Archive of Our Own

xilonen is raised with the stories of soulmates. well, not exactly – she’s seen inazuma’s depiction of the myths in their light novels, and the similarities were few and far between – but after hundreds of years, natlan legends have turned the body-sharers into something far more fanciful.

a thousand years ago, when xbalanque established the rules of natlan, a… side effect, per se, of linking all citizens of natlan to the night kingdom meant that they occasionally get bonded together. nobody is quite sure how it happens – some theorize that it is due to souls splitting into two but remaining linked, and some believe two opposite souls are magnetized and conjoined – but since xbalanque’s reign, there have always been people who will occasionally switch bodies for a brief period of time.

it’s become more and more common as the years pass. xilonen knows that it’s due to the corrosion of the abyss: the night kingdom simply cannot produce more free souls without endangering them, and so the spirits are brought together to protect them. safety in numbers, and all of that.

now, to find someone who has never switched bodies before is terribly rare. xilonen would still like people to stop gawking at her like she is a zoo exhibit.

twenty years old, and some people continue to see her as the woman without a soulmate instead of her status as one of natlan’s greatest name engravers. it will never not be incredibly frustrating, but what can she do?

xilonen knows her worth. despite the rumors that she is only this way because she is missing part of her soul, nothing has stopped her from becoming the nanatzcayan’s most skilled blacksmith.

she stopped believing in the magic of soulmates years ago. there’s nothing that can change that.

“ugh, thank the archons you’re here, xilonen,” citlali groans, stumbling straight into the woman in question.

it’s not a terribly unusual thing to happen when visiting the stadium of the sacred flame, but it’s also not what she had expected of her trip. it’s the middle of the afternoon, for archons’ sake. 

“citlali,” xilonen greets, peeling the shaman off of her. her face is red and she absolutely reeks of alcohol, and the blacksmith sighs. “how much have you had to drink?”

“not that much,” citlali protests, squinting up at her. “look, it was all totally understandable, and anyway i’m not drunk.”

“sure,” she agrees. “why were you drinking so much, anyway?”

“ugh,” citlali repeats passionately, tugging xilonen over to a table by the wall and pushing her down into one of the chairs, who acquiesces with a shrug. her other option is to go back to work, and she’s most certainly not interested in that. “people are ridiculous sometimes.”

well. she can’t exactly deny that, but she does find herself to be a little intrigued. it’s a rather normal thing for citlali to say – most people would be ridiculous compared to a centuries-old shaman – but the way that she says it leads xilonen to believe that it’s not just about some new challenger’s terrible skills.

“i thought i made it clear that i don’t like people’s questions,” citlali continues, rolling her eyes. “didn’t i, xilonen?”

she raises a brow, but nods. everyone knows about granny itzli, and while most are too terrified of her to ask her anything, those who dare to do so are quickly shut down.

“see, thank you,” she says, and then smacks the table. “so why do i keep getting questions about my soulmate?”

xilonen flinches. it’s understandable, that it was this topic of all the possible ones that triggered citlali so much, but she cannot help but blink at the aggressiveness. 

although she supposes that she really can’t be surprised. when she’d first met citlali, it had been over ten years ago now, and the shaman had been completely uncaring of her status as lacking a soulmate.

her parents had taken her to the legendary granny itzli, demanding to know if there was a reason their daughter was incomplete, asking if she could possibly look into the night kingdom to see if xilonen actually was connected to someone.

she still remembers citlali’s response as clearly as if it were yesterday, and she thinks she always will. the shaman had scoffed in her parents’ face, telling them that “there’s nothing wrong with not having a soulmate. your daughter will live a long, healthy life, if you stop being so foolish about this!” and then she’d slammed her door in their faces, unconcerned of how xilonen had immediately established citlali as her new idol.

it hadn’t lasted – there was only so many times she could carry citlali’s unconscious body back to the masters of the night wind before the illusion was broken – but the respect had always remained.

“what did you say?” xilonen asks in response, morbidly curious.

“i sent them away, of course,” the shaman replies, her confidence meaning that they likely did not walk away without at least a few broken bones. “they won’t be asking me again.”

she snorts and shakes her head fondly. “c’mon, citlali, you can’t just beat people up.”

citlali gapes at her, drunkenness exaggerating her incredulity, and scoffs. “are you seriously telling me that you’ve never hit someone for being stupid about soulmates to you? it’s dumb, anyway – there’s a scientific reason for all of this! it’s not just magic soulmates, but nobody’s going to change the name.”

“nah,” xilonen answers, although she cannot deny that she’s thought about it. “you’re really drunk, citlali.”

“maybe,” she admits, the honesty surprising. “but i’m not wrong, am i? i was not made incomplete because of my soulmate’s death. we weren’t even in love! you were not born incomplete. it’s just people taking myth as fact.”

xilonen flinches again, the words a little bit too direct for her taste. citlali has always been good at that, at reaching right into the core of the problem. unfortunately, it seems that one of the few times she can actually apply that to emotional situations is when it’s about soulmates.

then she sighs. citlali will be quite upset when she sobers up if she starts talking about huitzilin again, and xilonen does not wish for her friend to be so upset.

“c’mon, citlali,” she says, reaching over to the shaman. “let’s get you back to your place.”

there’s a knock at xilonen’s door, which is rather inconvenient. she has her hands full in the forge right now, and can’t leave to go open it. which leaves her two options: ignore it, which is rude and possibly dangerous, or ask them to come in, which is what she calls out.

there’s silence on the other side for a long moment, before kachina pushes open the door gingerly and tiptoes in, looking around as if she is being hunted.

xilonen winces. the poor girl must be traumatized from the last time she’d entered the workshop. luckily for her, xilonen has actually had some time to clean up since then.

kachina recognizes this and breathes a sigh of relief, her entire body untensing. “xilonen! sorry, am i interrupting?”

“nah, you’re good,” she responds, offering her a smile. “just give me a second to finish up here.”

“okay!” there’s a clatter somewhere behind her and kachina starts, before turning around and picking up whatever had fallen. xilonen doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to bother.

“okay, i’m with you,” she says, wiping her hands with a cloth and walking over. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” kachina responds, suddenly a lot more hesitant. she twists her hands together and then looks up. “could you – could you tell me, what it is like, to not have a soulmate?”

xilonen’s first instinct is to say hell no. but this is not some nosy natlan citizen – this is a girl she cares about, a kid, even, and she’s not in the habit of being rude to children. besides, it’s clear that kachina is even more uncomfortable with this than she is, and that’s honestly impressive.

“sure, kid,” she says, stepping around a pile of scrolls. “come with me, it’s too crowded in here.”

“okay,” xilonen breathes out once they’ve found a nice spot in the mountains surrounding the children of the echoes. “what do you want to know?”

kachina tucks her knees to her chest, looking out at the view and very adamantly not looking at the blacksmith stretched out lazily beside her. “i don’t know. just. is it very hard?”

“nah,” she says, tilting her head up to catch more of the sunlight. “worst part is all the people asking about it. not you, kachina.” and then: “why?”

“i think i switched with my soulmate for the first time today,” kachina answers, somehow sounding more morose than before. “it was very brief. i just remember opening my eyes and not being in the children of echoes anymore. it was kind of scary, actually.”

xilonen straightens. the first switch is always a huge milestone – it’s a cause for celebration. usually, this means that family and friends would throw a party for the one in question. but she doesn’t even need to look at the girl to tell that it’s not what she wants. it’s in her voice.

“congratulations, kachina,” she responds, softening her tone. “but something’s wrong, isn't it?”

“i don’t know,” kachina repeats, shrinking even tighter into a ball. “i’m supposed to be happy about this, right? like. kinich and mualani, they’re really happy.”

mualani is also just a generally cheerful person and is very good at spreading that around, but xilonen knows what kachina means. she can still remember years of waiting, of seeing the happy couples around her, not understanding why that couldn’t be her. it didn’t really sink in, she thinks, until she met chasca, that soulmates didn’t necessarily have to mean a lifetime lover.

before she knew anything about citlali, it had been chasca with her sister as a soulmate that had first introduced xilonen to the possibility that perhaps the natlan myths could be wrong.

“you don’t have to be anything, kachina. you’re allowed to feel however you like,” she replies, keeping her voice gentle.

“i don’t want to date them,” kachina says finally, sniffling. “i don’t – i’d like to know who they are, but i don’t want to date them or marry them or anything. i kind of don’t want a soulmate.”

okay, that one hurts more than expected. fourteen-year-old xilonen would’ve done anything to have a normal natlan soulmate, and hearing kachina asking for the opposite feels like rubbing salt into a wound that’s been forcibly opened.

but she gets it, too. natlan has always been incredibly steeped in tradition. the masters of the night wind record every piece of their history, and so much of their daily lives are based upon legends and stories passed from generation to generation.

natlan has stayed nearly the same for the past five hundred years, and the general perception of soulmates has never been allowed to change. of course the strict idea of romantic soulmates would not sit well with everyone – and that it is kachina is unexpected, but not exactly unfathomable.

she’s been surrounded with people such as chasca, or the traveler, or xilonen herself. she may be closer with kinich and mualani, but she has at least understood from a young age that soulmates are not so black-and-white as natlan culture would suggest.

“you don’t have to,” xilonen responds. “we can help you find them, if you’d like, but no one will force you to date them. and if they do, well, we’ll just send citlali over to them and she’ll take care of it.”

kachina giggles, wiping at her face, and nods shakily. xilonen leans over and ruffles her hair, and the girl yelps and bats her hands away. that’s good. her face already looks a little brighter.

“feeling better?” she asks.

“yeah,” kachina says, blinking away the rest of the mistiness in her eyes. “thank you, xilonen.”

“no problem, kid. c’mon, let’s head back.”

“okay!”

“ah, xilonen, there you are!”

“mavuika, hey,” xilonen greets, wariness immediately creeping over her. “warning: everything is over now, and i am so backlogged, so i cannot upgrade your sunglasses right now. or, archons forbid, your motorcycle.”

she looks around mavuika to find there to be no vehicle parked on the grass behind her, but seeing as it’s linked to the archon herself and can be summoned from phlogiston, it does little to soothe her worries.

this is supposed to be her break. how did mavuika even find her? she went up the cliffs specifically so that nobody could bother her, for archons’ sake! 

“nah,” mavuika snorts. “i can be reasonable.” xilonen very much doubts that, but she chooses to say nothing. “just, whenever you’re free, could i trouble you to make me a phlogiston inscription?”

xilonen raises a brow. “you’ve never expressed interest in those before. you do know that they’re pretty much just rock, right?”

mavuika shrugs. “yeah, but with everything that just happened, i thought it would be nice to have a physical reminder of the past.”

right, because of course the pyro archon would otherwise have no scars or chips in her weapon or anything reasonable like that. sometimes xilonen wonders how she puts up with the archon’s ridiculousness. she’s going to move to mondstadt, she swears, they haven’t had to deal with their god in centuries.

but she does understand where mavuika is coming from. and xilonen suspects that she means something a lot more… ancient, per se, than the war that just passed.

sure, she’ll do it. mavuika is her friend, after all.

“okay,” xilonen sighs, straightening and pulling out a sheet of paper. “what am i putting on this inscription?”

mavuika lists off a few names that sound vaguely familiar. it takes her a moment, but she eventually places them as the archon’s family from five hundred years ago. then comes the name thrain, which xilonen knows is very much not a typical natlan name.

“ah,” she says. “is that one the captain?”

“yes. he deserves to be honored, and i will not allow myself to forget his sacrifice.”

“yeah, of course,” xilonen nods, and simply marks it down as well. mavuika doesn’t say anything more, which must mean that the list is complete, but – “no soulmate?”

mavuika flinches, and suddenly she regrets it. she would hate to have accidentally brought up her archon’s dead lover or something. xilonen is usually a lot more eloquent, but it seems that it all simply disappears around her.

“no,” mavuika says finally, something strange in her voice. “i never had one.”

xilonen pauses. “ah. me neither.”

relief dawns in mavuika’s eyes, and she would feel insulted at the implication that she would scorn her archon for it if she didn’t understand so intimately how those without soulmates are treated. 

neither of them speak for a long moment, but the silence is light. peaceful.

of course, xilonen breaks it – “people are assholes, right?” – but mavuika’s fake-scandalized gasp and consequential laughter is completely worth it.

“hey, xilonen, come join us,” citlali slurs out, raising a glass in xilonen’s direction from where she is half-slumped over the table.

“we need to stop meeting when you’re drunk,” xilonen sighs, but pulls out a chair nonetheless. “hey, mavuika.”

“xilonen,” mavuika nods in greeting, but there’s a slight blush to her cheeks that lets her know that even their archon is not immune to citlali’s alcoholism.

“what are you even doing?”

“annual who-needs-soulmates party,” the shaman declares very seriously with a nod. it’s slightly undermined by the way she sways, but the vibes get across.

“we’ve been here for a while already,” mavuika tacks on, shaking her head. “i think citlali is about to pass out.”

“i am not, shush,” citlali snaps, raising a shaking finger in mavuika’s face before dropping her arm again. “ugh, i feel sick.”

“then you should stop drinking so much,” xilonen suggests, and a cocktail is shoved in her hands in response. “yeah, sure, why not.”

hm. the granny itzli does have taste, although it is far stronger than she was expecting. she leans over and plucks a fruit out of the basket beside mavuika, who notices and pushes it over.

citlali is still muttering curses about the general public and soulmates. “seriously, it’s been two hundred years! people never learn.”

“if it makes you feel any better,” mavuika says, “they were just the same five centuries ago.”

“ugh,” citlali mutters.

xilonen laughs. she can always rely on their favorite shaman on being the greatest critic of natlan’s soulmate culture. some days she thinks it is only citlali’s commentary that helped her to gain the confidence she has today.

the woman really is impressive. to a teenage xilonen, who had never known that “incomplete” souls could be happy, citlali has always been someone to look up to, although it was for a different reason than most.

and now, she is proud to call the shaman her friend. not many people can say they can speak with her easily, can they?

the conversation does flow smoothly, their little table protected from the troubles of the rest of natlan even for an evening. it is only when citlali finally falls unconscious, the copious amounts of alcohol finally catching up to her, that she realizes the passing of time.

“ah,” she says, leaning over to pick up the sleeping woman. “i should get her back to the masters of the night-wind.”

mavuika frowns. “are you sure? it’s a little far.”

“don’t worry,” xilonen grins, hoisting citlali up. “we do this all the time.”

“really,” mavuika insists. “let me give you a ride, i didn’t drink more than a glass. it’ll go quicker.”

she pauses, looking at the archon as clearly as she can through the haze of drunkenness, and sees only sincerity. “alright, then. thanks, mavuika.”

“of course.”

and mavuika is right – the ride does go by quickly. far too quickly, in fact. stepping down from the motorcycle and its warmth feels like a great tragedy, and facing the cool night air feels like one of the worst betrayals xilonen has ever experienced.

mavuika must not have to deal with this, being the pyro archon and everything. she’s sure that someone with a pyro vision must never get cold. lucky.

“careful there,” mavuika tells her, a smirk curling her lips up.

“i’m always careful,” xilonen tosses back absentmindedly, shifting citlali to kick open the shaman’s door and depositing her on her bed. she locks the door as she exits and sighs, stretching her arms out.

“i’m sure,” mavuika says, although the tone of her voice is far too amused for it to be believable.

“oh, i don’t want to hear it from you,” xilonen replies, rolling her eyes and glaring half-heartedly in the direction of the archon. “you tried to make your motorcycle run on the spiritways before i added that function and then you had to drag it back to me so i could fix it.”

mavuika blinks at her, and then laughs, shoulder shaking with the force of it. xilonen is suddenly very aware that they’re both probably a little drunk, because mavuika’s giggling a little too long and she’s focusing a little too much on the lines of her throat, head thrown back, and the sound of her laughter searing itself into her mind, and – oh.

oh.

this is so incredibly foolish of her, isn’t it? mavuika has no soulmate, and neither does xilonen. they are not meant for each other – meant for anyone, and she’s pretty sure there must be some sort of rule against falling in love with your archon.

it’s funny, in a twisted sort of way. xilonen has gone her entire life without ever falling in love with anyone. she has always assumed it simply would never happen for her, and yet here she is now. the mere thought of it is sending her heart pounding, mouth suddenly far too dry.

archons, she’s so fucked.

“citlali, i need to talk with you,” xilonen greets, knocking on her door. it’s late afternoon by now – she must be awake, surely.

the shaman in questions opens the door and steps out, looking surprisingly sober and calm. then again, it is not early enough for her to still be hungover, nor is it late enough that she would have begun drinking again.

“is everything alright?” she asks, tilting her head. “i have not seen anything recently, but you must be here for a reason.”

“oh, no,” xilonen blinks. that’s… a reasonable conclusion to arrive at, and there isn’t actually an emergency. “it’s not that serious, don’t worry.”

citlali squints at her, skepticism marring her features, before shrugging and grabbing her hand. “alright, come in. and not a word about my house.”

xilonen is not an idiot. honestly, one would think that after knowing the shaman for so long, she would know by now not to aggravate her. of course she knows better.

once they have settled at one of the few tables in her home not covered by novels, bottles, or scrolls, citlali gestures for her to continue, brow raised.

she takes a deep breath. this is terribly awkward – she’s a full-grown woman, for archons’ sake – but there is really no one else she can turn to. normally, she would have spoken with mavuika, but that is clearly not an option here, and she doesn’t feel quite as comfortable bringing this up with anyone else.

“citlali,” she starts, watching the other woman’s reactions carefully. “not having a soulmate – what, exactly, does that mean?”

the shaman blinks. “nothing important. is this really the problem?”

“yes.”

“okay, okay, calm down!” citlali pauses. “it could happen for a bunch of reasons, honestly. perhaps your soul simply did not bind, or split, depending on which theory you believe in, when still in the night kingdom. or perhaps there are circumstances preventing the body-switching.”

that is certainly news for xilonen. “that counts as not having a soulmate?”

she shrugs. “i mean, if you never switch bodies, than you’ll simply never know. or you’re like me.”

oh. right. xilonen feels foolish. years of commiserating with citlali, and yet she hadn’t exactly made the connection that circumstances would refer to death. perhaps not solely – the intricacies of the night kingdom are well-known, and something as fickle as soulmates is bound to have exceptions – but the most common way to become one soul is to lose a soulmate.

like citlali, still alive, two hundred years after the death of huitzilin.

“and – not having a soulmate. does that mean that you cannot…” she can’t quite finish her sentence. it is not exactly that she does not know the answer – she certainly suspects it – but for some reason, she cannot force the words out of her throat.

citlali sighs, crossing her arms and watching her with eyes far too piercing. too knowing. it’s easy to forget her age, sometimes, when xilonen is not a member of the masters of the night wind. “it really doesn’t mean anything. soulmate or no.”

the ocelot laughs. it sounds bitter, even to her, and that only frustrates her further. she has not once been spiteful because of her condition and she has never intended to begin now.

“really,” citlali insists, leaning forward, voice taking on a sharper edge. “huitzilin and i were never in love. we were… close, one could say, but it was certainly not romance. and look at chasca – her soulmate is her sister. do you truly believe that there is no one else in the world like you?”

xilonen’s head snaps up. in front of her, the shaman frowns. “i don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re being a moron if you think that you not having a soulmate will ruin any relationships you could possible have.”

and – citlali’s words are pointed, her scorn audible, but she’s not wrong. that’s the thing. xilonen has spent over two decades of her life fighting against every natlan citizen’s false perceptions of soulmates, has carved her place out in the world, and yet she succumbed to the fear the moment her status quo was threatened to change.

this is really, truly, ridiculous. she survived and won a war, helped rebuild her shattered tribe, and this is what sends her off into a spiral?

citlali is right.

“yeah,” xilonen breathes out, and it’s easy once more to slip back into her confidence. “thanks, citlali.”

the shaman sighs again, shaking her head, but she can hear the note of fondness in it. “don’t thank me, brat. now get out of my house.”

“okay, okay,” she says, getting up and making her way to the door. “see you soon.”

“only if you’re buying drinks!” citlali calls out, the words barely audible through the closing door, and despite herself, xilonen laughs.

for all of her revelations, xilonen quickly decides not to act upon them. citlali’s words only served to assure her of the validity of her own feelings when faced with her soulmate-less status, but do not change the fact that mavuika likely does not return them.

and the pyro archon is already faced with enough with the rebuilding and restructuring of natlan – xilonen will not burden one of her oldest friends with the weight of an unwanted confession.

it would have been difficult to face mavuika had she not been suddenly besieged by hours of work, come upon her out of nowhere, and she disappears into the speaker’s chamber for a week straight.

although xilonen feels sympathy for the exhaustion she must no doubt be repressing, it allows her time to steel herself, as well as deal with the workload left to her as well.

honestly – it’s been months since the final battle. she understands intimately the horrors of war and sees every day the remains of the fighting that took place, the children of the echoes only barely recovered, but sometimes she wishes that she could simply pass off the work to another person.

there is no other person, however – or at least, none as qualified as her – and so xilonen resigns herself to making her way through the many commissions that had piled up over the past days.

it is a rather impressive list.

she only finds out several days later that kachina had come to visit her and had knocked on her door, but she had been so immersed in her work that she had been left completely unaware. xilonen does feel sorry – she would never have ignored the poor girl – and it serves as a reminder to actually get out and breathe some air.

honestly, she hasn’t been able to leave the workshop and take one of her many naps in over a week, and it is quite disappointing.

so that is how xilonen finds herself wandering through the land surrounding the children of the echoes, taking the time to enjoy her now-few moments of free time.

of course, that’s how she falls asleep. it was to be expected, really. she has always prized her rest, and her putting off all of her commissions due to her unraveling has now resulted in losing several of her usual breaks.

it’s honestly quite peaceful – it never gets too cold in natlan, no matter what she would say when drunk, and the evening air is like a balm upon her stress.

and yet, xilonen is still woken by a sudden hiss of fire exploding near her, and a series of shouts far too close for comfort. it is reflexive to bolt upright, summoning her sword and whipping around, to be met with a battle taking place mere feet away.

she must have been really quite exhausted to have not noticed.

the offenders are a group of fatui, and based on citlali’s reports, likely from the regrator's faction. xilonen does not have the knowledge to distinguish them based merely on appearance, but after everything their superior did, she sincerely doubts that the followers of the captain would be attacking the pyro archon.

which brings her to the second point: it is mavuika who is fighting them, claymore swinging around and lit up with flames with terrifying accuracy.

she is not prepared for this, xilonen thinks, and then realizes that perhaps her priority should be the actual fight.

it is second nature to call out to mavuika, shifting her grip on her own weapon, and plunge into the battle, geo and phlogiston lighting up around her in equal measure.

mavuika sends her a bright grin, and she smiles back smugly as her sword slices through the defenses of two of the fatui members. this dance of theirs is long familiar by now, almost relaxing.

truly, they stood no chance against the pyro archon, and with xilonen now fully awake, it ends in mere moments. the two of them stand together for a moment, taking in the reality of what had just happened, before they turn to each other, falling in line beside each other easily.

“i haven’t seen you in a while,” mavuika starts, dismissing her claymore calmly. “how have you been?”

“good. got a lot more work than normal, though, that’s probably why,” she replies, electing not to expand on the why. 

“shame,” mavuika says, shrugging, before she meets xilonen’s eyes. “i missed you.”

xilonen chokes, only barely preventing herself from stumbling. archons, she can’t just say things like that! “i missed you too,” she responds, trying to force some semblance of normalcy into her voice. “haven’t missed your commissions, though.”

mavuika laughs, the sound of it as beautiful as always, and xilonen looks away. “nothing from me this time, i promise.”

i’d like something from you, she thinks instinctively, and then she scowls. this is ridiculous. she is not some foolish teenager with a crush, honestly!

“where are you headed?”

xilonen blinks, snapping back into reality and tucking her hands into her pockets. “oh, i should probably head back to my workshop.”

“alright,” mavuika replies, and offers her a smile, eyes half-lidded. “i’ll see you around then.”

“yeah,” she says, suddenly glad for her inability to blush. “see you around.”

“i’m in love with mavuika,” xilonen says, staring down at her cup, finally allowing herself to vocalize it.

citlali offers her no sympathy, far too preoccupied with the platter of food before her to even spare her a glance. at least she isn't drinking. “yeah, i know.”

“what the fuck do you mean you know-!”

it’s xilonen’s turn to patrol tonight. honestly, she’s been slightly on edge after the fatui attack – what could they possibly have been after? it’s ridiculous – and she’d figured that she might as well use that paranoia to the benefit of her tribe.

besides, no matter how many reparations they do, it will not change the fact that they are terribly, tragically, dealing with a terrible insufficiency of citizens.

(the funerals had been some of the worst xilonen has ever attended, but even they did not horrify her as much as the sight of so many soulmates dying soon after, whether by their own hands or by grief alone. it must be terrible, to be separated from part of your soul.)

(she wonders once more how citlali has managed. the shaman’s strength never fails to impress her.)

and so she finds herself watching the statue of the seven and the entrance to the children of the echoes just beyond it, perched up in one of the taller trees nearby. it’s a good vantage point: she can see her entire assigned area from here.

she waits, sharp eyes trained unrelentingly in the area around the children of echoes’ entrance. it is a role she has not picked up in a while, but the familiarity of it remains.

the downside of being in such a perfect spot is that xilonen doesn’t need to move, and it gets so incredibly boring to simply sit in one spot. while it’s true that she’ll be able to see if anything happens far easier, it’s only her recent anxiety that is preventing her from simply falling asleep.

archons, that has already happened. it would be terribly embarrassing for it to occur again. for all the humorous intentions of the others’ jokes, xilonen does actually control whenever she naps.

and yet, even for all of her focus, she cannot stop her thoughts from drifting back to mavuika, the image of her, smirking, imprinted into her mind. i’ll see you around, then, she had said, and yet xilonen has not once gotten a glimpse of the pyro archon in the days since that afternoon.

she is not so dense that she cannot recognize that she would have liked to see mavuika, despite how well she knows that she ought to calm herself down.

it’s not very successful, however.

and so she remains in her tree, thoughts captivated by the pyro archon and her warmth, resulting in her noticing the man running underneath her later than she should’ve.

it is unacceptable of her, but xilonen ignores it to leap out of her spot, phlogiston skates manifesting around her feet with barely a thought. as she plunges down in front of the man, whom she recognizes as from the scions of the canopy, she finally spots what has him so shaken up.

there is a veritable army of fatui soldiers chasing after him, far enough that she does not believe they have reached the territory of the children of echoes, but close enough that she does not feel comfortable in leaving them be.

“stay in the tribe for now,” she tells the man. “tell pacal we need some fighters at the entrance and that i’m heading after them.”

the man is still shaking, staring up at her with wide eyes, and she resists the urge to frown. many of natlan’s strongest warriors gave their lives in the war against the abyss – the one before her is young. he must be a new recruit. it’s not his fault he is so afraid, and she certainly does not blame him for it, but she does not have time to comfort him.

with another look, xilonen whips back around, her skates accelerating her with a force powered by her desperation with the aid of her geo vision. she only needs to keep the fatui in the same spot long enough for reinforcements to arrive. there are a lot of them, but she is one of the six heroes of natlan. she must be capable for this.

the first one to notice her is on the ground before he can call out. the next one – a geochanter bracer – falls as well, but the thud of his body against the grass is enough for one of his allies to turn around. even though he goes down just as easily, any semblance of stealth she could have possibly had is quickly destroyed, and xilonen is thrown into the familiar chaos of an all-out battle.

she had not missed this. like all natlan citizens, she enjoyed a good fight now and then, but this is truly awful.

xilonen shakes her head, adjusting her grip on her sword, and slams it straight through a cryogunner’s chin. he dies, blood splattering everywhere, but another one replaces him mere moments later.

the air crackles with ozone and flame, elemental reactions cracking through space to try to devour her. it certainly doesn’t reach the level of horror that the war had, but it’s closer than she would have liked.

she is terribly outnumbered. she doesn’t know quite how many of them there are – she had lost count far too quickly – but it feels near-infinite, when compared to how alone she is.

a bullet of hydro slams into her, only narrowly missing her spine, and xilonen whips around to explode a row of geo crystals into the fatuus at fault. it takes more energy out of her to do so and heal herself at the same time, and the few seconds of reprieve this grants her is barely enough to recognize that she’s losing energy and health.

there are simply too many of them, and no matter how much she strengthens her attacks with geo, xilonen is running out of her phlogiston stores. even as she kicks in the head of another electro cicin mage, she knows a losing battle when she sees one.

there are bruises arrayed down her skin like paint, cuts and burns scattered across her, a suspicious pain each time that she twists that leads her to believe that at some point, someone cracked her ribs. there’s blood on her face. she can’t tell if it’s hers or not.

there isn’t really a way out for her, here.

she knows this, and yet her mind has decided to conjure up the sound of mavuika’s voice. it’s ridiculous. has she truly fallen so deeply in love that now xilonen will hallucinate the source of it?

it’s really quite worrying to have one’s sanity derailing in the midst of battle, she thinks, barely able register the slowly approaching droning amidst everything else shattering in her head.

wait.

xilonen knows that sound, knows it like the back of her hand. how could she not? she was the one who had built it, had spent hours toiling over that stupid motorbike to polish it off as perfectly as she possibly could for mavuika.

she ducks underneath the swipe of the pyro agent, slamming the hilt of her sword into the side of his head, and looks up.

it is then that mavuika chooses to slam into the ground, waves of flame erupting from her and incinerating the fatui agents closest to her.

the fire passes xilonen peacefully, only warming her skin from the cold night air, and a choked laugh escapes her.

“archons,” she breathes out, even though mavuika cannot hear her. everything is getting suspiciously blurry, as if she were to be crying – but that’s ridiculous.

her pyro archon looks towards her, the barest hint of relief bleeding through mavuika’s body at the sight of her still standing. xilonen smiles at her, wild and grateful and incredulous all in equal measure, and is met with a grin of her own, just as vicious.

it is strange. xilonen knows intimately what it is like to fight alongside the living god that is mavuika, and yet she has only ever done so rarely. and now, she finds herself witness to mavuika’s brilliance twice, mere days apart.

it is rather humiliating that she must be rescued, by her pyro archon, especially, but she will not complain of being once more close to her.

xilonen hefts her sword up, soaking in the last second of peace, the fatui frozen in shock and no small amount of fear, and then explodes back into the fight.

when the battle is finally, finally over, and xilonen can direct the remainders of her energy into healing herself, mavuika wastes no time to rush over, hands fluttering awkwardly.

she tries to stifle her snort. she’s never seen her pyro archon so unsure of herself, and for xilonen of all people to be the source of it is irony at its finest level. mavuika’s hair is still partially alight, her eyes in equal measure watery and flaming, and there’s blood splattered across her body.

it’s kind of hot, honestly.

“thank you, mavuika,” she opts to say instead, leaning on her sword and dissolving her skates.

“archons,” mavuika responds, scanning every inch of her for severe injury, and she feels a pang of guilt. “i thought i was about to lose you, xilonen. you can’t do that.”

“no,” xilonen says, raising her brows. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“good,” mavuika says, eyes wide and still just as wild, “you’re not getting rid of me, either.”

she doesn’t know what possesses her to do it. perhaps it is the thrill of adrenaline, finally fading from her veins, or the look on mavuika’s face, equal parts furious and almost reverent. perhaps it is the confidence that always resurfaces after a battle won. they’re too close to each other, she thinks, but she doesn’t know how it happened.

all xilonen knows is her, surging up to mavuika and locking her into a kiss.

she gets her hands on her pyro archon’s collar, fury and fear and love all warring within her, and pulls mavuika even closer until they’re flush against each other and she can feel how they’re both tensing and melting into each other all at once. her heart rate is beating out of her chest, every part of their skin touching, sending electricity crackling through her body.

wait.

holy shit.

xilonen breaks the kiss, springing away, and chokes. she’d just kissed her archon. what is wrong with her? what happened to self-control, honestly?

“xilonen.”

 she was actually going to die. she looks up at mavuika, stepping closer, eyes trained on each other’s. mavuika’s eyes are wide, and while normally she would find pride in surprising the unshakeable archon, she cannot find anything humorous about this situation.

mavuika’s hand settles against the back of her neck, and she’s barely able to register it before her lips are captured in a kiss once more, hand knotted in her hair and pulling them together until xilonen is surrounded by warmth.

mavuika tastes like fire and gold and blood, and xilonen could spend the rest of eternity lost in it. it’s intoxicating, unlike than anything she has ever known, but she knows that she’s already drunk on the feeling of her archon’s tongue on her own, chests heaving and hands everywhere, desperate and devouring.

she feels as if she is dissolving in this hunger of theirs, and she never wants it to end. by the time that they break away for air, xilonen had already forgotten what it felt like to not be tangled with mavuika. her face feels flushed, her body dizzy. she thinks if she steps away, she will fall.

“archons,” she says, reeling. “mavuika. oh gods. what.”

“i thought that’s what you wanted, though?” mavuika’s smirk is doing terrible things to her. she is far too warm right now, and yet this is one fire she will gladly chase.

“this is not how i expected to confess to you.”

“we can do that too, if you want,” mavuika says, voice trailing off and offering xilonen a look. “or…”

this time, xilonen doesn’t hesitate before closing the gap between their mouths.

the traveler blinks, leaning over to citlali and watching xilonen and mavuika walk off, hands tied together. “that’s new.”

they’re not even sure that the two women realize, too engrossed in their conversation. it’s kind of sweet, actually.

“not really,” citlali answers “everyone knew they were in love for months, they just didn’t realize themselves.”

“wow.”

“yeah,” she shrugs. “it’s about time, honestly.”

“but,” the traveler frowns. “xilonen doesn’t have a soulmate, i know, but what about mavuika?”

citlali snorts. “no. they were supposed to be, but they're not.”

the traveler gasps, whipping around to face the shaman. “no.”

“yes,” citlali repeats, grinning. “the reason they’ve never switched bodies is because mavuika was born five hundred years ago.”

“you can’t switch with someone who’s either dead or doesn’t exist,” the traveler realizes. “and this isn’t mavuika’s original body.”

she nods. “i mean, it’s basically identical, but it’s still a… copy, i think, is the best way to describe it.”

the traveler scoots closer to her. “are you going to tell them?”

citlali scoffs, slamming her cup back down on the table. there’s a telltale flush on her cheeks, which is probably the only reason why she’s even told them this much already. “if they ask me, yes. but they haven’t.”

“isn’t that kind of mean?”

“no. it really, really, really does not matter.” she pauses. “and besides, their love is just as real, even if they’re not soulmates.”