Chapter Text
side a: tripping down memory lane
“That really couldn’t have gone any worse,” Scaramouche thought to himself as he ripped the beastly rift open allowing the Abyss engulf him in its familiar empty embrace. He felt the Abyssal energy reach out and touch him in a tentative handshake. Two blinks, and the inky black surroundings took the form of the first thing that came to his mind: the wide empty halls of Zapolyarny Palace that he just left not too long ago.
“Damn that Dottore, and his big mouth.”
Scaramouche concentrated on letting the Abyssal energy in, the unsettling wrongness of the foreign substance feeling like oil clinging stubbornly onto his skin and making him shiver uncomfortably. He made a mental note to get back at the man when he returned from this mission.
As he allowed the Abyss to continue to probe and prod at memories he’d much rather forget, his surroundings continued to shift, eventually settling into an almost-perfect replica of the scenery he once knew so well. His attention was almost immediately stolen by the Naku Weeds growing on the side of the road, and his thoughts briefly turned towards the first time he’d seen those tenacious flowers, the first time he ever stepped out into the outside world, that autumn night… His surroundings flickered for a moment as he momentarily lost his concentration, and a traditional Inazuman-style mansion briefly shifted into view in a flurry of Momiji leaves.
He caught himself before he got lost in his reminiscence, and the Naku Weeds shifted back into view, the dirt roads returning alongside them. He grimaced and started treading down the tauntingly familiar path leading him back ho-
He stopped his thoughts before they could lead him back down that particular unproductive track, curling a finger to dispose of an Electro Rifthound Whelp that tried to sneak up on him from behind. Tatarasuna hasn’t been home to him for centuries, after all.
He wasn’t even sure if Tatarasuna still existed.
He allowed himself one last look at the Naku Weeds, before following the path eastward.
“Grrooooh!” He paused in his tracks upon hearing the unmistakable howls of Rifthounds reverberate from the path ahead, accompanied by the distinct clang of metal hitting bone. Someone else was here.
Scaramouche sped up, his feet making nary a sound as he rushed to higher ground to investigate the fighting. No one visits the Abyss for fun, after all. If someone else really was here… then they must be either suicidal, or desperate. And both tend to be dangerous.
He barely touched down on the branches of a tree on the cliffs of Kannazuka before he heard another howl.
A flash of red, and platinum blond hair briefly filled his vision. A boy wearing a black haori and a red hakama jumped across his field of view, wielding his katana with practised ease as he parried a slash from the Geo Rifthound’s claws.
Scaramouche found himself admiring the boy’s swordfighting as he watched him parry slash after slash, only losing minimal ground each time. Something about the technique seemed familiar, but Scaramouche could not put his finger on the reason why. Each of the boy’s skilful slashes scratched away at the veil that was Scaramouche’s confusion, but try as he might, he wasn’t able to recall exactly where he had seen this technique before. He watched the fight from above, his curiosity growing by the second.
The boy went on the offensive, his ruby eyes narrowed as he aimed his slashes at the Rifthound’s eyes.
“Hmm… impressive.”
The Rifthound fell back with a howl, almost appearing to wince in pain as the boy continued to attack its eyes. After a particularly deep strike, the Rifthound let out a whimper and fell to the ground, dead, and disappeared in a flash of violet Abyssal energy. The boy breathed heavily, maintaining his defensive stance as his eyes scanned his surroundings.
Impressed that the boy was able to kill a Rifthound without using any elemental powers, and relieved that he didn’t have to bear witness to the capable warrior’s end, Scaramouche turned towards the mirage of the village of Tatarasuna in the distance, ready to press on when a muffled thud interrupted him mid jump. He landed on the cliff and turned towards the source of the disturbance, casting his eyes at the valley beneath, and found the boy on his knees, his lethargy evident even from where Scaramouche stood, high above him. Scaramouche hesitated for a second, taking a moment to weigh the importance of his mission against his curiosity.
Eventually, the latter won, and he leaped down from his perch and landed at the boy’s side. The boy did not acknowledge his presence, his mind seemingly far away. Scaramouche examined the boy, taking note of his sickly pallor.
“Are you an idiot, or are you just suicidal?” He asked the boy, his voice tinted with disappointment and devoid of warmth.
“Visiting the Abyss without protection from Abyssal energy is just asking for a quick death.”
The boy quickly turned his head to look at him, his right hand instinctively going to the hilt of his katana. The rapid movement must have disoriented him, however, because the boy immediately winced in pain afterwards, and proceeded to throw up the contents of his stomach.
“Urgh, humans. Always so disgusting.”
Scaramouche took one look at the boy, ready to rip into him for having the audacity to show him such a putrid sight, but the unexpected familiarity of the boy’s countenance blindsided him. For a second, he forgot when he was.
“Niw-“ Scaramouche uttered involuntarily, his eyes wide open, before he stopped himself. No, Niwa was long dead. This must be his descendant.
A brief jolt of nostalgia hit him, followed by quick bursts of love and longing, which was ultimately replaced by a deep hurt, a touch of resentment and an all-consuming hatred. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as he stood back up, his right hand crackling with Electro. He brought his arm forward, fully intending to liberate Inazuma from the last of the traitor’s bloodline, when the boy suddenly collapsed onto the ground, his pale skin glowing a pale violet from the abyssal energy infecting his body.
“Well, shit.”
Scaramouche looked at the boy’s fragile countenance, the visage of a different boy he had once known briefly overlapping with his. He felt himself dispel the Electro energy concentrated into his hand.
“I knew coming back here was a fucking mistake,” he sighed to himself as he picked up the boy and located the nearest exit back to Teyvat, ripping open the beastly rift and returning, for the first time in centuries, to the rusted fields of Kannazuka.
side b: of crying vines and bleeding hearts
“That really couldn’t have gone any worse,” Kazuha thought to himself as he woke up, alone, with his limbs restrained with what appeared to be Naku Vines. He took a moment to collect himself, before he started taking in his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a dilapidated fishing hut, with a small wooden platform situated in the corner that - judging by the faded electro tomoe insignia emblazoned on it - could have once been an altar to the Electro Archon. Looking at the neglected state of the altar, though, he concluded that the hut must have been long abandoned.
He was lying on the damp ground, his haori streaked with mud, and the cuts he had received from the wolf creature had been covered with pale-green leaves that gave off an earthly, herbal scent. The uncomfortable sticky sensation on his skin, along with its strangely matte appearance, told him that it was coated with a translucent fluid that reminded him of slime condensate.
He tentatively licked his lips and tasted the fluid. A flash of bitterness, followed by a burst of mint and sweetflower… yeah, that was slime condensate, alright. And so the mystery deepens.
He tried to recall exactly how he ended up there. He fought off that weird flying wolf-like creature, yes, but what happened before that? His eyebrows furrowed as he retraced his steps. The Electro Archon issued a decree for all vision holders to relinquish their visions, and Tomo – oh celestia, Tomo.
Tomo was dead.
Kazuha felt tears spring to his eyes at the reminder that he would no longer be able to spend his days roaming around the islands of Inazuma together with the blond, pretending to be ronin. He would no longer be able to attend summer festivals with him, admiring the way the taller boy’s face brightened at the sound of the fireworks that lit up the night sky. He would no longer be able to share his haikus with him, to hear his praise and encouragement.
“I’m tellin’ ya, Kazu, you really have a way with words! It’ll be a crime to let it go to waste!”
“Thank you, Tomo, truly, but writing is but a hobby. Swordsmithing is the Kaedehara Clan’s true calling.”
“Ah, don’t give me that bull-“
He bit his lips, the pain forcefully interrupting his reverie before it led him farther down the path towards despair. Tomo was dead, and there would be a time to grieve, but that time was not now.
He tried to feel around for Tomo’s vision, but his restrained limbs made that particular action painfully futile. His eyes darted around the hut again, searching for the telltale metallic glint of the vision, but all he saw were cobwebs and rotten wood.
He sighed. “Focus, Kazuha,” he muttered, as he once again tried to retrace his steps. He barely managed to escape Narukami Island with Tomo’s vision, and he sought refuge in an abandoned shack in Kannazuka, when he was attacked by a pack of those weird wolf monsters, and…
He grimaced. He collapsed soon after that, didn’t he? He had managed to kill the wolves, but their claws must have been poisoned, because all he remembered after that were flashes of pain, extreme nausea, and beautiful sapphire eyes.
Kazuha paused. Wait, beautiful sapphire eyes?
“Awake, I see.” A haughty, yet hauntingly melodic voice cut through his thoughts. Kazuha struggled against his restraints, desperately trying to turn his body towards its source, when he felt a hand spin him around, and – oh. Beautiful sapphire eyes.