Work Text:
Ship Without a Rudder
Genshin Impact Fanfiction
by The Cindenrinja
January 2025
Back straight, eyes narrowed, she looks over her paper under the lamplit ambience of the library, scanning each line for flaws in argument, lapses in logic, errors in calculation. There are none.
It is perfect.
The thought is slow to settle in. She leans back in her chair, the quiet hum of the House of Daena all around her, and traces the inked lines with the tips of her fingers. The equations stand resolute, and the conclusions draw themselves with a grace that would make any scholar nod in quiet approval. The paper breathes with its own confidence.
Layla did this. On her own.
The realization unfurls within her, a blooming rose. The pride comes first - bright, bursting, golden. She always knew Layla had it in her. She had only ever been a crutch, a guiding hand, a reassurance when Layla faltered. A safety net, really. But Layla does not falter now. She is steady, brilliant, shining in ways she once only dreamed of.
She is called the Stars’ Blessing, but it has always been Layla who held the brilliance of the stars, and she is finally shining.
But then, a quieter, more fragile emotion finds its way into her heart, whispering;
What am I, if not her guiding hand?
She folds her arms over the desk and rests her head upon them, gazing at the paper. A small part of her almost wishes Layla had made some misstep, something to fix, something that would make her useful. But there is nothing. No misplaced numbers, no muddled thesis, no overlooked citations. There is nothing left for her to do but sit in the wake of Layla’s brilliance and smile.
She is so, so proud. She would never take this from her. Never wish for Layla to need her again the way she once did - desperate, weary, overwhelmed and burnt out, pleading frantically for answers she already had inside herself. It is good that Layla stands on her own two feet, good that she is strong.
But still…
She closes her eyes.
What is this feeling?
She has never touched the stars she was named for, that she has spent diligent nights charting, drawing, observing. Her world has been the ink on a page, the rustle of parchment, the quiet murmurs of the library, and the glow of lanterns that never dim no matter how late the hour. It has been a life of thought, of academia, of silent support. She has been content with that, because she was made to be content with that. She has never longed for anything else.
She is not real, not in the way Layla is.
And that is why Layla will move forward. Layla will keep growing.
There is something shapeless and heavy in the pit of her stomach, turning the taste of her pride and affection into something bittersweet.
A turning point. She can feel it. Like stepping onto the precipice of something unknown, unable to see the drop beneath her feet. She is changing. They are changing. But she cannot grasp what comes next-
“Oh dear, you have that look again.”
She jumps, startled back into the present, blinking rapidly at the woman who is standing over her. Delicate features juxtaposed by the intensity of her expression, Madam Faruzan. “What look?”
“The look you get when you’ve been fretting over your work for far too long..”
“I-” she starts, but before she can clarify, Faruzan waves a dismissive hand.
“No, no, none of that. You need a break. Don’t even try arguing.”
She tries anyway. “I’m not fixating, I promise-”
“Stars above, you are hopeless.” Faruzan sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lucky for you, I already made plans with Kaveh. And lucky for me, I know you well enough to predict that you’d be rotting away in the House of Daena instead of taking care of yourself, so I already told him you’d be coming along.”
The false Layla stares at her.
Faruzan stares back, expression imperious.
There is no winning this fight.
“I swear, some people have no grasp of basic architectural principles! None at all!” Kaveh throws his hands up, nearly knocking over Faruzan’s tea with the wild gestures that accompany his story.
Layla’s second self folds her hands in her lap, watching him with wide eyes.
“This time, it’s some noble who insists that their estate must have an open courtyard, without support columns, and they want it to be made entirely of imported Fontaine glass so that it’s ‘grand and airy’-” He nearly chokes on his own outrage. “-and then they have the audacity to say I should figure it out because I’m ‘the genius architect’!”
Faruzan hums, stirring her tea leisurely. “So? Figure it out, genius architect.”
“It’s not possible!” Kaveh cries. “Glass doesn’t work that way! Physics doesn’t work that way! Reality doesn’t work that way!”
“Mm, and here I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” she muses, tapping a finger against her cheek.
Kaveh looks ready to combust. “You-! I am!”
And she doesn’t mean to laugh. But it bubbles up before she can stop it, slipping past her lips, light and unrestrained. The sound startles her.
She’s laughing.
She’s smiling.
She’s not thinking about research proposals or star charts or how to refine Layla’s arguments.
She feels - unreal.
Like a dream of herself, unmoored from the function that has always tethered her to the world, to Layla .
They’re still talking, still teasing, but the world seems distant for a moment. It is Layla’s voice that rises in laughter. Layla’s body that curls slightly against the café table, crossed knees just kissing the underside of the wood.
She doesn’t know what to do with that.
She has never lived like this before.
Never sat in the warmth of an afternoon sun, listening to her friends - Layla’s friends - bicker and laugh and complain about their lives.
Never had a moment that was not in service to Layla’s success.
She leans forward slightly, resting her chin against her palm, her smile softening as Kaveh launches into yet another complaint about his impossible client.
She feels guilty. It should be Layla enjoying this moment. She should have left by now. So why hasn’t she? It’s wrong, isn’t it, to steal such a wonderful moment that doesn’t belong to her.
She isn’t supposed to be the one enjoying this life, slipping so easily into Layla’s body, laughing at Kaveh’s dramatics, feeling a quiet warmth at the way Faruzan subtly mothers the both of them, her and Kaveh, buried under their work, far from their families.
This isn’t what she was made for.
She is meant to support Layla. To be the pillar that keeps her steady while Layla grows into her own brilliance.
So why does it feel so good to be supported herself?
To exist outside of the quiet corners of the House of Daena?
To do more than research and edit and analyze?
To spend time with… friends?
They notice the way she is quieter than usual. They are used to Layla being nervous, fidgeting with her sleeves, second-guessing her every word. And they are used to the opposite, too - the version of her that is sharp, confident, speaking without hesitation because she already knows she is right.
But they are not used to this.
This pensiveness.
“Layla,” Kaveh says finally, frowning at her. “Are you okay?”
She is fine.
She is fine.
She is-
Faruzan clicks her tongue. “You have been unusually quiet.”
“I-” she starts, then stops, because what is she supposed to say?
She smiles. “I’m fine, really.”
Faruzan lifts a brow. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Kaveh nods, arms crossed. “The worst, honestly.”
She stares at the two of them. “Have you considered a floating courtyard?” She blurts.
Silence.
Faruzan blinks. Kaveh stares.
“…What.” he asks flatly.
She plows ahead. “For your client. Since they refuse to accept that physics exists.” She lifts a finger. “A floating courtyard. Suspended in the air. No columns necessary.”
Kaveh’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. His eye twitches. “That- That’s- That’s not how it works ! Are you suggesting invisible pillars ? An entire suspension system just to-” He groans, running both hands through his hair. “Stars, why do I even try?!”
It works.
Kaveh launches right back into his tirade, griping about clients with no respect for architectural feasibility, about nobles who think enough money can simply rewrite physics in their favour, about the ever-present agony of being a true artist in a world of tasteless fools.
She exhales, slow and careful, folding her hands in her lap.
Faruzan’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer but she does not press.
She has indulged enough for one afternoon. It’s time for her to leave - to fade back into quiet slumber and return Layla’s life to its rightful owner.
She closes her eyes, breathes, and seeks to let go; but is startled by the presence beside her. As real as if someone were sitting in the booth at her side, she feels Layla, the real Layla. Not asleep at all, but here with her.
Hold on, don’t go!
Layla’s voice as clear in her mind as spoken word.
She doesn’t know what to do.
She feels caught like a rabbit, off balance. This is not something that is supposed to happen.
The irony of the moment is how calm Layla sounds.
You've worked so hard, Star. I would never have made it this far without you. And I'm grateful. But that doesn’t mean you have to go anywhere. You deserve to celebrate as much as I do!
She is holding a hand to her temple. She is dizzy, lightheaded, disoriented. But that is nothing new. Her vision swims. She has a mild headache. Despite it, she feels buoyant.
Don't go away, please. I would be lonely without you.
After all this time together, we're friends, aren’t we?