Chapter Text
When the creature that would become Morax was young, they did not know the dangers of the elements.
Geo, they knew intimately; after all, as a creature of the earth and stone, they know the rumblings of landslides and earthquakes and meteors. But, since they are a being of the earth, they did not fear it.
Electro was exciting, those bursts of power upon the land, a brilliant shock of light followed by a boom that rumbles in a mimicry of tumbling stones. Pyro too—though they had no need for heat, could not breathe flames despite what the mortals thought, they saw pyro as a source of life and light rather than destruction.
After all, what could burn stone? What could scorch the earth irreparably? Magma and slag are still the earth and its metals; they may be more dangerous to touch, for most, but they are as familiar as veins of opal and gold.
Anemo was amusing. In flight, the air currents felt like a gentle brush of warmth, laughing at the being of the earth who flew against all logic. The elemental that would become Rex Lapis had always thought there was something whimsical in the way the wind pushed dust and small stones. It had always felt like play, even before they knew what play was.
Cryo felt- not like second nature, not like gaping caverns and the slow formation of caves, but... something adjacent to the familiar. The earth, for all that it is magma and slag and stone formed from molten heat, is mostly cold. Not cold like the sharpness of cryo, the piercing frost that mortals spoke of, but cold like something that was never alive.
For all that cryo reflects geo's stillness, dendro speaks to its motion. Roots pushing into the soil, taking in minerals to sustain life; a seed, to a sprout, to a plant in bloom and its own descendants spread beyond. The earth is still, but it still shifts; it does not grow in the way of living things, but it lives a life cycle of its own.
Hydro-
Hydro is the element of change. The being that would become Morax has known this long before that oceanid began reciting it to all who entered her domain.
Roots can push apart soil, can slowly split rock, but most erosion is done through water. Though wind and ice can chip away at stone, it is rivers that carve canyons, oceans that form sand.
("There is a difference between dust and sand," says Haagentus. She will not be remembered by that name, but Morax is not yet familiar enough to use the name history will know her as.
"Dust is the inevitable fate of all things. The leftover flakes of daily life, the ultimate end, the great beginning. Dust is the shadow of history."
Most of it flies over Morax's head. Truthfully, most things Haagentus says do. It's not for a lack of trying—Morax is quick to learn new phrases—but... philosophy requires a degree of life experience that requires living, not just surviving. It will take centuries for Morax to live.
"Sand, however, is one of the states of stone. It is not an end, nor is it a beginning, but rather a single phase in an unending cycle." She looks away from the piece of sandstone on her desk, gifted for the rare uniformity of its grain.
"Sand is, in simpler words, small pieces of rock, piled together until it is swept away or turned into something new.")
Hydro is change, so it fits that sand—which almost always forms due to water—is, too.
(What Morax did not understand is that sand is the final step of erosion, but erosion of stone is not an end. The cycle of stone is eternal. Though it may take millennia, sandstone will become marble, will melt and form basalt, will crumble back into sand.
Just as the shores grow and shrink, so too will the seabed change.)
The elemental being who would become Morax (and Rex Lapis and Zhongli, but those are still far in the future) did not know to fear the elements.
This would not be their downfall, but it would be their weakness; it was not because they thought themself invincible, saw themself as greater than other beings, but—
They are a creature of the elements.
What reason would they have to fear that from which they came?
(During the archon wars, Morax silently regrets being a creature of geo rather than something else. For all that geo is the best for defense, for stability, it is a terrible weapon for offensive measures.
Morax wonders, once or twice, if—
If the Guili Assembly was not fighting a defensive war, would it have fallen?
Would Guizhong have lived?)
Once, long before they would earn the name of Morax (the oldest of those names still in use today), the elemental of bedrock and minerals was quite small. Weak, even, as they were yet to grow into their power.
Technically speaking, elemental beings do not demand water and air as living things do. Sure, they may still require them, but it would be in the way a fire needs to breathe.
Those born of geo do not need anything but geo. Pyro requires fuel, dendro requires water and sun, but geo—
Geo just needs geo.
(Rex Lapis does not understand how he can fly. After all, he is as much a creature of anemo as he is one of pyro—that is to say, not one at all.
Even if he weren't, he knows of electro and cryo beings who fly with the help of wings; oceanids use water vapor to keep themselves airborne.
However, though dust is everywhere, and dust is geo, Rex Lapis is quite sure Guizhong would have told him if he used her dust to fly.
Rex Lapis does not have wings, and yet he can fly. He is a being of the earth, and yet the air does not feel inhospitable. Beyond the discomfort of distancing himself from the land, flight is a perfectly comfortable affair.
He is not a being of the skies, and yet the skies welcome him.
He wonders why.)
After the whole debacle with Osial—Childe's words, not Zhongli's, because Zhongli would never suggest the climax of his retirement was a failure—Childe asks Zhongli for a spar.
Zhongli, after much wheedling and deliberation, agrees.
Although Morax's memories from before being Morax are fuzzy, there are a few that stick out. One, a frightening relic from being small and comparably helpless, was the first time Morax knew fear.
Nothing goes wrong during that first spar. Zhongli actually finds it enjoyable—much of the fighting he has had to do was life or death, either his or on behalf of someone else. Even the training spars with his yaksha were with the goal of living another day, of escaping death by having practiced in peril before.
Sparring with Childe, though?
...well, Zhongli does not seem to find it quite as exhilarating as the other man, but he can see why Childe calls fighting fun.
In order to grow, elemental beings must gather energy, must collect strength. Some of this can come from worship; though they are not gods, they are still tied to Teyvat and the elements of the spaces they came from, so proper care of their homes can help them grow.
Before they had any names at all, the being that would become Morax called a half-carved tunnel system home.
It was carved partway near the base of a long-gone mountain, less a foreboding tunnel than a deepened cave, made longer than it was tall to fit the serpentine form its inhabitant took.
There were crystals in the walls, floor, and ceiling of the home, leftover geo energy given off by its elemental. A few stubborn pillars clung to the widest edges of the space, too far apart for the comings and goings of a not-dragon to brush against and break apart.
For all that it was simple, it was home, and all the creature needed.
But, of course, nothing lasts forever, and no elemental being will settle for stagnation rather than growth.
The being that would win the Geo Gnosis was—can someone be called foolhardy when they never consider consequences at all? Well, regardless, the being that would become Liyue's first and only archon did not always have the clear judgement they would become known for.
Even Rex Lapis was once young, reckless, stupid.
Even the greatest of all beings was once unknowing of the dangers of the world.
They have more spars. Not all that often, not as often as Childe's weekly bouts with the Traveler, but relatively frequently.
Aside from having to move locations so as to not draw the attention of the Qixing, these friendly matches never seem to cause any strife.
For all that Zhongli is proud of his meteors, Childe is infinitely more enthusiastic whenever he gets to show off his narwhal.
("I mean, anatomically it's all wrong, narwhals are a lot leaner than this, but—spheres are good for this kind of thing, and I thought it could be fun. Maybe distract my opponents with how silly it looks, rather than let them think about how it definitely spells their doom.")
As such, he likes to release it upon Zhongli during spars, testing the strength of the adeptus's fabled shield.
Childe never manages to put even a dent in it, not with a construct whose force pales in comparison to the strikes of gods from bygone eras, but…
Water is heavy. It is perhaps not too noticeable in daily life, but even a jug of water can feel like a bag of bricks. The greatest risk of diving too deep—assuming air isn't a concern—is the crush of water pressure.
Water is heavy, and waves are strong, strong enough to knock fully grown adults over.
It follows, then, that larger waves could knock over larger creatures.
Zhongli has Childe at spearpoint.
It's not the Vortex Vanquisher—too recognizable—but instead a construct quickly made just to last him this fight. Despite its rushed creation, it is still a finely balanced weapon, sharpened-formed to a perfect edge.
Childe knows this, has felt the razor edge of the constructs Zhongli brings to his spars.
Childe knows this, but he still grins up at Zhongli, and refuses to yield. Instead, he points up, watching as-
Zhongli glances up and stills.
There, inches above his head, is the bottom of Childe's whale construct. He hadn't noticed it forming, hadn't felt the hum of hydro until it was too late to form his shield-
His shield.
Before Zhongli can bring up the glimmering gold that Childe has yet to crack, Childe laughs and drops the whale onto them both.
Snezhnaya, apparently, does not have tsunamis.
It makes sense once Childe says it. The seas are far too cold for that, with coastlines nearly frozen year-round. Nonetheless, the remark ends up silencing Zhongli for a few moments.
Although the harbor is not in the dead center of Liyue's tsunami zone, it is close, and it is as much a coastal town as any could be. As such, any Harbor denizen could tell you the biggest warning sign of a tsunami—
If the ocean goes missing, don't go looking for it. Run.
They had been floating by the shore, thinking about the nature of sand and stone and shaping an element into something real, when the sea vanished.
This, though surprising, didn't concern them. After all, rain appeared and disappeared seemingly without warning; the sea was much bigger, sure, but it was likely something similar.
(Had they spent more time along the coast, they would have known the sea is typically a permanent presence, tides aside.)
As such, they took the opportunity to explore the typically-hidden seafloor. There was a patch of larger rocks a bit past where the sea's waves had been crashing—they wonder what decides which rocks get to stay intact and which must crumble into sand.
It is as they are peering at the stones among the sands that the sea comes roaring back.
Realistically, if Zhongli had been paying attention, the direct impact from Childe's construct should have barely been able to shake him.
If Zhongli had been paying attention, he wouldn't have been in the direct impact zone without a shield, so it's a moot point.
As it stands, the tonnes of water crash down and knock Zhongli over—
pushing pressing down dark
He doesn't need to breathe, but he chokes—
wet water did the sea come back
Doesn't need to see to know where the ground is, so he shuts his eyes—
dark heavy crushed down pushed hard
Doesn't need to obey gravity, but he falls and—
sand back rushing moving tumbling
Doesn't need to breathe, but he rolls himself over, props himself up by his forearms—
what direction is up?
Doesn't need to breathe, but he struggles to regardless.
There is a shaking in his chest, like he just fought a battle—
Oh. He is still sparring with Childe.
...right. Where is Childe?
Zhongli does not need to see to find him, not with how familiar his elemental signature has become, but opens his eyes regardless.
To see the ground, soaking wet. Because he is still propping himself up on his forearms.
He should do something about that, probably, so he sits up. He doesn't think he could stand.
Childe is there, a bit away, eyes wide and expression open with a look of-
...worry?
No, surely not, the man knows Zhongli is Rex Lapis. He shouldn't have any reason to be concerned for Zhongli, much less worry about him.
"Xiansheng? Are you- do you want to stop?"
Hm. Does he?
More importantly, does Childe? Zhongli would feel guilty if he called off the spar here, but it's not like they couldn't reschedule.
Zhongli would feel more guilty if he fought Childe in this state.
Those memories from the early decades of his sapience are still clinging to the edges of his awareness, unsettling him and upsetting his ability to focus on the spar.
Besides, Zhongli has refused to spar with Childe when the other is injured; this is something similar.
"I- would like to reschedule, but... yes." He dismisses his spear construct. "I do not believe I am in the best headspace for a spar."
He still can't seem to breathe properly, can't return to a normal pace in his mimicry of human breath, but he doesn't say that. This sort of concern from Childe is already too much.
Childe is speaking already, something about how rescheduling is more than fine, I'm just happy to fight but they might need to head back to do that because Ekaterina knows my schedule better than me, haha!
Zhongli doesn't actually- well. He hears it, but he isn't listening.
No, all he can hear is the beat of his heart (what heart he has never had one) in his ears and the rush of blood and the crush of water and waves and enough tonnes of seawater to topple even a drago-
He can't breathe.
(He doesn't need to. He never has, not in the way a human requires oxygen.)
Zhongli doubles over, half-crouched with his hands on his knees, eyes glazed over and staring down at the soaked ground.
There is a tightness in his chest, in his throat, behind his eyes, as if he is drowning and about to cry at the same time.
He heaves for breath. Hoping that trying to force the motion will help to loosen this unnatural tightness in his current form, he pulls in shaking gulps of air as if he could drown without it.
Throughout this, Childe is- not gone, no, but not touching Zhongli. Talking, yes, and gathering up the pooled hydro from his attack, but not pressing into Zhongli's space.
Absently, Zhongli notes he should be thankful for this.
He does not think he would react kindly to an intruding hand.
He is both not present, too trapped in the memory of sensation and fear more than of experience, and far too present.
He cannot seem to pull his thoughts together, but he is still acutely aware of how the hydro flows toward Childe (danger threat where did the ocean go) and then disperses, how the other man's elemental signature calms from combat to light exertion.
(He is, perhaps, afraid to turn that gaze inward, to see how his own elemental core reflects his- his scattered mental and emotional state.
He would not like what he finds.)
It takes far too long for Zhongli to blink away memories of almost-drowning, of a crushing wave that he was too young to fear, of the sensation of not knowing where the ground was where the surface was where-
He breathes.
Shakily, of course, but he pulls in those rattling breaths, returns to a regular mimicry like an old comfort.
He breathes and his vision stops swimming, his body stops shaking terribly, his legs stop feeling so weak as to be unable to support his weight.
He sits up, though, because standing may be too much right now, but Childe deserves some sort of explanation.
Childe, who is several paces away, slowly pulls the hydro from their jackets that they'd taken off before the spar. Well, slowly from Zhongli's—for all that Childe takes the time to be careful with the long coat with a longer list of proper care instructions, he rushes through drying his own jacket.
Zhongli would thank him now, but he doesn't quite trust his voice to work. Doesn't know that he will make words and not pained croaks, still yet recovering from memories of his first terror.
They walk back to the Harbor in silence.