your brain on the details. 

You’d be willingly following a failed plan. It would take you to where the traveler went on their journey and did still have a chance to change for the better (As Venti did his best to assure you), but the difference between you and the traveler (among many other things!) is you’d already befriended some of these people. Bridge burning was assured in the destruction. So much for promising and assuring Barbara and Amber that you wouldn’t run away, because the moment they woke up tomorrow, they would hear you were a wanted criminal who just stole an object from the Cathedral you stayed at for the entire time they’d known you. 

You couldn’t get over it. The traveler was likable. The traveler was forgivable . You weren’t even sure you could fix the damage you brought.

Bennett wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask about it. From how vague you were before you went off to find Venti and how long the conversation took, he assumed you wouldn’t be willing to open up, and he was right. He wouldn’t appreciate what you were about to do. The more you thought it over, the more it worried you. 

But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to help. He talked for the first half of your casual gameplay— during at least ten rounds of War that all ended in brutal losses on his part. More rumors of the dragon slayer. The guild had a bunch of wild crack shot theories, including but not limited to: Acting Grand Master Jean, since she had an Anemo vision and is very heroic; Actual Grand Master Varka, who somehow found a way to return to Mondstadt for just enough time to vanquish the threat; just Barbatos himself; any of the women of the Hexenzirkel, but favorably Alice; anyone who had an Anemo vision they could think of off the top of their head, which included Sucrose and Adeptus Xiao, apparently; Fischl, which was suggested by Fischl in an impassioned speech recounting her swift victory of Stormterror with only the power of the Auge Der Vereirteilung. Even though Bennett still believed she hails from a different world, that was a bit too hard for him to have faith in. He complimented her storytelling skills, at least.

The stories helped. You couldn't ever shake the dread from your body and the sweat from your palms, but they made you laugh. You opened up more to conversation. 

Eventually, when you replied to him with more than “oh wow”s (and when Bennett asked to give Trash a try again) it morphed into hypothetical questions. You each took turns asking about scenarios. 

Bennett’s involved a lot of would-you-rathers of fighting either this monster or that. You had a lot of entertainment in asking him the various versions of the Trolley Problem since Teyvat didn’t have the moralist philosopher who created the thought experiment, and therefore Bennett would never have heard of it before. His answer, when the hypothetical allowed him to, was to throw himself onto the tracks to stop the Trolley. In character for him, just a bit concerning. The level of self-sacrifice the guy had was insane. 

The both of you had ten cards, face down. You shuffled, so he started. He picked from the deck, drew a queen, and set it in the discard. “What would be worse…” He started, as his questions usually did, “Needing to defeat an Anemo Hypostasis or an Electro Hypostasis?”

You picked from the deck. You drew an ace and placed it in the place of the first face-down card. “Electro Hypostasis,” you answered easily, flipping the card and putting it in the seven’s spot. “Not to be mean to any Electric-wielders, but I really, truly, don’t want to get struck by lightning.” You got a jack from the seven’s place. You discarded it.

”Anemo Hypostasises— Hypostasi?” He drew a two, replaced his second face-down card, and discarded the queen. “—Hypostasises are a lot meaner and harder to hit, though. I’ve tried. Wind is very hard to hit, and yet it hits hard.”

You chuckle. You feel the Anemo between your organs. “You’re right. Wind sucks to deal with.”

You had a streak of replacing your face-down cards. A three let you replace the five, the five let you replace the eight, before the eight gave you an ace. Already having an ace in the first card’s spot, you could do nothing but discard it. Bennett happily took it from the discard pile.

The first spot had a two. He already had one in the two’s place. discarded it, then looked to you. 

A long moment passed. “Hey, uh… Your turn.”

You blinked, then rubbed at your face to shake off the nerves again. 

“You’re okay?” He asked. He didn’t know if that was prying.

“I’m okay,” You said. Still preoccupied with your thoughts, you shift from your theoretic trolley problems. “Hypothetically, If you had a task that only you knew was going to be impossible, would you still go through with it?”

It gave him pause. “Well, is there any way for me to fix it?”

“No. Like it’s a destiny thing.” You thought it’d be easier to get your point across if you made up a scenario. “Like you’re meant to… Deliver medicine to dying people, but they’re all on mountains, and the person originally meant to do the job could fly, so there’s no way to get to them in time. Would you still climb?” Instead of taking the two from the discard, you draw a queen. You discard it. “And you have no gear. And falling is death.”

He plays along. “Do I know if I could get at least one of them?” 

You shake your head. “Destiny doesn’t say.”

“Then yes, of course!” He draws another two, then discards it. “It’s what an adventurer is meant to do.”

You take the two from the discard, replace the face down card, discard the jack. “Climbing one-handed? The threat of death constantly?” You pressed, just to be sure.

He laughed through his nose. “‘Threat of death’ is what the dads wrote on my birth certificate. I’ve had worse adventuring stories.” He draws a joker. You thought you took them out, but you must’ve forgotten to for this round. He discards it, and motions for you to go. “Maybe it’s a difference in what ‘impossible’ means. I’ve always been tasked with dangerous things, but I can get through them because I’ve learned to find success everywhere I look. I just pivot what success means.”

You pulled a king and mulled over which remaining spot of yours to place it. “How so?”

He waved around his hands in a way that you knew meant he was about to tell one of his adventuring stories. “I had this commission recently. A standard delivery from Good Hunter to Springvale, those are–”

“-I know,” You cut in. “er– sorry, continue.”

“-Oh! Perfect then. Okay, well the commission was meant to take the food there in time so it stays warm, but I was looking up and I’m like, ‘Hah! No chance. I see the storm clouds, the rain is threatening to fall the moment that chicken lands in my hands.’ so typical stakes for me, right?”

You decided to place the king in the four’s place. It was a three. You discarded it. “One might call it bad luck.”

He took it. “Right! It was a lost cause right from the get-go. And I feel bad, but instead, I think, well, how about I make it there with it dry instead? They can reheat a madame, but moisture would ruin the texture.” He replaced the face-down three’s spot and discarded the jack. “And you know what? Totally did that! Nearly dropped it a few times, and got a shakedown from two separate groups of treasure hoarder groups, but it wasn’t wet.”

You laughed out of shock, “Oh, wow.” You pulled a six, and then got a nine as the face-down card, and then discarded the jack. 

“Easily the most successful commission in a while. I walked up to that door beaming. Draff? Mmm… Not so much. He was very pissed at me, and maybe less than sober. So that made the victory a little less sweet.” He pulled an ace and discarded it. “Anyway, this is just to say stuff like that happens all the time for me. I just do what I can.”

Something in you told you that wasn’t the same for you. You’d still have to deal with the fallout of the failure no matter what. There’d still be blood on your hands and it was all because you were insufficient. That was just chicken , you reasoned, This is the fates of every nation, every god, every dragon. It just isn’t the same for me.

You wouldn’t tell him you disagreed. “That’s a good way to look at it,” You responded mildly.

You pull a four from the deck. You replace it with your king. The last face-down card you have is the ten. You tap the card to your chin in thought, before ultimately setting it into the discard pile. “Your turn.”

“Can’t kings go in any place? You can still put it in the ten’s place.”

“They can,” You said. “Your turn.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

He picked it up from the discard pile. He ultimately decided to set it down in the three’s place. It gave him a ten. Flipping over the ten space, there was already a ten there. He handed it off to you. 

You set it in place. “You still get a turn after me. Two can win a round of Trash,” You reminded. He knew, but you wanted to feel helpful. 

He pulled a queen. The last of the four queens in the deck, if you were counting correctly. He put it in the discard.

“I still can flip all of the cards?” He flipped over two fives, another eight, an ace, a king, and… the other joker. “Well, shucks. But hey! That’s the first time in this game I’ve flipped more than three cards over. My personal best.”

He stuck true to his word. He was one to make the impossible a little bearable. You wished you could have that luxury.

“Nine for me, ten for you?” You verified, clumping the cards together to start the re-shuffling process. He gave a confident thumbs up.

“This time’ll be the one, I can feel it,” he said. 

The round started again. He was doomed to lose, and he was still smiling at you. You doled the cards out again, waiting anxiously for nighttime to creep up over you.

“Hey,” He said, “hypothetically, would you get body-slammed by a slime for two-thousand Mora?”

Chapter Text

9:25 PM - Nuns give everyone a five-minute warning as you scribble down the last of your goodbye note, constantly checking back to the key you made to translate English letters to Teyvat Common (it was straightforward, the letters are mostly 1:1). Check the softly ticking pocket watch. Have a hard time with the time since it is not a digital clock.

9:30 - Infirmary lights are shut off and snuffed out for the night. Nuns walk around. Shuffling and chatter continue. 

9:31 - Lay down on the cot, the finished page pressed underneath you. From your place on the cot, watch the doorway of the infirmary.

9:36 - The rest of the sisters leave. 

10:00 - People quiet down. Silence is now constant. 

( Is it time? If you leave, will the others hear? Will they know? )

10:02 - Know the next time everyone sees your face, it will be on wanted posters. Resign yourself to the fate. Leave the goodbye note on the cot.

10:11 - Slip out of bed and sneak out of the infirmary, wearing no shoes, just socks. Take your bag with you. Prepare an excuse on your tongue about getting lost to find the bathroom just in case. 

10:13 - Cross through the halls until you find your way to the main area of the Cathedral. 

10:14 - Hear no sounds of heels clicking. Sneak through the benches, anyway. Always look back. 

10:18 - Make it to the basement entrance at the very front of the large room. Turn and see what you think is candlelight turning the corner you just came from.

10:19 - Race down the spiral steps as fast as possible, just in case. Make it to the bottom. See just how large the basement of the church was. See how the middle dips down a level in the middle and forces you to move to one of two sides. See the large white pillars going all the way down. See the lit-up Holy Lyre in the far distance. Press the watch to your ears to confirm the ticking is too small to pick up on. Check the watch. Don’t bother reading the time, just check how far the needles have moved. 

( This can’t possibly work. There’s not enough time. You’ll never make that far. )

10:23 - Slide down more stairs, making sure to stay underneath the railing to stay out of sight from anyone who might look upwards. Hear the various footsteps.

10:25 - Turn the corner. See the two possible ways to go, left or right. Force yourself to pick one side, not knowing which one had more people wandering around. Pick the left side. Stay low. always stay low.

( They never wandered around the beginning middle area in the game. This isn’t the game. It’s a marvel you weren’t caught immediately. )

10:30 - See a knight patrolling for the first time instead of just the footsteps. Have your heart thump so loud the force feels like it cracks your ribs. 

10:31 - Press yourself against an old antique desk they kept there for storage, and stop breathing. Feel the wind inside you tugging in the direction of the Lyre like an excited child leading you towards it. Listen to the knight’s steps. Hear how slow and meandering the footsteps are.

10:32 - Hear your heart beat louder than the footsteps when you think the knight might turn the corner and see you in the shadows. Stop breathing.

10:33 - Hear the knight walk back away. Slide a bit forward, check around the corner. See the back of their dark-haired head and the clinking of their armor walking away.

( They’re going to hear you the moment you take that step forward. They’re trained to guard. You move, and they’ll snap back around, and you’ll be dead. )

10:34 - Scurry to the other side of their walking path. Slide across the polished checkered floor using your fuzzy socks.

10:36 - Press yourself against the wall on the small staircase to a higher level. Peek over the side. See another knight at the end of the long hall, broken up by large crates and more dusty furniture, their back turned and still walking away.

( That space is too open, with no way to peek around without getting caught. If you continue down there, it’ll be bad. There’s such little cover. When the knight moves towards you, the hiding spots will make it obvious there’s a figure hiding behind them if they just turn their head a little. It’s too dangerous, too risky– )

10:37 - Think you hear footsteps coming closer from the knight you just passed behind you. Make it force you to move through the long hallway. Start by crawling down the center with the largest crate blocking the view down the hall. Peek over. See the knight is still turned away, but is getting to the end too fast. 

( You can’t go back, you can’t make it all the way forward. Are the spaces in front of you better to hide? Are the spaces behind you? Could you still move back to the stairs? )

10:38 - Panic about if you stay there behind the crate or move. Notice a bit further up there’s a small section of stairs leading down to a different area. Notice the guard still hasn’t turned around just yet.

10:40 - Press yourself at the wall at the base of the small section of stairs, between the open space of the new area and the open space of the old area. Hear some shuffling in the new area, but see nothing in sight yet.

( You are between two visible sections. One will definitely see you, one is less likely, but it’s still open and obvious. Peeking over either way is a death sentence. You can only wait here, now, betting on the world’s worst gamble that you don’t get caught. )

10:43 - See the growing light from the top of the stairs as the lantern the knight held came closer. Stop breathing. 

10:44 - See the knight from above finally come into view. Have another heart attack over it. Stop breathing.

10:45 - Watch as the knight passes on by carelessly.

(Are the footsteps from the lower section coming this way? God, you were going crazy. Sometimes footsteps sounded like your own heartbeats. )

10:47 - Slide up the stairs, letting the polished stone dig into your thighs, stomach, and forearms. Peek over. Watch the knight slowly walk down the strip. Look to the other side. See stacks of chairs, extra cots, extra desks. 

10:48 - Slip down the area on socked feet and shaking hands, all fours like an animal. 

10:51 - Turn the corner. Peek into the next section, filled with half-bookshelves. See no knights. fear that they are just around the corner. Hug the wall and crawl through it. 

( They aren’t on set paths. They aren’t lenient like the heist mission in the game. They are trained for this and are sporadic with their movements. This was such a terrible idea. The moment you lock eyes with any of them, you’re screwed. )

10:55 - Make it to the other side with no knights entering. Only hear the footsteps coming from the next area, which is located up a higher set of stairs. Understand this is the final section. Understand there are even fewer areas to hide than the rest of the basement. Understand it is the worst of it. 

( That’s not a head coming this way, is it? Is that a desk or a person? Damnit. Damnit. Is it a person? It’s not moving, but if a knight was staring at you, they’d still themselves to check. You were caught. You were caught and they’d kill you. )

10:56 - Press your stomach down at the top of the stairs and peek over. See only old writing desks blocking your vision and large pillars holding up the tall ceiling. Still hear footsteps. Be unable to discern where they are or how many it is. 

( Why did you think this could work? This would take even more skill and luck than the traveler’s heist, and in that game, they could walk within the eyesight of the guards. This was far more complicated. )

10:57 - …

( There is no way you can do this. Two nights, with no corners to hide behind, only half-desks, and the excess light of the Holy Lyre area spilling out, casting long shadows. You were going to get caught. You were not going to have any good possible explanation. You’d be held in jail until Kaeya came to seal in your execution. You can’t do it. There’s no way. )

10:58 - Make a run for it.

11:00 - Press yourself inside the cut-out section of a desk that already had a chair pushed into it. Try to push the chair out without making noise so you can fit inside. Have the chair make a small noise anyway. Have your body grow both cold and hot at the same time when it does. Press yourself into the space. There is no other option.

11:01 - Swear the footsteps quiet for a moment. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing. Stop breathing.

11:03 - Hear the knight move. Never see them walk in front of the desk. Only see the opaque stone railing and the pushed-out chair in view. Hear them move away. 

11:04 - Check the time on the pocket watch. Fumble with the reading since it is dark and still not a digital clock. Hear the soft clicking of it. Think it’s loud, even if you know it’d be too quiet for anyone to hear unless it was right next to their ears like how it was now.

11:05 - Finally make out the time. Hear the knights walk past, but still linger too close to the area to be completely safe. Wait until when you think it could be the right time.

11:10 - Hear the knights finally leave the area.

11:11 - Check the watch one last time. Find it funny that it's the time associated with wish-making. You couldn't pray to anything because you were fairly sure the prayers would just go back to Venti. It wasn’t time for that yet. 

11:42 - Breathe too hard, too fast. Worry it might be too much noise. Try to keep your breath steady. Keep yourself calm. Understand it is the final step, and then it'll be fine. 

( There’s no way this would work. They’ll find you out. It’ll be futile. You should’ve told him you couldn’t do this. You weren’t the right person for this job. They’ll know the moment they show up it’s not right. It’s not real. )

11:44 - Fail to keep your breath and pulse in check. Wait a long time with your hands on your neck to force your pulse back down. Never stop counting. One. Two. Three…

( You were dead from the start. It always ends in a roadblock, you’ve known this since the beginning. You never had a chance in the first place. If only you knew. If you knew, you wouldn’t have taken the path in the rain. If you knew the twins didn’t exist, you wouldn’t have gone to that beach. If you knew the placement of the bell was right beneath the cat's teeth, you’d never suggest the plan. You were always meant to fail. This would get messed up, too. )

11:47 - Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing. 

( Don’t let it be you. Please, don’t let it be you. Anyone else. Have anyone else do it. ) 

11:52 - Check the watch again. Spend more time decoding the clock. Wish it was digital. Finally decode it. Decide it's time.

( Just play the part. Just play the part. )

12:00 AM - Force yourself to move. Slip out from under the desk, avoiding the chair. See the pillars and the other furniture, and the knights walking away. 

12:01 - Crawl through the threshold. Make no noise. Feel your heartbeat. Hear nothing as your ears tune everything out.

12:03 - Press against the nearest pillar's base. Free your hands up from your bag and shake out your nerves. 

12:04 - Watch for the knights. See their backs still turned. Look at the light of the "Holy Lyre Der Himmel". 

12:05 - Run.

~~~

The Holy Lyre, up close, was quite unremarkable. You had the image of the fixed-up version in your head, with the pale gold and bright glowing strings. Instead, logically, it was the old version. Like a white cat covered in soot, it was best described as comically neglected— The wood was dark as night, the white gold harbored no yellow tint and was just a matted silver. The only turquoise blue was a small gem in the center. 

The room was silent. White marble tinted light orange by candlelight surrounded you. You walked up to it easily. No one followed. In the cutscene, the traveler had to run to be thwarted, so you hadn’t expected to have this much time with it.

It made you uneasy. 

( Would this work? Are they coming? Are they waiting? Do they know? )

You didn’t want to get caught. Cupping both hands underneath the sides, you lifted the lyre. It felt a bit heavy. No mechanisms went off, and no alarm bells rang. The wind was tugging away from the lyre. 

Oh, god. You’d walk out with it? You’d walk out with it. That’s all there was left to do.

You didn’t know how you’d leave like this. The game never explained how they got out. You figured the traveler just ran and dodged every guard. You couldn’t replicate that part, though. This wasn’t quite in the plan in your head. 

You turned your back from the podium, tucking it under your arm. Looking out from the small crack through the room, the guards still weren’t looking. To them, this was just another night. You turned to the side of the room just to make sure they wouldn’t catch your movement.

You couldn’t even take a step down the little flat stairs leading to the lyre before you felt the stab in your back. At the back of your neck, right on the bones of the spine. 

You gasped. It was the last breath you took for an inexorably long time.

You felt the electricity jerk down the skin. It filled every section of your body with hot tingling. It overpowered the wind, the way it took you over all at once in one awful, awful shock. Your vision went fuzzy, and so did your mind. You tried to scream again. You couldn’t. You’re eyes stayed open. Your body stayed jerking. Every single muscle constricted, forcing your arms back to your body. 

You were on the floor, watching as the lyre flew out in front of you. Mentally, you watched it crack and shatter into pieces like glass shards. Physically, you saw it get snatched by black-gloved hands right before the contact. It didn’t make a sound, and neither did you. Your mouth opened, but not even a breath came from it.

The Cicin Mage stared at you with a smile. She adjusted her dull green hair beneath her hood, kneeling down to you.

You tried to lift your head from the cold marble, but the electricity continued. The pain kept twisting. You wanted to take the lyre back. You wanted to show her you were trying to take the lyre back. In some way, you thought she knew that.

You still couldn’t breathe. You wanted to so badly. You didn’t want to die.

She held the lyre with one hand. She leaned in closer, just when your throat finally began to flex, and your fingers could wiggle. With her other hand, she brought her pointer finger to her lips, slowly letting the fingertip trail down her Cupid’s bow as she made the shushing motion. She didn’t just look happy— She looked grateful.

“You will make a wonderful scapegoat, little church mouse,” She whispered, her voice high with a hiss to it, “May your legs work well enough to run.”

She was gone like nothing. A flash of purple. It made you think you’d get shocked again. You suppressed the urge to scream because of it. The pain, the tingling, and the inability to feel where any of your body parts were, remained.

They’d be there any moment. They’d be there any moment. You still had to make it there. You still had to run. 

The wind felt frantic in its attempt to dissipate the shock from your body, but when the Electro and Anemo collided it felt like fireworks getting set off in between the meat on your bones. You could smell smoke from inside your nostrils. 

You could move your feet to stand, but barely. Your heart pounded, and you could feel the electricity moving in that organ, too. You wavered on your feet, slamming into the wall. You couldn’t make it like this, but you needed to. 

( Thunder cracks far too close to your location. You can feel the vibrations in your chest. The living nature in you tells you to be safe rather than sorry. )

Your gut told you to run. You ran. You couldn’t hide. 

It took a second for the knights to register the figure writhing on the ground, squirming and crawling desperately to the nearby pillar. But when they saw a pedestal with nothing on it, it was easy to tell what was going on.

“Hey? Hey —!” The nearest voice shouted. “Intruder!” You could hear a chorus of voices piping up from around the basement. “Where? Where are they? Move to the exit! Arrest them, arrest them!” They yelled.

“Return the Lyre, thief!” You heard the thudding of feet just as you got to the pillar, your hand extending to your bag. 

You felt more pain in your back as you were slammed to the ground. Your entire body shuddered. Now having the ability to, you yelped. Your lungs couldn’t fill, the way the knight on top compressed you down. You heard the sound of your head hitting the stone once more. Your vision went fuzzy, again. You never closed your eyes, but you couldn’t see with all the static. 

You were so close to the straps of the bag, and a hand grappled your arm roughly, bending it back behind you. The shocks of electricity didn’t stop. Your arm felt hot, or broken, or both. 

More orders were barked. More pairs of hands were on you. You were forced upright, your toes barely staying on the ground the way you were lifted. You let out another cry.

The pain from the guards started to feel like simple scratches compared to your insides. Internally, the wind started filling your veins again, trying to get rid of the Electro. It kept coming into contact with it, and it kept reacting. The popping felt like red hot irons searing into the layers of your body. The knights had to keep readjusting their holds to keep you in their arms because the force you were twitching made you almost come loose over and over.

The Anemo swirled into your chest again, too quickly, too fast, filling your lungs too much. You wanted the Anemo to leave, so it did. Neither you nor the guards was expecting the release of energy. You spasmed. It exploded.

The light emitted was bright enough to illuminate a good chunk of the nearby area. You could see the colors of the books down the stairs you came from, and the knight that guarded the long stretch of hall standing at the base of the steps in shock. The knights skidded back into the desk behind you, one still upright and the other knocked to their knees. Even with full armor, both of them crumpled. You fell, too. Your hands hit the floor, but you had no strength to hold your body up, so you continued to fall to your elbows. 

You had a flurry of coughs and gags. Everything in your body felt too light and too heavy. You slumped to the side of the pillar, flailing your arm forward one last time to loosely catch the bag and slide it towards you.

“They’re… augh, armed with a vision!” The knights behind you shouted. “In the front of the lyre!” You heard the sound of swords unsheathing clumsily. Metal sliding into place. 

The guard at the base of the steps advanced upwards. “Here! They’re here!”

You couldn’t stand. You were surrounded. Everything hurt, and it was time to go. You begged your thoughts to get sent to the bard sitting on the railing outside of the church. 

You didn’t trust it on mental prayers alone. “Ven–” You didn’t have enough air in your lungs. You clutched at your chest, scrambling to heave more air. “ Venti! ” you screamed. 

First, the knight was at the top of the stairs, with a sword in their hand. Then, they were slammed to the side with enough force to knock them into the guard rails. Green light flickered and dissipated in the shape of feathers. They tried to ready their sword, and that was knocked away from them, too.

The weapon clattered over in front of you. An arrow clattered with it. You could see the form of a green cape now blocking your view of the stairs.

Relief flooded at how immediate he was there. “The– My bag–” You breathed. He was already sliding an arm underneath your torso, pulling you up to half on your knees. You could already see the bag breaking up into little white particles. 

Actually, you saw everything break up into little white particles. There was no more ground beneath you. For a long moment, there was nothing. A white void. Silence.

You still felt the pressure of Venti’s arm coiled right in the middle of your stomach and your body pulled up to his hip. He didn’t say anything. You heard the buzz of his presence like an overhead lamp.

And then, all at once, there was a world again. Darkened cobblestone was in your vision. You could tell you were just outside the church since the Barbatos statue was clear and in view. Nausea, pain, and electricity jumbled inside your skin, and your head throbbed. You gasped.

“Oh,” You heaved, “My god okay, I’m alive–”

He lowered you to the ground to reposition you. You were so glad getting held like a sack of potatoes was temporary since your insides could not handle the way his arm jabbed up into your organs. “Can you stand? Move?”

You tried to get words out between coughs. “Fucking Cicin Mage, I didn’t–” the Anemo spasmed. You reached out when he moved to pull you up again. Your arms moved over his shoulders and he stood up, now without your stomach acid feeling like it’ll explode. “She didn’t do that before. I can’t move my legs, I can’t it– It’s just pain.” You sounded aggressive, but all you felt was panic. 

He tried to sound calm. “That’s alright. Just hold on. Wouldn’t wanna drop you mid-air, right?””

Your eyes widened. “We’re still–?”

You already felt yourself getting tugged along as he hopped onto the top of the railing. You dug your hands into the fabric of his cape as the wind current made you both burst upwards, higher than the statue. The view would be beautiful if you hadn't shut your eyes tightly and stopped breathing again.

You pried your eyes open. You were facing away, seeing what was behind. The rooftops with red clay tiles swept past, though, in the depths of the night, the color looked black. Chimneys were close enough to you that a few feet lower you’d kick the stone. Every time he got too close, a current was always there to pull him up. You could see the glider’s feathers wiggle as they cut through the air. Sometimes, a blue braid tickled your cheek, but for the most part, it thwacked the back of your head.

It wasn’t the same as the dragon. It was terrifying, and you still hurt, but the air felt breathable from how low you were to the ground. The gliding didn’t have the same sharp twists and intense pulls. Your body was far easier to shift and correct as Venti glided because, unlike Dvalin, Venti was doing everything he could to keep you with him, and could shift the weight accordingly. The drafts were far tolerable. And far quieter.

The stars aren’t familiar , you thought. You couldn’t make out any constellations. They were the clearest you had ever seen the sky, clear enough to see different hues of blues and reds within the clusters of little dots, and none of it was yours. Not even the north start Polaris could guide you home at this point.

You heard shouting from the direction of the cathedral. You wanted to ask how far you had left. You did not. 

Long, tense, frightening moments passed by. You pulled your arms tighter when the glider swerved to the side, and your view dipped down below chimneys, rooves, and second floors. The wind current dissipated, and the glider slowed to a feather’s pace. Your feet touched the ground at the side of an empty, skinny road. Your arms slipped off Venti’s neck, and you drifted to the ground, panting. 

Venti reached his arm to his back and clicked a section of the glider’s harness, and it dissipated into particles. He, too, slid to the ground, catching his breath. 

“Our getaway spot is just around the corner, and so are our pursuers,” He gave a weak smile. “Has the Electro dissipated?”

Even if you wanted to stay, you feared the crash from when the adrenaline stopped letting the worst of the aching stay numbed. Even with adrenaline, your body was barely able to act like the internal jittering wasn’t there. You shook your head.

“It will soon. Let’s get the show on the road.”

You tested your feet. You could feel them on the stone and the fuzziness of your socks, but the muscles were too weak, still. Getting one leg propped in front of you to push yourself up was too slow, intense, and agonizing of a process. Venti was already on it, hoisting you back up. He kept the two of you moving in the dark of the streets.

You had to force a lot of thoughts out of your mind. Too many. It was the same as your fear of your body shutting down, you mentally didn’t want to crash. The edges of the thoughts danced within your internal dialogue. About making such a risky and difficult decision. About all the things that would go wrong. About how the lamp posts that passed by had the same orange tints as the ones by the creek. About your death. About your death. About your death.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” He whispered. “This’d be the part of the play where someone would get murdered.”

“Is this really the time to try and freak me out?” You replied even quieter. You turned your head behind to check no one was right behind you. “I just got electrocuted, we are being chased by guards , and now you’re laughing at me.”

He tried to stifle himself, but the giggles still echoed a little in the silent street. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll pay you back for all the trouble soon.”

“With a song?”

“You sound so bitter when you say that,” He tilted his neck towards you, his cheek squishing against the side of your head. You tried not to look into it. “How was your first time gliding?”

“...Intense. And, I mean I still– still haven’t glided yet. You were the one who was.”

“Shame you got out of it because your legs got busted. I was thinking of teaching you some tricks on the fly.”

You don’t know why you agreed to glide untrained for that section of the plan. You were almost glad the electrocution made you immobile so you didn’t need to deal with crashing and burning on a glider. Almost.

“A shame,” You whispered back. If he asked, you would blame your exhaustion for the lack of enthusiasm the response had.

The darkness of the road shifted. The sound of chatter grew as well as the frequency of people passing by, or sitting on benches. Lights and lanterns appeared in windows, bards posted themselves tambourines and lutes, and before you knew it, you were in the outside seating. Wooden tables filled with drinking mugs, half-finished poker games, and wine bottles that had paper labels of pretty dandelions and cursive lettering on them that you could not read. 

The crowd did not help your nerves. They were at the peak of their energy, and they showed it. It was good because they paid no mind to you nor Venti, it was bad because you were going to implode if you had to take in more sensory input. 

He slipped you two through the people and tables. Despite being a popular bard, no one greeted him. You heard his inherent buzzing of energy far more than before. On the parts of skin, you made contact with him, you could feel it being more frenzied than before. Like the elemental particles that made up his form were all anxious. 

You automatically looked for a missing poster for a twin tacked on the notice board next to their door. There wasn’t one.

“Here we go,” He exhaled. His hand pressed to the iron handle. You watched him regain his grin. If you thought too hard, you could almost see his eyes forcefully brighten.

The warmth enveloped you. Your stomach twisted.

“Hi!” Venti cheerfully called the moment the door shut right behind with a soft click. “We’d like a seat at your, ahem… Least conspicuous table?”

Chapter Text

Diluc could take a long sigh of relief when midnight hit. The Angel’s Share was empty– save for the few stragglers dispersed across the tables– and quiet, save for the sounds of merriment on the other side of the wooden walls. It was why, when he wasn’t preoccupied with his other duties, he always insisted on taking up the late bartending shifts. 

Twelve was the acme of the night. No matter how many windows he opened, the bar got crowded, hot, and uncomfortable, so when the bards got sick of it, the swaths of drunkards followed the sound of their lutes moving out of the tavern. It kept the temperature down inside, it allowed him to clean up any broken glass or suspicious puddles of liquid without hassle, and, most importantly, it gave him ample time to pretend to wipe down the same glass and zone the hell out. 

He knew that bartending wasn’t supposed to be peaceful. The job encompassed working with intoxicated people, in a city that prided itself on doing what you wanted. Those things mix to form pretty obstreperous types. He was well prepared for all of that. Behind the bar, he could still lose himself in the busy work and the chaos. He’d spent his teens in the same workplace, sliding the same liquors off of the shelves, filling the same buckets of ice, and dealing with the same sorts of people. Large crowds on late Fridays spilling over the bar and yelling orders in a less than friendly tone was nothing to him anymore. He was always the sort of person who would rather bury himself in work than focus on the larger problems of life, anyway.

He thought about the boring details– about wine shipments. Wine shipments were slightly off. They had been since Stormterror, so he’d already known and adjusted extra costs for damages or the lower demands for wine. Most of the issues were from harvests themselves, and because of a slight error in just how much was lost, his maids had the added issue of figuring out how to stuff and hide hundreds of empty wine bottles within cupboards and cellar spaces. But it didn’t bother him. They’d get used up eventually.

The Abyss Order was on maybe a bit higher of a priority, but he treated all of his problems— both boring financial paperwork and vigilante crimefighting— the same, it only depended on what he could do in the moment. A weight had been lifted off of him when the Knights of Favonius had temporarily ceased their pause on the Darknight Hero because they didn’t have the people for it anymore, so it gave him a lot more progress. He was still a bit pissed that he didn’t know much more about why the Abyss messing with the Leylines since he first made his way to the temples that dawn. He’d manage to kill off another one of those godforsaken mages at least. He didn’t like the idea of wasted time, which that trip had a lot of. 

He tried to be optimistic. He was lucky to get back at the time he did. He had to spend a lot of time sneaking around the Knight’s teams who’d also been at the temple, and he could admit it was a bit of an ego thing that he always made sure to put himself in front of Favonius Knights. But they weren’t as favored as he was. The storm that hit the area never hindered him, and yet the sounds of their clamorous clinking armor got farther and farther behind. He didn't believe in divine favor, but he did believe in good riddance. For the first time in many, many late-night tavern shifts, Diluc had none of the usual suspects sitting in front of the bar. The counter space that always had smooth wooden cups or sparkling wine glasses twirling in the hands of Favonius workers was now empty. 

He assumed this respite would continue until two AM. He’d polish the counters and tables a third time over, worry about taxes and dragons, and do his version of relaxing. 

And then the door swung open. Two people walked in. To the left, Mondstadt’s peer-imposed best bard. To the right, what he first thinks is a drunk person, but is actually the now conscious body of the figure he found bleeding on the steps of the Winery like a week ago. 

He didn’t know who to stare at more. He switched between the two as his eyes dilated back from autopilot. Mentally, he tore up every single schedule he just figured out in his brain.

~~~

You couldn’t quite figure out what Diluc’s expression was. Your vision was fuzzy, your heart was in your ears, and wind and electricity made your body unable to function, so a lot of factors were making it hard to tell. You could see how red his hair was through it all, at least. And also that he wasn’t wearing a big black coat.

Diluc didn’t even question Venti’s words. “The… Upstairs would be less conspicuous.” 

Venti was already dragging you towards the steps. He waved with one hand which forced you to pull yourself up more by yourself. “Great, splendid, we’ll see to you soon!” Diluc’s head slowly followed you both. 

You crawled most of the way up the spiral staircase, as fast as you could. Bending your legs was terrible. At one point, wind spasmed from the strain, and you almost banged your knee onto the hard edge of one of the steps. It had been a while since a spasm led to nausea.

Right as you got to the beginning section of the balustrade overlooking the bar, you both heard the loud bang of the tavern door swinging open. Venti caught your shoulders before you hit the floor, the both of you frozen for a moment. You slid down to meet the wood, your knees beneath you as you flattened yourself to the ground. Venti crouched down as well, but horrifyingly, still moved down the side of the railing to get to the back. You opened your mouth to say something, then clamped your hand over your mouth. 

“Master Diluc,” The unknown voice sounded surprised to see him. The knights were so, so, so close, it was like they were talking in your ears, “We’re tracking two suspects– thieves. Have you seen anyone around tonight?”

( Speaking could kill you. Breathing could kill you. )

You didn’t want to stay where you were in case he had a purpose for moving to the back. Despite your fears, you followed his movements. You used your elbows, mostly, since your arms still felt weak and tingly. With how low you were, you couldn’t see anything over the little rectangular cases of hanging vine plants set up right next to the railing to spill out over the sides. 

Diluc’s voice didn’t bother trying to cover up his disinterest. “Why mobilize that many guards? What’s going on?”

Venti stopped. He sat up against the small door in the middle of the back wall. You slid over, trying to push yourself up. You could barely breathe as you moved shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

( You were going to get caught, a voice in your head said. It never stopped chanting that the entire time. )

Your head tilted high enough to see the knight step forward, and a patch of red standing in place, “The Holy Lyre has been stolen. The thieves got out using gliders.”

The front knight quickly glanced around, his head looking upwards briefly. You had just enough time to push yourself back into the door like you could merge into the wood and shadows if you did it hard enough.

( Did he see? Will he walk up here? Can we even run anymore? Where else would we go? You were going to get caught. )

Diluc made a noise that sounded almost like a scoff. “Really? How… strange.”

The knights agonizingly described you. You kept shaking. You wanted to crawl under the skin of the floorboards, away from the tavern. Your body lifted and fell with every breath you tried to keep under control, but you were losing it even more than inside the church. The hand that you kept on your mouth grew teeth marks as you bit down on your fingers. You focused on your insides, feeling the wind, trying to somehow compel it to for once, stop moving. It didn’t. 

( Your earbuds fell out of place, and you caught them to stuff them into your pockets. The music could still be heard, up until your ears filled with water. The phone’s light was still underneath the water for just a moment. You could see it in the split second before your eyes squeezed shut. )

You didn’t listen to their talks. You’re eyes flicked to Venti. He was leaning over far more than you, slightly adjusting his head left and right to get a better look with his captivated eyes. When he met your gaze, his expression of amusement hardened into a look of urgency.

The Anemo rushed to your chest just as he slipped his hand into yours. For a moment, you thought the energy released. You thought you heard the burst, the flash of light, the nausea.  You dug your fingers against the back of his hand until your knuckles turned red. He didn’t even wince. But it was like water hitting a dam. The energy stopped, dispersed, and slowly quieted down. It circled the skin around your stomach until, like a rolling wheel on a flat surface, lost momentum and teetered to a stop when gravity overtook it. The Anemo was back to a silent breeze.

His other hand tugged at the one that you were still biting in your mouth. You let yourself retract the flesh from your teeth, pressing your lips together and trying not to bite your tongue instead. You allowed your nose to make a slight sound with every deep inhale you took, otherwise, you couldn’t get air out at all. He squished his cheek to yours, his head leaning forward, back to look over onto the conversation.

“...An Anemo vision wielder,” You started to hear them again. “Strong enough that three knights have been injured for it. Are you sure you’ve seen nothing?”

You saw the red flash of hair slip over the counter. “The crowd’s too large to pick out particular figures. But now that you mention it, I might’ve seen something. Here, I’ll show you the direction…”

You watched Venti’s head slowly lean away from you, following the movements of the figures, until you heard the door shut just a few feet underneath you. Smiling, he looked at you.

Click . Silence. Gasp.

You breathed in so fast you started coughing. Venti pushed a knee up while still keeping hold of your hand which was slowly losing the grip it used to have.

“They won’t come back inside,” You informed. You let your hand fall. The wind stayed calm. “Thank you. That was awful,” you inhaled again, “Like my god, thank you. Is your–?”

He shook his hand off. “--It’s fine,” He replied. “I doubt you left a mark.” He was already helping to pull you up. “Remind me to give you lessons on chilling out.”

You walked behind him, using the railing for support as you both made your way back to the first floor. “I am– I’m– I’m freaking out the normal amount in this situation,” You tried to defend. You had a hard time believing that, though. You logically knew that you wouldn’t get caught, and yet you still somehow let that happen. You pretended to not feel humiliated. “What I really need is lessons on controlling the stupid wind that makes me feel every organ in my body non-stop forever.”

He turned around to walk backward, facing you. “That’s what I just said!”

In the time it took you to half-slide back down the stairs, Venti had already found himself a spot on one of the many open velvet cushioned stools. Your eyes searched the room, but none of the people still there looked particularly conscious. If they were, they were thankfully minding their own business. You used the wall to help move until you couldn’t, and then shuffled to the stool next to him. 

“We…” Your voice came out quiet. You weren’t sure what your words were going to be even as you spoke. “...Really did that. That actually worked.”

“Of course we did. See? My fairytale self knew exactly what needed to be done.”

You gave him a look. He found that incredibly funny. “Okay,” he waved his hand, “well I didn’t know everything , but here I did, and here we came out even more prosperous.”

If you didn’t get magically tased so hard you stopped breathing, you almost could agree. “I kind of can’t deal with that,” You admitted.

He was fully on the counter, sliding his stomach to the other side to reach for a bottle on the underside of the bar.”Oh, I know how I can deal with it.” His voice sounded more nasally from being upside-down. He had one leg up and everything. 

You weren’t all that surprised about that. You crossed your arms and set them on the counter, resting your head on top. Your thumbs rubbed the skin near your elbow. “Uh… Diluc will just tell you to put those back, you know.” 

You heard glass clinking around. “Ooh! It’s cold! Since when did Master Diluc have an ice box?”

You let him have his fun. You were more focused on soothing your nerves and thinking about what next to say. After all, you knew for a fact the tavern owner would be in need of an explanation from you. 

You sat straight up when you heard the door open again. The sounds of the crowd were raucous and briefly spilled into the room. You first noticed when he walked through that his black coat from the game was now settled on his shoulders. You nearly flinched when you saw someone follow into the building behind him (thinking you were wrong in saying the knights wouldn’t return) but released the tension in your body when the other man was in no armor, looked incredibly plain, and slipped under the bar– Whats-his-face the usual bartender. 

Venti craned his neck and twisted back up to sit on the counter’s edge. His canines were still sunk into the cork of the bottle. The condensation of the glass made his hands wet. Diluc crossed his arms. Unlike the game, he didn’t tell Venti to put the thing down. The bard slid it away from him, holding his hands up like he just performed a disappearing magic trick.

You spoke up “I– We can explain.”

“Somewhere better. You two, follow me.” He leaned to the side to meet the eyes of the other bartender, “Charles, I’ll try not to take too long.”

The man slipped the stolen bottle back into its place. “Don’t worry about it,” Charles replied. The way they acted made you think this wasn’t their first time with an incident like this. 

The three of you went through the back door. The crowd could still be heard, but no one was in the area behind the tavern, and for good reason– it was just mildly unsightly wine storage space. The wall of Mondstadt was right there, with large amounts of barrels and crates leaning against it. The only light nearby was whatever was spilling from the outdoor seating. It did not reach the top of the wall. You couldn’t tell where the wall ended, even with the stars. It felt daunting. You tried not to look up.

You were crouched on the grass, your arm leaning against the barrel Venti propped himself up on. Diluc peered around the side of the building to check no one was watching, and then stood in front of the both of you. 

He looked at you first. “Seems we meet again.”

You stiffened, focusing on looking at his gloves. The insides were turned to hold each side of his coat's opening, but the red palm peeked out on the edges. “Ah– Uh, hello.”

Venti lightly kicked his feet. One of his hands was in the process of undoing his braids. “You’re acquainted? That’s news to me.”

“That- well…” you trailed off.

“They showed up at Dawn Winery a few days ago,” Diluc filled in instead. “They screamed bloody murder and then passed out when I touched them.”

You perked up. “That figure in the grapevines was you?”

“You don’t…?” He paused, deciding that made sense. “Yeah. It was me.”

It would make sense, you thought. Who else would be out that late at night? “Sorry. I thought you were hurting me.”

Venti hummed. “Well, then that saves one introduction,” He extended his hand to motion to you, his cape draping over your back when he gave your name, “An outlander and my new closest confidant.”

“I should’ve figured he was the one to drag you into such an irrational stunt. You don’t look quite…” The look he gave made you increasingly aware of how much fidgeting you did, “...Made for the life of crime. But I’ll admit I’m impressed you came out of it at least half-alive.”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. But in the time it took you to consider whether or not you were supposed to take offense or take it as a compliment, Diluc focused his attention on the bard. “Speaking of which, you should start talking. The Holy Lyre is a sacred artifact, but it’s monetarily worthless. Why bother trying to take it?”

Venti fluttered his fingers on his chin, pretending to ponder the answer. Diluc didn’t seem amused. “You really want to know that answer? He asked. “Even if it means the Knights of-”

“I could care less about what the Knights of Favonius do. Why take it?”

Venti spoke almost immediately. “The Fatui,” He said casually.

There was a long silence. Diluc stared, his brows furrowed. “The Fatui what?” He finally forced him to elaborate.

“They were the ones who were going to steal it first.” He said it like it was obvious. “They had a plan to swipe it at midnight, you see. Currently, they have a Holy Lyre in their hands, heading off to some generic villain lair god knows where.”

“So you didn’t take it.”

Venti smiled. “I’ll get there. Anyway, they want to use it to summon Dvalin.” His head turned to you, “They said they think the Fatui wants to kill him, but personally? I think it’s for something bigger. Something that would make worse waves in Mondstadt. But for whatever the reason, they have a way to revive its power. We just need to track them down.”

Diluc folded his arms. “Uhuh,” He didn’t sound particularly wowed, “Right. Sure– And how do you know all this?”

Venti’s voice had a flair of drama to it. “Well, an outlander from another world has come to give their gift of foresight, of course.”

Your nails dug a bit deeper into the skin. You never planned out what he’d tell Diluc or how detailed the explanation would be, especially regarding your origins. Going the route of calling it an ability would make sense (because saying all of this was once fiction to you would require a lot more explanation) but this direction meant a lot more fibbing. What do I say if he tries to ask further?

Diluc squinted at him as Venti fluttered his eyes. “You need to start clarifying if what you say is metaphorical or not.”

“It isn’t!” He protested. “They know the future!” He addressed you by name, “Tell him you know the future.”

Both eyes looked to you. You drew out a breath. “He’s… Right,” You started slow. Lying of omission would be easier than adding anything more. “I do know the future, or– well. It’s complicated.”

You stopped to see if he’d say something, but he didn’t. When the silence stretched a few seconds more, his eyes raised and his head gave a nudging motion, which made you want to fill the silence immediately, despite your fears. “The foresight follows only one… what’s the word, uh… Type? Version? Of events. And the starting circumstances got stupidly messed up, so not everything is accurate anymore.” You took a breath, “You met me on the night I first-” Drowned and died horribly? “...showed up in the world. When I saw you, it made everything sort of fall into place. I knew I saw you before, later in time.”

His silence took a different form. He crossed his arms, closing his eyes. Now, you felt talking more would break his concentration, so you fought the tension you had with saying anything else.

“So that’s what you were doing that night,” He finally responded.

You brightened. “You believe me?” 

He didn’t laugh, but you could hear the dry humor in his tone. “This whole situation is already entirely ridiculous, and I’ve heard worse explanations.”

You nodded. It took some sort of weight off your shoulder. “In the old version of this– this timeline, the t–” not the traveler, “ We , went on the same heist and the Fatui took the lyre right at the last second,” You felt the need to clarify, “It’s the reason why we tried it again.”

“So you knew what would happen, and still didn’t steal it before them?”

You looked at Venti. Venti looked at you. Wordlessly, you gave him a look as if to say, please tell me you picked it up .

Your borrowed makeshift bag rematerialized in his hands. The white particles conjoined together to form the stitches and patches on the outside. You sighed in relief to see the thing tangibly again.

“Well…” He snapped the clasps open and dove his hands into the bag’s interior. It didn’t take long to pull out since the lyre took most of the space. 

It was the same as you saw it before. You worried it broke or cracked during the theft, but the darkened wood and matted silver were intact. The Holy Lyre’s unimpressive degeneration looked unimaginably sacrosanct in the moment. 

“We did, actually.”

…

…

…

…

…

“So… We’re swapping it with a fake?” 

“Genius, right? It’s the best of both worlds. It doesn’t deviate much in your fate, the lyre never touches Fatui hands, and we get an infallible way of tracking them down.”

You ran your hands up your arms. It made sense to you. Except for whatever the word infallible meant. “But I still have to do the heist, right?”

He snickers. “You’re the one who practically lives in the infirmary. When is lights out?”

It took you a second to get the numbers in your head, even though the sisters always announced the time before it happened. “Uh… Ten, ten-thirty?” 

”Perfect. You could leave the second everyone is asleep. It would get you earlier than midnight, which is when you said the Fatui show up. Swap the lyre, wait for them to show up, and then you go through the motions of taking it. They’ll be so focused on getting it back that they won’t bother to check the details.”

“Okay, so pretend I have the ability to swap a lyre from a well-lit area undetected. How am I supposed to know when I have to go back up to the podium?”

A small silver object was already being thrown at you. You had to scramble to catch it when your first instinct was to block it with your forearms. The chain of the pocketwatch snagged your fingers, and it swung from side to side. “Behold,” said Venti, “the keeper of time.”

You clicked the button at the top to make it pop open. The hands ticked silently. You slipped the chain over your head. “And… The fake Lyre?”

“We’ll just use my lyre. It’s ornate enough that they won’t tell the difference. And, bonus, look at this.” 

The Lyre materialized in the air and he caught it with one hand, giving it up to you. Your hands hesitated on whether or not you were supposed to hold it or just touch it. You settled on touching, slipping your fingers across the other end of the wood. You felt a buzzing to it. The same as his presence in the sky. Some weird frequency that didn’t quite work like Anemo. There was more pressure there, and it felt a lot louder. Your own wind pooled at your fingertips to interact with it.

“Woah,” You couldn’t help but say. 

“My own elemental energy has rubbed off on it. But to a thief, it’s no different from the holy energy that’s expected of the, eheh, saintly Holy Lyre Der Himmel.”

You didn’t have to remove your hands, the lyre disintegrated in a blink. You wondered if that skill of making items disappear was something you’d eventually be able to learn, but you decided it wasn’t the time to ask. “What happens after the Fatui leave? I can’t run through the guards. And the story breezes through what the traveler did.”

He answered your question with a different question. “What did you do during the storm when you got caught in that cyclone?” 

“I…” It was obvious what answer he wanted from that. You called for him, or maybe prayed, but you mentally reached out and then physically he showed up. So that’s what he wanted, you thought. I just ask for him, and he’ll appear. But then, you realized, “Hold on, then why don’t you just teleport in there?”

“And leave the biggest elemental footprint to show the lyre’s been tampered with?” He scoffed.”They’d know it was me and immediately hunt me down. I’d rather make you do the dirty work. Because I am evil. And wicked.”

Everything seemed to make sense. For only springing the otherworldly revelation and subsequent destined heist concept on him at the beginning of this conversation, he’d gone along with it all easily and already found an answer to every question or worry you threw at him. It both soothed your nerves and yet unsettled you. Just a bit. 

(Maybe it was because you still thought that finding one problem in the whole plan would lead to you not having to go through with it at all. That someone else could do it in your place. That the traveler could just show up already, fashionably late but perpetually reliable, and it wouldn’t have to be you.)

It was hard to shake off those thoughts. “What if I mess up and can’t tell what the right time will be?” He went to reply, but you just added to it, spilling out the more irrational worries. “What if I can’t make it in time for the swap? Or the Fatui thief doesn’t show up at all? What if– what if there’s no right time, I get caught at the first hurdle, and–”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, there’s never a right time!” He put a hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of it. The Anemo quieted down again in response to his touch. “It’s as you said. You can’t put a bell on a cat. But that doesn’t mean you give up.”

You pressed your mouth shut. Begging and pleading wouldn’t do anything, because there wasn’t any way to escape this situation unless you did something. You didn’t want to do the heist. You didn’t want not to do the heist. 

(There is never a right time. Don’t you get it? Nothing about you being here is right.)

He tapped your forehead to bring you back. “Hey. You now have a partner in crime. As in you aren’t alone in this. And even if you fail, it’ll just be as the story described it. You can’t go wrong here unless you don’t do it at all.”

You slowly nodded your head. “Right. Right… right.” You repeated the word until your acceptance sounded genuine. You felt a little bad. You came to him to do it, and now he was the one who had to coax you into believing it would work. You inhaled, repeating the entire course of events. “Wait until it’s quiet. Sneak in. Replace the lyre. Stash it and hide until after midnight. Pretend to take it. Let them leave. Run away with the real one.”

“Fly to the tavern, I get a victory drink, all’s well that ends well,” Furthered Venti.

“Let’s hope Diluc is still susceptible to believing all of this.”

“Oh, he will be. I already have just the ballad in mind…”

…

…

…

…

…

He stops strumming the last of the notes, beaming, finally getting the chance to share the old ballad. The song was done on the old and rusted Lyre’s strings. In Venti’s defense, he did tune the hapless harp in the time it took to explain how the swap went down. 

You spent a surprisingly short amount of time swapping the Lyre. It was the worst of the plan to enact by a longshot, yet the process only took maybe half an hour, and almost all of that time was spent watching the guards and waiting for them to move away. You got lucky two of them got bored and converged at the side of the area to briefly talk, it gave you the boost to slip into the room. And when in there, there wasn’t even a pressure plate or an alarm system. You swapped the Holy one for the one with an illusion spell, hugged the side of the wall, peeked through the narrow crack of the room, and skittered back to your spot. You were thankful that it was only around twenty minutes until midnight, because if it was cut closer to the wire, you might’ve passed out from how high your blood pressure was. 

She really did not notice. You couldn’t get over that the mage did all that work to electrocute you until you couldn’t breathe, and she was holding a fake you’d just handed to her thirty minutes before. 

Diluc spent most of the explanation looking at Venti like he had grown a second head. Or had been revealed to be the Nation’s Archon or something. He loosened the tie around his throat and metaphorically picked his jaw up from the ground. “...You… should’ve started with that.”

“You can’t reveal the twist right at the start! That’s improper storytelling.”

Diluc ran his fingers through his bangs, pushing the hair up and out of his face. Either out of annoyance, stress, disbelief, or all three. You didn’t think it was from the lyre swap reveal, but moreso the situation in its entirety. Venti does that to a guy. “This is one of those times where I almost wish I liked the taste of alcohol,” He muttered.

“Do you still want to help?” It was the first time you’d said anything in a while. You bit your tongue, trying not to look too overly hopeful.

His hair dropped back down as his hand slipped down his face. “You’re the one with foresight here. You should already know my answer.”

Even with your difficulty in making out his expression, it didn’t sound that accusatory. Just tired. You worried about it anyway. You moved your hands from rubbing your elbows to clasping them together in the middle of your thigh. Your lips parted, thinking of how to respond. 

He sighed. “Just one question. One question, and if I like the answer, you can count myself in.”

You nodded. Your heartbeat probably spiked twice as fast as before as you knew he’d be testing the foresight claim, and you also knew that it had been literal years since any of these events, and you don’t even remember what his character description read. “I can try my best.”

“If I went through with this, my first move would have been to call a contact. Who’s it going to be?”

Your response was immediate when you realized you knew this one. “Jean,” You said. Diluc’s face contorted into dubiousness. That did not help. “It- It would be Jean…?”

“Acting Grandmaster Jean of the Knights of Favonius Is your final answer?” He emphasized each word of the organization. Suddenly, a wave of self-doubt crashed apon you. That was when Jean showed up, right? Your brain spinned. Isn’t that how it happened?

“No,” You responded. “No, not the Knights of Favonius. You call her as a friend, not as a knight.” You looked up at his face, and couldn’t parse anything. “Um, your future words, not mine.”

He looked at you for a long, drawn-out moment. Long enough that you tried to still your fidgeting and keep his gaze. And then, he gave a small hum of acceptance. 

“You’ll both need to lie low.”

You looked at Venti as he looked to you, both exchanging looks of elation.

Diluc continued. “The knights gave a brief description because they were rushing, but it was obvious that they got a good look at your faces. Maybe you more than Venti. It’d be better if you both stayed in the tavern.”

You almost yelped. “No, wait.” You cleared your throat at how loud that came out. Diluc looked at you questioningly. 

You almost mentioned Kaeya by name, but something in you feared that wouldn’t be the right choice. The worst of you even wondered if all bets were off if you said that the Cavalry Captain was really the one hunting you down, and not just the Knights. “I– I mean it’s– Sorry. I meant to say I don’t think it’d be smart for the both of us to stay in the same place. I’d stick out, and then they’d find him right after.”

“Actually, I agree,” said Venti. “You’ve been a tad sensitive to your surroundings, haven’t you? A crowd might make things worse instead of better for blending in.”

Diluc considered it. “Then I’ll take you back to the winery with me when my shift is over. The knights aren’t going to bother to look there.”

“All of these large revelations and you’re still going back to work?” Venti grinned. 

Diluc shrugged. “I said I wouldn’t take too long. And I can’t do anything about any of this right now. So, I’ll be back in an hour.” He stepped back to turn to the door, but snapped back to point a finger at Venti– “Do not try and open any of the barrels out here, I know what the correct level the tanks are supposed to be, and if I see any punctures I’m going to make the Archon war look like a tea party.”

Venti held his hands up defensively again, “I haven’t even done anything!”

“Keep it that way.” He looked at you one last time, his gaze flickering over your state. “Are you cold?”

You didn’t think your trembling was that obvious. “Oh it’s just nerves, I’m okay,” You started, but he was already sleuthing off his coat, handing it off to you, dangling it with one hand. 

“--Oh. Thank you.” You took it with two hands, and it nearly dropped to the ground when he released his hold. He made it seem so much lighter, but it was like a weighted blanket to you. He didn’t say another word. You piled it onto your lap as he went back into the tavern. 

You clutched the thick fabric, fumbling to figure out where the openings of the sleeves were. You noticed Venti was looking at you. You held up the coat to him like it was proof of your victory.

“Well,” He started. “Sounds like we’re in the clear?”

You were silent. Then, for once, despite the shaking in your body, you were laughing. So was he. You laughed until you had to gasp in the cool night’s air a few times over.  Crouching down, in the darkened alley space of the Angel’s share just a stride away from the warm-lit carousing, you had a fleeting glimpse of what it would be like for everything to end up alright.

Chapter Text

Oil lamps, you had come to find, did not work as great light sources when writing. It was worse with how small the pocket notebook was. It took a lot of conversation to write that small so you didn’t burn through the pages. Which almost felt useless, because you burned through them, anyway. A few sentences, a few bullet points, and you were already at the end of the page and flipping to the next one. 

Despite the paper being thinner and Amber getting a book with a decent amount of pages, she didn’t give it to you with the intention of it being a hardcore journal, and she certainly would not have taken into account what the withdrawals of not having a phone to use would do to a person from the modern world. Simply put, when in Teyvat, there are large swaths of time where you are supposed to sit in mild boredom. While you had gotten used to not falling asleep with a phone in the first few nights, the inherent need to swap the time spent doom scrolling with an activity of equal brain work was ever-present. Writing couldn’t tell you what time it was or send memes to your friends, but it worked to give you something. Maybe the feeling of control. Maybe the comfort of being able to plot out your next move. Maybe more anxiety as you scribbled down who knew what, and what to say to keep the stories all in line. But it gave you something.

Each person, on average, took about three pages, front and back:

Diluc - Magical foresight abilities. No specifics. He knows about the heist. He knows there was a previous heist. He knows he was the person to go to after the heist was over. Knows I know he’d pick Jean for this. The first person I saw when I drow came here. Probably knows I have Anemo powers.

Amber - Knows I went into the woods and touched a statue. Thinks the Anemo is just residue. She also watched me take down Dvalin. Will probably know I’m the one who stole the Lyre soon. Hates me?

Barbara - Was there when I first was sent to the cathedral. Knows about the whole dragon thing, but also thinks the Anemo is residue. Will soon know I was the one who stole the Lyre. Will definitely hate me for that.

Bennett - Knows nothing. I think. Maybe will soon know I stole the Lyre. Also hates me? 

Katheryne - I told her about Aether and Lumine, and she knows I’m looking for them, but she won’t disclose that to just anyone who asks.

Kaeya - Was there for me fighting the dragon. Knows nothing else. Probably wants me dead. Definitely wants me dead. 

Venti -

That was as far as you had gotten. You stayed still in your place on the small back porch steps, The pencil just a centimeter away from the name, sitting in almost complete darkness as you overheard the sounds of the tavern continue to rage without slowing. If you craned your ears, you could fool yourself into hearing what specific Lyre Venti was playing. 

He left your side soon after Diluc went back to work. Unfortunately, taverns were like catnip to a bard, and he couldn’t help but indulge his nature. You brought up your concerns about breaking cover, but he waved it away. “I’ll be stuck here all night and day! What else is there to do but enjoy it?” He said, giving you a wink and a smile that was trying to— But could not— reassure you it would be fine. “I’ve got some more power left to use before I give myself a migraine, so I’ll just cast an illusion on the lyre and make it undetectable. I’ll find you again soon!” And then he was gone like the wind. So you stuck to writing.

The notebook was still on top of your thighs, with your arms finding their way around your lower legs and your head resting on your knees. You blamed yourself curling over as merely pausing to think. But the adrenaline has worn off. Your feet ached from running, your arms stung from clutching on during gliding, and your nerves were shot from the electricity that had finally taken its full course. You knew it wasn’t to think.

You blinked your eyes slowly. The intervals between them opening and shutting had quickly grown during the writing process. The coat felt like a weighted blanket against your hunched back, warm and fuzzy in the underside that made it increasingly more difficult to fight exhaustion. You didn’t have the strength to read the little hands of the pocket watch around your neck. Somewhere past one AM but not quite two. 

It wasn’t really dreaming. Dreams were stories, unconscious brain dumps that you could pick and parse through. Dreams only happen when you go deep enough into sleep to start taking apart the memory of senses and fracturing them into incomprehensible yet confounding works of fiction and non-fiction. Dreams didn’t make sense, but they had a purpose.

( Some part of you knew it wasn’t a dream, because dreams meant you were back at that creek again, and the air tasted like home. Fragments from that were the only things that got scrambled to use in dreams. Pieces from a puzzle still make up a picture even when they’re still in the box. )

There were glimpses of string lights draped across the ceiling. A grease-stained oven showing the warm lamp-lit pastries rising slowly within its belly. The ticking of a car turn signal. They flickered like a dying glowstick, and just when the visions were about to become stories, you were pulled back up a few feet from the surface, enough to feel your body, even slightly, and hear the muddled sounds of laughter and string plucking from the tavern. Whatever figments you had melted away, and you forgot them. 

Then, you broke the surface when you heard thunder. You flinched, jolting up before you felt all of your senses again. Your arms were pressed down on the book long enough to leave the shape of a reddened rectangle on the skin. Your head snapped backward’s when you heard the movement.

It was just Diluc. There was no thunder, you realized, merely the door shutting and the wood creaking under his boots. A black cloth was hanging over one of his arms. The night was eerily silent now. There were only quiet conversations left and the occasional shuffling of chairs.

”You were sleeping,” He said. “Apologies.” 

You rubbed your cheek. “No, no it’s okay. Are you— are we leaving?”

He nodded. He took a quick glance around the area. It was too dark for you, but he looked like he could see it perfectly fine. Mostly in the direction of the barrels. “Do you know where the bard went?”

He sidestepped around you to walk down the stairs, snatching the dying lamp along the way. You shot up to follow him. Forgetting about the notebook, it tumbled out of your lap, and you fumbled down the stairs to retrieve it. Thankfully, none of the pages creased. You pretended it didn’t happen.

“He said he’d be back. He— he wasn’t with the crowd at the front?”

The flame inside grew brighter when his fingers wrapped around the handle of the lantern. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Disappearing without a trace for him is… typical.”

He said that, but you had a twinge of sadness heading off without him. You would’ve fought to be around him longer if you knew you wouldn’t see him again for the night. Or maybe you wouldn’t because that crowd looked like a nightmare, but you’d think about it. 

And then feel like an idiot wasting time worrying about it when you’d discovered he’d already left. But it was the thought that counted.

A few other people still lingered around the front, as they shuffled chairs upside-down and onto tables. In the middle of the street sat a hoodless wagon, made of a light-colored wood and only half-filled with barrels, boxes, and deep green wine glasses. Two horses flicked their tails lazily at the front of it. 

Diluc walked to the open back of it, and you quickly realized it was to help pull you up into the flat open space. He did it like it was nothing. You found it weird how easily you just accepted that situation. He walked back to talk to the man in the driver’s seat (is it still called a drivers seat when it isn’t a car?) who didn’t even turn around when you clambered in. On your knees, you crawled to one of the sides, slinging an arm around the edge since clearly, the thing was not built with seatbelts in mind.

You picked up one thing from overhearing the conversation— The main gates . And up until that point, you’d somehow forgotten that the entire city being surrounded by a wall meant the entrances and exits were always guarded by Knights. 

You saw his glove on your left appear, gripping the side, and then watched as he leapt over it and into the wagon. The lantern was in his other hand, so was the cloth. “Slide closer to the cargo,” He instructed, as he moved towards you to nudge you into action. 

You quickly scuttled to the closest barrel. ”We’re going through the main entrance?” You tried to ask nonchalantly. It was filled with chalance, much to your disappointment.

He was curt. ”Side gates are even worse. It’s not the usual route for this shipment. The bridge’s gate is the best way to go.”

You heard the reins of the horses rattle, and suddenly, you were yanked into movement. That didn’t help your panic much. You didn’t have time to think this one through. Looking over the edge, you saw rows of houses, and the wall following along. “What if they question me? Won’t the guards check us?”

“Not unless you keep your head down.” He slipped the cloth off of his arm. Which, now, showed itself as a cape. “I’ll trade you.”

You had just about a hundred ways in your head for that to go wrong, but you held your tongue, and let the coat fall off your shoulders to be replaced with a thinner brown hooded cloak. The way it was sewn made it so the slit of the cape was off-kilter, starting on the top of the right shoulder, completely covering your front. And if you kept your legs close to you, they’d be hidden for as long as no one looked too close. 

“And try not to keep looking over. It’ll show your face. Just stay still.” 

“Sorry,” You squeaked out. The ‘ stay still’ part was probably a slight at how you always had to keep your fingers moving. Or maybe it wasn’t a slight , you countered with yourself, it’s to keep me alive. I shouldn’t be that mean-spirited when he’s sticking his neck out for me here. You put your hands behind your back just in case.

The wagon went down the path smoothly. The horses went at a measured pace within the walls, even if the roads were completely empty. Rushing wouldn’t help the situation, but it didn’t stop you from wishing it went by faster. You went by an empty marketplace, flickering street lights, and darkened alleyways with movements in the shadows if you squinted. 

Your first sign was the lantern Diluc held suddenly had a lot less intensity to the flame within, like it was purposefully kept to nearly going out. Then the wagon turned to the direction of the wall, and you could see the mouth of it. 

The banners of lions and shields blew silently between the opening. You could see the figures standing by, and your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at Diluc, and he made it a point to not look back. He stayed looking forward, occasionally leaning out to check the surroundings. You got the message, and did as instructed. You kept your head down. 

The clinking coming towards your side made you nauseous. You could feel the eyes peering up to the cargo, and by extension, you. From what you could see in your peripheral vision, Diluc was still facing the guard, and probably staring right at them. 

“More spares?” the knight said. Their voice wasn’t recognizable, but you tried to imagine if it matched any of the guards yelling in the basement about an intruder. He sounded like he was trying too hard to be friendly, like it’d keep him in good graces.

Diluc didn’t return the favor. “As per usual.”

You heard them move. Tap on wood somewhere. Be so unbelievably slow you almost wanted to scream to hurry it up. Maybe it was a part of the job as a Knight of Favonius to be so slow. You’re being mean again , you thought, but you immediately tried to justify it to yourself. I’m allowed to be mean this time. Go faster.

They moved back over to the front, walking by you again. You were a statue. If only the wind stopped moving. You heard the knight tiredly prattle a list of questions for the driver, and it must have been satisfactory because you heard him step away from the vehicle.

“Good to go, then.” the metal clicked and you didn’t know what movement it signified. 

The reins of the horses jingled. The wagon jerked forward. You fell onto your hand to stabilize yourself. Slowly, you moved past the banners, the mouth of the wall, and into some semblance of safety. You exhaled as quietly as you could.

You looked over and saw the face of the random knight. He stood at the gate watching the wagon move on. For a second, your eyes met. You snapped back to your place.

( Did he see your face? Did you mistake how safe the distance was to look back? How dark was the hood? Did his eyes meet yours or were you going crazy? The winery wasn’t safe anymore. )

You counted the seconds pass as you pictured horses clamping after you, guards shouting to stop where you were, handcuffs cutting off the circulation in your wrists, and then getting dragged away into the depths of the dungeons. You got up to a minute, and no hammer was brought down. You crossed the bridge in silence and it let you breathe normally again. You even passed by the lightly glowing red waypoint that was at the path intersection.

Diluc shuffled a foot further from you, which, surprisingly, let you breathe better. The lantern went back to glowing brightly, since you heard the woosh as it ignited again. Seeing as how even he found it safe, you shifted to lean against the cargo instead, with the side of your folded leg pressed against the side panels to help the bumps of the ride. Which you noticed immediately once you were no longer on pathed pathways— the rocks were sharp on the wheels. He stared off into the night without much care.

“Do you normally ride home like this?” You ask without thinking. 

He looked over to you. “Did you picture a fancy private carriage?”

Really, your answer would be that you had never thought about it. The game was always so loosy-goosy with time and how long distances took to travel, because who would care about how much time it really took to go from the winery to the city? Especially since you could run from one to the other in less than five minutes. But now, it did matter. There was no traveler to purify the waypoints . 

You weren’t quite sure how to say all of that and have him believe you. ”I— Well.” 

He made a nose exhale which was as close to a laugh as you could probably get. “Relax. You wouldn’t be the first.” He gestured to the cargo taking up half of the wagon space, “Empty barrels or intact and unscratched bottles get sent back to the winery to get used anew. When it happens, I hitch a ride. It’s convenient.”

You should’ve guessed he wasn’t the type of person who wanted private carriages. Maybe it was the carriage you rode in to get from the Winery to the Cathedral that was misinforming your perception on his normal method of transport. But you didn’t remember what the inside (or outside) of one would look like. Flipping through all the memories in your mind made you come up empty. You knew how the rumbling felt on your back, and that was it.

”I don’t get many chances to ride wagons. Actually, they don’t really exist much where I’m from. Unless you’re deep in the country, maybe.” A large rock made your leg hit the side of the wagon, and you stabilized yourself as best you could. “I don’t know if I’d call wagons an improvement, but it is new to me.”

“Fascinating.” He did not add anything else to the topic. 

You tilted your head upwards, making sure the stars were still there. The grasslands around you were too dark to parse anything, aside from some shapes on the horizon. It felt like a void of nothing stretched for miles, and the fact that you knew it was filled with unseen things didn’t help. So you watched the stars instead, your scalp hitting the wood and hearing the echoed thud. Ow , you thought briefly. What the hell was your life? You thought less briefly. The wagon kept rumbling on.

You really wanted to say something. The feeling of filling silence never felt good to you— you were painfully aware how annoying it was for others always to hear your questions and double-triple checks— but something about silence made you always need to have it end. Either you didn’t fill it and were stuck in a tension of unspoken words, or you did fill it and watched yourself become a jumbled fool. 

It was worse with Diluc. You knew he wouldn’t like it. And you weren’t handling Kaeya’s hostility very well, so his mild dislike would probably kill you. To death. You weren’t going to get the grace of a protagonist character required to be inherently likable to sell characters, you were an unknown, awkward outsider thrust into his responsibility. 

But the longer time went, the more it felt he wanted to say something. You saw his head tilt your way a few times. And it looked as though he was getting second-hand restlessness just from watching your own discomfort, because after another rock hit the front wagon wheel, he spoke up.

“So. Foresight, huh?” You saw in your peripheral vision that he was, in fact, fully looking towards you.

Your voice didn’t feel like your voice.  “Uh– yep.”

He stopped looking towards you to look down at his glove, probably since you didn’t match his gaze for a few seconds. “If I asked about the future, would you answer? Or is this one of those sworn-to-secrecy, holier-than-thou missions where you can’t tell a soul?” You felt that somewhere in that description was a slight against the Knights.

“No,” You said, your voice a bit too high, “No, I can tell souls. How helpful I can be is… another thing. I guess I’d need examples?”

He picked a question easily. “What do sales look like next week?”

Sales as in the wine business? You thought. “I don’t– I definitely can’t answer small details,” You quickly corrected, “Just big ones.”

“Alright. Broader. How’s the Winery do?”

That you could say something about. Sort of. “It’s still around in the future, and still the top of the list, as far as I knew. I know there was a, what is it,” You snapped your fingers multiple times in a burst, “bartending event? For teaching novice bartenders how to mix things. But that isn’t super helpful. I mean, it sounded fun.”

“Sounds to me like a small detail,” He said.

Mentally, you flipped out a little at already contradicting yourself. “Well– Okay, sometimes there are details,” You retconned, “But I don’t remember most of them. Especially not stuff like weekly tax things.”

You worried about him digging further into it, questioning your story and watching as he’d slowly grow suspicious of the half-lie of being a future foreseer, but he didn’t. 

“How soon’s the dragon stopped?”

It was a good question. What was the exact timeline of events? There was probably a bunch of waiting in-between what you see in the quest, right? You tapped your fingers to the palm of your other hand as you ran through the list of events. Lyre heist, the meeting the next day, the Fatui…

“Like… A month?”

You immediately jumped to think he took offense to the notion it would take that long, even with his abilities. He didn’t accept that answer, lightly squinting at you. “...really.”

“Half a month.”

A pause. “Is that the foresight talking, or your nerves?”

“It can… be both?” You said, intimidated and spineless.

He huffed. “Right.” Again, you worried about him prodding further, but he didn’t. The wagon took a slight right turn and the darkened hills sleeping in the dark got taller and curvier.

This question was the most unexpected, mostly because it sounded joking. “Do the knight’s fall apart?”

“They’re also fine. They…” You trailed off, realizing you had no examples because it’s not like the game cared about any of that. It didn’t matter in the slightest. “Yeah. They’re fine.”

He gave a hum of acknowledgment. “Mind if I meddle in your grand timeline just a bit?”

You were confused. “With what? Government overthrowings?”

“Maybe more like gentle nudges into structural instability.”

It was enough to make you laugh a little. You had a really hard time discerning if he was joking or not. Is he joking? That’s not how his character usually acts, is it? It was hard to tell. Or it was easy to tell, but you feared getting it wrong, anyway. You played it straight.

“I– I wouldn’t risk it,” You said genuinely. “I don’t like big deviations to things, it’s a lot of trouble.”

That was, you quickly learned after three seconds, the wrong choice. The energy felt weird, somehow, like a candle slowly smothered to death, leaving you in an awkward darkness. You severely messed up that riff. You mentally cursed yourself for overthinking something as obvious as that.

You went back to talking about the future, since he seemed curious about it. Most of the conversation was already clumsy transitions from one topic to the next, so you didn’t feel bad about how jarring the topic change was. “You go to a weird secret island far later in time,” you said.

“Inazuma?”

“No, like a real and unheard-of island in Mondstadt. It’s called the Golden Apple Archipelago?”

You saw him pause and check if he’s ever heard of it before. “And, what does the Golden Apple Archipelago have that interests me?”

“Accompanying Klee for the quest of finding the Dodo King.”

“And?”

You forgot why he was there or what he did, exactly. You ignored a lot of why characters showed up to events since the real reason was fan service. The truth was he didn’t do anything aside from squabble with Kaeya. What do you do on an island aside from vacation? “…heatstroke?”

“That doesn’t sound interesting.”

“I don’t think you wanted to be there that much. But Alice wanted you there, so she got you there.”

“Archons, of course it was Alice.” He muttered, rolling his eyes as you bit back a smile. “She’d know exactly how to lure me into babysitting duty.”

The game, not yet ready to release Alice as a character, never lingered too long on her, but from the glimpses you’ve gotten, you found it funny how Diluc’s relationship with her worked. An unlikely pairing of an incredibly serious, edgy character and the comedic relief capable of immense destruction. “Maybe I should’ve lied and said I couldn’t tell you the future if it meant giving her plans up,” You tried to joke.

“I’d have to go one way or another if she wants me there. She is anything but restrained when it comes to her grand ideas,” He said. The way “grand ideas” was sighed made it apparant it was not a good thing.

“Is going on an Archipelago with Klee and other companions all that bad?”

“Aside from heatstroke?”

“Yes. Aside from that.” You felt like you were doing a bad job at describing the event. Which didn’t matter, because you could understand the avoidance of heat, but you defended it, anyway. “You get to ride a dragon there. That isn’t as bad as heatstroke, I don’t think.”

“I’ll be prepared, at least. If it happens.” You tried not to read into the emphasis, but it crossed your mind. Was that implying whether or not the dragon died? I didn’t say “Dvalin”, but surely he knows it’s Dvalin. Does he think Dvalin’ll die?

He saw your face shift, and cleared his throat, either to return your attention or ease tension. “What’s Alice up to in the future? After she returns, that is.” 

“Oh,” you said. You tapped on the wood to think. “I mean— she doesn’t. I’ve never seen her face, only recordings of her voice. When I first watched through the visions I thought she was dead or something. But no, she popped up randomly through festivals or treasure hunts.”

He was concerned. “She doesn’t return to Mondstadt?”

You first were confused, but then you figured out where the misunderstanding happened: you never said how much of the timeline you knew. For all he knew, you could know hundreds of years. 

“I— okay, I’ve given maybe a small amount of misinformation I think. She will probably come back eventually, but I don’t remember any of those details because I don’t know that much. She just doesn't show up at all, even if she's doing something.”

“That's surprising to me. Her methods are about as roundabout as mine are, and yet you sought me out personally.”

“Well, maybe that's true, but the visions mainly focus on Mondstadt with the Stormterror crisis, and she doesn't help with that. You do. Like, a lot. So I've seen you a lot." You stop fidgeting with your hand to use it to count the events on your fingers, “You lead stealing the Lyre back, you’re there to help get into Stormterror’s lair, you’re there to defeat Dvalin’s corruption, and you… well, there’s this part with you fighting off Hilichurls on the bridge, but I don’t remember why.” After you said it, you wondered if you should’ve put the defeating a dragon point as the end one and not fighting basic monsters.

It might’ve been a trick of the light, but you saw pride cracking through his face with just the slightest upturn of his mouth. Coincidentally, the lantern dimmed to a dull flicker. “No wonder, then,” said Diluc.

You shifted one of your legs to slide farther away from your chest. "That's not weird for you, is it? Just... I don't know, having someone show up and talk about how much they know you?"

He paused, looking skywards to think. "It was... a little uncomfortable to wrap my head around, yes,” he admits cautiously, probably knowing you’d find that answer distressing, “But you don't have ill intentions. And I'm not new to having eyes on me."

“I'd be a lot less calm about it if I were in your shoes," You inserted. "-- I am a lot less calm about it. It's really weird."

He looks over to you again, mostly down at your incessant fidgeting. "...I am aware."

You suddenly felt the need to still yourself, clasping your fingers together. You let out a laugh, which was warbled and probably proved his point further. 

"Maybe it's a difference in character,” he started, “but I don't understand where all the trepidation comes from. You have the power to know what happens. When's the last time you... I don't know what prophets do, actually. What, stared into the next realm? Read stars?"

His questions didn’t come off as threatening, which was pleasantly surprising to you. You learned your lesson this time and read his attempt at humor as a real thing that was going on. Normally, being put on the spot with this topic would be nerve-wracking, but you were more concerned with how to explain the concept of a computer to him without explaining the concept of a computer to him.

"It’s not mental, it’s…” you thought about it. Holograms? Moving pictures? Films? “… two dimensional, and made of light. I could look, but I couldn’t touch.” Sort of. If you counted buttons manipulating the characters as touching, which you didn’t. “And it was a long time ago when I learned about these events— the things happening now, I mean. I only got to see everything once.”

Time was weird with Genshin. The game marked down some time skips or recovery periods, and the most common gameplay feature in quests was to use the clock to wait a day or two, but there were also vague gaps in between. Lantern Rite still happened every single January, even though the seasons in-game never changed. However, due to how annoying it would be, no characters age despite how long it’s been since the start of the game. And if time was truly passing with your world, wouldn’t the kids have grown? Wouldn’t things have changed, even a little? So there wasn’t a straight answer.

“I think…” The carriage hit a bump, and your hand hit the side to keep you upright again. You decided it might as well have been the same timeline as yours. “The time in the visions lined up close with the time in my world. and again, I only know about the first few years. The part we’re in is the very start of that big, winding timeline. It's hazy. All of it is hazy."

“And because of the haze, you're stressed on the importance of deviations, then,”  At least he was trying to be understanding. "The information would be only as good as how close you could get to those predictions. So you try to do them perfectly.”

“But I’m not sure that’s possible at this point,” You said. “Some of those things were about, like, taking down governments and participating in wars. I’m–” You threw your arms out, one smacking the wooden cargo, “I’m not sure I can even live past this.”

“Why worry if you saw yourself do it before?” He said, with his eyebrows furrowed, “Didn’t you come here to help the destiny? To right the ‘timeline’, as you put it?”

Oh. Now that you thought of it, you didn’t mention the traveler was the previous person in that old timeline. That detail was a part of the category you deemed far too complicated to lay out during the first meeting with him. You weren’t sure if you should. And when you weren’t sure, that meant you wouldn’t do it. So you ignored it and focused on the second question.

"I wish I came here by choice," you said, your tone humored, "Or maybe just with a warning. I hadn’t even known Teyvat was an actual place, let alone accessible. It was by my own mistake that I tripped and fell here. Literally. I drowned in my world. Lightning struck, I twisted my ankle, and went through hell for minutes."

That was… surprisingly easy to admit. Your throat didn’t close up, your heart didn’t race, the wind in you didn’t flicker in response to your body going haywire. “I drowned,” you repeated, quieter. You were allowed to say it. No visions came to pain you with the details. You were just in a wagon in the dark of the night, your eyes had a sting of exhaustion, and you could say whatever you wanted. 

You laughed, “And it's so dumb, because it feels so weird to think of water and get scared, but it's not the water it's like... It hurt, of course it hurt, it's jagged rocks, you know? But really it's the idea of what comes after."

You stayed staring upwards, but when Diluc looked to you, you could see this time he didn’t look away. It should’ve been a warning, but you couldn’t stop yourself at this rate. You spoke as if you were telling a long joke. "Because I don't remember the in-between of dying and appearing here, and that unknown is so hard to look at, because I don't know what happened to me-- I stopped feeling my body, and then suddenly I'm here, in a different, colder rainstorm.”

Your tone stopped being a joke. To the mortification of both parties, you didn’t stop. “I don't get answers about my death, or what death felt like, or if death is supposed to feel like anything, I don't-- I don't have anything to tie it to. I tell myself I'm not thinking about it, but I am, all the time." 

You inhaled. Your breath shook now. So were your hands. You grew quieter. “Sometimes-- Sometimes I can't tell that this place is real. It scares me that it isn't. And I think about the foam, and the water, and it's just foam and water, but every time I do it's like I know I’m dead in that creek and I’ll wake up to being dead soon.  If at any moment, I'll just stop existing. Like that. And... And I don't want that. I really, really don't want that. I don't want to be dead and I don't want to not be real. I..." You took in a breath, your impassioned talk suddenly dying off. "I'm sorry. For all of that. I didn't-- I'm sorry."

The carriage made another bump that jostled the barrels. The foreign stars imprinted themselves into your eyes as you refused to look at him, for fear doing so would somehow burn. 

None of it was a secret, it was just things you refused to tell anyone and would take to the grave, there was a difference somewhere in there. Maybe there wasn’t, actually, but it didn’t matter. Opening up about it felt like a confirmation that this entire time something has been brutally, unforgivably wrong, and no one would acknowledge it. your mind scrambled with more filler to the silence-- I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I’m sorry, pretend I never said anything, I’m so sorry. But by then you had nothing left in you to say more. You’d only be making it worse.

( It confirmed to yourself that you should never let yourself get comfortable. Keep your guard up. Keep your throat closed. )

Your feelings were increasingly contradictory as silence lingered for a few moments more. You fought to feel like you weren't dead and none of these people existed, and you feared ruining your perception in his mind by messing up simple rules. Those two things couldn’t share the same place and both be true, and yet there they were. Anxious thoughts don't care about rationality. He wasn't real, and you so desperately didn't want him to hate you.

The movement through your peripherals (which you watched like a hawk) showed him turn to the same stars above you. 

“I can’t help you,” He said.

“I know. I shouldn’t have just– I know.”

“It’s not that…” He combs his hair back, his head tilting further from the action. He looked panicked if that was even possible for him. "Apologies,” His tone slipped more into formal, and you weren’t sure if he realized it, “Your situation isn’t a pleasant one. I give you my condolences for that. I will be the first to admit that I’m not good with any of this. If you want a speech with comforting words, I can’t give that to you. It’s not in my nature to.”

You knew all of that. He knew you knew, given the fact you came clean to watching him for years. It felt pathetic that he had to spell out how wrong of a person he was to give this information to, as if you went through all of those storylines and still couldn’t pick up context clues as simple as that. You almost think to explain yourself further, that it was a slip of the tongue, and sleep was getting to you, and your body hurt. But you didn’t. You both knew what you did was stupid. You didn’t need to spell it out.

“If you want me to forget it, I can forget about it.”

You blink. Your words come out a second later than you intended. “…like, pretend it never happened?”

“We’re halfway to the Winery. You can sleep it off now, and in the morning I can find someone with better advice on the subject. You find your help, and we can leave it at that.”

It was just like the first time you met him. He couldn’t treat you where he found you, so he brought you to the Cathedral where they could. At the least, he was able to admit when he was out of his depths. Which, when it came to being around you, was now most of the time. And it was the logical answer. If you agreed to it, you’d press your teeth against your tongue for the rest of the darkened, bumpy trip, have a dulcet-voiced maid willingly spend their work hours to sit and talk with you, get convinced it’s all in your head, and go back to the Angel’s Share in the night to have the quest continue. 

It would work out just fine. The only problem was, you didn’t want that.

There was a reason, even accidentally, that you’d spill your guts to Diluc and not any of the Nuns in that infirmary. Because you’d spent days with them and years with him. Because the brain can’t separate fictional characters from real emotions of connection, and the parasocial tether was still there. Unfortunately, caring about these people you’ve never met was your nature from the start. The wind wouldn’t have been so calm the entire ride if it wasn’t.

“If I said that continuing to talk with you helped me, would you talk?” You asked, for once, looking at him and not letting go when he turned to look at you. “It’s not considered idle if the chatter has a purpose, right? If the small talk helps?”

“It would…help. From me.” His statement had the lilt of a question at the end. 

“Is that okay?” In the space between your legs and your stomach, your hands clasped together.

He didn’t look opposed, more… concerned. Maybe angry, if you fed into your paranoia. “What is there to say?” He said. You interpreted that to mean, What in the world am I specifically meant to help about it?  

“Things you never tell anyone,” You answer. “Not secrets– but the boring details that no one bothers to tell. I can’t worry things aren’t real if the people know things I don’t, right?” You tried to appeal to both yours and his logic. He can’t give you comfort, but he can give you a solution.

When his eyes look up to the night again, his fingers tapping the way you drummed on the wagon’s side panel when you were thinking, you felt both relief and anticipation. 

He decided on something, after some time. “Well… then, how about this,” He pivoted his torso towards you, moving the lantern in the space between. You compressed your legs to your chest again, the flame growing fuller and his hand now held up, palm to the sky, fingers stretched to not touch each other. The palm was dark when it was too high above the lantern, so he moved it down. When the light hit the fabric, the bright red looked on fire. 

You watched for a moment too long to understand what that meant. “Your glove?”

“The seam,” He amended. “Can you see it?”  You focused on the seam separating the red and black fabric going straight across the side of the palm and pinky. Neat, white threaded zigzag lines ran all around the border of the fabric, hard to spot in the darkness but still clearly visible if you were looking at them.

”My right glove broke today. It got snagged on a branch and ripped right at the stitches. I spent any downtime I had stitching it back myself.”

You leaned in a little closer, once more, enough to feel the heat of the flame. Clean, even lines. Hand-stitched, when you looked for imperfections, but incredibly masterful handiwork.

“You know how to stitch,” You said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Did you… anticipate that?” he asked, cautiously.

“No,” You said. “Not at all.” 

He nodded, satisfied in some way that he picked a useful topic. He ran his other hand across the zigzag line again, slowly going up and down the bend of the thumb to the top of the pointer. “I was taught embroidery first. I didn’t like learning either, but I liked that embroidery let me show off my work. I got into the habit of showing the stitching.  So,” He waved his hand– Or, he waved the glove, and his hand is attached to it, “I sew on the outside.”

You asked him to say more. “Anything. Maybe about how to stitch? Do you still remember how to embroider?”

And he obliged you. He went on longer, in a low voice, talking more about the little details. He was taught on a polished wooden embroidery hoop the size of his hand, and he spitefully taught himself to embroider swords with red threaded bloodstains instead of the given yellow-colored flower patterns. His first act of rebellion on something he refused to learn. And it didn’t really work, because it did improve his patterning in the long run. He never named people or dates, the closest being one mention of his bedroom and one mention of his “teacher”. He focused on how he sewed the patterns. He focused on the objects in his sewing kit. He wasn’t warm or sentimental when he said any of it. 

And… it helped you. For seven minutes somewhere after two in the morning, in a void of nothing but the lantern and tavern owner in front of you, you started to believe that the world could be real.

Chapter Text

You are on a path, in the woods. There is a creek next to you, and a thunderstorm above you. You are walking home. The path is normal. The lightning is far away. The streetlights go by you slowly, and give you no goodbye. You can’t feel the rain, but you know it is there. 

Then, the path opens up. The usual park board with the map of the small creek trail and a sign that you know is there to remind people to pick up their dog bags. The gravel teeters off into the sidewalk. It smells like wet concrete and warm asphalt. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Seven. Ten. Twenty. Crack . Twenty-one miles.

You continue on through the neighborhoods. The houses are strange, in places they shouldn’t be, in buildings that they shouldn’t be. Briefly, you wonder if you are lost. That you’ll never get back home. But, you think, if you keep walking, it’ll be there. And to your relief, it is.

It’s hard to look at it for any length of time. The windows keep stretching and shrinking into different sizes. The grass grows, cuts, is replaced with flowers. If you look too long at one area, it doesn’t seem right. So you don’t look too long.

You are home. Life just resumes itself as normal. 

You spend time searching for your phone. You are desperately curious and want to check the messages, or maybe the time. You haven’t been able to do that in a while. And currently, it isn’t on your person anymore.

The counter. The couch. Underneath the blanket of your bed. For some reason, you check the cupboards, just to check there are still dishes there. 

Faintly, you feel it. One. Two. Three. Four. Seven. Ten. Crack . Eleven miles. 

You find your phone on the table, where you figure you must’ve absent-mindedly misplaced it when you came in before. The time is just a little past midnight. To your mild surprise, you have messages left.

From… Amber. And you couldn’t read the words, but they were paragraphs. And you already knew what they said. “I’m hurt, honestly,” You could hear her voice, “What was your problem? You were meant to be something worth putting the time into. This is disappointing. I don’t think you should come back to the City any time soon.”

She wasn’t supposed to be here yet. She wasn’t a part of your old life. You hadn’t stolen a Lyre yet. How’d she know? How’d she get here?

One. Two. Three. Crack . Outside the house. 

You turned your phone off, putting it face down on the table. You clicked the lock back and swung the front door open. You stepped out, feeling how your socks grew wet and your ankles grew cold. The creek water had risen to flood the surroundings. You stared out. You were back, finally, and you were still going to die anyway. Because that’s how it worked.

You could only watch. The water took you back under. You didn’t resurface. 

The moment your body gets the ability to move, your hands claw to your throat, coughing and hacking the water. It took long arduous seconds to try and stop it.

It was fine. You were fine. 

It was bright. Blindingly so. Thick red drapes meant to blot the sun from the window were pulled back by golden ropes, now tan from the sun’s wearing, casting blurry, fogged light across the rugs. The sounds of your heavy breath echoed in the mostly empty room, as you brought your hands down to clutch fistfuls of the sheets. They felt smooth and light. The checkered quilts were pulled off of you, the layers of comforters and linings squished up at your feet again. 

You let your breath steady. Don’t think about it anymore, you thought. Don’t think about it anymore. That went on for just a little while longer until you forced everything out of your head, and it was fine. 

You recognized the room as the one you stumbled into last night. The room looked different when you’d first been in it, mostly because it was dark, but there were still the same details. There was a cabinet near the door and a dresser across from the bed, huddled in the corner, made of darkened wood. The window pouring light onto the rug was also in the same spot, right next to the end of the bed. It didn’t use to have the ropes pulling it back. Looking out, it wasn’t even that late. Only four or five hours had passed since.

You almost wanted to try and go back to bed. Almost.

You heard the sounds of movement outside the halls. The door was fully shut, but there were still creaks in the floorboard and muffled voices far off. You stared at the details in the door as if that would make you see who any of it was coming from. Servants, probably. Who else?

Blearily, you remembered some small bits of conversation when you walked into the Winery last night with an assortment of ramble-y questions about procedures– if you could show your face to maids, what the parameters of ‘safe’ areas were, so on. You got two answers: if the servants could see you (they could, they wouldn’t care, they don’t say anything), and if you could walk outside (you could so long as you didn’t draw attention) but the rest was just “talk to Adelinde about it in the morning”. 

Your feet slowly found themselves onto the scratchy thickets of the rug, feeling joints crack and settle back into place as you stood up. The wind in you slipped itself into the places the ligaments released from, but by this point, the nausea had gotten itself under control. The wind seemed less curious, too, not rushing to any spot in your body that opened itself up. Unnatural, but at that rate, it might not feel wrong soon. You stepped over your lamely discarded socks (not shoes, you would never be seeing that old pair again) and gently pressed yourself between the cabinet and the door, holding onto the handle, and peeking through the sliver you gently clicked open. It was a lot heavier than you first assumed.

It was a hallway. God knows where it was in the manor, since the map you knew only looked to have two open levels. You saw wooden beams, ornate tan wallpaper, and one painting of a stormy windmill. You heard the voices better, coming far downstairs. You creaked the door further, stepping outside the room, your head shifting both ways. One led to an opening, the other turned down another hall.

Creeping quietly, you unconfidently strode through the manor, finding there was a lot more of it than you would’ve liked. It got easier when you found the central staircase; the consistent thing about the place was there was in fact a large open downstairs section. 

A section with people in it. Unbothered maids and house servants, but still. You steeled yourself and stuck closely to the stair railing as a man in a butler’s uniform walked upwards.

You recognized the head maid, with her short blond hair and taller stature. She stood near a propped open door to the kitchen, talking to two maid girls. Her dull green eyes glanced to you once and she almost trailed off as she did a double take. She shooed the girls with a strict glare and final instruction, and they ran off to attend to their work. Her face returned to normal the moment their backs were turned, albeit slightly more pleased. 

“You’re up this early?” She said, walking to you. “I thought you’d be passed out well into the afternoon, given the time of your arrival. Was everything to your liking?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay– thank you.” The polite and formal tone was throwing you off unimaginably. She didn’t sound like that before, when it was night and she was about as off-the-clock as a maid could get. You didn’t know the procedure now. 

“Adelinde, right?” You said. It couldn’t be anyone else, and yet you still were unconfident. 

She smiled. “Yes, Adelinde. And you are…” Her eyes squinted in thought, “My apologies, but I don’t recall ever getting your name before.”

She shared the characteristic with Katheryne that every piece of information given to her feels like it’s taken and filed off to be remembered forever in a databank. Only Adelinde wasn’t a machine meant to provide information, she was just scarily good at her job. When you told it to her, she repeated it to herself, then continued. “I didn’t have the chance to meet you last night. Master Diluc told me you might have questions. I’m tasked with answering anything you may be concerned about.”

On the one hand, you were grateful to have an opening for every concern of yours to get unleashed. On the other, you were increasingly aware of overspeaking. You limited yourself to one question and decided to suffer in incomprehension for the rest of them. “Has Diluc already left yet?”

“Master Diluc?” She said, although she clearly anticipated the topic. “The last I had been informed was that he is in the attic, sorting through old boxes,” leaning forward just a bit, she added like it was a footnote, “It’s where all old clothes and winter wear end up. He said he was looking for something, but also mentioned you could find an assortment that was your size.”

“Huh.” one of your other numerous questions got answered, then– since your clothes stood out too much, you’d then find new ones from the winery’s scraps. 

“I can lead you there, if you are inclined.”

You panicked. “Are you sure? He’s fine with getting bothered?”

She stepped back, walking around you, her head still directed to you as she moved towards the stairs. “It’s the clothes you’ll be wearing. Besides,” her voice shifted to a mutter, “He could use a bit of bothering now and then.”

A few creaky flights and a key from Adelinde’s pocket later, you found yourself in a long, triangular attic with rows of splintered rafter beams in an area that was spacious yet suffocating. Various wooden crates and long chests were cracked open with small piles of nails on the corners, creating a trail that ended at the far west window of the room. 

Diluc looked up with a crowbar still in his hand. “Adelinde,” He greeted her with a nod. You stayed behind her to not meet eyes with him, peering only slightly over her shoulder.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Master Diluc?” She asked.

“Not quite.” he set his hands on his knees and pushed himself to standing. “I’m correct in assuming that’s our guest behind you?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. You didn’t move, so Adelinde did, your feeble barrier working against you. 

Your face nearly visibly cringed every time the memories of last night’s unneeded confessions reappeared in your mind. Thinking about it made you forever regret agreeing to go back to the winery, talking to him at the tavern, or even agreeing to the heist in the first place. If you could turn back time to avoid ever getting on that wagon that sleep-deprived, you would’ve. You irrevocably fumbled so hard you wanted to shred your notebook and curl underneath the bed. You couldn’t tell if seeing him straight-faced was making it worse or better.

“Mor…ning,” You faltered. For added effect, you gave a thumbs up. Curse Bennett for giving you that habit. “Ah– Can I help in any way?”

“There’s a few promising old storage containers that could help blend you in better. I’d suggest picking the plainer ones of the bunch. Adelinde, you’re free to leave if you have something to attend to.”

She bowed to Diluc, “Thank you. Oh, and breakfast will be ready in forty minutes.”

He waved a hand. “I won’t be there for it. Save yourself the trouble of preparing a plate.”

She let her expression sour only just a little at that answer. She straightened her shoulders. “Then I will have to prepare a container before you go.” She smiled, bowed to you, and walked back to the door. You watched the door shut, crossing your arms to self-soothe.

The momentary silence settled slowly into awkwardness. “Where…” You scanned the room’s boxes, “should I… start.”

Diluc cleared his throat, slipping past you to peer into and then shut a crate. “Any of the opened ones on that side of the attic. If there’s a lid still on them, they’re not useful.”

He walked back to the other side. You found relief in the distance the search brought.

You spent some time finding new used clothes in the attic. It was incredibly hard to stay on track, and not because you were still in the room with him. No, it was because you still had the sin of curiosity. The attic space wasn’t all clothing. It wasn’t even mostly clothing. Some of the crates that had been recently pried open sometimes had cracks that showed glimpses of porcelain plates, painted red tea sets, or ribbons of faux florals. Thick golden brown picture frames were propped against walls and chests. Small curled-up moth-eaten rugs, stacks of falling apart woven baskets, a breaking down dart board, all of it strayed you from the objective. When you saw two tennis-esque rackets slid between the space of the chest you were looking in and the next, one with some scratchy, unreadable writing in the common language on the white cloth at the handle, you glanced to where you heard the rustling over at the window. Did he really not care that you could see any of this?

He didn’t. Some of the boxes were opened but had their lids set back on top, but some never had their nails pried off and set into piles in the center of them. He was particular and deliberate in what he refused to touch. 

The clothing had categories to how they were sorted. Blouses, pants, and overcoats all had boxes to themselves, but socks, gloves, and handkerchiefs were always jumbled together. Corsets had larger boxes; There were so many corsets. The sizes always stayed similar in each bin, too. Kid's clothes went with kid's clothes, teens went with teens, and so forth. The farther containers— the ones in the corners— even held small dresses adorned with yellow flowers at the hems. A childhood friend, you thought for some reason. They stopped about two boxes in. 

A fascinating pattern showed itself within the casual immodesty with a decent portion of the clothes. There wasn’t for the younger clothes, but the teen-ish box already started having chest openings or oddly designed pants that had you take a second to visualize. Even some of the maid outfits had them, albeit clearly worn and altered to have them. It was weird, but most all playable characters had some sort of fan service, didn’t they? As much as the company didn’t mean for it, as a consequence, the world of Teyvat was built to normalize that sort of dress as non-sexual. Men and women alike wore revealing clothing and it wasn’t a bad thing. 

Neat , you thought. You still avoided the more revealing things. Everyone could do whatever they wanted, but at the same time, you couldn’t muster the courage at the moment.

Then there were servant uniforms, single-sized hat boxes, winter coats, and colorful costume boxes that were surprisingly hard to differentiate from real clothes. The only boxes that were miscellaneous held clothing that was far out of place with anything there. Themed party attire? That was the best bet you had.

Even though the box had frivolous pieces, it also had normal-looking things. You’d opened one of them, pulling out a particularly pretty laced poet shirt that to you, looked great, and also normal. You flipped it around, checking for moths or holes, but no. It was recent. 

“That’s a costume blouse,” You heard Diluc’s voice echo across the room. You froze, both confused at how there was a difference when they looked all the damn same, and concerned that you didn’t know how long he was looking at you for him to catch it that quick.

“Oh,” You said lamely. You flipped it over again. “So… suspicious if I wore it, right?”

He looked at you like that was a dumb thing to say. Which it was. “...Yes.”

Slowly, you folded the sleeves up and set it back in its place. 

He slipped the edge of the crowbar into a corner of a box and peeled it out fluidly like a splinter. “Those are lost accessories,” He said. “Banquets are sometimes reserved for here.”

“Ah.” The pieces made more sense. Most were earrings or bracelets, a few black face masks, a shawl. 

You found what you thought was the top of a dress, but pulling it above the other contents made you realize what you were holding was a brassiere. The thing swung from your fingers. Your brain bluescreened. Not knowing what to do you glanced at him, who had fully turned away, coughing.

“I avoid having any less than acceptable activities happening within the winery’s events,” He said unprompted, clearly feeling the need to add context. “It’s not my favorite activity to discard other’s things. They’re kept in case someone makes a fuss if they return for it. I’d… suggest not using them.”

Surprisingly conflict avoidant, you thought. Well, actually, conflict with dumb social things doesn’t sound like something he’d want to participate in – I’m still holding it, why am I still holding it? You dropped it back into the box and shut the lid with a bit too much force. Two-for-two in moments shared with Diluc that the both of you were actively trying to pretend didn’t happen.

You found things you could work with. Simple, unassuming clothing, and, if you were so bold, a little clip-on earring you couldn’t find the matching pair for– but maybe there never was a matching pair. Genshin and its asymmetrical jewelry. 

Diluc, however, was still opening boxes. And weirder still, he called over to you to cease it when you began closing the ones on your side of the attic. 

“I’m looking for something,” He explained. “You’ll mess my search up if I can’t track what I’ve looked in.”

“Oh– sorry.” You re-opened the lid on a chest of fancier, fully laced-up corsets. “I– what are you look–” Invasive question . “Aeh– Do you want… help?”

“I’ll be fine on my own.” he waved a hand half-heartedly, which made you feel immediately bad for asking. “You should head to the table for breakfast. I’ll have to apologize to both you and Adelinde again that I won’t show for it this time.”

You took the folded clothing and pressed the pile to your chest to keep it secure. You briefly stared at the back of his ponytail, scanning the possible appropriate ways to say goodbye, but nothing sounded like it would matter. A slight jerk of his head back (just how good were his senses when someone was watching him?) left you scurrying halfway down the attic steps. 

~~~

The maids worked in a very synchronized waltz when it came to preparations. Not scripted, coded clockwork, but more that this dance had been stepped so many times that they could do a lot in between the beats. With what little knowledge you did know of medieval maids of the past, this wasn’t how you expected it; It wasn’t quiet and stilted. The younger ones talked as they set down plates, utensils, glasses, and baskets. Adelinde added to the banter sometimes, but mostly, she watched them with a smile, folding up tea towels into a basket to get taken to the kitchen. Your face pressed against the balusters from the second floor until Adelinde spotted you and formally invited you down. The younger maids kept their gigglings to themselves as much as they could when they had to serve food.

You didn’t like getting served. It was the little actions– getting your chair pushed and pulled in for you, having the meals brought to the dining room, getting asked if and how you’d like your bath to be prepared (You tried so hard to figure out how to say no, but Adelinde rephrased it to remove the “if” part), so forth. You sat at a long, beautifully arranged table, with only one other plate at the seat next to you, and it was empty, and each time a maid had to do something you lowered your eyes and stared at the assortment of fruit, savory pastries, and crackers, and wished so dearly that they did not want to ask you questions or refill your glass of water. It was the world’s worst scenario for a person who felt like they were forcefully burdensome to a group of servants whose job was taking care of unworthy people.

But then, you started looking at it differently, as your eyes looked over the paintings, the display cases, the bookshelves, the old red lace tablecloth in front of you, everything. You now were imagining it from the perspective of someone who would have to do this routine every day. The time had a weird way of stretching itself to make the seconds feel longer, every bite you took taking minutes of the soft crunching beneath your molars. Every interaction with a maid was a passing glance or a brief whispered conversation. There was a heavy silence save for the ticking of a grandfather clock, pulsing rhythmically until the sound turned into white noise to you. It was mundane. Because the only person who’d be getting this treatment would be Diluc, wouldn’t it? His father was dead, his brother didn’t live here, and his mother never got brought up. 

You wondered if it always felt this gloomy, or if that was just how grief haunted places when you knew they were once filled with children. You tried to picture a younger Diluc, sitting in the seat next to you, looking at an empty plate unable to sit still at the exciting thought that a teen Adelinde would swoop in to bestow him a little pastry for the morning. Or maybe the two brothers racing up the stairs as their father yelled from his desk to knock it off. You wondered how he could stand it. You wondered if it was why he never lingered in the mornings. 

But you wouldn’t pry. He was a real person now, not a fictional character you could analyze. You’d let yourself indulge in these curiosities and false stories all you wanted in the confines of your mind. It was fine as long as you didn’t turn it into words. There wasn’t much to do now besides wait around this house and wonder. The eternal curse of this world was still trying to find ways to fill the meaningless void of time. 

Coincidentally, Adelinde came back around to take your plate, asking “Was everything to your liking?” In her formal-headmaid tone. You nodded, and assured her it was completely fine, and tried not to glance towards the empty spot when you said that.

She set all the utensils onto the plate in a careful positioning. “If you ever get hungry again, find me. I’m always around somewhere.” You did find some comfort in her consistent reassurance to confide in her.

“Hey, I wanted to ask,” You mentioned to her before she walked off fully, “Is there any way I could help out with chores?” You figured it would give you anything to do.

She chuckled. “That’s sweet to offer, but I have nothing to give that hasn’t already been delegated for the day. You can just stick to exploring the manor for now.”

“Ah– oh, um, sorry,” You bowed, suddenly thinking asking could be a slight against her work and that just anyone could do it, like it was trivial – and yet, her face looked unfazed and she didn’t care in the slightest.

“Are there… any places I shouldn’t go?” You asked instead. 

She shook her head slightly. “If they are, they’ll be locked, so don’t worry.” She turned on her heel before spinning back quickly. “Right– and if you are exploring and happen to run into the younger maids trying to pester you about rumors, tell them it was my fault somehow.”

You sat up straighter. “For… anything they ask?”

Her formality cracked into a grin. “They’re a bit gullible with scary stories. They mean no harm to you, I assure.” She cleared her throat, “Any other questions I can help with?”

You had plenty , but she had a job to do that wasn’t dealing with you. “No, it’s okay.”

She bowed. “Do what you please.”

You sat there for a little while longer, accidentally getting into a trance while staring off at a particularly ugly vase, wondering how to fill the time. It was then that Diluc had appeared, briefly enough to leave. It at least snapped you back and forced you out of the empty table. You didn’t wait for a maid to push in the chair. You didn’t make eye contact when you went up the same steps he went down.

“I’ll be back to take you to the Angel’s Share,” was all his instructions. You gave a weak thumbs up and a “Mhm!” as enthusiastically as possible. 

You caught the conversation of Adelinde and Diluc when you scuttled off to the guest room, your fingers skimming the balustrade:

“Adelinde,” Greeted Diluc.

“Diluc.” Stated Adelinde, who did not sound like a maid anymore. “It’s a bit cruel to not even show, no?”

“I didn’t want to make unkept promises. And I figured the attic would take a lot of time to reset to normal.”

She scoffed. “That’s my job, not yours.” But it didn’t become an argument, instead more like something she’d repeat like a broken record and had given up on convincing him. “Our guest looked incredibly small at a table that big. Frightened is the word, I think.”

At that point, you were away from the edge and pressed against the wall at the mouth of the hallway. It made you pause there. Unable to see them, but also unable to see you.

He inhaled. “I seem to make it worse. It’s why I’ve been relying on your experience in this instance.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. But for the record, I think you’re wrong about making it worse. They sought you out. You can’t be doing that horribly. You’re just… out of practice, that’s all.”

“I’ll stick to leaving it to the expert. You’re better at handling these things than I am.”

She didn’t confirm or deny it. “I hope you’ll at least keep your promise that you’re taking the leftovers.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Diluc,” She said, “You are taking this.”

“I never promised.”

“Fine. You never promised. Then keep your word , at least.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will have worse conditions than hunger when I’m done with you. Take it and eat it and enjoy it.”

You heard a soft sigh, and then the rustling of fabric. “This is a strange hill to die on.”

Her voice had an audible smile. “Safe travels. Let me know if any of your clothes need to get bloodstains off of them.”

“I will.”

The room briefly got brighter, then the sound of the door clicking shut echoed from the first floor. 

You waited for just a moment. You walked the other way, down the hallway, back to stay within the confines of the guest room.

…

…

…

…

…

…

You left the bedroom briefly when Adelinde showed you how the bath worked, but you… Didn’t want to be there for long. She filled the tub with warm water and then left to let you do what you had to, and you stared at the ripples fading into stillness until you realized you were zoning out. You used a washcloth with a mixture of soap and water instead. Then, you went back to the guest room to change and probably sit in for the rest of time.

It was like a hotel room, or maybe a pretty guest room of a distant family member’s house. A house where the decorations were so intricate that it was hard to feel comfortable—like it was an intrusion. Only there weren't intricate decorations, and it was quite plain for room standards. The discomfort was most likely appearing from inward, not outward. 

So, you thought, you gave it a different outlook. It’s not snooping, it's… checking for hiding places . You were making sure you could build the best plan for the worst case. 

The bed was frivolous, but not large. By “frivolous”, it meant that it had a glossy headboard with little doves tucked up between carved leaves. It was raised, but the quilt was long, so it draped over and left an inch or two of space from the ground. The bottom part had a lot of room. Pulling up the quilt showed the space already stocked with a few leather-bound suitcases. Behind the wall of containers, it was empty. A fine fit to go unnoticed if you want to slide down into the place. Being the first thing you see when you open the door, however, meant it was also the most unlikely to be truly optimal.

The wardrobe held nothing but wired hangers and empty rounded shoe boxes with thin wax paper still crumpled at the bottom. It was sizeable enough, however, for you to think, “Wow, I could very easily fit in there standing up,” and you did not have the mental fortitude to stop yourself from testing it. It was a comfortable fit. Sitting down, too, if you kicked the boxes over. It was a cozy hiding place. 

You checked the cabinet, which was less of a good hiding spot since it was entirely filled with random pages of tracked number trends folded and wedged between empty, unused wine bottles. Mostly empty wine bottles. A lot of empty wine bottles. That was a bit weird.

By the time you were trying to unclick the lock on the window to test how fast you could clamber out, you had accepted the room was now void of any mentally stimulating sights. It had only so much that you could look over. You also felt really embarrassed that the window couldn’t budge an inch despite your attempts. 

So then your time transitioned from exploring the hiding spots of the room to, say… the exit strategy of the manor. It felt like a maze, only mazes were supposed to be a lot more winding and suffocating. Dawn Winery had long hallways and windows with decent light somewhere around the corners. There was the front door, a back door, a servant’s door tucked more out of sight that led to one of the side fields, and the windows, if you were desperate, but you weren’t bold enough to test the locks’ strength. The front door was always unlocked, the back door had a little chain lock, and you never got close enough to the servant’s door to see how good of a route it was, since there was almost always at least one maid, cook, or butler nearby in the area. 

You retried the steps, since all there was, was wandering. From the guest room, then down the left hall, taking a turn, following until the second door, cutting down the steps, down the other hall, and then to the back door. From the upstairs lounge, down the right hall, down the main steps, around the dining table, through the door. From the guest room, down the right, cut to the left, and then a detour to the first door instead of the second because wow, there’s a piano room? To down another hall, to the main steps, and to the front door. To be absolutely sure none of the doors went to stairways, you started opening them with a bit more confidence (only when a maid wasn’t around, sweeping the halls or polishing any stray vase). For science. For safety.

Adelinde was right, some of them were locked. And very few doors had any hints as to why. There was the cellar door, which was key-locked to not have anything bad happen to the wine, and there were smaller, skinnier doors that you guessed were broom closets, and there was one dark-stained engraved door that might’ve been a master bedroom, but most seemed plain and unsuspecting. Party lounges or libraries? Playrooms and archives? 

One locked door had in the middle of it a section of the wood that wasn’t as worn as the rest around it. A rectangle that would’ve most likely been a very useful sign to help figure out what it was for. And then your eyes caught the little slashes pricked out of the frame with a small blade, in inch increments. It didn’t go past four feet, and you didn’t need to see the sign, because that was a child’s bedroom. 

You backed away from it like it was dangerous to look at. As if somehow spending too much time there was somehow an admission of a crime. The door stayed quietly as it was. You forced yourself to pretend like planning exit strategies was interesting to you still. 

You started to linger more around the people, but only from afar. You’d only watch them around the corners or from between the balustrades. It wasn’t your house after all, so you never wanted to get too comfortable. You kept your distance while maintaining your curiosity.

Walking by the laundry room, a few of the maids (including Adelinde, who waved to you as she pulled the string of the needle taught on the embroidery hoop) were figuring out where the top and bottom of the florid sheets were. A man from the kitchen had passed you in the hall with a little slip of paper and angry-looking bushy eyebrows that made you almost knock into a hallway table from their intensity. The white-haired man from Diluc’s backstory stayed mostly at his desk on the first floor, aside from one time in which you’d had a heart attack as a different unknown stranger appeared from the front door just as you were climbing the stairs– A green tunic and no knight insignia, thank god, but you were already hiding and holding your breath. They talked lightheartedly, and then a maid with circular glasses walked up, exclaiming, “Ernest! Elzer!” and that seemed to be the catalyst for the three to take their little group outside to take a break and talk more in the fresh air.

What a strange, strange house. A noble family once spent their time within this place. Siblings, fathers, aunts, uncles. They paid for farmers, stewards, maids, carpenters, blacksmiths, tailors, chefs, to upkeep the heart of their wine empire, and despite one brother living there, he didn’t linger. It was a bird's nest still stuck in the branches, the husk remained to tell the story.

It felt haunted, and it wasn’t ghosts, nor was it some chill under your skin. You couldn’t stop picturing a family that wasn’t there, the children who broke in the shoes and wore the floorboards down to squeaking messes and nicked the heights in the doorways. Before you knew it, you were feeling second-hand nostalgia for a bygone era you never had a shot at seeing yet yearned to go back to. You wished you were at Dawn Winery when they weren’t all dead. 

Then the little maids finally found you. They must’ve sensed your melancholic exploration after the circles and circles you took around the hallways. Originally, you were peeking at the white-haired man as he returned to that desk and started rummaging through the drawers, but you heard a whisper and then jumped at the touch from your shoulder. And then jumped even more when a hand clamped over your mouth and yanked you further into the hall.

“Hush, hush!” A high-pitched voice said. “Sheesh, you’re jumpy.” Looking at her, she had the usual long black dress and white apron, and long, dark blond hair. The two looked like younger teenagers, maybe even preteens. Safe to say they were terrifying.

“Jumpy is a good quality,” The other maid said. She had short, brown, slightly wavy hair. “It means they’re on guard. That’s why you’ve been looking at the steward, right? Right?”

“Uh… yes–?”

“-- Of course it is,” The blond said. “We already knew that. But I’m not jumpy, and I can be on guard just fine.”

“Do not,” Said the brunette.

“Do too,” Replied the blond. 

The blond one whisper-yelled your name to bring the attention straight back to you, which was alarming because you never told them that. “--can I call you Mousy?”

“Wh… why?” You asked.

She pointed a finger. “You skitter around like a mouse in the walls. I’m on rat-trap duty, you know, I know how they act.”

“ Rat trap, Hillie,” Said the brunette. “Mice act differently. You should be calling them Ratty.”

“Uh— maybe not that–” You pleaded. 

“So Mousy,” Said Hillie, “me and Moco have been around this place for a good while–”

“--Three weeks,” Moco added.

“--Three weeks,” Agreed Hillie. “And there’s always something weird lurking. Do you agree?!” She shrieked the question out of nowhere.

“Yes?!” You found yourself startled into saying.

Moco smiled. “Great. Good. Because there is . We figured you picked up on that since all you’ve done is stalk the staff.”

You felt incredibly called out and embarrassed, but also very scared at the thought that they’ve been watching you the entire time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But they moved on. “What do you think of Adelinde?” Hillie leaned into you with the tips of her fingers over her mouth. 

“I… think she’s alright?”

“You’ve never caught her staring a bit too long?” Asked Moco.

“Or saying not to keep your window open at night?” Asked Hillie.

You’d only seen her worrying over you or smiling at the two maids. But you didn’t want them to be angry. “Maybe,” you said undecidedly.

“She’s a murderer,” said Moco. “Or worse, a strange woman.”

“Murderer? And strange how?” You asked, guessing where this led to. 

They looked at each other, then at you. Hillie started the spiel. “Well, you see, we’ve watched her a while now. One month is long enough to know someone and she–” Hillie said ‘she’ quieter, like a bad omen– “she has these weird quirks. One time I was on laundry duty and found a badly bloodied cotton shirt at the bottom of the pile. What does she say when I rush to her about this? When I say, “Mrs. Addie, there was a murder”? A smile . That’s all I get. She takes it, leaves, and smiles.”

Definitely Dilucs , it clicked nearly immediately. You believed with a modest assurance that the Manor and its workers knew of what Diluc did in some measure, or at least assumed that they did. But Moco and Hillie were young, shiny new hires. At some point they’d be told, but maybe not this soon into their training, or else they’d click the dots.

Now you got why Adelinde told you to blame anything on her. 

“Oh,” You said. You were going to leave it at that, but they looked at you so hard that you choked up a second answer. “That’s– um. Weird.”

“Right?!” Moco maid you jump again. “And her cooked steak, too. You try to ask her what’s in it, and she doesn’t tell you. She smiles .”

“Plus,” This time, Hillie was actually whispering, “A maid left, that tall woman with the dumb haircut, and guess what’s served the next day in the evening?” You didn’t answer. “See? You get it. Something’s up.”

“It’s not normal to serve meat for dinner?” you asked.

Hillie laughed. “You’re funny.” 

If you weren’t convinced they were a bit too conspiratory about how evil Adelinde truly was, you were now. “I think… she’s… normal?” You shrugged. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding, I don’t know.”

“What could possibly be misunderstood?” Moco huffed. “But the weirdest thing is how dead silent everyone else is about it. Sometimes, head maid Adelinde will seek us out to do tasks where we’ll come across her true schemes– Like when she asked me to–” Moco shuddered then, “G… go into the dark cellar at midnight… where the spirit of Crepus lurks…” 

“It’s like she knows we’re the only competent ones to her schemes. Letting us know that we’ll be next…” Hillie’s whisper had a hiss to it. For it, you backed up further into the wall.

“And because of this, since we are so kindhearted, we’re warning you, too. This manor has secrets . Uncovering them will be deadly… ” Moco lengthened the end of the last word. They looked at each other, then at you, who shrugged, then they looked at each other once more.

“So you’re joining us in our alliance against the head maid, right?” Hillie asked, leaning close.

Before you could answer, a dark, shadowed figure was creeping up behind the two girls, with long claws and the scythe of a reaper. Their hairs stood on end as a chill shot down their spines when they heard the menacing voice—

“Hillie, Moco. Shouldn’t you be reorganizing the library by now?”

Now they were the ones to jump out of their skin. They straightened immediately, both obediently yelping a “Yes, Miss Adelinde!” Before taking off down the hall to thunder up the servant’s stairs energetically. Adelinde, broom in hand, smiled at you.

“Aren’t they cute?” She said, looking down the now empty hall. 

How much of that did she hear? You thought. You hoped she didn’t take offense to how little you defended her on the accusations of being an actual murderer. “Sure,” you said, with an uptick in your voice like you meant it. “But don’t you get worried about the rumors they’re spreading?”

“Who says they aren’t true?” 

You blinked. “…are they?” 

She chuckled. That was answer enough. You felt stupid for asking. “They’ve told Master Diluc, and yet I’m still employed. So it’s truly no trouble of mine. Besides, isn’t there some saying about that? Better feared than loved?” 

You couldn’t fathom willingly wanting someone to dislike you or be weary of you. You didn’t understand it, but then again what else was new? Adelinde had a vastly different life than you.

She took the broom in her two hands, “excellent choice, by the way.” Her eyes looked down at your clothes. 

Your “thank you” came out clumsy since her comment was unexpected. “I didn’t think the fabric would be so comfortable.”

“It may need some tailoring at the cuffs, but that can be arranged for later.”

You wouldn’t try to fight that. “Oh– okay.”

She gave you a knowing look. “Please, you found it locked in the attic. He’d do nothing with those clothes besides let them feed the moths.”

“It still feels… I don’t know, bad?”

“Only because you’ve decided you should,” Adelinde pointed out. She exhaled, “but I understand. None of this comes naturally. Even I still feel weird wearing jewelry. You just learn to live in the discomfort.” 

You imagined having to live in the uncertainty you felt at that moment. What a bleak thought that was.

The clamoring from the kitchen and cooks emerging from the doors nearby made Adelinde straighten up more– Even as a head maid she knew it was bad to act so informal around guests. She bowed to you and spoke in her softer voice. “If you need anything, call for me.”

You gave her a wave. “Can– can do.”

You almost thought the two girls were still around the corner and would jump you the moment Adelinde walked away, but thankfully that was just something your mind made up. 

Deciding you didn’t want to deal with another run-in with those two at the moment, you made the brave leap to step outside, only after checking every window and making sure there weren’t knights on any of the paths. It was slightly chilled, but the new burst of sunlight through the otherwise dreary clouds made the temperature feel a lot warmer. 

It started with circling the winery itself, which was a walk of its own. You stayed close to the building enough to still see through the windows but mostly had your gaze on the fields. Little thatches of hair poked out from the tall grapevines as the farmers slowly tended to the products. Most of what you saw was damage control instead of harvesting. It was plain to see the large sections of knocked-over posts and damaged plants. All they could do was put the ripped-out vines into bags and replace the wooden structures with new ones. They hummed tunes in an indecipherable language, but otherwise worked with the efficiency brought from being under the Stormterror crisis for so long. Aside from them, a woman was tending to the nearby flower beds and in the seating area on the side of the manor were the maid and the man in the green tunic, soaking up whatever sun they could get. You could hear the chatter about people you didn’t recognize by name, though you guessed it was all about winery workers.

The wind in you decided to start acting up. You could only feel small ripples swimming around your lungs, but on occasion they flickered around with more intensity, pressing themself to the folds of your skin. The nature of elemental energy was still a mystery to you, but it hadn’t acted like that in a while. You wondered if it was because you were outside and the magic was worried as much as you were– which you didn’t need. You had plenty of worry all by yourself, you didn’t need a second entity jostling your bones about it as well. It made you even more vigilant, but there was still no change. There wasn’t anyone but the workers.

“Stop it,” You whispered to yourself, “It’s fine. We’re fine. Knock it off.” The wind’s patterns didn’t change enough for you to know if it understood you. 

Eventually, you felt safe enough to walk through the fields on the designated paths. The grapes were tall and far-reaching, you blended in more than you would be around the house since the manor was elevated. The rows were endless. The grapes were matte black, and you only briefly considered the thought of taking one. There were plenty spilled across the path that were no doubt unprofitable, but even then you didn’t know if wine grapes were bred in a way that made them taste disgusting. You held off, but you thought about it. 

More importantly, you gained knowledge about the fastest and most inconspicuous trails. All of them were long stretches of pathway, but some were better than others. They all opened up to opened roads eventually but, say, the winding arch around the entire north field would keep you hidden for longer. The only issue after that was how foggy the map was in your brain about which trail would be safest to run for. The surest paths would take you to Stormterror’s Lair (which would kill you), or Liyue (which would be an entirely new problem), the other two at some point connected back to Mondstadt City and you had no knowledge of how fast that journey would be and how much knight foot traffick there was. There was also the river, you supposed. No there wasn’t, actually, you weren’t going to kid yourself into thinking that would be viable.

You took a lap around until you felt like a nuisance to the farmers ( Am I breaking their concentration? Do they think I’m looking down on them by watching? Is it weird to pace in a field? Repeat list of thoughts ad nauseum ) and also had the wind in you worsening in its flare-ups, so you decided it was a good time to head back inside. Checking the grandfather clock in the dining room as well as the context clues the kitchen had a flare of activity preparing for lunch, and you concluded your neverending wandering had been going on for about five hours, and you were only halfway through the day. It was like psychological torture. You wondered what Diluc was up to, and almost wished you had the social indecency to ask about tagging along when he was there in the morning. After all, open-world games are only fun if there’s something to do in the open space. 

You sat next to the grand stairs, your legs crossed and forehead pressed to the balusters overlooking Hillie and Moco sweeping the dining room once more. You were waiting out the Anemo’s attempts to make you nauseous when Adelinde tapped your shoulder behind you.

“Sorry,” You said instinctually. Good lord that woman could be quiet when she wanted to.

“No no, you’re alright,” she said. “I’m here to say the afternoon meal will be served in ten minutes.”

You decided then was as good of a time as ever to get up. You’d done nothing but watch the maids giggle at each other for long enough to get an imprint of the railing on your skin. You stretched your arms up to the ceiling and rolled your shoulders. The Anemo in you spilled into the joints, then pointed in the direction of the table, spinning and flipping itself around. Maybe all that was left to do was push through another uncomfortable meal and force yourself to sleep until it was time to leave.

“Will anyone else be at the table?” you asked, walking down with her.

“Well… No. If you’d like company, though, I’d be more than happy to sit with you.” 

“They won’t yell at you for that?”

“At a different noble manor, yes. But Dawn Winery is atypical– I get requested to sit down for meals all the time.”

You found it sweet Diluc would ask her of that. Or maybe bittersweet that she was now the only one to ask.

With the maids cleaning around the dining room, you eventually pushed yourself back to the windows that overlooked the front of the manor. You could’ve dashed over to the table but at the same time being in the middle of Hillie and Moco wasn’t the most optimal outcome.

It was then that the door had a knock. Which wasn’t unusual what with the new activity in the kitchen and also sporadic guest visits throughout the day. Moco called to Adelinde, “Can I get this one?”

“If you make sure to be brief and polite, then yes, Moco,” She called back.

“I will, I will,” Moco grumbled under her breath. You would’ve been sympathetic if you hadn’t previously felt what a conversation was like with her. The reminder might’ve been needed.

You were inclined to just stand on the sidelines and zone out, but something nagged at you in the back of your mind. The wind was still spinning farther out past the dining room, outside the manor. Moco fumbled with the locks as you slipped the curtains open a bit more, if only to quell whatever your elemental stomach butterflies had to say.

Your hand kept its hold on the fabric. You stayed still, the boredom of the day slowly slipping out of your thoughts as a void of any mental functions replaced it. Time didn’t freeze like in movies, it kept going, which was the cruel part. The kitchens still quietly bustled with activity. Moco silently closed the door behind her as she stepped outside. The hairs of your arm slowly bent themselves upward into goosebumps. 

There was nothing but static and wind in your head for a moment. You felt how the energy swirled to your heart as the beats got louder in your ears. Your hand couldn’t pry itself from the curtain. You stared. It was all you could muster to do.

You finally made a thought form. 

(Oh. That’s cruel. )

Two eyes looked at him through the window. Slowly, one eye made its way to look at you. 

Chapter Text

( It was those guards, wasn’t it? At the gate? It had to have been them. They saw something odd. They gave it to their commander. Their commander knew what to do. One, two, three… )

You didn’t stick around to hear the door open and have nothing separate you from your hunter. You didn't want to turn back and see how his gaze followed every movement through the glass, you didn’t want to watch him chart your path through the house to find you again, you didn’t want to watch your death unravel. It’s scary enough to hear a shotgun go off, it’s worse to look down the barrel as it happens. You chose not only to run, but hide.

You don’t remember the in-between of meeting his gaze and being at the top of the main staircase, but you assumed you started running. You turned down the hallway, out of sight. You moved on the tips of your shoes to track as little noise, but you risked the creaks of the floorboards your sprints made for only a few moments, just to gain distance. Then, stifling your gasps and twisting winds, you tried to shuffle as quiet as a mouse, no wooden groaning beneath you, your arms held apart from your body like you were balancing on a tight rope. 

( Why did you go outside in the first place? Did he see you out before? Is that why he was at the window? )

The first thought was to go deeper into the heart of the mansion. It was large, you could lose someone far more easily within the twisting hallways, and there was no threat of detection from a large expanse away. If you were to see someone from across a field, you could see the exact direction, but if you saw someone down a hall, there would be two other halls to take. 

( But you’ve made a mistake, you thought. The windows would be in full view of the main staircase. He now knows you’re on the second floor.)

The hairs on your neck prickled with a jittering electricity. Could you go back downstairs? But that was too obvious, he’d predict it. Then your room was on your mind. It was safe and easy. It held every single belonging you had in this world. It was the starting point for every planned getaway from any corner of the house, and now all you knew was to go straight to it. 

(He can’t see the room. The room is safe.)

So you went straight to your room. It was easy to find at this point. You shut the door a bit too loudly, but the doors of the house always clattered like that. That was the risk you’d have to take to open and close any door.

Your eyes flickered around to the items there – your bag, the journal, old clothes. You shoved them all between the suitcases underneath the bed, maybe to make it look unused. But the crumpled bedding revealed the lie plainly, and just a few seconds of attempting to straighten it made you realize with another jolt of horror that you couldn’t make this room look untouched – he’d know you’d been there. He’d start looking closer.

The hiding spots didn’t feel safe, then. There were cracks in the suitcases where you could see the curled-over divets in your spine, the wardrobe was too large and empty, and you didn’t have enough time to move the clutter from the cabinet in a way that didn’t make it obvious someone hollowed out a hole to die in. The window doesn’t open. The dust hasn’t settled back.

You ran to the window, anyway. Just to check. To hope. To break the little metal part holding the glass in place. But your fingers felt too clunky, and your face felt way too warm trying to break open the old lock. Even if it was miraculously unlatched at this point, you were too reckless and uncoordinated with your attempts. And if you got it opened, you couldn’t close it. The bedding was still tampered with; he’d know where you were, and know where you went. 

… He knows this house like the back of his hand, your mind shattered with a hollowing thought. You slowly stepped back from the window, your soles scratching against the rug until you stopped in the middle of the room. He’d know where you would go anyway , no matter what. The price to pay for crawling through someone else's home. You couldn’t even pace to think, the floors would creak. 

Your stomach twisted, and the wind slipped by the knots. You tried desperately to first calm down, then check where the elemental energy pooled in your skin, but it was unreliable now. Even when you finally learned your lesson and listened when the wind moved towards a direction, it decided to give you nothing but anxiety. Static feedback. Lost signal.

( Stop trying to use the wind if it’s useless. You’re standing in your own grave.)

You couldn’t tell whether to dash back out and find a new place or stay there and pick from your options. There wasn’t time to pick all of the clothes up (or, at least your nerves make you say that to yourself loud enough to believe it) but if you stayed, you’d get caught. Your legs wobble, shifting the balance as you twitch for the door, twitch back into staying in place, moving back and forth with horrifying indecision.

( If you stay you’ll get caught. If you stay, you’ll get caught.)

You waste another few precious seconds locked in place before you suddenly burst into movement, unstringing your shoes from your feet and clutching them in your hands. You waste more trying to be quiet about re-opening the door, and there was a click, though you couldn’t tell how audible from the other side, and you could only go for it. Time had slowed down for you so much, you couldn’t tell if you waited in that room for one minute or ten, and there was a crucial difference between those amounts.

Now barefoot and making slightly less noise, you made your way. The escape paths blended together to blind you, and after moving down once left and then once right, you couldn’t remember exactly where the servant's stairs were and, despite those stairs being the most inconspicuous and therefore optimal, you didn’t have enough time to find them. Most of the pathways you could easily map back to the central stairs, but that wasn’t optimal either.

 Somewhere downstairs, you heard a conversation but it sounded like normal manor hubbub. The thought was bleak. The house staff worked unknowingly to the game of cat and mouse being played.

Then you heard the clicks of heels. Calm, confident strides. They echoed across the wallpaper and dusty paintings right in front of you, the direction you were heading when you had almost finished the length of a hallway. You could almost collapse right there, frozen in terror, but you had a better instinct to bolt. You had done too well of a job of throwing away your sneaky silence with reckless abandon, running with a leap that led to you already scaling half of the hallway at the cost of two large and obvious thuds. You switched immediately to quieter, smaller steps, as you couldn’t outrun him anyway. 

Hiding was all there was left. The thin door right as you turned the corner, unlabeled but clearly a broom closet, held your solace. Quietly as possible, you opened the door, a simple latch that swung silently. The issue lay in that silent latch: with no doorknobs, the lock laid on the outside, and the door would have to have a small crack. Its light was like a slice of paper, a coin-width thick. It made you nauseous. You held your breath. 

You begged for the wind to stay put. You kept checking it for some sort of hint or pointer, but it bumped wildly at your skin. If you weren’t scared, you’d be angry. You kept getting left in the dark, or maybe you were always too late. I’m listening to you now, aren’t I? You wanted it to hear. Why do you give me nothing now?

The glimpse of a person drew chills throughout your body and your head had a pressure like you were dragged deep underwater—

But it was a maid. Just a maid, with clicking heels, she passed and left. You waited for your mind to stop swirling and then you let yourself breathe harder.

( Do you stay right here? No. You’ll be found. You’ll die in this house. Leave, head for the woods, don’t come back. )

You tentatively touched down to the floor, your ears pricked so closely to any sound that you heard the echo of your clothes twisting along your torso. There was muffled talk from the wood beneath your feet. You cringed with every step, suddenly wondering if the captain had decided to go to the maids about your whereabouts. Did the maid see you in the closet? Would she say something if she were asked? Would they hear your uneven, faltering, cowardly, unwelcomed steps above and already know where you were? You tried not to, but you kept feeling sick. Like every step taken was on knives. 

( No, not knives. The cold, smooth, black-and-white marble panels of a chessboard. )

You remembered this hallway. Briefly, you walked down it to inevitably get to the main doors. The muffled conversations and light clamor from downstairs were now a little more buoyant as they floated up to the second floor. It’d take you straight outside to the pathways that would guarantee no knights, Liyue, or old Mondstadt. Just one stairway, one door, and then running.

But the louder the voices got, the more that tingle in your scalp made you think you lost time living the closer you got. Would he expect you to return to the front door believing it was safe of his presence? And if not, there are the people, the maids, the servants. They’d be charmed by him, wouldn’t they? With no understanding of the gravity, they’d let it slip that they saw you. 

If they hadn’t already. That guard at the gate was willing to tell the captain about the extra passenger. Hillie and Moco wouldn’t know better. Maybe that maid was willing if they thought you were acting strange. Was Diluc on it, too? Did he give you up?

( No, none of that matters. You are in the middle of the hallway and you have to move. )

Your mind went far enough to realize how dumb those thoughts became. It was useless, yes, it was useless. It didn’t matter who’d say something. If it made a problem, then you’d go the other direction instead. You went past the second doorway, despite some part of you growing afraid because of that. Wild and useless running around the halls would lead you to him eventually, but if you weren’t thinking, then he couldn’t predict what you’d do. Your feet kept moving, no matter the fear and the wind. You got more afraid, and the wind bumbled between your teeth, but you kept moving. 

Then, there was luck. Salvation. At the very end of the hallway, there was that familiar strip– the servants' stairs. You never got to it because of the people, but no one was in your sights yet. They’d lead directly outside, straight into the fields and cover. And from there, the most hidden of the pathways out of the area. It was to Mondstadt City, but it’d be safer.

Was this the way? You thought. Do I double back?

( Don’t stay in one place. Keep moving. Keep moving. )

The steps creaked loudly, as you went roughly three at a time. You saw the light of the door’s little window at the base of the stairs. When the bottom opened up, the voices were now level, and you were aware you shared the same floor with people for certain. Had they noticed you? How far away were they? You couldn’t hear. Your heart shouted over them. You squeezed your eyes shut with the same grip as your hands on the handle of the door.

And then it was pushed open, and you were outside. 

( RUN. )

…

…

…

…

You fumbled over the edge separating the patio from the fields. The sticks were tall enough to cover you, so you didn’t hold back. You ran. The hard dirt scraped the bottom skin off your feet with every hit. You felt the pain, the sting of calluses in the weeks to come. It was almost straight paths, but the breaks with every section weren’t always lined up, and you’d pivot, almost getting snared or spiked on grape vines. The farther you went, the more the damage appeared. Sometimes the hard dirt would have a cold squish to it. Fallen grapes. A twig snapped underneath your bare feet and you didn’t feel it, like you stomped on it while wearing steel shoes. But you couldn’t think. 

Then, the harsh line between field and pathway had you bursting into the open, to the dusty gravel. You’d make it short. You saw where you had to go, where the line of sight would leave. You didn’t look back. Sometimes you’d still close your eyes for a moment, like the bad monsters would go away, or maybe you’d wake up already. Your feet were thrumming, but they stopped feeling pain altogether. 

The path shifted. From wider dirt to rougher around the edges. The trees wrapped around you, sheltering you from the sight of the manor. The trees stopped whipping by you, your legs slowed down to a jog with more bounce to them than the clean sprinting, then picked up again for another burst of speed until nothing in you could hold the oxygen, and then it was back to the bouncing, messier jog. The wind within you couldn’t be felt over your pounding head and heart. The wind used all of itself to help, moving and sliding the heart valves to give you another breath. It gave you a few more sprints. 

Where could you even go from here? It didn’t matter much so long as it was away from the knights, right? From him ? Your thoughts shifted fearfully to the thought of being lost, but it was quickly righted again when you remembered this was a path you were following, and paths tend to lead somewhere. Mondstadt, you thought. You ran so frantically that your mind forgot all of those details, and slowly slipped back into the details. Maybe it hit Springvale before Mondstadt, which you could handle. As far as your memory could handle, there weren’t guards there. 

Your speed slowed, and you couldn’t bring it back to a faster pace; slowly, it waned more and more. You swayed, trying to swallow, but your throat had no saliva in it. Miraculously, you stayed upright. Looking down, you saw your feet and cuffs of your pants stained with red, too purple to be blood, yet the splatters were reminiscent. Your foot placement had gotten clumsier. You hadn’t noticed when. But you stayed upright and walking. You couldn’t stop entirely, or else you might not start again. 

But the swaying was getting difficult to manage. The forest welcomed you, hugging you on both sides. The trees were thicker than real life, unburdened by modern days in which not a single one could live past a few decades. Your path of walking veered over to the side, to use the passing trees as easy anchors. 

Okay, so maybe it didn’t matter if you stopped for a moment. Tentatively, after you swayed just a bit closer, you put a hand to the tree –

And glassy ice smashed into the bark before you could lean for support. 

You nearly stagger to the ground, your hands dropping their contents with a gasp. The tree splinters crumble, but the ice remains on the tree, frozen upon contact in sharp spikes shot at a clear angle coming from over your shoulder. Blood running cold, you crossed your hands over your stomach.

There he was, thirty feet away, metallic clinking softly emanating as he didn’t walk, more stalked. Laertes enters the play at the final act knowing exactly what he is meant to do. He moved slow yet the strides far too slowly, far too quickly, closed the distance between you. Thirty feet became twenty-one.

( You feel the wire clasps shut around your small, fuzzy body, leaving you to squeak and whine within the confines .)

Something in your mind shifted, dripped the realization into place like melting water, you felt swirling behind your eyes. There was a reason you had to be so lucky that you never saw him in the house. Those weren’t his footsteps. He never stepped foot in the house at all. He knew the house like the back of his hand, so of course he’d know the exits as well. He didn’t need to go inside because he knew you’d run to a secluded area all on your own.

It was when his right glove slid out the sword trapped against his hilt that you forced yourself to talk, to move. The first brush of the words in your mouth came out as dying heaves: “Please don’t kill me,” you mustered. “I’m not going to fight.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” He said. 

Your legs stumbled backward, unable to take your eyes off of him. He still moved forward. “I want answers. Answers you still haven’t given me. And now’s a good opportunity to start talking.” The blade was like a wet claw of a cat, shining, each step of his on the jagged stones and grass sending ripples of fearful shocks across your body. 

Twenty-one feet to nineteen.

“Who sent you to get the lyre?” His voice was sharp, his face mostly neutral aside from a creased brow and features darkened by shadows. “The Abyss order? The Fatui?”

You shook your head vigorously, raising your hands, palm up to him. “I’m not–”

He didn’t give you patience. “Don’t take me for a fool. That heist is specific. An artifact meant to summon a dragon you fought the day before. Stored in the cathedral you spent many nights in.”

You felt the stab of a stone into your feet, nearly tripping. Kaeya’s thumb slid itself up and down the hilt, shifting, trying to slide into the most comfortable place. You didn’t know what to say or do to make him stop moving towards you. “Please, please don’t,” you begged. Prayed. Your body wasn’t given enough rest for an interrogation like this. 

Nineteen to fifteen.

”Why the lyre?” He wasn’t shouting, but it didn’t sound calm. “What were going to do with it?” 

“Nothing. We did it to—“

His head cocked. “We?”

You could’ve gasped if you weren’t already breathing too quickly. He thinks I'm talking about an organization . Like that was an admission of guilt. He could kill me just for that . It didn’t sink in, but Visions were loaded guns. He could summon ice in a second if your answer was faulty.

”Not an- a person, a person!” You said too loud, too fast.  “The- the-“ What was the word? What was the word? Think, don’t let me die, “The bard who helped me, it was to stop the people who did want the lyre. To hurt St—“ Don’t pretend you don’t know . “—hurt Dvalin.”

Nothing about his expression changed. The blade stayed flickering between the light of the leaves. “What people ?”

”Fatui,” you felt good about how fast you could answer that one. Maybe if you answered fast enough, he wouldn’t think you could make it up. Even if your lungs burned for it. “A Fatui Cicin Mage was the one who was there that night to take it.” 

The Fatui are my enemy, too , you thought so hard you hoped he could read your mind. I’m not dangerous. I’m helping. Please don’t let me die.

His words pressed against your skin the way the wind in you pressed from within. Slow, and suffocating, and almost sweeter, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “And why would an outlander like you know a detail like that?” 

(You’ll die if you go silent. He has to know, even if it ruins the timeline. Move.)

You knew the answer and knew it wasn’t a good one. He wasn’t going to like it very much, but it was all you had. Begrudgingly, you gave it up. “I— I have—“ You inhaled. What did you say to Diluc? “… Foresight powers. On future events.” 

He could’ve laughed. He didn't. But he did look at you strangely. “Come now. That’s a terrible lie.” 

Fifteen to twelve. 

“I’m not!” You heaved out with a fervence. “It’s— Really hard to explain, I can’t—“ Fucking hell, can you stop stuttering? “--Can’t say everything. But I knew what was going to happen, I couldn’t just let it.” 

You almost slipped again. Walking backward shifted you too close to the trees, and you wanted to push against one to not back you into them, but you stopped, holding your hands into your chest again, as you saw the image of spikes of ice splattering into you for making the wrong move. The wind in you moved into the areas you pictured, making you shiver. 

You’d run out of path like this, you thought. You’d be speaking out of turn, but speaking in turn wasn’t making him stop. You tried some sort of plea, anyway. “I haven’t done anything but tell the truth. I’m not trying to do anything bad, Why— Why would Diluc agree to work with me if he thought I was dangerous?”

He’d have to question it, right? Why would Diluc let you stay in the first place? Maybe it’d be the thing to let him not want to kill you. You watched his steps, down to the sword, then up to his eye. Maybe he’d slow, soften, sheath his claws. If he couldn’t believe you, he’d have to believe his brother.

And his footing did slow. Eyes pointed right at you, searching for something with concentrated pupils. Still unreadable; Curiosity, or confusion, or something else entirely. His eyes widened for a moment, pupils dilating. His distance from you lingered at twelve feet, maybe if you kept yourself hopeful it looked like it became thirteen. The distance didn’t grow more since you slowed down yourself. Stupidly, it was because you thought if he believed you, then it’d be rude to run. 

He opened his mouth halfway, looking like he was thinking through his words carefully. Really, when his question did finally come out, you knew that wasn’t it. He didn’t have caution. You could hear a smile in his voice even if it wasn’t plastered on his face.

“Who are Aether and Lumine?”

It took a second to remember those names were people and when they hit you it was like your brain was full of electricity again. Just crackling fuzz and looping blood. You first lost focus and then lost balance, unable to stop yourself from hitting the ground. You didn’t hiss or yell when the cold grass and dagger stones cut your elbows into scratched ribbons. Your throat must’ve messed up your thoughts and your voice, because— almost choking, bordering a laugh— you spoke the only words that rushed around the static.

“...What?”

His voice hardened. His eyes grew into those of a hunter. The words sounded louder and more boisterous, “I know you know what those names mean.” Your hope died, and fear replaced it. He kept walking, and you kept staring at him.

You stabbed your palms into the dirt maniacally, digging down to hastily lurch your body backward. It felt like you were hauling a body that wasn’t yours. “I— sorry, yes, I— I meant— how did you get those names?”

He looked absentmindedly into the distance, half rolling his eyes, as he used his free hand to fumble for his breast pocket again. He relaxed when he’d found what he was looking for: Two paper squares. 

Twelve to ten.

“Kathryne gave me a tip. Said you asked for directions to a location out of the woods, followed by a flimsy plea to not have her tell anyone you said any of this, which— word of advice— was stupid, if that’s how you wanted to cover your tracks. She logs every interaction, no matter what.”

He chucked the two folded slips in your direction as if he’d already thought you’d deny or disprove the claim. One teetered off course, nosediving halfway between your erratic shuffling legs and his inexorably striding boots. The other hit your borrowed clothes, and you couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not that it hit directly in the middle of your chest. You didn’t have time to pick up an arm and unfold it, but you didn’t need to. The paper flicked itself open and your handwriting was revealed, begging the travelers to find Amber. 

Ten to nine.

Favonius members are allowed access to whatever information the Adventurer’s Guild has . Kathryne told you that to your face, and you didn’t think twice about it. 

( It’s like you don’t understand that anything comes back to you. You knew it now, but that might be too late. )

“You can read the—?”

“It was a 1:1 translation. I cracked it on my way back. Now I’ll repeat myself,” He said, his sword shining, emphasizing every word, “who are Aether and Lumine?”

Nine to eight.

No more waiting, you had to just say words. “The people I learned foresight from—” You fought against how your voice trembled, “Powerful people, I— I thought they could help me.”

He didn’t even bother calling you out about the foresight claim. “Are they from Khaenri’ah?”

The rocks stung. You faltered in your climb, and he got closer. “I—”

“Hesitation. What an odd, odd response.”

“They were a part of it,” You blurted, “Or— Or might have been? They would’ve been there when everything blew up. I thought they were from the same world I was and—” You took a breath that felt like a gag, “and I was wrong.”

Eight to seven.

“Are you from Khaenri’ah?” He spoke as pointed as his blade.

Your arms hit a hard surface. Your back followed the path into the large boulder, uselessly clawing into it as if you could scramble upwards, but you couldn’t. No wonder he started taking a little more time with his steps. You were pinned. 

Seven to six.

The sword was close enough to see scratches on it. It wasn’t by his side, either. It shortened the gap between you and your grave.

“No,” You couldn’t keep looking him in the eyes, it was just the weapon in your vision. Your words came out resigned, like your mouth was sewing shut. “I don’t even know where it is. I’m– I – I’m from Earth.”

Six to five. 

He didn’t have to shout or raise his voice. You could hear anger if you were trying to look for it, and he knew that. “Then why do you know who they are?”

The river. The drowning. The crack of thunder. You winced, surprised you hadn’t started crying or begging not to die. For some reason, you still pretended like this wasn’t happening. You were more worried that you didn’t have the words to describe it. “It’s complicated. And– And–” You ran out of words, “--a lot.”

“So talk ,” He said. 

Five to four.

“It’s–” Cold, damp fear surrounded you so fast you worried the wind would disperse out of you again. The seconds couldn’t pick whether to go by slower or faster, and you no longer had room to think of what you were saying. “It’s hard to talk when you’re pointing a sword at my neck!” You took a gasp of air in place of words for a beat, sounding angry and desperate. “Can’t you believe me when I tell you what I’m doing here is to help ? That this plan is meant to fix the problems in Mondstadt?”

“How would you possibly convince me at this point that what you’re doing isn’t nefarious?”

Four to three.

He towered over you, a calculated face with an unbending expression. You’d been cornered into nothing more than pleas without substance and prayers without deities. You thought that by now, someone would save you, find you, hear you on the path, and give you enough time to start running again. But they didn’t. You did this to yourself, and now, alone, you watch as your neck’s skin swims with your blood beneath it.

Three to two.

So you took the first words that could get you out of the mess.

“Then come with us! Jean can tell you, she’s in on it too! ”

You jerked your arms instinctively to cover your face. There wasn’t talking anymore. Silence on his part and stifled breathing on yours. His thumb twitched to send your metallic, glistening death just a little closer to you. You didn’t scream, so the trees did for you, their rustling growing loud as wind buffeted them. Your eyes squeezed shut, your lungs collapsed, your legs curled just a little closer to your body the way dead vermin look when rigor mortis sets in. You felt like a mouse, so you died like one. Like you knew you were nothing.

And then you heard the sound of a sword being sheathed. 

Your eyes cautiously fluttered open, fearing the swing regardless. But no, you heard it correctly. The sword wasn’t in front of you anymore. And Kaeya, the Cavalry Captain and the most frightening person you have encountered thus far, was wearing the most perplexed and almost excited expression across his face. 

“…What did you just say?” He took a step forward to inspect your face through the small cracks in your arms. 

“The first—“ What am I doing? Why am I opening my mouth? “—The first meeting is later tonight. All of the explanations are supposed to happen there. If,“ stop, oh my god, no, “if you came with you’d see that I’m not a threat.”

Any aggression on Kaeya’s part had melted like snow. The suspicion hadn’t left, but it sure had pulled itself far back, like a mask’s strings snapping off the back of his head to show his true colors. An exasperated sort of chuckle escaped him, which quickly rolled into more giggly noises, and then plain laughter. The sort that had his eyes closed and teeth bared. You’d considered the possibility of a doppelganger that had replaced him in between the time you shut your eyes.

“Fascinating,” He finally said. “So that’s how you’d dig yourself out of this mess. Usually, people start crying and give me nothing good to work with. They wouldn’t care to tell me that Acting Grandmaster Jean has been secretly allying herself with Diluc. Now that is an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

It was odd how the new version felt natural. It was what you knew of him– the in-game version acted reserved yet constantly kept a face of politeness and playful banter. You’d gotten the closest you’d seen to that, and had a mixed feeling of both relief and nervousness. How could you act fearful when you cared about the character and only knew them to be good? Were you supposed to be more scared now? Was it bad that you’d still trust him, yet kept glancing at the sword hilt?

His hand was outstretched and had been for a few moments. His fingers lightly twitched. “I don’t bite.”

You continued breathing heavily, aimlessly looking at his face, then his hand, not fully understanding what to do. It could’ve been a test, couldn’t it? Is this personality a lie?

“I don’t stab either,” He said. Muttering, he added, “At least, I can’t. Not this time.”

There was nothing for it, you decided. If he killed you when he was nice or when he was aggressive, it didn’t matter. You took up the offer. Run ragged, and adrenaline finally took its course, your legs shot with pain when he practically lifted you one-handed up to standing. Kaeya looked curiously at your choice, but you weren’t confident enough in reading people to label his expression as surprised.

“Why?” you asked. You didn’t know what exactly the question was referring to when you said it. You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“You’re with Diluc,” he said plainly, dusting dirt off his palms. “You said that yourself. Smart move hiding behind his protection— I’m sure he wouldn’t like me roughing up his…” He searched for the right word, “allies, let's say.”

 You knew in some part that Kaeya stayed out of Diluc’s business. There was an entire quest dedicated to Kaeya hinting that he knew of Diluc’s vigilante work, and yet never told the Knights of Favonius a thing. You didn’t realize it wasn’t just a vague promise, but treated earnestly.

  But Kaeya came here for me , you thought, brows furrowing. Why the hell would he come to Dawn Winery for me if he wasn’t going to mess with Diluc’s plans? 

“That’s all it took for you to believe me?” You asked, quiet and confused.

Kaeya shook his head, looking almost sympathetic at how little you knew about him. “It’s not about how trustworthy you are, or if what you’re saying is true. It’s how thrilling it’d be if your lies were proven as truth. I’ve been given front-row seats to a show, now all you have to do is perform.” He stops his movements to look at you sharply once more, “Unless you were just bluffing about that?” 

You couldn’t take it back if you wanted. “No,” You said. “I wasn’t. I’m not lying. We really are planning to…”

Your sentence tapered off as the sound of a bell rang from the direction of the winery. You’d heard it before, it was the one to signal that food was being served. Kaeya heard it, and looked mildly disappointed.

“What a shame. We’d be halfway to the city by now ready for a proper talk in the headquarters’ interrogation room. If I thought I’d stumble across the source of my recent problems and they’d give me gold to work with, maybe I’d come with a warrant.”

Your brows furrowed. You paused for a long time feeling afraid to speak out of turn. But what he was saying didn’t make sense.“Didn’t you come for me?”

His head tilted. “I’m not here on business.”

You blinked. You sat with that information long enough for the bell to stop ringing, and then you gave it a breath more. You thought about meeting his eyes in the window. The face he made wasn’t excitement or the gaze of a hunter. It was shock. Pure, blinded shock.

“...You weren’t even looking for me, were you?”

“What can I say? Dawn Winery is like a second home. And Adelinde still hasn’t gotten sick of me coming back.”

You vaguely remember a quest line, or maybe a character story, that had Kaeya show up in the middle of the day because Diluc wouldn’t have been around to stop him. It was so small you’d miss it. It was a bigger routine than you imagined because it happened frequently enough to happen when you were there. 

But that couldn’t be. You didn’t want that to be. Because then that would make this entire thing even worse. “But then– the paper slips–?”

“Ah, those. I forgot I had them with me until I saw your face in the window. Sorry to say, you may be the unluckiest outlaw I’ve met.”

Pure dumb luck had gotten you into this mess. The guards at the gate had never seen you and never reported you. The maids didn’t tell Kaeya anything. He was here for lunch . He had tricked and trapped you when he was unprepared in under half an hour, you shudder to think what he would’ve done if this was calculated. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And now you let him in on the entire main story quest. You couldn’t forget that part. You’d spilled the starting point to the cast of characters that would make their way through the entire story of Mondstadt and invited him in. Telling that detail out of fear would no doubt destroy whatever closeness to the original script you wanted to keep. And it saved you for now, but you couldn’t tell how much of what he was doing was honest or if this, too, was a trap. 

“So you… aren’t arresting me?” You felt stupid asking, but you had no idea how in the world to navigate this situation anymore. The first shock to your system was almost dying, and the second shock was now talking to the man like nothing had just happened. 

He answered the question by asking a different one. “The meeting spot is Angels Share, I figure?”

Your eyes widened, shifting to the trees around you. “How did you know?”

Kaeya rolled his eyes. “I didn’t, but now I do. It’s not far of a leap if it's Diluc you're talking about. Thanks for the tip, then. It makes up for an empty-handed lunch break.” 

He stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder with a light playfulness that made you flinch, and hard. “Oh, and when you report back, tell him I’m looking forward to working together with him.” 

The wind rustled your dirtied, torn, grape-stained garments and you stared out down the path you came with the bizarre feeling that you were still alive and standing. You didn’t hear the clinking from his boots, and turning around made you discover that the man who’d just turned you into a mess of nerves and sweat was gone without a trace. If your legs weren’t shaking, and your throat didn’t swim with the wind every time you pictured that blade, you could’ve made yourself believe he wasn’t there in the first place. 

( He was a part of the plan now. Why would you say that? You gave him so little, and yet he was going to make the most of it. All of this would be for nothing. )

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, that voice in you was right. Every step back down the path stung a little more, knowing what had happened because of it. If only you stayed in place, maybe things would’ve been different— he could have ignored you if he didn’t care enough to check every room. 

You kept walking, finding where you dropped your shoes, and your back burned to lean over and pick them up. 

But you couldn’t have known then, you thought. All of how you got there didn’t matter. None of it did, but it was saying it right then that had destroyed everything. There wasn’t favor to win when it came to him, just how useful you could make yourself. 

( If only you’d only gone limp and sobbed, maybe he would’ve found you boring and killed you off right there— )

No, no, no. The anemo swam up to your head the moment you thought that willingly, like the thought itself was also a wound they had to inspect. You felt stupid and incompetent with how you handled everything, but you couldn’t think about it that far. It would be fine in the grand scheme of things.

( It would be fine because you would be dead, anyway. )

You almost wanted to tear at your scalp when your mind twisted it to that route instead. If you made your choices matter, they’d feel like the end of the world, and if you decided they didn’t matter, then it was even worse place to be. So you stopped trying to think about anything. 

( Like you can do that. It’s your choice to think these things, and you act like it’s not. )

Shut up, shut up , you thought back. Why do you think I’ve been ignoring them this entire time? Fuck off.

Then your mind moved back to the sword again. Kaeya’s questions moved in repeat, each one a roll of film that kept rewinding to the start until his words grew faded and all that was left were the emotions attached. Hatred. Distrust. Disbelief. Jeering laughter. Gloating taunts. Cold tile pieces. He had done his job effectively. You never wanted to be on the receiving end of that. He felt the least like a fictional character, where he’d broken from the narrative to despise you undeniably. 

( If only you didn’t let this happen. )

Shut up. Stop it. Please, let me be in control of my own mind. 

This pattern would repeat until your feet stung worse, the grape juice felt cold and wet, and Adelinde’s bell rang louder in your ears, like an aftereffect of a firework blast. 

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It was lunch, and the seat was empty.

Moco shut the door softly with her feet, which she wasn’t technically supposed to do, but she didn’t get what the big fuss was if it did the job just fine. 

She immediately looked to the window, now empty of a person. That skittish houseguest had once again scattered away between the floorboards like being in the same room as a human being would kill them. And the maid pair had spent so much energy trying to track them down and become allies, too. Moco could only understand that feeling if it were Adelinde— you could trust that woman as far as you could throw her suspicious, densely thick steaks— but simple maids? Even commoners didn’t react like that. They were weird.

“Where’s Mousy?” She whispered over to Hillie, practically mouthing the name. Adelinde had already found out what they’d started calling the master’s guest, and she wasn’t too happy about it.

Hillie set the plate at the spot, then looked over at the window as well. No one was there. “They were over there, no doubt.”

Moco rolled her eyes. “I know that part well enough! Where are they now , though?” 

Hillie shrugged. “They won’t play games with us,” she said, which did not help answer the question, but she was already bored of the previous topic. “I think they don’t want to tell us they don’t like us. They won’t even look us in the eye, just mess with their fingers until they decide to run away.”

Moco wiggled her hand’s digits. “My fingers haven’t been that interesting before,” she agreed. “They did agree with us on Adelinde being strange, though. Even if they won’t join our group to expose the head maid.”

“It’s pathetic.”

Moco looked offended. She thought Hillie was right, but she looked offended on your behalf. “You can’t just call someone pathetic, Hillie. That’s the sort of thing you’d get locked in the cellar for.”

Hillie put her hands on her hips in confidence. “They wouldn’t lock me in the cellar, Moco, they think their booze is too precious for a girl like me to get my mitts on.” 

Moco was about to report with some even pettier comment (maybe something about Hillie’s bad skills with folding the napkins into swans for dinner parties) but then gasped with a revelation. “Maybe they could be in the cellar!” 

Hillie made an ooooh -ing sound. It was a very promising thought, she could picture a mouse of a man drawn to a place as dark, quiet, and worthless as that place. But then she thought about it. “Oh… no, that wouldn’t work. Adelinde’s the one with the key.”

They stood there in the dining room, their shoulders a bit slumped. The mansion let out a few sharp creaks, as it did on the random. Then, both made little gasps of their own and snapped their heads towards the other. 

“ Adelinde could be behind this,” they whisper-screamed. Giddy with newfound truth, Moco did little taps with her heels, and Hillie pressed her hand to her mouth as if speaking the words into existence was a punishable crime.

“Well, no wonder they don’t want me down there,” Hillie said, “that's where the operations take place.”

They continued to whisper about this and that, too entertained by more theories about the head maid that they’d forgotten about the fraidy-guest supposedly locked in the cellar beneath them. Adelinde came in from the other room. Hillie and Moco tensed their shoulders and straightened their backs to look like proper maids. 

Adelinde stretched her head to see that the front door was closed. “Was someone at the door?”

Moco nodded. “Just the Captain again, ma’am, but I sent him away like you said we should.”

Adelinde stilled, her eyes stuck on the two enough to make the girls fear they’d somehow done something wrong. Adelinde didn’t get upset, but if they didn’t know any better, they’d swear that’s the face she’d make if she were.

“I didn’t prepare an extra plate, either,” Hillie added, unsure as if that would make the situation better or worse. Moco stared fearfully at her, in the full belief it would make it worse.

Adelinde looked up at the staircase in between the balusters, then back at them. “And have you seen our visitor?” 

The two maids looked to each other for the right words, but for once the loud, unaware pairing had thought it better to go quiet. They both stumbled over the beginning of a sentence at the same time, but Hillie followed through. “--They were waiting around the dining room, but they left during the setup. Neither Moco nor I know when exactly they, um, made their exit.”

Adelinde nodded to them. She had a stilted smile usually reserved for large and stressful party hostings, but for once, she tried reassuring them. “Don’t look so guilty, you’ve done exactly what was asked of you. I know I can trust you to handle things I ask of you.” 

Hillie and Moco's stressed shoulders gained slack. Adelinde waved a hand and continued, “Turn away any arriving parties today. If they insist, then do a tour of the eastern vineyards to satiate them. And if it’s knights, tell them we don’t house any guests at the moment.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hilli and Moco bowed. 

Adelinde looked one more time at the staircase before politely excusing herself and heading straight out the front door. Her heels clicked a little faster than usual. 

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Adelinde swept her gaze across the fields, one palm pressed to the stubby cobblestone walls lining the winery, the other clutching the old dinner bell. She’d rung it for about a minute straight, but the longer she rattled the metallic bruised pear of a kitchen tool, the more she felt like it wasn’t doing anything. She figured you’d be smart enough to be untrusting, and therefore the signal would be ignored. She’d have to find you first, then. She’s spun lies on the fly before when it came to the people Master Diluc hid in the winery, she could do it once again. She’d just have to find you.

When she spotted you shuffling uncomfortably along the lines of grapes and hopping over occasional sharp branches, she restrained herself from shouting your name. A loud noise like that could make you start bolting the other way without a second's notice, so instead she waited at the end of the paths and let you come to her.

The sight of your sorry state broke her heart. Your eyes looked unfocused. Your legs rattled in the wind. When you looked up at her, you paused, stiffening like you were coated in ice. You must’ve realized it was her because then you forced a smile and looked even more lost in navigating the entire situation.

”Uh— Adelinde?” You said it too quietly, but the wind was carrying it to her just fine. “Are you okay?”

That was funny. You looked terrified, and she was stressed beyond her usual, but that was funny. “Hah, I should be asking you that, not the other way around,” She said.

You walked with her to help close your distance. Her pace was a lot quicker than yours, so she did most of the work. ”Sorry,” You mumbled. “You— You looked… I don’t know. Sorry.” 

“I am concerned,” she admitted. “What happened?”

“I hid. I— I—“You winced, having to stop yourself in your sentence to restart and collect your words again. “I ran into the woods. I ducked out of the house as soon as I could and didn’t look back.”

She stared at your clothes and skin, all stained in dirt. Her brows furrowed, trying to remember which areas of woods had higher populations of poison ivy. Judging by looks alone, you might’ve been lucky to only get scrapes. The cost was all the ripped and opened seams, but she couldn't care less about the clothing. The tears meant you were only focused on escaping, which was good.

She took you by the shoulders to lead you back towards the doors. “Did the knights see you at all? Did you hear any shouting?”

You shook your head, quickly sinking more of your weight into her hands. “They… didn’t find me. I saw him before he could see me. He just, um, wandered off at some point.” 

She was grateful to hear that. As lovely as Kaeya was, she wasn’t stupid. She knew what his job was and how he treated the people he wanted information— or entertainment— from. Your personality type would be like catnip to him, and she’d rather not have to reprimand him like he was twelve again. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to mess with the people under her care, and he was well aware of what Adelinde would do to him if he tried it. She wished she’d happened to be at the door that time, then maybe that would’ve been enough to make him turn a blind eye to everything. 

Not that it mattered. He didn’t see you. False alarm. “I’ll do a sweep around the property to make sure he’s gone for sure.”

You swallowed, your voice growing quieter, “I should’ve stayed in the house.”

She shook her head. ”With what you knew, you did exactly what you were supposed to. You weren’t made aware that our orders are to turn away anyone affiliated with the knights.” Guilt crept up into her tone. She didn’t like how her wrong actions were made to be your fault in your mind. “You shouldn’t have gone through that here. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing like that repeats.”

You pressed your lips together like you were forcing yourself to hold back questions. You just nodded at her words as you had done many times before. Only now, it seemed worse. Doubt and fear soaked your person.

Maybe they needed an opening for it , Adelinde thought. It’s hard to say something without being prompted first. “Are you sure nothing else happened in those woods?” 

“N—“ your voice caught in your throat at first. It cracked with an odd inflection. “No. I don’t think so.” 

She didn’t like that reaction. She should’ve guessed it was so soon after the scare that you were still on high alert. Something could’ve happened, but in this state, she wouldn’t be getting answers. Adelinde didn’t want to bombard you so soon after something so horrible, so she kept her eyes forward and focused on getting you clean and fed. 

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You were lying to her. You were lying to her, and she knew, and she hated you so much for it.

You couldn’t tell anyone about what happened. You’d decided that along the crawl back. Diluc couldn’t know that you had just added Kaeya into the quest. You already hadn’t told him that Kaeya was the one hunting you, if he heard you not only were found and interrogated, gave up so much information, but also told him where the meeting place was? You didn’t even know what would happen. He’d be pissed, you knew that for sure. He might even start to question everything you’ve told him, maybe even thinking you were a suspicious figure like Kaeya did, and then —

No! Stop that! You were fine, it hadn’t happened yet. Shut up, stop it.

But even if you didn’t say anything, you saw her pauses. Adelinde looked at you with furrowed brows every claim you made, it was a miracle that she didn’t immediately jump on how suspicious you sounded. 

( She fretted like it mattered. For someone like you, that was an achievement. )

We aren’t doing this right now.

Adelinde took you back into the house. You stopped right at the door frame before entering, knowing how stained your feet were and how the juice could leave marks. You tried to make this worry known, but she told you it didn’t matter. “This won’t be the first time these floorboards get grape stains in them. Same as your clothes.”

And god , your clothes. She instructed you to peel out of the tattered clothes and gave you some looser-fitting pajama-like replacements, if only temporarily. It wasn’t relieving, it was more of an embarrassment. The clothes you’d just borrowed were now stained and torn, and they were probably nostalgic clothes, too. Like taking a childhood plushy torn with love over the years and setting it on fire. You were being the worst possible houseguest who chose to let boredom trump safety, and now you had destroyed gifts. It was humiliating. 

( That’s the sort of thing that makes people not trust you to put items in your care. )

Shut up , you thought. I’m still ignoring what you say.

But then there was the embroidery. Unbuttoning the sleeves took so long that you recognized the yellow flowers dotting the sleeves, surrounding a blotch of black and white that might’ve resembled a sword. The pattern was placed at an angle that made it hard for you to see it, but easy for others to see, at least if you lifted your arms. It might’ve been one of the only reasons Kaeya had trusted your words when you said you were allied with Diluc; it was old clothes he’d recognize in a heartbeat. He must’ve thought you were using Diluc in the same way you were using the infirmary, feigning innocence whilst plotting something else. Maybe the only thing keeping you alive was the mediocre stitching from his brother in a boring embroidery lesson god knows how long ago. 

You didn’t know how to feel about it. Well, you did— you felt awful. Adelinde shut down any apology you made about the clothes, and guilt spiraled further. She knew you were lying, she’d have to stitch up every damaged section. Maybe she was able to discern what kind of tear each was and then figure out it wasn’t just branches you bumped into. When she told you a bath was prepared, for once you were eager to leave the room as fast as possible to lock yourself away. 

But that meant there was the bath . The searing, overflowing tub of water that you were bound to deal with again, yet didn’t assume it’d be twice in one day. And then you thought you were a loser to be so scared of a single tub, which wasn’t rushing nor creek-like aside from the fact that it was water. But Adelinde said she needed you to be clean for her to apply medicine, which would otherwise wash off, so you couldn’t half-ass it this time. 

At the very least, there was a small step on the inside of the bath that was shallow to sit on. You didn’t have to submerge yourself just yet. You maneuvered two limp legs into the water, feeling hot pressure surrounding each of them. You breathed for a while. You told yourself to keep breathing. The wind in you swirled around the ring boundary of water and air. If you took too long, the water would get cold, and there would be a second, worse similarity between this bath and the creek. You told yourself you couldn’t die in two feet of water and almost believed it.

The last time your body hurt like this was your first night here. You’d gotten used to the random spouts of pain from those old injuries, even if they were all mostly wished away by magic. Your muscles never twitched and pinched the way they did after the creek. It wasn’t pain, it was more like a physical manifestation of memory. If you never drowned, your legs wouldn’t tingle and jerk and occasionally feel like there were little brain signals that made muscles swell and slide pulses down the meat. Or, sometimes, like it was doing now, your limbs would go numb. Signals didn’t follow through like you wanted them to. Everything was messed up in little ways to always give you reminders.

You shimmied to the edge of the tub. You were positioned between two worlds, one of them in the hot water, and the other in rain-slicked grass surrounded by trees. The more you slide into the warmth, the more trees sprout from the ground. You scrubbed at your hands until your hands weren’t hands, they were fizz. Bubbles. Grit on the creekbed to scrape flesh off. The water flashed cold for a moment to make you jump back onto the step, sloshing water onto the tiles below. You breathed for a while. This process repeated in agony until most of your body was cleaned and you couldn’t take any more. 

Adelinde had a medkit and a strange paste made of herbs at the ready. She fixed you up at any spots you pointed out ached, mostly on your legs and some points on your elbows. Sometimes, you’d see two thatches of hair poke out from the door frame, but Adelinde told Hillie and Moco off if they stayed too long. You didn’t tell her about the pain on your back. If she asked, you’d be unable to lie convincingly. You already had lied to her unconvincingly, and if she questioned you now there was no doubt you’d say the wrong thing. She didn’t do more than hum during it, but the threat was always there. 

She covered the substance spread on your legs in bandages to not coat your bed if you wanted to lay down (which she urged you to rest) and you were free to scurry back up to your room. The closet was still slightly ajar. Your bed was half made and still crumpled. The latch still was shut. 

You closed the door quietly behind you, your shoes slipping from your fingers to clatter onto the rug. You got onto your stomach and slid beneath the bed, behind the suitcases. Your bag and notebook were there. You didn’t pay them much attention, even if boredom like this would usually lead you to write down more details. You wedged yourself in the dark corner and stayed there. It felt safer. In some way, it was also punishment. This is the place you should’ve been the entire time. You wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

The dance of the house continued without you. Lunch was served and then cleaned up. You stayed inside your room until it was the dinner bell, and you still didn’t leave from underneath. Dinner was served and then cleaned up. At some point between the worst nap of your life and rethinking every single word he spoke to you, a suspiciously plate-sized box was placed on top of the cabinet near the door. Right next to the first box that had been there since lunch. 

You’d wait to be caught in your lies, or wait to die of hunger and aching bones. Whichever came first.

Chapter Text

You dreamt, and you didn’t. There were fragments. 

Find a spot, wait for the footsteps, get discovered, run, find a different spot. Every hiding spot never quite fit the way you wanted it to, too narrow, too filled with nails and cobwebs, already taken up by a different child. If you could manage to fit in a spot with the others, they’d get angry. You supposed it was because it was only you he was coming after, and they’d rather not get caught in the middle of it. You didn’t blame them. If you did, you didn’t have any faces to attach the blame to.

The cycles went over and over. Every time you got caught, and he raised his sword, you were reminded that you were lying down, spine throbbing, underneath a dusty, stuffy bed frame. With every cycle, your breath slipped lower, down the throat, down the stomach, down the joints and knees, down to the ankles. You got slower as he kept his steady pace. Then every time you woke up, you could feel your stomach start to tighten, or how a thigh lost blood circulation, and you had to scrape your way over to the other side to get the other one to lose circulation for the next cycle instead. 

Sometimes, when you woke up, you thought about eating whatever was left in the boxes. Sleeping on the topside of the bed, pulling the covers over your head. You thought, but you didn’t move. You didn’t debate it in your mind. There weren’t two voices pulling at you to leave or stay. There was one. You thought, It’s hungry, but I’m hidden. They don’t know I’m here, so it’s alright. It got dark enough that there wasn’t any light between the suitcases. You were encased in darkness on all sides.

Once, during the cycles, you were in your old house, and your small body heaved a blanket covered in cartoon characters over your head to fall asleep. You could barely breathe, but you knew that if you hid yourself, the monsters couldn’t see you. 

You were hiding in the attic, or under the floorboards, or someplace stupid that your brain couldn’t bother to make you remember. You couldn’t decide whether the footsteps were in your subconscious or real life. The nightmare landscape of old rugs and dark wooden hallways jolted straight into suitcases and the spine of a bed frame, as you discovered the noise was from reality, and loud. 

The hard thuds sound angry, and it reminded you so much of Kaeya’s jingling boots that you instinctively moved to run when there came a knocking. Your head went up and struck the bed frame’s boards. It sucked your breath straight out of your teeth. You flattened yourself back down and let out a hiss. The red throbbing flared up immediately on your forehead. The wind fretted underneath your skin.

“Y-yeah?” It was a mistake to respond, because revealing you were awake in the room only led him to open the door with a heavy creak.

You saw dark boots— not long and slim like his had, but straps and thicker ankle cuffs. They paused in the doorframe as you weren’t on the bed like they’d expected. You could see their gaze shifting around through the slight pivots of their shoes. You weren’t afraid, but it was an emotion possibly worse to feel— deep and foreboding shame.

A light suddenly flicked on. A small one, like a candle or lamp. “Hello?” Diluc tried, confusion evident. 

You had responded to him, after all. “...yeah, down here.”

You crawled with the pathetic aura of a wet mouse, sliding with your hands, going backwards. Knowing he’d see your bandaged feet first made you want to die right on the floor. The more you pushed yourself, the more your shirt rolled up against your stomach, which made you want to die harder. You had to go slow, unless you were willing to gain another bruise on the back of your head, too.

You didn’t feel like standing up, not after hours of lying down on a hard surface. You stayed on the floor, sat with your legs beneath you, making it easier to undo how far the friction pulled your shirt up. Diluc stayed around the doorway, maybe stepping a bit more into the room, but you weren’t paying close attention. His gaze was fixed on you when you finally looked up to check where he was, which confirmed he was watching you for that entire time. 

He was thrown off guard by the sight. “Do you usually hide your items so deeply beneath the bed?” 

More heat poured into your head. “Um— No, there’s nothing down there.”

He tilted his head. “You’re just…” He paused, trying to figure you out. You could tell he thought that was a bold-faced lie.

You stammered out an answer. “Hiding, yeah.”

He looked at you disapprovingly— he had to, for you didn’t know how else to interpret the way his eyes scanned you with a frown. “I… must have startled you.”

Does he think I’m hiding because of him? Should I correct him that I’ve been here the entire time? No, don’t say anything. “It’s fine. That was- In hindsight, it’s a weird place to pick. The footsteps sounded—” Your mouth pressed closed as you weren’t supposed to know Kaeya's footsteps enough to be afraid of them. “-Eeh, I don’t know.” You shrugged. You hoped you bailed out of that sentence soon enough not to be suspicious.

Diluc’s frown looked more like a scowl. “I apologize for that. I won’t make the same mistake again.” From his voice, something told you he wasn’t only referencing you hiding beneath the bed.

He moved into the room, crouching down to meet you at eye level, and set the small, burning lamp on the rug. “Adelinde told me everything. The fault falls on me for not properly informing you, but…” He sort of laughed, sounding bitter, “I can tell she blames herself more than she blames me, as much as I don’t want her to. Adelinde, she takes her job seriously. She won’t take a slip-up like this lightly.”

“I know,” You said, slightly cutting off the last syllable of his sentence, which wasn’t good if you didn’t want to make him more upset with you. “I don’t fault her, nor you. I mean, I didn’t predict any of that. Even if the knights came here looking for me, I couldn’t fault you if I ended up dragged away." You touched your forehead and winced when it was too sensitive. "Everything is fine.”

“And you’re… alright?” His eyes stayed on you, but you watched his gloves settle on his legs.

You didn’t have the answer ready. There was the real answer and the textbook, immediate answer that people usually want to hear, and you couldn’t tell if his hesitance to ask was because he was genuine or because he didn’t want to hear the real answer. 

Did it matter? You shrugged. “ ‘sfine.”

There was a longer pause. You tried to find a way to move the conversation to the question you really wanted to discuss, but the only way to get to the topic was to blurt it. “I can still come to the meeting, right? Like this isn’t interfering with any plans?” 

He looked like he was prepared to say something else, then had to rework his answers once your words registered. “No, it doesn’t need to. I wasn’t going to take you into the city again if you weren’t up for it.” He stood, leaving the lamp on the ground in the otherwise completely darkened room. “I came here to say you were free to stay back, but it’s good that you’re still willing— It would’ve been about twice as hard to relay any information with the Grandmaster second-hand.”

“And the place is still the same? Angel’s Share?”

His eyes turned serious again. “Ah. If safety is an issue, then—“

Shit, not what I wanted. “No, no, I want to do it there, I was only checking.” 

You looked relieved but tried to hide it. The game always made these characters have crazy intuitions, able to tell whether characters were lying or hiding something with mere glances. If you showed relief, maybe he’d think something was off. You couldn’t explain to him that it was because you’d sent Kaeya the information to show up at Angels Share, and if you gave him a false location, he’d think you were completely full of it. Then he’d come back to the winery, and then Diluc would know, and everything would completely fall apart.

You scrambled to your feet, using the end wooden frames of the bed for added help. “Are we leaving now?”

Diluc stepped back to make his way towards the door with caution in each of his steps. “The carriage is currently being prepped. Jean will most likely show up at midnight on the dot, so don’t worry about being pressed for time.”

Knowing you, you’d be scrambling despite the warning. You’d already mentally started a list in your head. Your old cloak was shoved somewhere underneath the bed, and you could try to focus on your notes to get a better grip on the situation one more time. Judging by his wording, you’ll be using the front gates. “I can do that. Is the way we’re sneaking in the same thing as last time?”

“Yes, only now we’ll have a…” Diluc looked annoyed already, “Better distraction, let’s say.” Whatever the hell that implies, but it didn’t seem like he was that into it. Concerning. Faux wine barrels must be finicky, you lied to yourself.

Or maybe the front gate will always be a scary place to use for smuggling. You could feel the panic yourself already. The wind did not help.

“I almost got seen by the knight who inspected the carriage last time. I thought it was the reason that Kaeya came after me, but he did that on his own. I guess he followed me ever since we first met.” You wanted to say all of that to him, but you didn’t. For once, despite the uncomfortable silence, you didn’t want to fill it with details. You let it grow stilted. You wouldn’t make old mistakes again. You'd hold the things that would make everything worse. “I’ll be there, then.”

He meant to leave the room, ready to click the door back into place, but you looked at the lantern and were reminded of visions again. A noise similar to the word “wait” left your mouth, and the door didn't lock. He creaked it back, hand still on the door.

“Hm?”

“Does your vision have a danger sense to it? Or like, a sense of direction?”

He tapped his fingers to the brass doorknob. “How so?” 

“Like if it compels you to find something that turns out will help you, or,” the wind in you shot to your throat without you wanting it to, and you swallow a bit too hard, “If it can sense danger before you can?”

He took the question in earnest. He exhaled long and thoughtfully, “It’d depend on how the person uses the vision. I haven’t experienced anything like that, but it isn’t out of the question. Why?”

It wasn’t unheard of, but it also wasn’t a normal occurrence for everyone, so it seemed you couldn’t get straight answers on why the wind was so unreliable or how to fix it. The question of ‘why’ did throw you off, however. “I—eh— Just… Wondering.”

Briefly, he glanced at the boxes on the cabinet, which you wished you had hidden. He looked out of place. Unsure, maybe. There was an undertone of aggression that you were unfortunately good at picking up on. “You won’t see Kaeya here again. You have my word on that.”

A pit dropped in your stomach. That wasn’t the response you expected, but what else would he think you were referring to with that? You didn’t realize the severity of what you were asking in the moment. It was an innocent question, wasn’t it? Not suspicious?

You barely gave a little nod of your head in response. He closed the door.

You collected what scraps of items you possessed, fumbling with the clasps of the cloak and setting the drawstring bag underneath the fabric, out of sight. You felt the edges of the notebook dig into your back— the wind only amplified where exactly it was placed on your spine. You’d have to spend the entire ride there figuring out how to deal with what was to come. 

(Guilt ate into you from the inside. Diluc was going to focus on protecting you from a threat that you had already allowed entrance to come in.)

~~~

No one was awake, nor was anyone within the manor at all. Without clicking heels or the sound of giggling girls whispering, the house felt more gutted than ever. You took the lantern Diluc had left on the floor, but blew out the light the moment you stepped into the hallway, once you noticed how conspicuous you were with the only light source. It was deeply unsettling to walk in near complete darkness, but in a way, it felt peaceful. You couldn’t see or hear anyone, so they couldn’t see or hear you. The little moonlight that was in the dining hall made everything look blue and cold. You'd never seen the moon make anything look that pretty.

You only made one small detour, and that was towards the attic. You didn’t find harm in checking, and luckily, it seemed the door had stayed unlocked when someone last came up. Stranger, the costume box was opened when you swore it was closed last you poked around. Hillie and Moco came to mind, but you couldn't know why they'd mess with the attic, nor leave it in a state like that.

You had to focus more on where that black mask was. You remembered there was one in it, and if you knew the plot of the game well enough, the meeting (if you survived it) would lead straight to the Fatui hideout. That silly stage where all the characters wore masks and you randomly clicked through dialogue bartering with the Fatui soldiers, not really caring if they ended in combat or not.

Of course, you could no longer remember any of the correct choices. Of course, it now mattered how well you could make them believe you shouldn't get stabbed.

You did remember that the masks worked. Though, you hadn’t warned Diluc yet. If you didn’t tell him of the mask plan beforehand, would he assume that it wasn’t something he should’ve gone through with? Would the stage even happen at all?

Your hand met the stiff texture of an oddly curved, hand-sized object, with two ribbons tied at each end and two holes carved out. You could only assume this was the black mask you saw before. You rushed out of the attic before the creaking made you think someone was there with you.

Outside, the winery had more light. The road was littered with lanterns on poles, and plenty more were placed on the walls, fence posts, or dangling over the doorways. And then, of course, the moon, which bathed the world in a spellbinding blue night. The saturation was more intense outside than in. It was strange having a sky not pitch black, but colorful. You strained your eyes to confirm that there wasn’t someone hiding in the bushes or sitting at the tables, then nervously started to walk around the perimeter. 

You didn’t feel better when you heard voices talking. You did feel better, however, when you heard the laugh of a bard and the pressure of wind. 

There were four people you could see when the wagon came into view. Diluc was standing on the cart, Adelinde was fixing the reins of the horse at the front and giving them small pats and brushes with a stable worker you didn't recognize, and a woman, a different yet similarly unrecognizable worker, was at the cart’s mouth and peering at Diluc’s work. Venti was somewhere around the area doing god knows what, unless you were making up his laugh.

The woman’s head turned to you before the other two noticed you were there. “Ah, see? There they are!” 

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out who she was. She came up to you, overly peppy with a wine bottle in her hand. “A secret meeting and taking down a Fatui hideout in one night? This is songwriting worthy.”

(Unknown people are dangerous. Don’t give her anything to work with.)

You tipped your hood down further, looking down nervously. You fumbled with the protocol for talking to this new person (and she was supposed to be here, right? Given Diluc and Adelinde aren’t saying anything?), but thankfully, you didn’t have to worry for long. The dark twin braids and blue-green eyes should’ve been the giveaway, but really, it was the dark brown loafers that appeared when she lifted her dress to curtsy which made you understand where his laughter came from.

You didn’t bother with your cloak hood anymore. You stayed cautious despite. “You- Are you Venti?”

They clutched the bottle as if first offended, but couldn’t hold the laughter that bubbled up. You felt the Anemo in your body swim to the rhythm of the laugh. “I’m sorry! I can’t even keep the persona up when your face looks that shocked.” 

He took the cork off the wine and sipped straight from the source in a way not even a noblewoman could make look poised. You assumed it was either his payment for being a part of it, or his deterrent for not cracking open the other barrels. 

The disguise was definitely not something you would expect given his normal attire. His dress was blue with the same hairstyle, aside from the lack of green on the tips of the braids. A dainty laced cape almost reached his ankles to sell the illusion of an equally dainty noble girl. 

Diluc’s annoyance made sense now. You could envision this going either spectacularly bad or unimaginably decent.

“And the dress is… your idea?” You said, already guessing the answer. You thought of the messed-up costume box again, but brushed it off thinking you were connecting nothing to nothing.

The cork was screwed back into the small glass neck. “Well, they’re looking for a male bard, aren’t they? I don’t even have to try now.”

“And you don’t think it’ll be suspicious that you have the…” You lightly gestured to his braids with one of your hands. “You know… same features?”

He only rolled his eyes. “Everyone wears double braids. Especially those devoted to Barbatos. And I,” He clasped his hands together, looking up like there was a visible force above, “Am a maiden devoted to her savior, going to church every week and ready to show my faith in the, ahe, little ways.”

Diluc had hopped off the carriage at that point. He peered over Venti’s shoulder. “Little birdie told me last week you only went to the church of Favonius to steal communion wafers.”

Venti opened one eye, the soft smile dropping into concern. “Who? Me? Well, I know that fiend Venti would be up to something like that, but I, Viola, would never dream of defiling our lord and savior.”

“Say savior one more time.” Diluc sounded already sick of church talk. It made you wonder if atheists somehow existed, and if Diluc was one of them.

You gave Diluc a small wave when he moved forward, and he gave you a nod to confirm your presence. You thought it’d be better to get any information through him, and not the bard halfway towards a drunken stupor. “What’s, um, happening here, exactly?” 

“I spent most of today working through suspects who could give further information about that Fatui hideout where they stored the lyre,” explained Diluc. “Venti assisted for a portion of it to track the elemental energy still left on the fake. I didn’t ask him to follow me back here. He did that on his own.”

“A chance to visit Dawn Winery not taken is wasted potential,” Said Venti, like it was a wise proverbial phrase. He skipped around you to tap your shoulder. “And I’d prefer to have time to chat with the people I’ll be starting a new quest with outside of some professional meeting space.”

(Talking means the potential to slip, you bristled. He probably knows already. He wants to hear it from your mouth.)

You brushed him off instead of figuring out how to sound normal about hating that idea. “Wouldn’t sneaking back into Mondstadt get harder with both thieves in the same place?”

Diluc sighed. “You must be able to read the past as well as you can the future. I said the same thing to Viola half an hour ago.”

Venti— Viola?-- snapped their head towards him. “If you’re going to say my name with such malice to the tongue, then don’t bother using it at all!” 

“Fine by me.”

Diluc was already turning towards the wagon. He glanced back with an expectancy you weren’t prepared for. You hadn’t picked up that he wanted you to follow, yet he did. You hurried to the front, your empty hand settled onto the wood, peering at the barrels illuminated by another lantern resting within. 

(You feel your notebook is still in your bag. You remember if they read any of it, you’ll be caught. Don’t say anything.)

“We’re using a fake barrel this time.” Diluc hopped on a hollow-sounding crate to walk into the wagon’s area, and you followed behind. He tapped on a barrel in the center of the bunch. You could hear the echoed thump. The top swung open when he tried with little effort. The circular top was attached to hinges nailed to the interior. “It has larger cracks around the edge to get more air inside, but it’s not meant to stay in for long. You’ll only need to get inside it when we near the bridge. If anything else happens before you get inside, just keep your cloak on and your head low.”

You tapped the barrel to hear the hollow echo again, then tapped the one next to it, which made barely any noise. 

He answered before you asked. “The ones around the edges look like our usual shipments, but this batch wouldn’t have been transported if the reasoning wasn’t to sneak you into the city. They’re to sell the look.”

Venti’s voice startled you. “So why don’t you let me take a look if they’re only for decoration?”

Diluc kicked Venti’s ankle, sending him hopping right back off the wagon. “Because you don’t drink decorations, bard.” You gasped at the impact, but the more Venti whined, wailed, and muttered poems about betrayal, the more you understood he was faking the majority of his pain, and Diluc didn’t hit with any force behind it. 

“Does he get a barrel?” You watched Venti skip angrily around the wagon. Judging from Diluc’s head, he was following Venti’s sulking trail as well.

“I didn’t have time for that. He came on a whim. The disguise was also his idea, and a bad one. At the least, the knights will be too busy racing after him to double-check the authenticity of the wine barrels.”

You felt the need to whisper your words talking about Venti with him right there. “It’s okay to throw him to the wolves like that?” 

Diluc spoke at a normal volume. “He’ll be fine.”

Giving a final pat to the bored-looking horse, Adelinde met you at the edge of the wagon, a bag in her hand. It looked like the most stereotypical adventurer's pack you could think of, even fit with a bedroll strapped to the top.

(You wouldn’t be coming back after you meet with Jean. You’ll have to face that hideout. You’ll have to face that danger.) 

She didn’t have her maid voice on. There was still the kindness and the strictness with less of the even professional lilt. “I thought it be best to give you your things directly. It may be over-packed for a single night, but it can combat almost anything that could happen.” She lifted it easily to reach your hands, but even though you had a smaller distance to cover because of the elevated wagon height, the pass-off showed Adelinde’s strength. It wasn’t unmanageable, but she acted as if it were feathers. 

“Poke around in there when you get the chance. Though, the heavier weaponry is in the care of master Diluc.” You slowly rested it against the wagon’s inside. 

Adelinde handed off Diluc’s claymore, which was an insane sight to see by itself. The moment he touched the hilt, the massive amount of steel turned to mere flickering sparks, and disappeared into the night. No one saw pocket dimensions as insane. You did.

 “Thank you kindly,” He said. You nodded at her, afraid to say thank you immediately after him for fear of sounding insincere. 

Venti chose at that moment to clamber back over the side of the wagon (note: not in the opening at the end with barrels as stairs, no, over the side where he had to struggle over the wheels and the barrier), and Adelinde clearly found it funny.

“Apologies for not having time to give you a kit of your own, Viola. You’ll have to forgive me for the time crunch. I could find a firestarter or an extra bedroll if you wouldn’t like to be ill-equipped.”

He lifted his arm only barely high enough over the side to wave her off. “A bard— em, a noble girl can manage on her own.”

That was enough for Adelinde to go back to completely ignoring him. She waved over to you. You moved down to sit at the end, your shoes hitting the barrel step. From the way Diluc moved to speak with the man who’d been by the horse along with Adelinde, you felt this would be the final words you’d speak with her for a while.

(I spoke with Kaeya, Adelinde. He spotted me in the house and caught me in the woods. I told him to follow us. It’s going to be my fault what happens next.)

She folded her hands over her dress. “You okay?” 

You shifted your weight and crossed your arms, the night chill seeping into you. “There isn’t time to put it off. I’m… as ready as I could be.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t ask if you were fit for the meeting, I’m asking if you’re okay. Are you?”

That question again. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.” You thought to add ‘my legs are a bit sore’, but it was for the best to keep that unspoken. She gave a nod that made you think she disliked that answer, but she didn’t do anything about it yet.

“You should change the bandages on your leg before you go to bed. There’s extra in the medkit in case something holds you up— oh, right, do you know how to read a compass?”

You nodded.

She lifted a silver chain off her neck and set it around your shoulders. The metal compass thumped onto the space beneath your collarbone and landed so the arrows and symbols were faced inwards, not outwards.

“If anything happens and you get separated, just keep going south and you’ll eventually hit a waterway you can follow back. I put a carving knife in the left pocket for universal use, but I don’t think I need to remind you to use it as a last resort against people.” She studied your face in the dim light. “Are you overwhelmed yet?”

(Careful.)

You couldn’t help the answer. You shrugged, “A— a little.”

“Good. You should be. This is overwhelming.” She smiled and leaned a little closer to carefully flip the compass back around, laying it center. “You’ll do just fine. Ask for help when you need it, and eat when you're hungry. Everything else tends to fall into place after that.” 

You looked down at the necklace, slipping your thumb over the glass. You couldn’t tell if Adelinde’s calm nature made you feel better about everything or even more worried that you couldn’t take things as trivial. “Thank you.” You finally found the words.

From there, Adelinde spoke a bunch of technical jargon with Diluc, and Venti did his best to hide the new baggage properly within the open wagonspace, then you were on the darkened road. 

(Stay cautious. Don’t say too much. Slip-ups are what will ruin you.)

~~~

Venti did his best to be very vocal during the ride. You didn’t pay attention to the words he was speaking, but you could tell his tone and softness to his voice would shift randomly enough to parse that he was trying to find the best voice for his new character. Diluc occasionally responded to him, but not with many words. 

You curled yourself between the corner made from the wagon’s sides and the barrels to read through your notes. You didn’t need to ask for your lantern to be lit again, although you were working up towards it. Diluc glanced at you from his place across the wagon, and the light blazed to life. 

The meeting before… It was to get Jean up to speed, maybe to establish the dynamic between the characters, and provide the player more background on Mondstadt. You could remember Jean’s entrance, less so if there was anything important aside from that. Did she speak about how Stormterror was Dvalin? Was that later? The notes you wrote before didn’t say anything about that. The problem with this meeting was that in the original story, it held no stakes. You had somehow made it of greater importance. 

The problem now was that you were there to help with clarity and foresight, but you had no idea how to explain the situation without Diluc asking further questions. You kept the Kaeya thing close to your chest, but you’d be worthless if you said nothing, wouldn’t you?

Meet Jean. Jean meets the thief of the Lyre. She agrees to help. Jean and Diluc have unresolved tension. Go to the Fatui hideout to retrieve the stolen Lyre. That’s all you’d get from the notes. You pursed your lips and frowned. What else? You racked your brain. 

They’d know if you lie about Kaeya being there. You didn’t know how you’d respond if you didn’t know he’d be showing up, you couldn’t act confident in your fear to sell that you didn’t make a deal with him. You also couldn't pretend like you weren't scared out of your mind, which implied this meeting mattered. There was a balance that was needed: You had to tell some sort of truth that could make sense, yet wasn’t the real truth. Which would be… lying confidently. A skill you didn't possess.

A half truth, then. Enough to have your voice not waver when you say it. Enough to not have to say the real truth. There was one answer in your mind that was stupid, but it was the only shot you got to keep the timeline rolling in the same direction.

(It’s still lying. You can’t dig yourself out of this situation now, the wheels are already turning.)

Shut up. You shook your head to make it stop. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

If it wasn’t so dark and bumpy, you wanted to update the sections of what characters— fuck, people— knew what. So much happened in such little time that the books section on Kaeya was severely lacking, and Adelinde hadn’t been written yet. Diluc also knew more on how your “foresight powers” worked, and from your terrible infodump that you… are scared of death. 

Don’t think about that.

Venti didn’t know anything at all about what happened. He didn’t act like he knew anything. Adelinde wouldn’t have told Diluc something confidential in the presence of an outsider, probably, so he wouldn’t even know about the scare yet. Or perhaps he’d already read your mind and was waiting for you to spill everything anyway, but you weren’t going to do that. He’d have to continue pretending to be oblivious.

Or maybe he took that into his own hands. You hadn’t noticed Venti stopped talking for a while by then. And, worse, was slowly creeping his way towards your place on the wagon. Forget reappearing and disappearing, he could sneak up even without teleportation.

You couldn’t tell how much he read. He made an intrigued humming sound before you quickly pressed the notebook into your lap and covered it with your forearms.

“What?” You blurted. It sounded aggressive when you didn’t want it to. You just needed him to get away from you.

“What?” He responded, leaning back to sit straight. “Isn’t that the notes for the meeting?

(Careful. Don’t say too much. Don’t say the wrong thing.)

You moved the notebook to still be able to read, just closer to your person. “I’d rather not let you look.”

“I won’t change any fates if it’s future talk, hand on my heart. I know not to meddle, honest!”

“That’s not the,” you tensed, thinking he’d get closer. It was only a bump in the road that made him look like he was leaning. “That’s not why I don’t want you to look. I write things to get my thoughts in order. It’s… more like a diary at this point.”

His eyes widened a little more. You didn’t like that response.

“A diary, you say?” You did not like that response, either.

It couldn’t be called a losing battle because that implied a fight took place. His cheek squished into yours for a second, his hand reaching out to snatch it from your arm that shot up the moment he entered close proximity. You tried to nudge him off with a shoulder, but he was choosing to be annoying about it. 

His fingers wiggled with an enticed nature, but always stayed barely out of reach. “Words from the heart? Full of passion and emotion and information from the stars—“

You could almost scream. You wouldn’t, because it was dark out and that would be terrible, but you could. Your mouth opened wide.

He wasn’t victorious, however. The book was snatched, but not by Venti. Diluc was faster.

“That’s enough.” His tone was sharp and chilling. He was standing over you and the bard, but not for long on the moving wagon. He knelt back down and pushed himself to the other side.

You worried the speed he managed to take the book would make the small pages crumple. He must’ve worried the same thing, because he checked over the pages when he opened his hand. Quickly, his eyes shot away from the page when he accidentally glanced at the words themself.

His eyes were on the page. His head turned away fully. Wordlessly, he chucked the book back into your lap. 

There was a long pause from Venti, who was still sitting on your side but slid farther away. You checked his expression in the low light, and he was just as surprised as you.

The wind whistled. Tension thick. Venti broke it.

“…woooooooooow-“

“Don’t start,” Diluc warned. His head stayed turned away towards the dark expanse.

“What an invasion of privacy, don’t you know they just said it was like a diary to them?”

“Not my intentions.” 

“Oh, but actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” Venti’s teasing voice melted into eager curiosity. “…wait. Archons, did you glance at anything enough to read it?”

Diluc cleared his throat. Coincidentally, the flames dimmed just enough so his expression— and complexion already reddened by candlelight— was imperceptible. “It meant nothing to me, but even if I strung a sentence together, I wouldn’t say anything to you.” 

Venti gasped. There was a smile in his words. “So you did read something! There’s no other reason you’d be so embarrassed right now.” 

You were watching Diluc be embarrassed. Ashamed, even. That’s what that was. You didn’t want to make him feel bad, you were only curious about the sight. You never thought you’d see the day.

“Just… wondering,” you cut off another one of Venti’s pestering calling Diluc a secret stealer, “And it’s fine if Venti hears, but did you actually read something?”

An answer caught in his throat. “Only my name at the top of the page. That was it.” 

You looked down to confirm. You were on a  page about what each person knew— the start of your notes on Diluc. Those pages which were written in your worst hand writing at two in the morning. You felt relief and didn’t care to hide it, granted the candles stayed dimmed.

You wanted to say some sort of sentence of reassurance. Maybe a “you’re all good” or “no, it’s completely fine”. All that could come out of you was near silent laughter. Little breaths exhaled out of your nose that made it through your mouth sometimes.  You forgot your stress for just a minute.

“We could kill him for this. Infringement of freedom is a serious infraction.” Even in threats, Venti was being poetic about it.

You slipped the notebook back into your drawstring and tucked it behind your cloak. “I’m good, I think.”

Venti huffed, as if you’d wholeheartedly say yes. Yet, like everything, it seemed all played for drama. If he really wanted to take the diary, he could’ve done it just as fast as Diluc did. 

Maybe that was Venti's plan all along. He looked at you with a grin and you noticed you still had a smile yourself.

~~~

The ride was going too fast. Diluc began talk about the smuggling strategy.

He moved to the barrel you’d be using, crouched on one knee with his glove resting at the top.

“I’ll be using a tap system.” His pointer finger brought a single hollow echo to the top. “One tap is a check-in. It means make a delayed tap in response. It’s to check if you’re still breathing in there.”

His ring finger brought two hollow echoes to the top. “You’ll hear two when we see people. It doesn’t mean they’re right next to us, but it does mean you might want to make shallower breaths within the next ten seconds or so.”

The knuckle of his middle finger brought three hollow echoes, in fast succession. “Three means the people are gone, and to focus on getting enough air. If you’re worried about sounds, or worried about missing cues, then just stay on the cautious side.”

You nodded after each tap. “One is a check in and I should respond to it, two means there’s people and three means it’s safer?”

He nodded. 

“And I don’t tap for two and three, right?”

His hand slid off the top. “I can pass off the single taps as barrel creaks or a movement of the wood in transportation and,” he sounded like he could laugh, I’m sure the knights won’t try to fact-check me about it, but the other tapping… less-so.”

You filed it away in your head. You pressed your knees closer to yourself, imagining the next few minutes ahead. Your heart wasn’t feeling it yet, but you were sure when you had to step into the barrel that reality would kick in.

“Will I run out of air?”

Diluc was reassuringly confident. “No. We won’t be there long enough to. If you run out, then do what you can to get more. You can slightly prop the opening without suspicion.”

What wasn’t reassuring was the implication that you could run out of air if they take too long. “Okay, how long will I be in there, then?”

His head shimmied from side to side in thought. “About how long the last inspection took. Faster, even, given they’ll be more relaxed this many days after your heist.”

Venti piped up, “Plus, if you press your face to the cracks, I bet you could breathe continuously, even if it feels a bit goofy.”

You’d test the theory when you first get in, you decided.

Diluc talked with Venti about the whole disguise thing. More like a lecture. Venti was told to keep “all of that”, with Diluc waving in the bards general area, to a minimum. 

“Meaning?” Venti asked. Diluc gave him a look and Venti started nodding fervently.

“Any last questions?” Diluc pried open the barrel's lid, and the wind in you swam over to your heart.

“… what if a knight opens the barrel?”

“Then I’m fighting them,” Diluc answered.

You couldn’t think of a reply back for a moment. You were shocked at the answer. Maybe the speed of his reply, or how casual it sounded.

“The cover would be breached at that point. Nothing left to do but fight.”

Venti smoothed out the wrinkles of his dress. “You don’t think there’s anything left? Not even a path of talking?”

“I could say I didn’t realize I had a stowaway, but that would pin the blame on them.”

You tried to think of other possibilities of lies, but came up blank. Could you lie about who you were? No, they’d know your appearance at this point. Using Jean's authority? Then she’d be discovered for working with the holy lyre thieves and probably labeled as a traitor to Mondstadt. Diluc was escourting you to prison? Then he’d tie you up, not stuff you in a barrel. Any conversation ended in your arrest, and you had to fight your mind to not feel the knights slamming you into the cold tile of the church basement. 

(They’re taught not to hesitate. They’d shatter the barrel with you in it if it meant your capture.)

Diluc cut off your loud thinking with another tap to the barrel, snapping you out of it. “It’s not… going to happen. The knights know how I feel about them. I’ll raise hell before I let them touch my shipments.” His head lowered to your level, which was still taller despite you both sitting. “Nothing will happen to you.”

The wind dispersed inside you. It started pooling into the tips of your fingers, making them tingle. Whatever that meant, it moved the wind away from making your heartbeat feeling worse and smothered. 

“And me?” Entered Venti. “What if I happen to get captured?”

Diluc's tone had a lot less empathy reserved for Venti. “Then you’ll have to spend a night in jail.”

Venti turned to you in some attempt to rally you to his case. “Don’t you hear this?”

“To be fair,” you held a nervous smile back, “it does take time to plan a heist. And the lyre would be first priority.”

Venti made a noise of choking, or maybe his best attempt at a stuck up lady’s bafflement. “You enacted the lyre swap the same day you told me of it!”

You put your hands up in defense. “I’ve— okay, well I’ve had years to know about that heist.”

"Sure you did," He muttered. "Sure you did."

The worker at the reins informed Diluc that the bridge was in close view. Your bags were nestled into the corner and the barrel was pried open. You didn't have to get in immediately, but you did have to ready yourself. You stared at the hinges of the barrel and clutched the drawstring bag a little tighter.

~~~

You wanted to start panicking the moment Diluc closed the lid above you.

The darkness was almost nice, almost unbearably terrifying. It was different to the night. Out there, you knew there were more hills past where your vision dropped off. In a barrel, you knew the darkness stopped two inches from your face— For better or for worse. 

You’d imagine it’s how an Iron Maiden would feel if you didn’t die by spikes. The barrel held you in place so snugly that making any movement was fairly difficult. Yet there was enough wiggle room at the middle that you had to be aware of the wagon’s movement, unless your head or shoulders bumped into the structure. It happened once or twice while you were almost passing over the bridge (or maybe passing over the bridge, you couldn’t tell anymore), and it made you worry that it could’ve been taken as a signal to the others of something going wrong. Whatever a dull thud followed by a strangled gasp could send to Venti or Diluc aside from being a mistake, you didn’t know. You got it down by the time the wheels switched from smoothed silt to harder and more jagged cracks.

That had to be the bridge. If you weren’t sure before, you were now. 

Venti was still talking, on occasion. He put on a soft voice with an even softer tone, which made it impossible to discern what he said. Maybe it was nerves, but it was freaking you out more that he wasn’t keeping quiet. Anyone could hear if he mentioned the plan aloud now. Not that you could do anything about it.

(Your heart is beating faster. If you didn’t stop it now, they’d find you.)

You heard a conversation growing closer, and if you strained, you thought you could make out the sound of metal clanking. Diluc tapped twice. Your head pressed into the bag you shoved between your thighs. The book dug into your temple. 

You didn’t tell how close the guards were until the wagon halted and the sharp horse hooves against stone cut off completely. You took a breath that you feared was far too loud, even if movement outside might’ve drowned it. You froze, like an animal in headlights, not moving your eyes, only fixated to the darkness straight in front of you. You risked the movement of closing your eyes to focus on keeping your breath inside you. 

The guards seemed to only get through basic pleasantries before you needed to let the breath out and get more air. Your stomach filled and emptied the air slowly. With every breath you paused as long as possible, but it was a careful, careful game. Too little air and you’d have to gasp, cough, or heave. Too much and you could hear the breathing. Everything you’d do, aside from holding your breath until you passed out, made noise.

You heard Venti’s voice again. The idiot was talking to the guards, and you knew it wasn’t necessary. An unknown voice sounded confused, maybe surprised as a response. That wasn’t a good thing, hearing the surprise of a knight towards their current largest bounty and your crime-committing counterpart. He just couldn’t help himself. You hoped they couldn’t pick up on it, but you could feel how smug he was with the guards staring right at him.