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Five hundred years felt like five hundred seconds, and five hundred seconds still felt like a lifetime in the eyes of the Il Capitano. The hours ticked by more slowly than the last, his skin rotting, pulling away from bone and darkening as his body betrayed his immortality. Unlike Dainslief, the man cursed with more immortality and not to age, the captain found himself staring at his hand every time he undressed, staring at his fingers that struggled to hold his flesh together as he felt it separating from his bones. It was his curse, his to bear even as he would return to the earth and yet remain on this land, Teyvat would change around him as all he could do was watch.
Rotting, decaying, and yet he could still feel it all as he listened to the howling of the wind outside.
Since he came under the Archon of Love’s land, he had been given a bit more than what the other Harbingers had been given; he needed medical staff, he got it, he wanted to consult with the best doctors, he was able to call them at a snap of his fingers. His home was within the palace’s walls when he was here, under the watchful eye of the Archon who had given him hope that his curse would one day be reversed. Maybe it was guilt at what he had experienced, maybe she was far enough removed to find his descent into a fleshy blob fascinating, but he grunted as he slowly began to wrap his hand again, ridding the thought from his mind.
She was at least far enough removed from the Harbinger’s affairs that when the time came for her plan to come into play, she didn’t ask that they drop everything to return to her. He appreciated it, but he didn’t see it as beyond an Archon doing her duties.
And if he wanted another immortal with whom he could converse, he got it.
Raising his eyes towards the door as it opened, they did not flinch at his melting mouth or his yellowed teeth, nor did they scream at his hollowed eyes. He had rarely come across other people who had survived the curse of his homeland, but they had their own curse, too; mind so warped with time, unable to keep up with their body as it withered, Capitano had watched as they regained and lost their self of sense over and over again.
“Come,” he grunted, feeling the cold, bitter air sting at his lungs, knowing that one day his ability to speak would be taken, reduced to only his hands, “I can tell something is bothering you.”
In their moments of clarity, Capitano saw the person he had once called a lover. He dressed them, made sure they were fed, and even when in the darkest pits of their mind, they always came back to him. They learned to not fear his decay, nor did they fear the power that came from his bones, instead seeking solace in his embrace as they melted into him.
“I remember our home again…”
From where they traced patterns against the bottom of their spine, Capitano was able to feel the shudder of their body as they struggled to not cry; on days like this, where the snow ran especially thick, Capitano knew that their memories came back a bit too clear, ones that he couldn’t affirm away.
He had long since forgotten what comfort had been until he had found them, but he did his best to do so, knowing that their heart thundered against their chest, that their eyes moistened with tears that stained the very bandages that kept him together. Like the blood that had been spilt of their kin, their tears splashed in a way that would never dry.
He would never forget Khaenri'ah.
But they would, and then they would forget themselves. Savouring this moment of clarity, where his heart could bleed for what he had lost, yet his eyes remained dry.
A corpse, even as warm as his, could not cry.