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Chapter Text

Albedo had a pencil in hand for as long as his memories stretch back, plentiful and vibrant as they were. Sometimes he pondered if it had been one of the traits his Master had desired most from his creation. Much of his time with her had been spent sketching, imitating life with the coals of the dead.

There were many common objects that appeared in landscapes; Sweet Flowers, Sunsettias, such things he could draw by mere muscle memory after the countless times they’d been etched onto his pages.

Even after so long, after so much had fallen and regrown, mountains buried and exhumed, his hands still retained the motions. Perhaps, even, when he forgot.

This was the current dilemma he found himself in.

Sat in his outpost on Dragonspine as the wind and snow whistled outside, accompanied by the light echo of his foot repetitively tapping on stone, Albedo stared tentatively at the papers strewn across his desk; all of them holding the same delicate figure sketched on.

The issue was that the alchemist couldn’t recall who this was.

Every face he drew, every shadow and muse that ended up on his papers, he knew them; his little sister, adventurers he encountered on some sunny day exploring ruins, some guest from afar who had plenty to share on foreign plants, the young girl who sold wild goods in the plains.

Albedo knew who each face belonged to, even if it had been long since he’d seen them, or had only met a stranger once. He recalled where, how, the place and person.

But this.. his mind had nothing. His muscles knew this person, knew the reflexive motions of short cut hair, the wonderful contrast in how it rounded and curved, knew the delicate lines of wrists and fingers, the boxes of clothes.

Yet his brain said that he’d never seen the man in his life.

This had all been spurred by revisiting a small copy of his Five Kasen work; one he’d been rather pleased with the results of, as well as the experiences gained while making it.

One panel, though, was empty. It didn’t strike him as anything out of the ordinary; of course not, he remembered allowing the public to form their own view of what the mysterious Kuronushi may look like. An intentional move of artistic flair.

As a simple creative task, Albedo had taken it upon himself to sketch up his own imagination of that man in the folk tale. The increase of snowstorms during the early spring was keeping his muses rather limited and most things around the outpost had already been sketched more than once.

He’d sat down, pencil in hand, as the motions came to him more naturally than he expected – for something so focused on what he saw in his mind’s eye, he was hardly looking there at all.

Albedo ended up with the first figure. The oddness struck at how easily it had come, but how he was unable to picture that figure in more detail. With a hypothesis, he drew again. A second figure, a third, a fourth, a fifth –

He’d ended up with nine in the end, and decided it was best not to go into double digits.

Each drawing was the same. The same pose, the same linework, the same person down to the finest detail of a few loose strands of hair. The way their hat only just obscured where their eyes would be placed, the painted nails and doll-like hands.

The alchemist wasn’t particularly perturbed by it all, but did not like the fact his mind had no trace of a path his muscles remembered walking.

Perhaps he stared at the pages for ten minutes, perhaps it was an hour. He hadn’t checked.

It took a significant willpower to finally tear his gaze off and bundle up the pages to a neat stack, supposing he’d tuck them away with the rest of his figure sketches.

Despite certainly not needing nine of them, discarding the papers felt.. odd. Almost disrespectful in a way, to destroy one’s image, even if he was skeptical that one even existed.

He would dedicate time to investigating once the snow cleared, he told himself. Hardly much progress could be made in the cave other than introspection, and that obviously hadn’t been working.

・┆✦✦ ┆・

When the howls of the wind had settled the next day, Albedo packed his bag with one of the pages and journeyed back to the city on his usual scenic route, only stopping once to sketch two finches hopping around in the snow – one blended in with white fluff and only speckles of yellow, while the other’s vibrant violet-blues had stood out plenty.

Venti was, after some deliberating with himself the night before, perhaps the best chance he had.

Locating him took a fair amount of trekking. After combing through the city with no luck, his current destination was Windrise. If not there, then Starsnatch Cliff. If not there… well, Albedo hoped he wouldn’t have to plan a trip to Decarabian’s Tower, even if the sights were one of a kind.

Stepping through grassy fields, the alchemist was merely left to ponder.

He was privy to some things the bard kept hidden. His true identity, his relationship with Alice and the Hexenzirkel; though that relationship in itself likely delved into a rabbit hole of even more secrets. Venti was also present for the Irodori Festival, and had his own place on the portrait of the Five Kasen.

If anyone was to identify the figure, Albedo’s evidence pointed to him.

The shade of the large tree brought a welcoming coolness from the sun, such lush greens in the area that Albedo was slightly disappointed he hadn’t brought his paints all this way. Viridian was a particularly lovely hue, and the area was vibrant with it – especially a few specific blobs of it he could see concealed behind leaves of the tree.

“Venti,” came Albedo’s light call, just enough to test whether or not he was napping. Sure enough, there was a rustle in the branches, and a momentary hum was carried down by the breeze.

“My, my! The Chief Alchemist has come looking for me, what could I have done to receive such an honour?”

The reply was sing-song, the blonde observing Venti tip toe across the wood, toward where the many branches intertwined at the trunk.

“There’s a drawing I have, and I hoped you could identify the subject.”

At those words, he saw the bright eyes peek down, before the bard dropped to the ground in a manner reminiscent of a feather. The landing was completely soft, as if he held no weight to him at all.

“What’s the tale behind this, then? An old portrait found in ruins, or are you merely wanting to play a guessing game with the latest of your wonderful works?”

Venti stepped over as he spoke, voice ever-playful.

Wordlessly, Albedo placed down his bag and carefully removed the page, weary of it smudging. The bard plucked it from his hold to examine, and the alchemist focused on his reaction.

Hardly anything but the quirk of an eyebrow and a smirk that grew ever so slightly.

“Shameful to say I’ve never laid an eye on your mystery muse~ You’ve got a flair for drawing cute faces with pretty hands, so I presume this is your work,”

Venti continued examining the drawing, holding it out with one hand and twirling a braid around his finger with the other.

Though still skeptical whether or not the bard knew something about the figure, Albedo also knew there was no harm in revealing its origins.

“It is. I took up a simple creative task in drawing my own interpretation of Kuronushi of the Five Kasen, but I ended up with.. a figure I was not imagining.”

He gave a small gesture to the page, before crossing his arms in thought.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the muscle memory in the arts, how your hands will memorise where to move as you hone to a subject- or a song, in your case. This is the result of that.”

The two both gazed down at the paper in silence for a few moments. Albedo was pondering – Venti was probably just mimicking the quiet.

“I’ve never seen this person, but I know how to draw them as if I’ve done so countless times before. You would be aware, too, that forgetting the subject of your own art is far from easy.”

The bard gave an affirming hum, handing the page back to him.

“You’d hope this muse of yours kept up wearing such misfitting hats,” he giggled, stepping around a few flowers, “Anyone with such eccentric attire would stand out. Maybe he’s simply a man woven by your dreams, or you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Albedo’s eyes snapped back up to him at that. Venti’s face remained carefree, smiling. In brief eye contact, the blonde knew there was more information, information the bard still concealed despite him catching on.

Venti seemed to know that Albedo knew that Venti knew that Albedo knew. Such a headache.

He wondered if he picked these things up from Alice, or if Alice picked these things up from him. Vague hints, as if saying anything directly was forbidden.

“I’m afraid there’s not all too much I can offer you, Chief Alchemist. Other than a song, perhaps.” Viridian fabric swayed like the breeze itself as Venti’s cape fluttered with his movements across the grass.

“Perhaps some humid winds of the south-west will blow our way soon,” the bard gave a faux exasperated sigh as he continued, “I’m not all too fond of humidity– makes everything sticky.”

With a small ‘blegh’ sound, Venti trotted back over to the tree.

The blonde let out a soft sigh, the tiniest amount disappointed that only minimal information had been upturned. Still, a hypothesis not panning out was plenty normal, and the alchemist remained undeterred from exploring further.

Even if hints to his muse’s identity had been minimal, they were not nonexistent. Venti was a bard, a poet – he spoke as such and Albedo had a feeling his words were worth paying close attention to.

“Thankyou for your help, Venti. I believe I understand,” he spoke as he slipped the page safely back into his bag. When he looked up again, the bard had somehow already returned to the branches, matching with the wonderfully green leaves.

“Best of luck seeking your muse, Chief Alchemist. Don’t forget to pen a new masterpiece of your mystery muse if you find them~!”

Venti gave an enthusiastic wave from where he sat in the tree, to which Albedo responded in kind before heading back to the city – not without giving himself due time to sketch the scenery on his way.

He considered his next moves as he watched a pair of herons among the grass and blooms of tiny flowers, sitting on a small, mossy rock ledge as he drafted down their shapes.

There was no easy way to locate this person, going off the idea they really did exist, and were not some magic figment of Albedo’s imagination. Even if he figured out what nation they were in, it was still far too vast an amount of people.

But he did know someone who had been through many nations and met many people; they would know of most folks who stood out, if not directly be acquainted with them.

Perhaps the Traveler was his next best chance. They had been far and wide, through storms and deserts and seas, meeting many on their journey.

But.. Albedo didn’t have a clue when they would be back in Mondstadt next. Addressing a letter was terribly difficult due to them being on the move so often, and they were practically never able to respond, which would yield such an effort completely fruitless.

Awaiting their next visit seemed to be the best option, as they tended to return every few months at the least. In the meantime, other options could be explored – concluding that visiting Miss Lisa would be his next endeavor.

Having been absentmindedly sketching while in his thoughts, he peered at the new creation. Not his best piece, though it would likely fit nicely in some scientific journal somewhere.

Packing his things neatly into his bag, Albedo headed off back to the city, making a mental note to fetch Venti a few apples whenever he took Klee for a walk by the lake next.

Chapter Text

Almost two weeks had passed since the alchemist first crafted all the works of this mystery muse and Albedo was barely any closer to figuring it out, despite how much it had begun to nag at his brain.

Talking with the Librarian had been enriching, though had not contributed to progress on his current task. He had formed a new idea shortly after, judging by the clothing of the figure, that they may be of Inazuman origin.

A trip over there was certainly not achievable any time soon. Alongside that, he lacked an efficient method of contacting the few he did know from the country.

In the end, Albedo remained with only Venti’s words as a guide, and he was unsure if they were even supposed to be used as one.

The way the bard had spoken felt as if it could hold clues, but could equally be interpreted as nothing of note. Stating he could be looking in the wrong place, or how such eccentric attire would stand out – even his comment of humid south-west winds felt a little strange. The winds of Sumeru hardly ever reached so far.

Work had interrupted his quest, so he had been kept busy much of the week and even now he was assisting Timaeus and Sucrose with their latest project by handing off some materials to the former.

“The weather has eased up, though remember to remain cautious with the ice when heading down. Don’t wander off the path for extra materials,” Albedo reminded, neatly packaging a small box of alchemy materials, ensuring it would not accidentally spill open in the event of being jostled.

Timaeus nodded, a content smile resting on his face that Albedo made a mental note of, slipping the box into his bag for safekeeping on the walk down the mountain.

“I’ll be careful as ever. Thanks again, Albedo,” He waved as he headed out into the snow, bidding the alchemist a goodbye.

Perhaps he stood in place for a few seconds, or a few minutes; he briefly stopped focusing, simply pondering what he could put his mind to next. That unidentified figure still floated around his head, remaining an unshakeable gnawing of an unknowable thing that didn’t seem to want to be known.

Albedo had begun considering sending a letter to Inazuma, in an attempt to contact a few people, but he knew the amount of time any correspondence took was a torturous while – during that, he would still wish for something to investigate regarding the mystery individual.

The alchemist took a few steps around the lab, until it turned into him pacing, enveloped in his thoughts. There was something about this entire situation that had him, a draw of interest that he couldn’t shake off. Being able to draw something down to the finest of details, but not having any recollection of its source at all – it was such an odd situation. The more specifications he dug through his brain for, the more he realised was missing.

Albedo did not know a single thing about this artwork nor why he had the ability to draw it so finely. All he had to conclude was the origination; it had come to him when he considered drawing Kuronushi. That frame of the portrait was always intended to be blank from the moment the alchemist had the story of the Five Kasen, he had never even conjured up an image of what Kuronushi may look like before that; it didn’t make a single piece of sense how –

“Ah, Mister Albedo!”

A cheerful voice broke through his thoughts, accompanied by a bit of puffing. Albedo paused his pacing, tipping his head up to see who had arrived at the camp. Brightly bubblegum pink eyes gazed back at him, lime hair all ruffled, likely from the trek up the mountain. 

“Oh, hello Collei.”

He’d hardly been expecting her to appear at his camp, but he knew she took the occasional visit to Mondstadt, and they had gotten along decently well during the last Windblume Festival. He did keep in frequent touch with her teacher, Tighnari, too.

She was very much rugged up in a winter cloak he recognised as Amber’s; it was already big on her, so it looked like it was completely enveloping Collei. Her cheeks were all pink, though it was hard to discern if it was due to the cold or if she’d somehow managed to get too warm trekking around in the giant fluffy cloak.

Albedo motioned for her to come further in and she gratefully did so, plonking down on one of the chairs situated around the burning fireplace that warmly illuminated the stone walls.

“Ah, sorry, I was trying to catch up with one of those little snow foxes, but it outran me..” Collei sighed softly, a glimpse of defeat on her face alongside a small smile. The alchemist really couldn’t help the slightest upturn of his lips. Social relations were much of a difficulty, but there was a small few it tended to be easier with, when there was no pressure to be constantly sustaining the relationship.

“What brought you all the way up here?” He questioned, coming to stand by the fireplace. Her eyes widened a bit, looking as if she’d suddenly remembered something, and promptly shifted around in the coat.

“Master Tighnari packed some samples from Sumeru to deliver while we were here and hoped you could send some from Mondstadt back with us,” she explained, managing to locate a carefully wrapped package from the depths of the cloak pockets, pulling it out with a tiny huff. It was placed on the chair beside her, and given a small pat.

“There’s some local specialties in there and some fungi samples– oh, Master also put them in their own box so they wouldn’t get all over everything else.”

Interest piqued by the prospect of samples to study, Albedo promptly scooped up the package and relocated it to the safekeeping of his shelves, speaking as he did so, “Do pass on my thanks to him. I’ll be sure to pack some things in return. Thankyou for delivering it, as well.” He paused, gazing tentatively at Collei for a moment, “Did you traverse up here by yourself?”

The glint of concern in his eyes must have been obvious, he mused, with how she promptly shook her hands. “No, no– everyone in the city always speaks about how that’s not a good idea. I came up with someone else, he’s just a bit..” she pursed her lips, trying to formulate the right word. “..Antisocial, I suppose. Cyno was busy with cards in town, so he came along instead.”

Albedo responded with a slight ‘ah’ sound and seated himself beside her, allowing silence to creep into the room. 

He was no stranger to it and Collei seemed more focused on the cozy heat emitted by the fire. Unfortunately, it was interrupted within a minute by a captivating voice unfamiliar to Albedo, sourced just outside the camp’s rocky entrance. The beholder of the call remained out of his sight. “Collei! Are you done playing messenger pigeon yet?”

The girl huffed and flopped to the side slightly in her chair. “No, I’m warming up! And you should too, I’m not pushing an ice block all the way back down!”

The alchemist heard a displeased grumble from outside and made an executive decision – he stood up and strolled over to the entryway, crossing the threshold where snow melted away on stone. The mountain’s frosty breeze promptly caressed his face, a rather welcoming sensation to Albedo.

When he turned his head to where he presumed Collei’s ‘travel companion’ was- judging by where his voice had originated- he was not met with some fellow from the adventurer’s guild. No, what stood by him was.. his muse? Perhaps not his muse, but the muse.

The silhouette immediately felt familiar; the wide brim of the hat, the curve of the hair and the soft boxes of clothes. As Albedo scanned over him, more pieces aligned themselves in a beautiful puzzle-portrait of the same image the alchemist couldn’t remove from his mind. Slender hands, resembling that of a perfectly made doll accompanied by cleanly painted black nails.

But then there was colour – wonderful shades of indigo, azure and cerulean standing out against the snowy backdrop. There was a sparking urge to paint him, in mimic of the pose his hands already knew how to draw.

Enchanting eyes met Albedo’s own, looking as if they had stolen and encapsulated Mondstadt’s most clear midnight sky within them. There was an unexplainable draw that filled him, almost magnetising.

Apparently, silence had donned the two a few moments too long, as some crunching of boots against the snow was followed by Collei appearing beside the alchemist and looking between the two.

It stayed like that for a few moments, before the girl piped up.

“Ah, uhm.. this is the Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt, Albedo– and Mister Albedo, this is one of the Academia’s Darshans..”

Collei glanced over at him as if asking a question, to which the darshan simply sighed.

“Call me whatever you want,” he huffed in a mildly tired tone.

Words came to Albedo with some delay, feeling as if he’d discovered some new species of flower.

“Would Kuronushi suffice for the time being, then?”

A split second glint of surprise flashed over those midnight eyes; it would have easily gone unnoticed, had Albedo not been gazing at them as if they were the most detailed piece of art he’d laid eyes on.

He then scoffed with a shrug of his shoulders, the ribbons behind his hat being swayed with the motion like eels, “Fine. Where’d you get that one from?”

“An old Inazuman tale. You reminded me of a figure in the works,” he explained earnestly, though opting out of mentioning his entire mystery muse debacle for the moment.

The individual- ‘Kuronushi’- tilted his head curiously, as if inspecting Albedo for an ounce of a lie. Whatever his conclusion was, he didn’t let it be known, instead merely standing in place looking unimpressed. When the space around them began to hush again, the alchemist found himself stepping through the snow a few paces closer to him.

There was something off, something Albedo just couldn’t quite put his finger on, something he needed to be closer to discern. Kuronushi was watching his movements intently, the way his eyes focused reminiscent of a falcon honing on prey.

Albedo exhaled softly, the small cloud of breath that dissipated into the air being a sight he was completely accustomed to. But when he gazed at Kuronushi, he finally put his finger on the anomaly –

“You’re not breathing,” he murmured with a voice of utter wonder. There was no faint cloud that left him on an exhale the entire time he’d been examining the cool-hued man, nor any notable rise or fall of the chest. A hypothesis; Kuronushi was like him. Curiosity bloomed again, another wonderful flower watered by a yearning to discover.

Kuronushi immediately followed the statement by inhaling, only making it further obvious that he hadn’t been breathing before. “And you’re a weirdo,” he retorted, utterly sidestepping the subject while also trying to rather literally sidestep Albedo. As he passed the alchemist, however, a gloved hand gently caught his forearm.

He saw the way in which he turned to look at him; a thunderstorm brewing in those midnight eyes, threatening a crack of lighting. Mesmerising as it could be dangerous.

It was then that clouds of breath no longer left Albedo, his chest remained still as the ice that adorned the mountain, gazing into the storm.

Breathing was not technically a need for him, but over the years it had become a natural occurrence, fitting in with those he dwelled around. He found it a soothing motion, too, and had initially been fascinated by the clouds of water vapor that condensed when a breath was cast out into the freezing air.

Albedo could stop any time he wished and chose to in that moment, hoping Kuronushi would understand, would draw his own hypothesis that like called to like.

He watched so attentively for a reaction as if it were alchemy, catching a glimpse of the storm's eye before it quelled, seeing a momentary vulnerability and curiosity – gone fast as a strike of light, buried away.

Beautiful, the alchemist thought, retracting his hand back from where it had tried to anchor Kuronushi.

His eyebrows furrowed and Albedo thought of how many hours he could spend drawing that expression, wishing he knew what was swirling through his mind.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a rush of air flew around him and before he knew it the figure in front of him was gone; willingly taken upward by the wind, the alchemist's gaze was quick to follow. He watched the individual land weightlessly on a snowy ledge above them, taking a few steps and becoming obscured from view.

Albedo stood there, bewildered, fascinated like he hadn’t been in far too long, being gnawed at by a longing to discover that unknown.

Snow crunched beside him. “..Politely as I can ask, Mister Albedo.. WHAT in the name of the archons was all that?!”

Ah. He’d briefly forgotten Collei was there.

Chapter Text

The winds that whisked around Kuronushi– Scaramouche were not the same ones that blew through Dragonspine with an icy chill to them.

Whatever breeze surrounded him had a biting cold of its own though, but rather than the sharpness of the mountain’s winds, his felt more like the smooth movements of a snake or a ribbon caressing around an arm.

Scaramouche felt his expression shift, eyebrows knitting together as he stared back at the inviting cerulean of that alchemist’s eyes. The blonde was not breathing – it was not a lack of breathing any normal human could get away with, either, not with how he had exhaled and simply not taken in any more air.

The marking on his neck, too, a star more real than any of those in the sky.

He’d faked his own respiration for a few seconds when Albedo initially called him out on it, but once again, it had stopped.

The only breath around was that of the mountain’s.

Albedo was like him. Something more than human, something less than human– alike nothing else, merely a doll formed in imitation of life, birthed from things that were never living. 

He believed there was nobody else born of such an existence, yet the destruction of that belief stood here, staring at him as if he were the final piece of an ancient puzzle.

There were many ways he could have reacted. Immediately flying away probably hadn’t been the best one, but who was he to blame, faced with the only other porcelain doll among endless rows of ones of flesh and bone?

As he touched down on the ledge, his foot promptly sunk a few centimeters into the snow, but he delayed paying it mind as he stepped out of sight of the two below. When he was out of sight, however, he very promptly frowned and tried to shake it off – the freezing cold wasn’t exactly an issue for him, due to both who he was and past experience. The most being in snow did was cause the afflicted area to numb into a point of no feeling at all or a very dull cold sensation.

In the past, a past that no longer existed, he spent time simply sitting in the frosty depths of Snezhnayan snow out of boredom or out for more concerning reasons. It usually ended up in him being unable to feel half his body until he warmed up again.

With this, trekking Dragonspine in shorts had been absolutely no issue, but the snow that kept getting stuck in his shoes was mildly annoying.

Nevertheless, after kicking the bits of ice out, Scaramouche’s mind returned to the topic at hand; that alchemist. Crossing his arms, his gaze drifted aimlessly over the white floor beneath him.

He’d caught on so quickly. They’d passed multiple adventurers at the base of the mountain, none of whom noticed the lack of puffs of air from him. Albedo seemed to have grasped it almost immediately – it was strangely impressive, he’d give him that much.

What was really becoming an itch, though, was the name he had assigned Scaramouche. ‘Kuronushi’, one of the Five Kasen, someone whom he’d been drawn as in his non-existent past.

Albedo should not know that. Albedo should not remember that. He knew, now, erasing his past was not the cutting out he thought it was. People who were not of Teyvat had not been affected by it at all, but he’d glimpsed that face among the leaves of Irminsul during his exploration of the great tree.

That blonde hair and pale skin, the roots held him as they did the rest of the land.

So how, then, could Albedo have chosen that name out of thousands of others? In that old, dead branch, the alchemist had known of his name, known of his looks, even if their paths had never properly crossed. He knew of Scaramouche – The Balladeer, a title buried without a headstone.

Here, in this branch, he knew nothing. He’d never drawn him in that Five Kasen masterpiece of his because there was no Balladeer to draw. There should not have been any figure of ‘Kuronushi’ for him to remind Albedo of.

Scaramouche knew better than to chalk it up to coincidence. His foot tapped against the ground, frowning at nothing but his thoughts. 

Albedo was like him. Somehow, he had drawn a connection he should not have been able to. Albedo was like him.

That simple statement in his mind derailed his train of thought completely.

How long had he wished to simply be something? For how long had he sought it, how much had he done in effort to be anything but what he was? 

And now, there was someone who was what he was. There was no need to long to exist as something else, to pretend, to sacrifice –

He could simply be still, be steady, and be – and he would not be alone.

It was as if he’d been floating through space, trying to find a star that would accommodate him, but none truly ever did; they disappeared, died out, burned him. Maybe now he lingered around one that was better, but he remained feeling out of place.

And now he discovered another among the sky who seemed close to a star, but always remained drifting in the void, never joining orbit.

Perhaps the space between stars was where some were meant to be; part of nothing, together.

It was an utterly indescribable feeling.

Scaramouche stood there, still for a few minutes, his mind swirling over that thought. Finally his gaze detached from where it had gotten frozen on the snow and he shifted to peek back over the ledge; neither Collei nor Albedo were there anymore.

The footprints were a bit messy and all over the place, but it seemed like the tracks had returned inside. With an exasperated sigh, he stepped off the ledge and carefully lowered himself back down to land just outside the border where snow met stone.

He faced out as he’d descended, observing the titanic skeleton resting in its pure white grave. Ribs cast out of the rock as if the bones belonged to the alp itself, like the mountain had once been alive. Those were only the remnants of the thing; Scaramouche wondered, in somewhat of a horrific awe, how large the beast would’ve been in its flesh.

His shoes reached the ground again and after taking an extra few moments to admire the sights, he reached a hand up to adjust his hat as he turned –

“GAH–!”

Scaramouche took a slightly stumbled step back and narrowly managed to repress the urge to throw his hand out to smack the figure that had seemingly appeared behind him. Two bright eyes stared back at him, unmoving and unwavered – the damned alchemist.

“Ah, my apologies. I thought you were aware I was standing here,” Albedo spoke, and Scaramouche noted the most minuscule upturn of his lips.

“No. No I was not,” he grumbled, properly adjusting his hat as the blonde looked at him almost whimsically, cerulean eyes scanning over every detail of his figure. Before Scaramouche could open his mouth to say anything about their initial interaction, Albedo interjected.

“When you were descending, I noted a mark by your nape–” The alchemist cut himself off with a pause. “..Apologies, my curiosity is getting the better of me. You’re welcome to come inside and have a seat,” he gestured a hand back, in the direction of where Collei was sitting content in front of the fire with a small meal in her lap. She waved at Scaramouche when he peered over.

Sighing, he stepped forward into the cave encampment as Albedo did the same.

As much as there was gnawing curiosity between them, Collei spoke up to ask Albedo something or other about the food she was munching on, so Scaramouche simply occupied himself with glancing around.

Expectedly, there was a table of alchemy tools, bottles of all different hues of colours, some emitting a faint glow. A board was stood up with plenty of papers pinned to it, complexities he’d have to look closer at some other time. An easel also stood up in one corner, hilichurls featuring in an unfinished work resting upon it. 

His eyes drifted to the table beside it; some paint sets carefully left there and papers stacked neatly, save for a few laid out on the wood. Absent-mindedly, he took a step over to look, only to be met with somewhat of an unsettling sight.

The Five Kasen portrait of ‘Kuronushi’ that should have been long gone rested on that table, etched onto parchment in perfect detail and simply missing its colours. Beside it were two more, exactly the same.

Scaramouche froze in place, staring down at them. It wasn’t as if it was a drawing he could ever recreate, so he never expected to see it again; there was an eerie nostalgia about it. This brought up more questions than it did answers.

Perhaps, then, Albedo really did believe he looked like the portrait of ‘Kuronushi’ if it was something he had – but how did he have it? If he had drawn it, how could it have been possible to do so in perfect detail to the original three times?

Perplexed and mildly concerned at whatever was going on here, he glanced over to Albedo, who was still engaged talking with Collei. With that, he nonchalantly snuck one of the portraits, folding it neatly and tucking it in the safe nook of his overshirt. He took a few more steps over to the shelves, keeping up the rather absent-minded appearance of simply looking around at all the little tidbits.

Eventually, impatience kicked in. He had to talk with the alchemist sooner or later, preferably not in front of Collei. She was still eating, though, so perhaps..

“Albedo, I’d like to talk with you outside for a minute,” he stated as he walked past the two, gesturing a hand vaguely in the air as he stepped back out into the cold.

Scaramouche didn’t look back to see what the other two were doing, simply kept strolling until he knew he was out of sight around a small curve in the mountain.

He stood still, crossing his arms. Sure enough, the crunch of footsteps wasn’t far behind. He waited until they came to a halt.

“Kuronushi–”

“Explain,” Scaramouche cut him off, turning around and taking out the drawing, unfolding it all in one.

Albedo simply blinked, tilting his head as his eyes ran over the portrait, then darted up to Scaramouche’s. A tiny smile donned the blonde’s face. Scaramouche frowned.

“You truly do look like that figure,” The alchemist murmured, taking a step closer and pausing for a moment. “I intended to ask you about it upon seeing you, though you brought.. many more questions to my mind than I had anticipated.”

He raised an eyebrow, allowing Albedo to take the piece of paper from his hands and smooth out where it had been creased by folding.

“Approximately two weeks ago I attempted to draw my own rendition of ‘Kuronushi’, of the Five Kasen. It resulted in my creation of this, seemingly by muscle memory, as I recalled nothing of the muse. I repeated the process numerous times to ensure it wasn’t a fluke.”

Scaramouche felt his expression shift, eyebrows furrowing as he looked over the other. Muscle memory added up; it was one thing that didn’t seem to be affected by Irminsul. Even after erasing himself and lacking his memories, he’d retained the muscle memory of how to sew – his hands remembered the motions and they came to him easily.

There was no real way to test it with anyone else, given nobody had exactly developed muscle memory because of him, but it was something he’d suspected.

“I intended to go looking for the unidentified muse afterward, but was swept up by work..”

Those cerulean eyes left the paper, peered into his own; they reminded him of deceptively deep waters in their color, the kind that looked so clear and shallow, but could completely envelop someone with a single step in.

“..Yet it appears you ended up coming to me. An interesting twist of fate, but it remains to be answered – why do I have no memory of you?”

He gazed closely at the other, the pale eyelashes that flecked by those eyes, the ever so lightest specks of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Scaramouche had devised a simple rule; he revealed his true identity to those who he had wronged, because they deserved to know the truth of why they had been hurt. Exceptions were incredibly minimal, such as Collei, who Nahida had advised him to speak to due to her experiences with Dottore, as well as the fact her master Tighnari had fallen under his ‘simple rule’ and was already aware of the truth about him.

Albedo did not fall under this. But Albedo fell under something else, something unique, that being his very existence as inhuman.

Perhaps if Scaramouche intended to leave, intended to depart, to never return and never speak to this man again, his answer would have been different. Perhaps he would have refused to answer all together.

But he didn’t intend to do that; not after finding someone who existed how he did.

“It’s a convoluted story,” he murmured. “I erased myself from history. Everywhere I once was, there’s now either something else, or nothing. That’s the shortest version of it.”

Thankfully, the alchemist didn’t immediately call him insane and instead studied his expression. There was a gentle gust of wind that blew by, not of Scaramouche’s doing, but not as cold as the breezes of the frostbitten mountain either – originating from some other third thing.

A brief silence came with it and he could’ve sworn he saw gears turning in Albedo’s mind just by looking at his eyes, as if he was listening to the unusual breeze.

“Fascinating,” he mumbled. “If you would, I’d like to hear that story in full sometime.”

Scaramouche simply sighed, then nodded. Now that debacle was covered, there was another, pressing matter. His eyes drifted down to the star marking on Albedo’s neck, perfectly symmetrical.

“You have one at your nape,” the alchemist stated, obviously registering the other’s gaze. “It seemed to illuminate when you activated your vision.. would you mind showing me again?”

Though raising an eyebrow, he inspected the alchemist for a moment, before tipping his head back with a huff. “Fine,” he spoke as his vision illuminated, a new breeze drifting through as Scaramouche seemed to become almost weightless, departing from the ground to drift upward a little.

“Anyone ever told you curiosity killed the cat?”

“There must be some cause for them to have nine lives.”

Scaramouche’s eyes snapped over to the blonde, fragments of smugness remnant on that pale, ever so lightly freckled face. Albedo took a few steps around as he merely lounged back in the air, allowing the alchemist to have a closer look at the marking.

He’d never paid it much mind himself – barely been able to catch much of a glimpse of it due to its position, really. In another time, perhaps he’d hated it, tried to cover it up and never let it be known, for it reminded him of his creator – his mother. Now, he simply tried to cover it lightly to avoid questions.

Albedo displayed his marking openly; Scaramouche wondered how he felt about it. How he felt about his very existence.

His pondering was interrupted by the scratching of a pencil which prompted him to turn his head. The alchemist had pulled out a small notebook and pencil from who knows where and was scribbling the marking into it. He met Scaramouche’s gaze softly, unbothered, obviously not finding his own behaviour weird in the slightest.

With an exasperated sigh, he shifted his head back to face forward, deciding to simply let Albedo continue with his drawing.

“..Why do you bother with mimicking their breathing?” Scaramouche murmured, not bothering to try and glance back again.

He heard a small ‘hm’ from the other.

“I was taught to do it when in the city to avoid questions. The habit simply continued over the years, and I enjoyed observing breaths in the cold air,” he responded simply.

“Hm. Guess that adds up,” he turned over, still floating, to look at what the alchemist had drawn. A rough sketch of the marking and beside it, a far more detailed drawing of it including the back of his neck – presumably directly off the view Albedo must’ve had.

“You’re not half bad,” he mused, admiring the detail put into the careful flicks of his hair that rested by his neck.

Albedo gave another one of those tiny smiles, before taking a few steps forward back toward the outpost and motioning for him to follow. Scaramouche let his feet settle back on the ground, stalling for a moment before following along, supposing they shouldn’t leave Collei by her lonesome for too long.

Chapter Text

Albedo truly did not expect to miss someone, let alone someone he had only known for a mere fragment of a day.

Kuronushi had departed with Collei approximately an hour after he’d arrived, leaving the alchemist with piles of unanswered questions and curiosities. Usually, he would much rather keep to himself than socialise, but he had become an exception. Albedo chalked it up to his spontaneously developed interest in the man upon realising his being. Finding someone who existed in the same form he did was nothing short of a miracle, so reasonably, it was not leaving his mind.

Thankfully, Kuronushi had stated he’d return the next day – which it now was – to talk further with the alchemist.

There was only minimal information he’d been able to garner before the muse’s departure and by proxy, minimal information he had to mull and hypothesise over that night.

First of all, the most obvious fact being their identity as faux humans, synthetic beings, creations. Albedo, of course, knew there were others similar to himself made by his Master – even some that had bore an uncanny resemblance to himself.

What he had never previously considered plausible was encountering a creation crafted by someone else – it was clear Kuronushi had no discernable relation to his Master, otherwise one should have had some clue of the other.

Even then, he spent so much time with her it often wasn’t difficult to discern a being that was given life by her hands. It was as if she left fingerprints over those she crafted, much like the tiny traits that made one artist’s portrait distinguishable from another. The average man may not notice, but one well versed in the arts could tell at a glance.

There had been a draw to Kuronushi, but Albedo had discerned nothing of those ‘fingerprints’ or ‘artistic flourishes’. But just as the alchemist was born of chalk, Kuronushi too seemed to be born of something other than flesh and blood.

That was only one thing swirling around in his mind.

Secondarily came the concept that this eccentric had ‘erased himself from history’. Promptly after that statement, a gentle breeze had rushed through, a breeze that Albedo had become accustomed to feeling around a certain bard. With it it had carried a sense of trust, as if those words were to be believed.

As skeptical as he could be of what the wind decided to tell him sometimes, he placed credence in it this time.

The idea that history could be altered, though, was both a fascinating and horrifying thought. It led Albedo on an entire other spiel of things in his head, enough so that between these two factors, he hadn’t dedicated an ounce of time to sleep that night.

A being of chalk as he was, he found sleep was not a necessity as it was in humans; he would not fall into psychosis and deterioration over time as a regular person would. Rather, it simply made him a bit more drowsy than usual or inhibited his processing and reaction time.

Sometimes he slept to make a good example for Klee when she was around, while other times he took naps for the little energy boost that rest tended to provide.

More often than not, however, it was like this – Albedo found himself indulged deeply in a project and the thought of sleep didn’t at all cross his mind.

Albedo had taken it upon himself to write a list of the various things he wished to discern about Kuronushi; primarily his biological makeup, origin and history. As both a product of alchemy and an alchemist, the biological subjects were what intrigued him most.

Kuronushi had not particularly specified a time of day at which he intended to show up – Albedo was rather unfamiliar with his guest etiquette, though did his best to ensure the lab was sufficiently tidy and even prepared a small meal.

Given he did not need to eat, he made the assumption the other would not either, but more so did it as a gesture of goodwill than offering some sustenance after the trek up.

There had been an understanding between them that they wished to learn more about each other, so the alchemist mentally ran over things he could explain about himself.

Albedo had, despite the scientific curiosity worming around within him, managed to seat himself down and attend to some paint-making instead. It came as somewhat of a crossroad between alchemy and the arts, so he enjoyed indulging in it from time to time, getting the perfect hue for whatever scene was playing at his head.

A few jars of pigment stood on the table, colours sprinkled over a plate as the alchemist tried to mix his ideal shade of indigo. Despite Dragonspine’s temperatures not affecting him as they would most people, Albedo still kept the fires within the lab lit for a warmer atmosphere.

Through his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of a figure by the entryway; promptly turning his head, he was expectedly greeted by the many blue hues of Kuronushi.

A stack of papers was binded in a bag over his shoulder, the parchment edges peeking out from where they didn’t quite fit within it. A small layer of snow rather amusingly rested atop his hat, too, which he promptly tipped to the side in an attempt to nudge it all off.

“Kuronushi,” Albedo uttered his name in a greeting, stepping back from the table he’d been crafting at.

The eccentric looked up at him and gave a half-hearted wave as greeting before jumping directly to the point of his visit. He allowed the bag to slip off his shoulder and into his hand, dumping it on the second table in the room, the one not currently covered in jars of pigment.

“A fraction of records of events I was responsible for. It’s not all of them, only some I was revising on the trip here. If you want to learn about me, there’s your starter.”

Albedo’s head tilted, stepping over to brush through the papers. Lines upon lines of neat handwriting were inked over them, alongside small images or diagrams representing whatever the words spoke of. It would certainly take the alchemist some time to read through it all and ensure he took in the information.

To think this was only a fragment of it..

“You’re welcome to have either dish on the table,” he spoke, without withdrawing his eyes from the papers, instead simply giving a gesture to where he knew he’d left the meals. Two of different kinds, one for Kuronushi and one for himself. Being unsure of the muse’s tastes, having some variety seemed the best option.

His guest gave a hum of acknowledgement, taking a peek at the food, but then strolling over to the easel in the corner of the lab.

Albedo kept aware of his placement in the space, though allowed most of his focus to remain on skimming through the papers; mentions of something regarding one of Inazuma’s islands as well as the ‘Raiden Gokuden’.

Sentences had been underlined and paragraphs circled, brief corrections written all over in blue ink rather than the original black.

His eyes drifted from the paper to gaze over at the utter enigma of a man he’d just let in his abode.

A faux human of clear Inazuman descent, involved in multiple devastating events within the country, now a Darshan of the Academia who had erased himself from history – and how much more was there that Albedo simply hadn’t heard of yet?

An unknown. A beautiful, wonderful, starry mystery that the alchemist simply had to uncover, to know.

He observed quietly as Kuronushi picked up one of the portraits of himself, from where they had been neatly piled atop his other sketches on a small shelf beside the easel.

Delicate hands held the delicate paper; he studied his expression as it ran over the drawing once again, wishing he knew what the muse thought of the portrait. Albedo wished to draw him again, to paint him in all those vibrant hues that looked stolen from cyan shores, brilliant sapphires or midnight skies –

Kuronushi’s eyes suddenly met his, involuntarily pausing his thoughts.

Ah. He had been staring.

The other raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

“Apologies,” the blonde murmured, placing the papers back down on the table in a tidy stack, “There is plenty I wish to know about you, though.. firstly, is there anything you’d wish to ask me about?”

He watched the doll-like figure blink, tilt his head slightly, before strolling back over to the table Albedo stood in front of – he took place on the opposing side.

“Who created you?”

Kuronushi’s voice was almost skeptical.

“Gold,” the alchemist answered plainly.

He tipped his head, seeming to ponder if it had been a trick answer, though Albedo watched as realisation dawned over him like a cloud.

“You can’t be serious.. the Gold? Her?”

Albedo blinked, though nodded – Kuronushi scoffed.

“And you’re not a giant wolf made of rocks, how about that..”

Arms crossed, the other’s eyes scanned the alchemist up and down, coming to rest once again on the star-shaped marking.

“..Did you know her?”

“I knew of her,” he corrected, fizzling out the little spark that had ignited in Albedo’s mind at the prospect of someone new knowing his master. “I spent plenty of time being dragged around for research and heard a thing or two about Gold, as well as what devastating creations she was responsible for. Though, I wasn’t aware she made.. people.”

Albedo exhaled, somewhat disappointed there was not new information to uncover of Gold, but carried on nevertheless.

“Who was your creator, then?”

Kuronushi’s expression dropped the slightest amount at those words. His eyebrows furrowed, seeming to consider how he wanted to answer, before finally coming up with something in a tone laced with bitterness.

“The Electro Archon, Ei. She.. has no recollection of me now, there’s hardly a point in knowing,” he huffed, averting his eyes to the portrait still in his hands. The blonde briefly thought he saw something familiar in that gaze; a longing, almost, but it seemed disappointed.

Kuronushi spoke again, a quieter level this time, “If she was your mother, then where’d she go?”

Albedo stilled at those words; he had never particularly heard her referred to as his mother before – he supposed it was true, as she did make him, but it still felt somewhat foreign. In his mind, she remained ‘Master’.

Perhaps, then, Kuronushi’s relation with his own creator had been different. Perhaps, like the alchemist, he falsely assumed they would have the same relationship with their creators. How interesting.

“She left without a word quite a time ago,” he responded softly. While he was going to continue speaking, he paused when he gazed over at the muse, who had a strange look on his face.

Albedo couldn’t quite place it. Interest? Sympathy? A.. relation?

“She abandoned you.”

The blonde contemplated those oddly direct words. Abandonment felt like a harsher term than he would use; though by technicality, he supposed it to be true. She had departed, ceased to be in his life in all but memories.

He nodded silently, watching the tiny shifts in Kuronushi’s expression at that response. His lips parted for a moment, as if about to speak, but then dropped into a tiny frown.

Tendrils of silence started creeping around the room. For once, silence felt more like an intruder than a naturally settling cloud. Albedo didn’t much enjoy it.

“Kuronushi,” he uttered, garnering the other’s attention and eyes back on him. “Do you know what you were formed with?”

Kuronushi’s head tilted and the alchemist half expected to see a little question mark pop up beside him.

“The abilities of an archon?”

Albedo shook his head with a soft huff, “No, no. The materials. Life requires a basis to be birthed from, just as a doll must be crafted with something. I was born of chalk, I simply wished to know if you knew your own origins.”

He observed the other think for a few moments, content to hopefully have some curiosity satiated by this new turn of conversation.

“I was never particularly told by my.. creator. Some others mentioned white wood–”

“The wood of a petrified tree?” The alchemist interjected, unable to help himself. It garnered something that seemed positive from Kuronushi, though.

“That..” He paused, peered down, thought about it a bit more, then nodded. “That sounds right,” he breathed, an ever so slightly impressed tone of voice.

A tiny smile crossed Albedo’s face.

“If you would oblige me, Kuronushi..” he started, leaning over the table slightly. “Would you allow me to study you? With your expressed permission, of course, and if you still wish to learn about me then I could provide further information.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He blinked. The doll-like figure in front of him stared back, brows knitted together, seeming as if he was trying to deduce a joke. It shifted to something more serious, then relenting, as if he was being stared at by a sad puppy.

Was Albedo staring at him like a sad puppy? Ah, he hoped not..

“..It’s perfectly acceptable if you don’t wish to–”

“I’ve got terms. Then we’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Kuronushi’s terms had been simple, if not oddly specific in some forms.

His first term was that Albedo would have to wait at least another day for the puppet’s final answer – he was not simply going to give himself into study for a man he barely met, even if there was an obvious mutual draw. The alchemist thought that to be fair.

Secondarily a more strange but reasonable request; if he were to allow Albedo to study him, there was to be no use of tools. Medical tools were far off the table apparently. That was a rule he could easily respect, as he wasn’t particularly one to use them anyway.

Thirdly, Kuronushi would be the one calling the shots on whether or not he wished to do things in studies. Albedo remained unsure on why that had to be specified, as he thought it was an easy given, but of course agreed nonetheless.

With his terms eagerly affirmed, the alchemist offered to accompany him to some places around Dragonspine in an unspoken effort to learn more small details in the process; Kuronushi had expressed an intent to go wandering along the snowy paths, but Albedo noted it was far safer with a guide.

He’d scoffed at that, but accepted.

The blonde mused whether he, too, was allowing Albedo to tag along with only the intention of learning more about him.

Snow often seemed infinite on the mountain, as it did when the duo stepped out from the encampment. Albedo allowed his– the muse to lead the way, simply trailing behind him. They ended up heading westward, following the attempt at a laid wooden path that had been consumed by the frost.

Kuronushi slowed his pace by a visible amount as they walked past a trio of snow foxes, turning his head in their direction as they scattered away, before continuing on normally. Silence seemed to be following Albedo around again, but at least now the whisks and whirls of the mountain’s winds were there too.

He began subconsciously making mental notes about the little things his eyes picked up – it was a habit he’d gained from keeping close surveillance on Dragonspine in general, but now it was more focused on his companion.

People who trekked up often had different gaits when trudging through the snow, varying on their experience with it; Kuronushi walked through as if he’d done this hundreds of times before, as if practiced in it.

Teyvat received snow in few places – Albedo pondered just where he’d been to.

“Whoever built this thing must have gotten fired,” Kuronushi muttered as they came across the collapsed remains of what was likely meant to be some form of bridge upward.

A rock wall was presented to them, planks of wood strung onto one another, draped over the ledge – half of the thing seemingly buried within the snow beneath their feet.

Once it was clear there was no evident ladder or stepway up, a small breeze blew through, picking up a bit of snow around Kuronushi as his Vision activated, allowing him to easily hover upward.

Albedo probably could’ve spent that time also making an effort to ascend but instead spent it staring at his companion again; whenever he properly channeled his Vision into flight, intricate markings over his body became somewhat illuminated in a hue of cyan – similarly to the one he’d noticed on his nape.

The alchemist presumed that was his ‘pontil mark’, but if that was, then what were the rest? They had evidently been made by different methods, so perhaps if he continued with the analogy of glassware.. did Kuronushi have mold seams?

“Getting up a wall couldn’t have stumped you that much, genius alchemist.”

The words interrupted his thoughts, pursing his lips slightly at the title.

“Quite the contrary. You were the thing that stumped me,” Albedo retorted, the most miniscule of smirks on his face as he leant toward the ground, allowing a Geo construct to form beneath his fingertips.

He heard Kuronushi scoff, then land on the crunchy snow above. The construct ‘bloomed’ as the alchemist stepped upon it, easily ascending and stopping level to his desired ground.

“Flattery isn’t going to get you studies any faster.”

“It’s no attempt at sheer flattery–” Albedo started as he stepped off, allowing the construct to dissolve behind him, “I’m merely speaking my mind.”

He didn’t get a chance to garner a proper look at his companion’s face before he turned with a huff, continuing down the path.

The alchemist took in a breath, exhaling, observing the puff of cold that appeared in front of him.

What a strange fellow he found himself accompanying.

The sky was beginning to shift its colour as the evening arrived, the sun acting as an artist, painting streaks of pink through the clouds. By that point, their little walk had ended them overlooking an icy lake.

They hadn’t ended up talking all too much, other than when they ran into a lawachurl. Kuronushi had proclaimed he would ‘handle it’, proceeding to completely decimate it alone.

Albedo had simply stood back and watched once it was clear his companion needed no assistance. His fighting style had been fascinating to witness; it reminded him of the time he'd taken notes on the Traveler’s combat prowess. Kuronushi took a substantially different approach, having used the wind as his blade. His reflexes were on point, managing to only be the one who dealt hits, never having taken them.

And now he looked at that same man beside him, quietly sitting in frosted ruins of intricately carved stone, watching the hues that stained the sky slowly change.

Calm. Not someone you’d expect to be adept at combat.

He looked rather settled, expression relaxed, minimal tensity in his shoulders.

Wordlessly, the alchemist moved to take his sketchbook out from its safekeeping within his coat.

Without even taking a glance at Albedo, Kuronushi spoke, “Do you draw everyone at every single chance you get?”

“If I find it notable, yes.”

“And what, pray tell, is notable now, alchemist?” His head shifted to gaze over at the blonde, an unimpressed look over his features.

“Your expression seemed content. Sketching life is.. somewhat of a hobby, as is capturing the detail of facial features. It’s intricate and I find you make a wonderful muse.”

Kuronushi simply blinked at him, before going ‘tch’, turning back to the sky. With no further interjection, Albedo silently continued his drawing – for a few minutes, at least.

“Do you sleep?” the other inquired, prompting the blonde to tip his head up from where it  had been fixed on the sketchbook.

“It’s not a necessity, though I do sometimes. Waking up tends to refresh the mind.”

The alchemist peered curiously at him after giving his answer, nonverbally returning the question – a gesture which Kuronushi seemed to understand. It was a valuable opportunity to learn, after all.

He sighed, his words continuing along the same exasperated breath, “It’s unnecessary, I meditate if I want some peace and quiet. Doubtful I can fall asleep at all in the first place.”

Albedo mentally filed that little fact.

“..How long will you be residing in Mondstadt?”

“A week or so. Why, worried you won’t be able to complete your research on me?” He said it in somewhat of a mocking tone, but the alchemist just nodded. As he received a puzzled frown, he leant a tad closer to the puppet to clarify.

“I’ve never encountered a synthetic being made by anyone other than my Master. The techniques used in your craft were evidently different from mine.. due to that, there are many questions I have about you, perhaps not all of which can be answered within a week. Regardless, I still wish to learn what I can.”

Kuronushi looked back rather blankly – his eyes narrowed the tiniest amount, flickered focus from eye contact to the notebook in his hands and back again, before the gaze softened. Albedo observed every tiny shift, every little detail in his features.

“..Studying for personal gain, are you?”

“Mutual,” Albedo promptly responded without a second of thought. “We should both garner a decent amount of knowledge, if you choose to accept my proposal. That is the outcome I intend for, at least.”

He made a hushed hum sound in response, turning his eyes back to the sky once again.

“..It’s interesting to have someone.. like me, I suppose,” he mumbled.

The blonde nodded in agreement, tapping his pencil against the notebook, presuming he might as well try and continue their little line of questioning they briefly had; a simple and easy way to learn more.

“How does temperature affect you?”

Only after a momentary weird look did Kuronushi give his answer.

“It doesn’t. Mostly. Obviously if I stay somewhere too cold for too long, I’ll freeze up. Otherwise, nothing.”

It was then Albedo’s turn to receive the same look he’d given his companion a minute or so earlier; throwing back the question.

“Approximately the same as you. I generate a rather minimal amount of my own body heat, so I am often on the cooler side in the first place.”

From there, an exchange of various, somewhat bland questions began between the two; one would ask, they would both share their answers, then the other would ask.

The alchemist uncovered a few things through that chat; Kuronushi ‘didn’t mind’ cats, he was able to feel pain but often remained unbothered up to considerable amounts, he had an aversion to sweets and resided with the Dendro Archon.

Albedo was happy with these little tidbits of information – of course having returned with his own. He didn’t seem all too pleased to learn that the blonde liked small desserts though.

It was Kuronushi’s unspoken turn to ask again. He squinted at him, as if considering his options. One of those hands Albedo yearned to paint shifted to lightly hold the blonde’s chin, tipping it upward carefully, before tapping a finger just above the elegant mark on his neck.

Kuronushi’s fingers were cold as the air around them, wonderfully resembling porcelain in their feel, even if they only just ghosted over the alchemist’s skin for the most part.

He got caught up enough over all that that he almost missed the question.

“What do you call this?”

Even as the words left his lips, the puppet remained propping up the other’s chin slightly, taking his sweet time in examining the marking. It sounded like Kuronushi already had an answer in mind, given his tone, which threw him off somewhat.

“A.. marking?”

“It’s not a trick question," he groaned, "I’m asking what you refer to it as. I’ve never exactly heard some official term for the thing.”

Albedo made a soft ‘oh’ sound of understanding, humming in thought for a second.

“A sealant or pontil mark. The pontil mark makes a good analogy of how it comes to form, which I typically use in explanation. I suppose there isn’t much of a commonplace term for it.. given it’s far from a common occurrence.”

Kuronushi made a low hum, seemingly in approval of the term; the blonde was glad to hear that from someone who actually had one. 

The hand then retracted, a move the alchemist strangely found himself a tad disappointed about. There was something about it he wished to describe, but had not had the time to pinpoint; a feeling to something that didn't typically have any feeling.

His companion fell quiet for a minute, before standing with a huff and stretching; the blonde caught an audible click of joints. Not particularly the kind his own made when he’d been glued to his desk and finally stood up, but something more mechanical.

Oh, he was garnering Albedo’s interest as if he were a sponge for it.

“I’m heading out. Maybe you’ll see me tomorrow, who knows,” Kuronushi shot him a rather smug grin. The alchemist truly did hope to see him the next day.

“Travel safely, Kuronushi.”

The blonde noted a brief softness over his expression, but it dissipated as quickly as it came. Kuronushi simply nodded, gave a half-hearted wave and stepped off from the ruins.

Albedo observed as the puppet very obviously opted to fly down instead of walk, given how he immediately headed for the ledge – his suspicions were confirmed when he lifted slightly into the hair, keeping a hand on his hat, before disappearing behind the frosted rocks.

Icy winds weren't an issue for him, but the light prickle of it felt more noticeable now that his companion had departed.

The alchemist turned his attention to the scrawled portrait; it captured Kuronushi’s features well, but not quite the way Albedo wanted. Lack of colour was inhibiting the piece, his eyes required more intricacy, the flow of his hair was slightly off..

He hoped to perfectly capture the muse under brush and paint someday.

Chapter Text

Dragonspine’s clouds once again lay down coats of snow atop the rocky form of the mountain, though thankfully today, the snowflakes were scattered in their appearances rather than pouring down in mass. The frostbitten air never changed though, no matter how heavy or light the snowfall.

Scaramouche was meant to be hiking his way up to see Albedo, but had gotten delayed after needing to drag some naive adventurer out of the snow, restarting his own trek in the process. A considerably annoying setback, but the fool likely would’ve succumbed to the cold otherwise.

He’d decided, ultimately, to accept Albedo’s little study request. It was sure to bring far more entertainment than anything else going on in his life. Not to mention, he did have an undeniable interest to at least some extent in it all.

By now, Scaramouche had more or less come to terms with his nature as a pariah, only to have that completely upheaved upon meeting the alchemist.

There was now another outlier with him – and was one truly outcast if there was a fellow outcast alongside them?

Their chat the previous night had been.. oddly enjoyable. For the first time in a considerable while, the puppet found himself actually desiring answers to meanial questions. Not to mention the minimal amount of contact he’d managed to make – Albedo’s skin had been faintly warm to the touch and seemed far more organic than his own, but retained an air of difference he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Disappointedly, the alchemist had revealed an enjoyment of small desserts. Among the actually notable things exchanged were Albedo’s numbness to pain and the mention of a younger sister.

The latter had imbued somewhat of a prickly feeling in Scaramouche; knowing the alchemist retained the family he clearly cared for – who clearly cared for him, if the way he spoke was any indication.

He may have attempted to leave much of his qualms behind with his old names, but that was absolutely no deterrent to the familiar feeling of bitterness; a feeling he’d become so accustomed to it had practically started reflecting out in his preferred foods.

Perhaps the Balladeer would have handled such information differently. Finding out someone so alike him had a little sister, perhaps he would have been enraged Albedo received such an experience that he did not, despite being the one between them who had been created by a sinner.

The wanderer of now, however, merely felt empty with the knowledge. Fragments of displeasure and rage were present, but they were mere tiny sparks deprived of anything to catch onto.

Being ankle-deep in snow might have assisted in keeping him cool about it.

In the somewhat brief total hours they hadn’t been together since they’d met, Scaramouche had additionally been pondering what he could recall of Rhinedottir. The woman was shrouded in hundreds of veils of mystery, despite products of her work being so easy to find.

He knew at the least she was affiliated with numerous other witches as part of a coven called the Hexenzirkel. Information was scarce or buried far out of reach, so his knowledge was not extensive, but enough he was well aware that they were hardly a group to be trifled with.

Certainly not, when they were capable of things even archons couldn’t achieve. 

The puppet held a strange respect for that. Perhaps even an admiration.

Scaramouche put his train of thought on hold as he finally strolled up to the outpost’s entrance, immediately catching sight of fluffy blonde hair as he turned the corner. The bright eyes darted up to meet his own – the puppet mentally mused about how their colour resembled glaciers.

“Should I infer this as you taking my offer?”

Albedo smiled, such a sweet expression that Scaramouche took a second to register what he’d said, and an extra second to internally scold himself for buffering in the first place.

“I’m certainly not climbing this forsaken snow–ridden hill for no reason.”

Surprisingly, the blonde’s smile didn’t falter; most people’s content expressions tended to melt away when Scaramouche started being snarky.

With a huff, he stepped inside, taking note of where the alchemist was carefully slipping some dried cecilias into an envelope.

“So, what little ‘studies’ did you want to run on me?”

Scaramouche opted to get right to the purpose of his visit, inspecting a glass jar full of some rather eye-pleasing indigo pigment. 

“I’d simply like to run a physical examination to start with, to garner more knowledge of your biological makeup– if I have your permission to do so,” Albedo explained, tucking the envelope away on a shelf, before striding over to the puppet.

Narrowed eyes ran over the blonde inquisitively, his guard still up by nature; especially with the matter of allowing someone to look into him again.

He could always throw Albedo across the room if anything went sideways, he supposed.

“Fine,” he huffed, shrugging his overshirt off his shoulders, carefully taking a hold of the small accessory that held his vision in the process, “As long as those terms aren’t slipping your mind.”

“Of course not. Everything in alchemy must be handled with its capabilities in mind, your terms are no exception,” the alchemist pulled out a wooden stool as he spoke, somewhere for Scaramouche to sit. 

The puppet had to admit, it was good to finally meet someone who continued straight to the point when prompted. Perhaps Albedo didn’t all too much take to fooling around subjects either.

Well, Scaramouche liked that.

He neatly folded the overshirt and placed it onto the table, ensuring it wasn’t being put in any spots of pigment, before taking his seat – hooking his vision onto his waistband. Almost forgetting the hat, it was quickly dropped atop the shirt.

The atmosphere was significantly better than the last ‘examination’ he could recall having. Firelight flickered against the stone surrounding them, maintaining an aura of warmth within the room. He was not restrained in place, not strung up or held against cold metal, awaiting the next piercing pain; he was merely sitting lazily, leant forward a tad, watching Albedo pack away some of the pigment jars that had been scattered over the table.

It didn’t feel as if it was going to be an examination. At least, not the ones he’d become accustomed to. Scaramouche only agreed with the intention to learn more of the alchemist in the process.. only after confirming with Collei that he had no affiliations with the Fatui.

Nothing Albedo could do would be worse than what he’d already faced, after all.

The seating kept him at his usual height, too, which was a bonus to sitting lower and becoming even shorter. His feet couldn’t reach the floor though. Unfortunate.

“You behave as if you’re used to studies,” the blonde uttered.

“‘Studies’ are one word for it,” he muttered under his breath. Torture was more accurate.

Whether Albedo heard that or not, either way, he acted as if he didn’t.

The alchemist finally walked over to him and by some form of instinct Scaramouche immediately looked at his hands. One was now ungloved, reaching to remove the glove of the other hand and perhaps he started staring a bit too much.

Albedo’s hands looked somewhat like his own, if not less doll-like and a tad less slender. He could make out a few small, faded blotches of blue and green – no doubt stains from handling pigments. His skin was, expectedly, just as pale as his face.

Absolutely not a thing in common with that bastard’s wrinkly, crusty old hands–

“Kuronushi.”

His gaze snapped up to the blonde. The curiosity in his eyes was absolutely rampant, as if he’d been keeping it boxed away the entire time and finally released it.

“May I see your hands?”

Scaramouche let a small ‘oh’ sound slip, peering down at his own, partially covered hands. Removing the gloves might have been a good idea.

Following that thought, he did so, letting them end up piled with his other belongings, before extending his hand out much in the motion of a princess expecting her hand to be kissed by some lowly peasant.

Obviously that didn’t happen.

Albedo merely took his hand within both of his own, bringing it a tad closer to his face and studying the limb in front of him as if it were a piece of art. The alchemist seemed especially fascinated in the small divots by his joints, with how he carefully traced a finger over them.

“These are almost identical to the marks left behind when I keep my hair tie around my wrist.. how interesting,” the blonde murmured.

The puppet wasn’t very focused. Albedo had a faint warmth to his hands and they were plenty soft as well. Attention moved around to the ball joint of his wrist, then his elbow and shoulder where more obvious divots could be found.

True to his word, Albedo had thus far never brought out any medical tools – in fact, he seemed to have simply steered clear of all tools. He was strangely gentle and attentive too.

“Having your fun?” Scaramouche quipped as the alchemist gazed at the markings that moved down from the sides of his neck, concealed by his shirt, though they could still be made out through the fabric.

“If by fun, you mean entertained.. then yes, I am captivated. You are fascinating.”

He muttered under his breath to himself, averting his eyes forward again – the other simply continued talking.

“Our creations were clearly done in similar fashion, though you have numerous more mechanical features. I would hypothesise it was implemented as a supplement for areas where your creator lacked the knowledge of organic life that was required..”

Albedo hummed in thought, unknowingly preventing Scaramouche from forming any thought in response by carefully entwining his fingers with the hand in his hold.

All he did was use that small amount of leverage to see how his wrist joint moved.

Meanwhile, the puppet was stewing in his brain about having his hand held like that. It shouldn’t incite a single thing, he told himself, it didn’t mean anything.

Perhaps it had just been a long time since his hand had been held in such a manner.

“During your enquiry of my creator–,” Albedo started, eyes still fixed closely on his hand, “–You asked if she had abandoned me. Though, you never stated what happened with your own.”

The alchemist turned his head, allowing their gazes to click together.

“Did she abandon you?”

Scaramouche stilled. His eyebrows furrowed, hand still gently being held, creating an irritating mix of warmth and ice cold within him.

“She neglected me,” his voice hushed, soaked in bitterness, “I was considered weak, and so discarded.”

Despite all the changes and names he had wandered through, there was still an ache that refused to subside at the thought of his ‘mother’; how she had treated him.

“..Like I said, it’s of no concern anymore. She has no recollection of me.”

Albedo made a soft hum, briefly enclosing Scaramouche’s hand between both of his own. It felt like a silent gesture of comfort, as if the alchemist were not all too experienced in the field of emotions.

He then realised he had not said his usual line when these topics came up; telling off whoever he was conversing with for giving him worthless pity. Albedo hadn’t done anything to garner such a sentiment though.

“..You seem like you’ve lived many lives, Kuronushi,” was all that he uttered in that ever-light tone.

“Tch, a few too many.”

Scaramouche sighed, leaning back slightly, hoping that conversation would simply fizzle out. Thankfully, Albedo didn’t seem to hang onto it when there were no further mentions, finally releasing his hand to step behind him, no doubt examining the pontil mark.

His suspicions were confirmed when Albedo inquired for permission about moving the neck of his shirt down to properly view it. With affirmation, he tugged the neck down slightly, keeping a hold so it didn’t yank itself back into place.

“You’ve got a weird fascination with that thing.”

“Hm?”

“The sealant mark, buffoon.”

“Ah. Well, of course, it was the point where life was sealed within us. There are very few more intriguing things to study on the external body than this.”

The puppet supposed that added up. The alchemist was quiet for a minute, before the faint feeling of a thumb was drawn over the mark – Scaramouche didn’t flinch despite the stupid little sigil having the same level of sensitivity as a graze to the skin.

“What purpose was there to do this without the gloves?”

“There are thousands of nerve endings within the fingertips, ergo they are useful in finding the small details and textures of items. I also thought it best to steer away from tool use entirely, as per your terms, which requires slightly more use of my hands.”

There was some incomprehensible grumbling from the darker-haired individual, followed by a sigh. He finally relented to the silence; from that, he found his shoulders relaxed a tad, observing the gentle snowfall outside.

Every now and then a snowflake or two would drift off from its companions, whisking into the outpost and almost seeming to dissolve into thin air.

His senses began to settle the more he watched it, not all too bothered by Albedo’s curious little prods here and there. His ears picked up where the wind whistled over rock and ice, accompanied by the occasional sound of creaking wood from the trees just outside.

The alchemist’s hands eventually retracted, not being felt for a few minutes, instead replaced by the scratching noise of a pencil against parchment – of course he was taking notes.

Scaramouche allowed himself to sink into zoning out, finding it an opportunity to rest until he’d inevitably be disturbed.

He let his mind float around in the quiet, not paying too much attention to anything but the drift of the snowflakes outside –

Fingers brushed over his hip in such a manner it outright startled him, Scaramouche reflexively smacking the hand away.

Whipping around to look at Albedo, he found the blonde rather unphased, merely peering back at him with those ocean eyes. His hand was hovering slightly away from the area it had come into contact with – the small cut-out area of his shorts, through which the markings over his hip could be seen.

They stared at each other without a word for a solid minute, gazes enveloped in stars and sea respectively.

“..Apologies, I presumed that would be okay,” he murmured quietly, only seeming a tiny bit bothered.

Scaramouche felt like he’d just made a puppy sad.

“Most people don’t tend to stick their hands in clothes,” the puppet muttered, consciously making an effort to relax his shoulders a bit, but to no avail.

“The area was uncovered, and given you were still wearing clothes beneath it, I thought it would not be an issue to inspect the markings,” Albedo supplied.

He huffed; it was a conclusion that made sense. His displeasure was more seated in how it had caught him off guard, in earnest.

“That’s not why you got your hand smacked. You caught me off guard with that nonsense, that’s all, I don’t care whether you want to investigate. Be my guest.” He huffed, shrugging dismissively and turning his gaze back to the snowfall.

“Only if you’re certain. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable–”

“I said it was fine. You’ll know when I want you to quit something.”

The alchemist fell into silence; Scaramouche was almost tempted to turn and check the expression on his face. Almost.

It took a few moments before one of those gentle hands returned, brushing over the ends of his hair. He didn’t notice when his shoulders relaxed on their own accord.

Whilst disregarding the previous brushes over his arms and around his collar came easy, it became far harder not to focus on when the attention once again drifted to those stupid cut-outs in his shorts.

With some fragment of caution, fingertips shifted over the more prominent markings that adorned his hips, bringing a fuzzy warmth along with them. He was careful with it, caring even.

It was when Albedo shifted, however, his face a tad closer to where Scaramouche could faintly feel the heat of his breath that the puppet absolutely took back his earlier thought.

Albedo could definitely do worse than he’d faced before.

‘Worse’ in this context being the fact it didn’t feel bad, and he didn’t know what to do with that. Instead, he felt as if he was approaching a campfire, steadily being able to feel more of the warmth that radiated off it.

A comfortable feeling, one that made him want to pace closer to that little fire until he could sit right in front of it and not let any part of himself feel the cold. It was something positive.

That was so much worse than torture.

The alchemist’s hands felt like they had some miniscule sun within them, the more he thought about it. Tiny rays shining through his fingertips, gently heating whatever they came into contact with.

Albedo shifted; retracting any contact, stepping aside to move infront of him –

Only for one of those stupid sun-blessed hands to cup his face.

“How interesting,” the blonde smiled, scanning over the puppet’s reaction.

His face felt hot, but at this point he couldn’t tell if it was his own doing or the blone’s hands.

“I was intrigued as to whether or not you had some form of blood. This answers that question in the most preferable way. You seem to be blushing.”

And for the second time that day, Scaramouche smacked him away out of sheer embarrassment.

“You’re speaking nonsense–”

“Your face is red.”

“No, it’s not.”

Albedo squinted at him, a smile tugging every so slightly at his lips.

Scaramouche was definitely blushing.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter– did you find whatever you wanted to know, or what?” He sputtered, attempting to re-route the conversation.

With the look on the alchemist’s face, he could very well deduce he wasn’t going to forget this anytime soon, even if he played along with the deflection.

“It was more fulfilling curiosity than gaining answers to questions. The other markings on your body seem to be placed around the joints. I would hypothesise they’re much like mold seams on a glass bottle, to continue the analogy.”

The puppet hummed, peering down at the faint markings over his kneecaps that often managed to go unnoticed.

“Yeah. Seams is the right word, I suppose,” he murmured.

Albedo remained in place, briefly staring at Scaramouche.

When he looked back, he catalogued the look that greeted him. Albedo stared as if he were an artist’s first look at their finished masterpiece, as if he were a beautiful flower, as if he were the very moon of the sky –

Complete, utter adoration.

Then the blonde turned without a word, fetching his gloves. He barely had time to process that look, as it had gone by within a blink.

“Would you care for tea?”

Scaramouche gave a delayed nod, shifting down from the stool.

“Bitter as you can make it.”