Chapter Text
They woke up underwater.
They gasped, inhaling water, and flailed. It was dark all the way around, with no sense of up or down or sideways. It tasted of earth and mold, and their lungs burned as they struggled to breath. Sheer panic filled them, and their vision was darkening as the seconds passed.
Something grasped at their collar, and they tried to pull away. Whatever it was wrapped around them, and began to pull them. They broke the surface, coughing, and were pulled to shore. Their vision was too blurred to make out anything but a smudge of brown and blue. They coughed water from their lungs, hands pressed to their chest to help. When they finally wiped the water from their eyes, squinting against the bright sun, they scrambled backwards, their hands grasping at the scorching sand.
"Careful," the man said, smile thin. He ran his hands through his soaked-through blue hair, his clothes—less fancy than they had expected, must be his day off—already a lost cause. "Are you alright?"
"I almost-" they stopped, still studying the man who saved them. They pushed themselves to sit up. "…thank you."
"Of course," he said. His gaze, while one eye was beneath an eyepatch, was still piercing. His smile widened a fraction. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I…" they hesitated.
The man who had saved them wasn't real. He couldn't have been. He was a character from a game they played. Kaeya, from Genshin Impact.
Kaeya. A cryo – that’s ice magic – user. A Knight of Favonius. Cavalry Captain without any cavalry, heh. Dangerous – he’s good with secrets. He has many himself, after all. Son of a dead nation, Khaenri’ah, sent to be their spy on Mondstadt. I’m not sure which he’s loyal to now. I’m not sure where in the timeline this is.
Fuck.
They forced a smile anyway. "I almost was one."
Kaeya laughed and then climbed to his feet, offering a hand. "Come on, let's get to the Church. We don't want to risk sickness from the cold, hmm? And we should make sure you're alright."
They did not want to become trapped. They had to get out of here.
They took his hand and got to their feet.
"By the way," he said, as they began walking to the city. It was larger than they had imagined, and the distance around the lake they had nearly drowned in longer. Of course things would be scaled down in the game, they supposed. "I don't think I caught your name."
They hesitated, glancing away. "Char," they said. Char looked back to him. "And you?"
Kaeya grinned, as if there was a joke Char was missing. "Kaeya, of the Knights of Favonius."
Char nodded, as if they didn't already know. Both liars already.
"So, what happened?" Kaeya asked, glancing down to them. They frowned and tipped their head. "Why were you in the lake?"
"Oh," they said. They shrugged noncommittally. "Just wanted to swim, I guess."
"In such strange clothing, too," he said, and Char frowned for a moment before realizing what, exactly, they were wearing. A t-shirt and jeans, both now dripping wet. Kaeya wore thinner fabrics in a different style, more what Char would consider medieval. Their eyes widened as they swallowed down sparking anxiety. Kaeya didn't add anything more, simply waiting in silence as Char forced themself to calm.
Eventually, they decided not to say anything. There wasn't a response that they could offer about their peeling shirt or their denim pants that wouldn't back them further into a corner. They hummed softly, and Kaeya didn't press any further. They probably should worry about that, but... they had bigger issues than Kaeya being suspicious.
The sun was warm on their skin, yet they still shivered. The road curved along the sparkling lake. Birds sang above. It was…picturesque. It was too real, in a way that Char rarely felt. They were used to floating through life as a dream, not really feeling the ground under their feet and the soft breathing of the person beside them. It didn't feel like a dream, but it didn't feel like life, either.
Char's balance shifted and they stumbled forward a few steps, breath leaving their lungs. Kaeya moved to catch them, and they managed to look over their shoulder at him for only a moment before they were ripped through the ground.
It felt as if a hook had dug roughly into their spine, pulling them and twisting and they were crushed beneath nothing but air, eyes seeing nothing but inky blackness, falling and falling and—
Hitting the ground. Char groaned and rolled to their side, curling into a ball. They didn't want to deal with this. They didn't want to know what was going on. They wanted, they thought, to go home.
"Fuck," someone said above them, and they squeezed their eyes closer shut for half a moment before forcing themself upright. "And you are?"
The Magnus Archives, their mind supplied, Tim's voice familiar. A horror podcast, where entities fed on fear. Excellent. Tim's face was already peppered with small, circular scars, so it was already past season one (when they had been attacked by Jane Prentiss, who had become a living hive for worms); and he was alive, so the Unknowing (an attempted ritual to bring one of the Entities, the Stranger, completely into the world. Very bad. At least it had failed) hadn't happened yet. Aside from that, Char had no idea where they were in the timeline.
"Char," they said, getting to their feet. The room swayed, and they reached out to the counter to balance themself. They glanced back to Tim. "…and you?"
He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. "Tim."
The door creaked open, and Martin—tall, fat, with brown hair and round glasses—stepped in. He paused in the doorway, gaze turning between Char, Tim, and back again. "Um," he said, "Tim, who's this?"
Tim shrugged. "Char, apparently."
"Are they… here to give a statement?"
"Well, I was grabbing something from the cabinet, and…" Tim gestured vaguely at Char. "They appeared."
"What, from thin air?"
"Yeah."
"I am still here," Char interjected. Both turned to them, and Char crossed their arms. "…But, I don't know how I got here, either."
"Oh," Martin said. He frowned. "Well, where do you live? Do you… have someone to call?" Char shook their head, and Martin sighed. "Okay, okay, uh…"
"Hold on," Tim interjected, "You don't have anyone to call? Where do you live?" Suspicion laced his tone, and Char bit their lip, potential lies weaving in their mind.
"My mother never picks up the phone to unknown numbers, and my father disappeared when I was four," Char said flatly. "And if you can't tell from my accent, I'm American. I don't live anywhere around here."
Tim's lips twisted to the side. "Right," he said. "Right, whatever."
"Should we tell Jon?" Martin asked, and Tim shrugged.
"If you want, I guess. I'm gonna take my lunch break."
"It's not even noon."
"Yeah, I'm not dealing with the monster of the week. I'm leaving that to the rest of you."
"Tim—"
He had already left the breakroom. Martin sighed, then turned to Char. "Sorry about him," he said. "…Do you want some tea?"
"Sure, thank you," Char said distractedly, eyes focused on the wall. They needed to think fast. They didn't know how much longer they have in this world, they didn't know where in the timeline they were, they didn't know anything. They knew what this world was, though. They knew that Martin—could be trusted. If Tim was alive. If this world stayed close to the canon. Fine.
A photo was pinned on the wall. It showed Tim and a Black woman with glasses — Sasha? — pressed close to each other to fit in the frame. Both were smiling wide. Both of their eyes were looking straight into the camera, and therefore looking directly at Char.
It meant they were being watched by someone else, too.
See, the boss of this place was named Elias Bouchard, but (spoilers!) he was sort of possessed by the original founder of this Institute, Jonah Magnus. He worked for, basically, a giant eyeball. He could be watching them through that photo. It meant they couldn't assume they had privacy; not here. It meant that he likely already knew what was happening; it meant that they had to be extremely careful.
The kettle squealed and Char jumped out of their thoughts. Martin cleared his throat.
"So, ah… You don't know how you got here? Where were you before?"
Char shrugged. "I wandered off from where we're staying, to some random forest. We're staying near Cardiff, I don't remember the address," they added. They paused. "What was Tim talking about when he mentioned the monster of the week?"
Martin winced. "Well… This is the Magnus Institute, have you ever heard of it?"
Char shrugged. "A little. You investigate spooky stuff, right?"
"Don't let Jon hear you say that," he said with a laugh, then clarified, "he's the Head Archivist. Right—we're in the Archives—I'm really bad at explaining this, aren't I?" He offered a sheepish grin. "We catalog the statements people give on supernatural experiences, is all."
"Right," Char said. Martin poured two cups of tea, when the door opened again.
“Martin, I was hoping—who's this?”
Char turned to see a man with the same pockmarked scars that Tim had. He blinked owlishly at Char, and then glanced towards Martin. Jonathan Sims, the Head Archivist.
“Hi, Jon,” Martin said. “This is Char. We're trying to figure out what—”
The rest of the words went unheard by Char as their world tipped sideways. They managed to set the cup of tea down before they were pulled, once again, out of a world.