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Recently, Ororon had trouble sleeping.
Not that he’d never had trouble sleeping— he was only a broken soul in a tribe where the nature of one’s soul meant protection against the various spirits traversing the Ley Lines of Natlan.
But it had just… gotten worse, recently. Really, really recently .
And Ororon thinks that maybe it has something to do with Thrain, the hero of Natlan who became the First Harbinger of the Archon of Snezhnaya, following her commands for hundreds of years. And so, maybe this was another night he was spending by himself in Ochkanatlan, where Granny said he’d merged his immortal soul with Yohualtecuhtin.
And so he leaves the warmth of his bed, travelling on foot the entire way like this was a solemn pilgrimage he had to undertake, before climbing the steps to reach the man who sat on a throne made of stone with black ice surrounding him— a throne and a grave for the kingliest of warriors, the most honourable of mortals. “Um… hi.” He doesn’t really know how to start— what is he supposed to say to the man who saved his nation? The traveller is easier to talk to, since he was a lot of Granny in many aspects with Paimon, which made him calm.
“How have you been?” Ororon swallows, before presenting his grand offering. “This is a cabbage that ripened recently. Unlike my other cabbages, this one took the whole 90 days— probably because of the new fertiliser I tried out.”
Yeah. This is good. The growth and farming of cabbages is a familiar topic between the two of them, after all.
“You have no place to return to, Ororon?” Capitano asks as he sits beside the young man, who briefly turns his attention away from the dancing flames in front of him. “Your Granny was worried for you, was she not?”
“Um.. she was.” Ororon mutters. “But I think I can help Natlan more by being here right now. So I’ll go back to Granny when everything is okay and the war is finally over.”
“That’s good.” Capitano rests his cheek on his armoured knuckles. A comfortable silence falls over them as the flames continue to dance under the night sky, before a young Fatui soldier comes and hands Ororon a rationed meal, nodding at Capitano before dismissing himself.
“Cabbage…” Ororon whispers as he inspects the meal, picking up a neatly shredded and cooked leaf.
“Hm?”
“This cabbage is very good quality. Where do you get them from?” Ororon turns towards the harbinger, and though he knows Capitano is surprised with the change in topic, the man’s face is still neutral.
“We source these cabbages from Liyue. Their soil is brown and the rains are good, so their harvests are regularly of good quality. Why did you want to know?”
“I grow vegetables. I give them to the Grannies and Grandpas who helped raise me, since I can’t really hold down a proper job… I enjoy growing vegetables though. And anyway, my cabbages aren’t really like this, so I was wondering what I was doing wrong.”
“Hmm.” Capitano says again, pausing to think. “There’s nothing really wrong with Natlan’s soil, as far as I could tell. It is healthy, and has the capacity for agriculture. I think it's just that there are many cliffs here, which make the soil a little harder than what some vegetables are bred for. If you can, after the war, I recommend you source one of the more natural fertilisers from Liyue and try growing cabbages again after trying it out.”
“Ah, maybe I should. Would you… maybe then…”
“I would very much like to try one of your cabbages, and maybe even source them from you instead. There’s a lot of money that we waste on bad quality vegetables. I’m sure yours would be wonderful.”
“I approached the Traveller, who told me he would get me some fertiliser, after the war and the celebrations. He got me so much I’m not sure where to put it.” Ororon sighs and chuckles. “But anyways, this cabbage… it’s much juicier, and so much better than all the ones I’ve been giving to the Grannies and Grandpas, so I might keep asking Traveller for more fertiliser. I’d go myself, but… Liyue is very far. I don’t want to leave just yet.”
Ororon pauses, but he hears no deep hum from the man, who would usually be sitting with his cheek resting on his knuckles as Ororon rambled about whatever he wanted to for the night. “This one is super large, but most of the others are just a little larger, and Granny said they tasted really good.”
Gulping, Ororon rests his head on the side of the throne, and closes his eyes as his head naturally falls and rests beside Capitano’s knee. “I wish you could have tried it. I know you’d enjoy it—- if Granny did, then you definitely would.”
“You do not have to keep me company every night, boy.” Capitano starts behind him, arms crossed as his long hair flows with the gentle night wind. “Get some rest.”
“You don’t.” Ororon shoots back, and his eyes widen as Capitano presses a weary hand to the bridge of his masked nose to pinch it. “I meant it regardless. If you wish to stay here, you must rest. You are no cursed or divine immortal— you are just a boy.”
A pause, and Ororon feels a large, but gentle hand brushing his head, skimming close by missing his ears. “Come.” Capitano says, before pulling him up by an arm. “To bed. I will not be held responsible by your Granny Itzli for your misadventures.”
“But I’m not sleepy, and I want to talk to you.” Ororon mutters angrily, but not really angrily, in a way that his Granny says makes him look like an angry kitten, but Capitano isn’t fazed in the slightest.
“About cabbages, once again?”
“No, about Phlogiston Aphids.” Capitano nods, but shoves Ororon gently into a modified Inazuman mattress anyway. “I can?”
“Of course. But you will not step out from the futon .” Ororon nods, and then speaks.
He speaks of the large number of Aphids he’d seen recently, before the war truly began— they knew of the Abyss well before they did, and they even did their part at decontaminating the surface of the world around them, and Ororon spoke and spoke as Capitano sat cross-legged, listening to his every word while giving some of his inputs of his own, correcting Ororon where he was wrong, and he swore he felt his hand on his head again, smoothing his ‘untamable’ hair as his eyes finally closed for the night.
“Sleep well, Ororon.”
Ororon sighs and nuzzles into the leg, like a child in need of comfort even though he stopped being a child long ago, but there is no hand that reaches for his head again, even though his leg is still warm, and his chest moves like he is merely sleeping, finally at peace after five hundred years of pain and hatred for the divine. “I miss you. I don’t know what name to call you… should I still call you Capitano? Or maybe Thrain?”
The wind howls, but there is no response.
“Thank you.” Ororon’s lower lip trembles as he closes his eyes. “Sleep well, Father.”
And somewhere, in his dreams, he feels a large, gentle hand on his head again. “Sleep well, Ororon. Thank you for that honour.”