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Childe is gone.
Childe is gone, and Kaeya is arguing with a red-haired woman who looks so much like her son.
He's not actually sure what she's saying anymore. He can't hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, but he knows she wants to keep Childe’s vision. He needs it.
He's not sure when he started crying, but suddenly he's sobbing and he can't stop. Please, he begs. I need it. I need him.
A little boy comes up to the woman, grabbing her hand. He's the spitting image of Childe, and Kaeya hates him for it, and hates himself for that.
He needs it more than we do, mama, the boy says, laden with a sadness beyond his years and a kindness only a child could have.
The woman sighs, her grip on the vision relaxing. She takes Kaeya's hand in her own and places the vision in it.
Take care of him for us.
Kaeya nods. Always.
He falls to his knees, sobbing as he clutches the faded gem to his chest.