Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The skies over Liyue were overcast when the footsteps of the Knights of Favonius met the stony floor of the Chasm.
The air was heavy—suspended between mist and the scent of ancient minerals seeping from the cracks in the earth.
A thin veil of fog coiled between pillars of rock, as if welcoming unwelcome guests.

The small expedition team was led directly by Kaeya, sent by Jean upon an urgent request from the Liyue Qixing to investigate a drastic surge of Abyssal energy beneath the surface.
Geo signals were unstable. Arcana compasses—fried. And the last few miners sent into the lower sectors... hadn’t returned.

“Yanfei’s last report mentioned increasing geo-electromagnetic tremors around this resonance stone,”
said one of the researchers from Sumeru, his hand trembling as he opened his notes.
His hair was still damp with the cold mist that never quite dried in this place.

Kaeya merely nodded, his gaze sweeping over the stretch of blackened ruin ahead—
like a wound torn open across the skin of the earth.

His steps remained light, as always.
His cape fluttered gently. His boots made barely a sound on the slick stones.
And his faint smile stayed firmly in place—the kind of smile one learns to wear, regardless of what's unraveling inside.

But this time, his heartbeat was far too fast.
And it wasn’t because of the Abyss field.
Not because of the mission's danger.
Not even because of exhaustion.

It was something deeper.
Something older.

From the moment he stepped into the Chasm, Kaeya had felt… recognized.
As if the earth itself knew him.
Watched him. Remembered him. Called to him.

Amidst the shifting gravel, the hum of instruments, and the anxious breaths of his teammates—
Kaeya heard a whisper.

Too soft to make sense of.
Too clear to ignore.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut it out—
but that only made him hear it more vividly.

An ancient tongue.
A language not even Mondstadt dared to teach.

The language of Khaenri’ah.

“Captain Kaeya,”
the Sumeru researcher called again, pulling him back.
“Our instruments are picking up a pulse... something below us is moving. And it’s coming closer.”

Kaeya opened his eyes.
And smiled again.
Thin. Calm.

“Good,” he said quietly.
“At least we’re not here for nothing.”

But Amber—standing not far from him—watched him out of the corner of her eye.

She’d known Kaeya long enough to recognize:
when his smile is at its thinnest...
that’s when he’s the most afraid.

Chapter Text

Kaeya didn’t sleep that first night.

He sat at the edge of the cliff, staring into the thin fog that veiled the bottom of the ravine.
The wind brushed past gently, carrying whispers from the cracks in the stone.
When his hand brushed against one of the glowing stones near his feet, the voice came.
Not an echo. Not the wind.
But a voice—real. Too real.

"Kaeya..."
"You remember this voice, don't you?"

His body tensed.
That voice—he knew it.
The same voice from his childhood dreams.
His father’s. Cold. Commanding. Sliding into his spine like a blade of ice.

"Enough playing citizen of Mondstadt."
"Enough pretending to be their pawn."
"Kaeya... come home."

Kaeya clenched the stone in his hand, as if the lifeless thing could somehow smother the voice rising from deep inside him.

No.
Not now. Not here.

He glanced around quickly—scanning the fog, the dark drop below, the shadows curling at the edge of night—searching for someone, something, that could explain the voice.
But he was alone.
Utterly.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

"So... what do you think you are there? A jester? A traitor?"
The voice again. Closer now. Sharper.

Kaeya stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing near the cliff’s edge.

"Stop!" he shouted, but his voice cracked—like a child caught in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

He covered his ears, trying to quiet the tremble rising from his knees.
But it wasn’t from outside.

Not anymore.
He knew that now.

It was inside.
A part of himself long locked away—untouched, unwanted.

"You think you can be happy there, Kaeya? You know what you are. You know where you were meant to return."

Kaeya gripped his chest.
His breath came in shallow bursts.
His heart pounded against his ribs, racing with the rush of the wind.

“Stop it… Stop!”

His eyes burned. But he wouldn’t cry.
Not here.

"I’m not going back…" he whispered, mostly to himself.
"I won’t. This is my home now. Mondstadt... is my family."

"Then why are you still afraid to hear me?" That voice mocked.

Kaeya closed his eyes.
And for a heartbeat, time stopped.
The wind stilled.
The fog hung suspended.
The stone in his hand turned colder.

Then—footsteps.

Light. Cautious. From behind.
Someone approaching.
Not the voice in his head.
This was real.

"Kaeya!"

Kaeya flinched. His hand went to his sword on instinct—
until he saw who it was.

Amber.
Breathless from running. Her eyes scanned the darkness before landing on Kaeya—pale, trembling, frozen on the stone.

"I knew I’d find you here!" she said with a hint of cheer—
but her brows furrowed the moment she saw his face.
"Are you… alright?" Her voice softened, cautious now.
She stepped closer—slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

Kaeya didn’t answer right away.
His eyes were fixed on the glowing stone in his hand—
a small, lifeless thing that now felt impossibly heavy.

"Amber..." he said finally, voice low and raw.
"Have you ever heard a voice that… should be dead?"

Amber stared at him for a moment, then slowly sat beside him.
Close, but not touching.
Present, but gentle.

"Sometimes the past speaks when we’re the quietest," she said softly.
"But that doesn’t mean you have to listen to all of it."

Kaeya let out a faint laugh. Bitter. Hollow.
"Unfortunately… this voice knows every part of me I don't want to face."

"Maybe. But it's still just a voice," Amber replied, gazing at the stars.
"And you, Kaeya... you're real."

Silence.

For the first time that night, Kaeya inhaled deeply.
It was still heavy—
but not as heavy as before.

"Thank you, Amber."

She smiled gently.

"Anytime. But next time, maybe don’t vanish to the edge of a cliff without telling anyone, yeah? I nearly called a full search team."
Kaeya nodded slowly.
"Maybe… I just need someone to come find me sometimes."

Chapter Text

On the second day, Kaeya began to lose focus.
His eyes would drift into blank space for a few seconds before he quickly masked it with a sarcastic quip or that effortless half-smile.
To those unfamiliar with him, he seemed perfectly normal—eccentric, smooth, always ready with a laugh.

But to those who had worked with him long enough, something was... off.

His responses came too fast. His laughter—too bright.
Everything about him was just a little too perfect. Too polished.
Like a mirror hiding a crack.

During a fight with slimes on the lower plateau of the Chasm, he swung his sword too early—slicing nothing but air.
When he was thought to be observing enemy movement, he was, in fact, staring at a rock. For nearly a full minute.

And when questioned, he deflected, as always, with a quip:
“Oh, I was just calculating our odds of freezing to death. Good news—they're looking slightly optimistic.”

---

That night, when the team returned to their temporary camp and the fire flickered gently in the center, one by one, they fell asleep.
Kaeya, as usual, was the last to rest.
But as the fog began to roll in and the night deepened, a sound began to rise from his corner of the tent.
Soft at first. Like a murmur.
Then clearer.

A language none of them recognized.
Not Mondstadt. Not Liyue. Not even Sumeru.
It carried a weight—heavy rhythms and foreign consonants that flowed like a forgotten prayer, like a chant meant never to be spoken again.
One of the knights opened their eyes first. Then Amber.
They exchanged a glance—tense. Alert.
"That… what language is that?" Amber whispered.
No one answered.

They all stared at Kaeya—still asleep, breathing unevenly, his face tight with tension like he was fighting something in a dream.
His lips kept moving. Whispering words no one could understand.
But something about them felt old. Too old. Too true to belong in a dream.
Bennett, who had also woken up, rubbed his eyes and muttered:
“Is he... possessed or something?”

By the time dawn crept over the edge of the cliffs, the voice had stopped.
Kaeya lay still. Peaceful, as if nothing had happened at all.
The next morning, over a quiet breakfast and half-hearted discussions about day three’s plan, Amber cautiously brought it up—half joking:
"Kaeya… you were talking in your sleep last night. But the language was... weird. Do you know what it was?"
Kaeya raised an eyebrow.
"Was I? Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t anything too personal."
"It didn’t sound like it was from any nation on this continent," Amber added, more carefully now.
"Are you sure you don’t remember anything?"

Kaeya paused. Just for a moment.
Then he shook his head, offering a small smile.
"Sadly, no. Maybe I dreamed I was a professor from another world."

He let out a quiet laugh—short, dry, and utterly hollow.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he sipped his tea again.
But Amber saw it—the tiniest tremble in his hand as he set the cup back down on the ground.

Chapter Text

The air inside the Chasm had grown heavier—thicker. The fog clung low to the skin, like invisible cold hands reaching from the walls.
Kaeya’s footsteps made no sound among the echoes of the ruins, as if the very stone knew his presence—
and chose to silence it.
The expedition team had discovered a hidden corridor, buried behind ancient rubble and faded symbols no scholar could decipher.
Kaeya stepped in first, without hesitation.
Shoulders straight.
But his narrowed eyes couldn’t quite hide the unease beneath them.

The corridor walls began to glow faintly as he passed, pulsing like veins, reacting to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The deeper he walked, the stronger the voice became.
Not a voice from without—
but from within.
A voice too long caged in silence.
"Kaeya... our child... our heir..."

The voice wasn’t just heard. It fused into his bones and blood.
Kaeya didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to.
His face was blank—
but his eyes held waves of something ancient, unspoken.
"Your place is not in Mondstadt. Your place... is here."
"Let the mask fall, Kaeya."
"Be who you truly are."

The corridor led him to a wide, dim chamber.
At the center stood an ancient altar, wrapped in carvings nearly erased by time.
Kaeya knelt.
His fingers touched the surface—
the symbols were familiar. Too familiar.
His body froze.
"Return... Khaenri’ah is not yet finished."
"Revive the last glory we once held..."

Kaeya began to tremble.
Not from fear—
but because part of him... agreed.
"Mondstadt never truly accepted me."
"I want a place I can finally call home."
"I want to go home..."
"Diluc hates me. Jean pities me. All their smiles are lies."
"But this voice—this voice is honest. This is... home."

Without realizing it, Kaeya began drawing strange symbols into the dirt beside the altar.
Old symbols. Summoning marks.
His hands shook. His eyes were red-rimmed.
And though the air was freezing, sweat covered his body.
Slowly, blue light rose around him—
lifting him gently from the ground like living threads of energy, weaving through his skin and bones.

---

Meanwhile, outside at camp, Diluc had just arrived—
sent personally by Jean after Amber reported Kaeya’s strange behavior.
"Where’s Kaeya?" he asked, sharper than usual.
One of the researchers pointed toward the corridor.
"He went in alone. Said he was checking for safety. But… he hasn’t come back. It’s been almost an hour."

Diluc’s face hardened.
Without a word, he grabbed a torch and stepped into the corridor—
which already felt like the mouth of fate itself.
The walls pulsed dimly as he walked.
And then—he saw him.

Kaeya hovered in the air, in front of a glowing altar.
The blue light wrapped around him like a living net, feeding from the very essence he’d tried so long to bury.
"Kaeya!" Diluc called out, voice echoing.

Kaeya didn’t react.
But slowly, his eyes opened.
His gaze was blank. Cold.
And when he looked at Diluc—there was no recognition.
"You’re not my family."
"Kaeya, stop. That’s not you talking."
"You never once called me your brother."

His voice was steady. Quiet.
But it cut like a blade honed by years of silence.
"Don’t think I didn’t notice how you look at me—like a threat wearing your brother’s skin. You stayed silent... because you couldn’t kill me without looking like the villain."

The altar flared brighter.
Crystals on the walls began to shatter, screaming like spirits ripped from the stone.
The chamber was no longer dead.
It breathed.
It awakened.

Diluc stepped forward, fighting against the surge of energy.
His breath came hard.
But he didn’t look away.
“You’re right. I hated you.”
“But more than that… I hated myself—for never trying to understand.”
“If you drown in the voices of the past, then let me be the voice of your future.”
“You may lose Khaenri’ah... but I won’t let you lose yourself.”

Kaeya looked down.
His body trembled.
The lights around him flickered—uncertain.
“It’s too late, Luc.”
“They’ve taken too much. I don’t even know if I’m still me.”

Diluc stood before him now, his body bruised, blood trailing down his arms—
but still, he stood.
"Even if there’s only one part of you left, I’ll hold onto it."
"As long as you can still say my name, Kaeya... you’re not lost."
Kaeya let out a bitter laugh.
His voice cracked.
"Luc... you’ve never called me brother—not once. Not since that night."
"Do you remember? When I told you my secret? When I told you what I was? You walked away."

Diluc clenched his jaw.
Then, slowly, painfully, he moved closer.
His red eyes shimmered.
"I remember."
"I remember choosing silence… because I was too angry. Too afraid. Too stupid to love you unconditionally."
"But not today."

He stopped directly in front of Kaeya, eyes trembling.
"You’re my brother."
"You’ve always been my brother. Even if your blood isn’t Mondstadt’s. Even if half your soul belongs to the Abyss. Even if the world calls you a king of destruction—"
"—I will still call you my brother."

Kaeya froze.
Tears fell, unchecked.
His hands trembled, as if reaching for something he never believed he could touch again.
“Don’t say that... not if you don’t mean it. I can’t take hearing it again only to be left behind.”

Diluc closed the distance.
Then—he embraced him.
Tight.
Solid.
The kind of embrace Kaeya never knew he’d longed for.
"If you fall, I fall too."
"If they drag you into darkness, then I’ll go in after you—even if it burns me."
"You’re my brother, Kaeya. And I choose to love you. Even if the world doesn’t."

The light shattered.

Kaeya screamed—
his voice split in two, like two souls tearing at each other inside one body.
Ancient symbols lit up the air like burning chains.
His body convulsed—
then collapsed…
Right into Diluc’s arms.
He clung to him, shaking violently—like a child waking from a nightmare too deep to describe.
“I’m so tired, Luc… I just want to stop feeling alone…”

Diluc held him tighter. Eyes closed. Voice low.
"I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore."
And for the first time in years—
Diluc allowed himself to be afraid.
Afraid of losing someone…
he had never truly let go of in the first place.

Chapter Text

The ruins that once glowed with soft light had gone dark.
The walls that pulsed with blue breath now stood still.
The fog that once wrapped tight had loosened its grip—
leaving behind a silence that felt like the earth itself had exhaled.
And Kaeya—
who the night before had held the light of another world in his hands—

now lay motionless inside the tent.
His body had grown cold.
His breathing was shallow, nearly imperceptible.
Cold sweat clung to his temples, soaking the small pillow beneath his head.
But the most alarming part—
more than his pale skin, more than his lifeless breath—
was the vein on his neck.
Black.
Like ink bleeding slowly beneath the skin, stretching from his collarbone toward his face.

Diluc sat beside him, unmoving since Kaeya had been brought back.
His hands clenched in his lap, his eyes never leaving Kaeya’s face—
as if willing, begging, to take the pain into himself instead.
When had everything become this complicated?
When had the world started carving so deeply into Kaeya?

Kaeya stirred weakly, like mist shifting in the breeze.
His eyelids fluttered open—
one blue eye, clouded like shattered glass.
"...My father said this blood would speak one day..."
"I thought... I could delay it."
"But the voice... it never really left, Luc... it was just waiting for me to be weak."

Diluc held his breath.
He couldn’t respond.
His throat was dry.
He reached out, gently clasping Kaeya’s fingers—
cold and barely alive.
---
By afternoon, Jean arrived with a medical team and a mage from Sumeru.
Her face was drawn with exhaustion.
She immediately turned toward the tent, her voice tight with urgency.
"We have to get him out of the Chasm. Now. This place is triggering something in his blood. And if we wait any longer—"

"He’ll be gone."
Diluc’s voice cut through, soft but heavy—on the edge of breaking.
Jean lowered her gaze.
"I’m sorry. I never thought this mission would... do this to him."
"He’s always been like that, hasn’t he?"
Diluc’s voice was barely above a whisper.
"Pretending to be strong. Walking ahead. Never asking to be waited for."

---

Night fell.
The skies over the Chasm were darker than usual.
Inside the tent, Kaeya stirred again—
but it wasn’t full consciousness.
His body arched slightly, tense.
His lips moved rapidly, whispering something—
a language no one around him could recognize.
It wasn’t Mondstadt.
It wasn’t Liyue.
It wasn’t human.

Ancient syllables spilled from his mouth, rough and rhythmic—
as if reciting a forgotten prayer.
Symbols of Khaenri’ah shimmered faintly on his chest—
glowing like frostburned scars.
Jean knelt at his side, her voice trembling.
"Kaeya... it’s Jean. You’re safe. You’re back at the base camp."
Kaeya’s eyes opened slowly.
But only one name left his lips:
"...Diluc...?"

Jean turned, stepping back as Diluc approached, his face tight, his breath shallow.
Kaeya smiled faintly.
Worn. Fading.
"You're here... so I’m not completely insane yet."
"Don’t speak," Diluc replied, voice low, cold—but his expression betrayed the fear in his heart.

Kaeya’s voice cracked.
"If I change again… if that voice takes over… end me, Luc."
Diluc whipped his head toward him.
Fury flared in his eyes.
"Don’t say things like that."

Kaeya let out a brittle laugh.
"If I’m no longer myself... I’d rather die as the version of me I still recognize."
Diluc gripped his hand harder, tighter—like anchoring Kaeya to the world itself.
"If you die, I’ll drag you back with my bare hands. So don’t talk to me about death."

---

Outside the tent, Jean stood still, eyes glassy.
She stared at the sky above the Chasm—
a sky that now felt heavier, darker…
as if something unspoken stirred behind it.

And far in the distance,
tucked deep beneath frozen black stone,
a single dark crystal began to glow once more.
Soft.
Faint.
But real.
Jean felt it.
A threat.
Sharp. Cold. Alive.

And from within the tiniest crack in that crystal—
a pair of pale yellow eyes watched from the dark.
"Our heir is not ready... but he has begun to hear."
"And when his eyes open fully..."
"...the world will learn the name of Khaenri’ah again."

Chapter Text

Morning came—but the Chasm did not wake as it should.

No breeze drifted out from its murky depths, no breath of stale wind escaping like a sigh from a place long forgotten.
Instead—the air pulled inward.
It inhaled.

As though the ancient pit… was breathing.
And what it breathed wasn’t air, but a hunger. A pull.
A yearning to drag something down into its hollow, blackened gut.

Kaeya opened his eyes.
His eyelids were heavy, like waking from a dream at the bottom of the sea.
His breath was slow, yet settling into rhythm.
His body still weak, but something felt… off.

Between the beats of his own heart, he heard another rhythm.
A second pulse.
Not his—but beating in tandem with his own veins.
Like a second heart. One that didn’t belong to him.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
Diluc, seated at the edge of the bed, turned sharply.
“Hear what?”

Kaeya bit his lip. His eyes were unfocused, but burdened.
“It’s not a sound… more like a memory, alive and whispering. From inside my chest.”

---

Outside, the team was preparing for emergency extraction.
Jean stood with several Sumeru mages.
A teleport anchor glowed dimly in the clearing, its magic strained.
It wouldn’t hold long.
The Chasm was changing. The ground beneath them trembled softly, and cracks spread where once it was solid.

“There’s a new rift—southwest quadrant,” a mage reported. “Abyssal energy incoming. Fast.”

Jean turned to Kaeya. “Can you walk?”
Kaeya sat up slowly. His legs wobbled beneath him.
But he nodded.
“I have to. I won’t let them drag me down further.”

Jean looked at him with concern.
“We won’t let that happen.”
But even her voice… wavered.

They moved swiftly down the narrow path, flanked by moss-slicked stone and crumbling pillars.
Light from the crystal lanterns flickered, fading one by one—
as if the Chasm itself knew they were leaving, and saw no reason to keep shining.

But as they passed the far corridor, the air shifted.
No longer the scent of dust and earth—
but burnt metal.
Sharp. Familiar.

And then they saw it.

A symbol.

Etched perfectly into the cavern wall.
It hadn’t been there last night.
The sigil of Khaenri’ah.
New. Clean. As if the stone itself had been born with it.

Kaeya stopped in his tracks.
His breath caught. Eyes wide.
“Luc… I know this place.”

Diluc stared at the wall.
“You’ve never been here before.”

“But I know it.”
Kaeya’s voice was distant, as if reaching across time.
“When I was a child… I used to draw this on my bedroom wall.
Father was furious.
He said… I wasn’t ready to remember.”

Diluc swallowed.
This wasn’t just a carving.
It wasn’t merely history.
It was… alive.

Kaeya turned toward the ruins.
“They’re not just calling me anymore…
They’re reshaping the world around me.
So I’ll feel like I’m… home.”

Heavy footsteps approached.
A Knight stumbled into view, pale and breathless.

“Master Jean! The stone gate to the west—Abyss Order—they’re here! They—”

BOOM.

The ground shook.
Stone rained down from above.
Walls trembled with violent purpose.

Jean unsheathed her weapon. “Defensive formation! Now!”

Diluc grabbed Kaeya’s arm.
“We have to go. Now.”

Kaeya looked back at the Khaenri’ah sigil. His gaze hardened.
“If they came for me… maybe it’s time I finished this.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Diluc snapped.
“Luc, I brought this on us. I reactivated the altar. I opened the gate. You know it’s true.”

Diluc seized his shoulders.
“Blame yourself later. Now we need to survive.”

They ran.
The tunnel shuddered around them, throwing dust and stone.
The Chasm didn’t want to let go.
The ground clenched like a fist—desperate to keep Kaeya inside.

And just as they reached the exit—
Kaeya turned.

Through the thick mist stood a tall figure cloaked in black.
Silent.
But its pale blue eyes gleamed like the dying embers of a world long buried.

“You’ve awakened your birthright, Alberich,” the figure said.
“One step left.”
“We’ll be waiting… below.”

Kaeya froze.

His face twisted with something even he couldn’t name—
Fear.
Relief.
Longing.
Revulsion.
All tangled in a gaze that refused to look away.

Another explosion shattered the trance.

“KAEYA!!” Diluc shouted.

He yanked Kaeya backward and for the first time—

Kaeya didn’t resist.

He simply followed.
His body limp.
Steps unsteady.

Because for the first time in years…
he no longer knew what was more terrifying:
His past in Khaenri’ah...
…or his future in Mondstadt.

Chapter Text

Mondstadt greeted them with a clear sky.
But Kaeya… saw no light.

Since returning from the Chasm, he had barely spoken.
He ate little, slept less.
Most nights, he simply lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like someone waiting for a star to fall—or something darker to descend from above.

Diluc moved him to the deepest room in Dawn Winery.
Far from sound. Far from people.
But that wasn’t what Kaeya feared.

He feared silence.

Because when everything was quiet… the voice returned.
Not through his ears.
But from inside his bones.

"Have you forgotten again, Kaeya? We’ve waited long enough. Far too long."
"Your body is preparing. You’re fracturing. It’s time to be reborn."

Jean arrived on the third day.
She didn’t come just as Acting Grand Master, but as someone… carrying guilt.

In her hands was a thick dossier—scrolls from Sumeru, ancient symbols, sketches of the sigil that had appeared in the Chasm ruins.

She handed the file to Diluc, then spoke softly.
“There’s something I didn’t say. Back during the expedition.”
Her expression was tight. Her gaze couldn’t meet his.
“That symbol of Khaenri’ah etched into the ruins... it wasn’t just any sigil. It belonged to the Alberich clan.”

Silence.

“And it wasn’t just a carving. It was a seal. One meant for a resurrection ritual that… was never completed.”

She took a trembling breath.
“The ritual needed a vessel. Someone of Khaenri’ahn blood… but also deeply connected to the surface world. To Teyvat.”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his.
“That someone is Kaeya. Kaeya is… the bridge.”

Jean’s hands shook slightly as she clutched the edge of the documents.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’ve suspected it for years. But I didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself.”
“I’ve known since before the Cataclysm anniversary,” she whispered.

Diluc stared at her. Jean nodded slowly, almost as if confessing to a crime.

“Not from anything Kaeya ever told me… but from the way he moved. The way he spoke. The way ancient relics reacted when he passed.”
“I knew. But I said nothing.”

Her hands clenched in her lap.
“I chose not to ask.”
“Because if I asked, I’d have to choose—whether to lead Mondstadt… or protect him.”
“And I was afraid the answer couldn’t be both.”

The silence between them was suffocating.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” she finally said, her voice cracking.
“Not after what happened in the Chasm.”

She looked up, eyes glassy with guilt.
“Kaeya never really hid.
We just chose not to see him.”

Diluc didn’t speak immediately.
His eyes were fixed on the hallway—on the room where Kaeya now slept.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, heavy.

“He knew you’d be disappointed if you ever found out.”
“And I know… he’s more afraid of losing you than losing this whole city.”

Jean shut her eyes and nodded, a breath shuddering from her lungs.
“I’ll stand by him. No matter what he is.”
“But if the voices consume him—if he forgets himself—I want him to know I tried to pull him back.”

---

In the dark room, Kaeya began to murmur in his sleep.
His words were fragmented, incoherent.
But the voice wasn’t his own.
“I’m… not who they think I am. I’m just… an instrument.”
“I don’t even know if this breath… belongs to me.”

His hand clawed at his own throat in the dream.
Fingers scratched at his chest, as if trying to tear it open—trying to find whoever was hiding inside.

Diluc seized his wrist. His voice was sharp.
“Stop it. Kaeya, stop.”

Kaeya jolted awake.
His eyes were wet, dazed… and so, so tired.
“Luc… if I change. If they succeed… promise me.
Don’t let me hurt anyone.”

“I won’t let you disappear,” Diluc whispered.

“Maybe I already have,” Kaeya murmured back.
“Maybe what you see now… is just a shell. And the voice inside it isn’t me anymore.”

---

That night, Lisa arrived.
In her hands—a long wooden case. Inside, a broken mirror. Cracked, yet shimmering with an ancient, foreign glow.
“This,” she said, “is a relic predating Khaenri’ah’s fall. And if you’ll let me try…”

She looked at Kaeya, then back at Diluc.
“I might be able to enter his dream. To trace the whispers to their source. But it’s dangerous. For him… and for anyone who stares too long into it.”

Diluc looked at Kaeya, still lying in bed—his breath labored, neck and temples slick with cold sweat.
His fingers gripped at nothing, like he was holding onto something no one else could see.

“Do it,” Diluc said quietly.
“Whatever it takes… bring him back.”

The ritual began.
The mirror’s fractured light danced across the chamber walls.

Lisa sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, fingers forming an old sigil long erased from modern tomes.

Kaeya stirred.
His lips moved without sound.
But Lisa heard it—words whispered from afar.
From a place no light could reach.

“Home… home… home…”

---

Inside the dream, Kaeya stood alone.

It was Khaenri’ah—but not as he remembered.
Not the past.
The future.

A crimson sky, shattered like glass from the inside out.
Mondstadt… in flames.

Jean collapsed on the cathedral steps.
Diluc lay bleeding near the vineyard, smoke curling from the scorched remains of the tree.
The wind carried no dust—only the ashes of dying memories.

And at the center of it all, Kaeya stood tall.
His eyes burned with brilliant, unnatural blue.
Overflowing with power.
Behind him, the Abyss Order knelt.

Silent. Loyal.

“We’ve waited too long.”
“Don’t leave us again.”
“It’s time to return.”
“Kaeya Alberich. The king who slept too long.”

Chapter Text

Lisa clenched her teeth, her body trembling from the pressure radiating off Kaeya’s dream.
The world inside resisted—violently—rejecting her intrusion. But she didn’t back down.
Her left hand ignited in violet light, a spell of dispelling illusion forcefully shaped in her palm.

"I didn’t come this far just to watch you drown in a lie," she muttered, eyes glowing with fierce magic.
"Kaeya—if you can still hear me, listen carefully."

On the stone throne above the ruins, Kaeya frowned.
That voice—not the Abyss, not the past.
"Lisa?"

"Kaeya!"
Her voice pierced through the heavy mist covering the sky, a thunderclap cracking across the silence.
"Stop being a puppet in a fairytale you didn’t even write!"

Kaeya flinched. His body trembled slightly.
The hooded shadow beside him stepped forward, voice sharp with fury.
"He is not yours! This is where he belongs!"

Lisa didn’t flinch. Her voice echoed again, louder, harsher—like lightning unraveling the clouds.
"If you're really as smart as you act, Kaeya Alberich, then start using your brain!"
"Look around you—this isn’t real. Even the happiness here feels wrong, doesn’t it?"

Kaeya lowered his head. His eyes wavered.

"Kaeya," Lisa whispered again, this time softer—deadly sincere.
"If you keep choosing silence, I will tear this illusion apart with my own hands and drag you out, even if it destroys me."

And at that moment… the dream cracked.
A thin fracture in the sky. The throne shook.
Kaeya’s hand gripped the stone armrest. His gaze lifted, cutting through the mist.
He whispered, "...Lisa?"

Back in the real world, Lisa drew a sharp breath, her body trembling from the backlash of Kaeya’s corrupted dream.
Then—

BOOM.

Lisa was thrown back from the ritual circle.

She hit the floor hard, sweat beading across her forehead. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
Her hair was disheveled. Her eyes—normally calm and sharp—were now wide, rattled.
"...He's trapped."

Diluc bolted upright. "What do you mean?"

Lisa slowly sat up, still shaking. Her hand clutched the shattered remains of the ancient mirror.
"His dream isn’t a dream anymore. It’s an alternate reality now—built from Khaenri’ah’s memories and Abyss power."
"Kaeya can no longer tell what’s real."

Jean closed her eyes. Her shoulders stiffened.
"How long before he… can’t come back?"

Lisa glanced at them one by one.
Then her eyes fell on Kaeya—lying motionless, pale as snow-wax, sweat still dripping down his temple.
"If we don’t go in again... maybe a few days. At most."

Inside the dream…

Kaeya sat atop a black throne, high above ruins and broken time.
The sky over Mondstadt bled red—deep and torn like a wound left to rot.
The Knights' Tower lay in rubble. The statue of Barbatos—wingless.
Windrise burned.

And yet, Kaeya looked at peace.
"Luc... Do you see?"
"Here, I don’t have to pretend. They accept me—as I am. No matter who I’ve killed. No matter who I let die."

Someone stood beside him. Tall, cloaked in black, face veiled like smoke.
But the voice was familiar—deep, ancient, patient.
"Forget them, Kaeya."
"They cast you out before you were even born."
"But we... we always waited."

Kaeya looked up at the broken sky.
A faint smile ghosted his lips—too calm to be human.
"I don’t have to carry both worlds anymore."

"Just one."
"Choose us."

Back in the real world…
Kaeya spoke softly in his sleep.
But the voice that came out… wasn’t his.
"Mondstadt… where everyone wears a mask."
"Khaenri’ah… where monsters speak plainly."

Diluc sat by his side. His expression unreadable—his eyes stormy.
But his hand trembled as he reached for Kaeya’s fingers.
"Kaeya... if you can hear me… I’m not giving up."
"Let the world burn—I’ll still drag you back."

Kaeya let out a low, broken sound.
And for the first time—tears spilled down his cheeks, even as his eyes remained shut.

Lisa stared at the cracked mirror—now barely holding its light.
"I can open the path one more time," she said. "But this time… someone has to go in. Directly. No relay."

Jean turned sharply. Her voice was tense.
"You can’t mean—"

"I’ll go," Diluc said, standing.

"Diluc, no. If you go too deep—"

"Who else would he trust in there?"
"Jean? Lisa? No."
"He’ll run. But if he sees me… he’ll stop."
"Even if it’s to be angry. Even if it’s to hate me."

That night, the ritual was prepared again.
Lisa stepped into the circle, trembling but focused. Violet light rose from the stone floor.
The mirror—flickering—gave off one final glow before fracturing completely.
A whirl of light formed in the air—fragile, trembling—but enough for one.

Diluc closed his eyes.
And stepped through.

Inside...
He opened his eyes.

The sky was shattered. The ground burned black.
Mondstadt was no longer a city—only ash, silence, and the cries of ghosts too late to be saved.
From the direction of the charred Windrise, someone stood.

Kaeya.

Clad in black. His one visible eye glowing with cold blue light.
In his hand—a spear forged of the Abyss, dripping with dark power.
"Luc..."
"You came too."

Kaeya stepped forward. His voice was calm, but his gaze... hollow.
"Too late."

Chapter Text

Diluc opened his eyes in a world that wasn’t his.

The sky above was red and cracked, like thin glass on the verge of shattering.
The buildings of Mondstadt burned in silence.
No screams. No wind.
Only ash hung in the air—still, suffocating—
as if the entire world was holding its breath.

In the middle of Windrise’s ruins, Kaeya stood tall.
His black cloak flowed around him like living smoke.
His left eye glowed a pale, piercing blue—cutting through the emptiness.
And in his hand, an abyssal spear pulsed—
like a second heart, dark, deep, and demanding.

"Luc… you came too," he said flatly. "But you’re too late."

Diluc stepped forward.
His steps were heavy on the scorched earth, but the fire in his eyes didn’t waver.
"I will always come for you."
"Even if the entire world says it’s pointless."

Kaeya let out a low laugh. But it was hollow.
"You only say that because you haven’t seen what I’ve buried in here."
He raised his hand.
And the world responded.

The air around them trembled, shivering with memory.
Visions rose from ash and light:
—The stern yet proud face of Kaeya’s father in Khaenri’ah.
—The night Kaeya was left behind in Mondstadt, utterly alone.
—The moment he confessed who he truly was… and was met with cold fury.

"See?" Kaeya whispered.
"Everything I have is a lie. Even when I was honest, all I got in return… was hatred."

Diluc looked down.
"Because I was afraid," he said quietly.
"And I was a fool."

The visions shattered—cracked and collapsed like broken glass.

"Kaeya…" Diluc stepped closer.
"I know I’ve been a terrible brother. But don’t use my mistakes as a reason to erase yourself."

Kaeya looked up at the bleeding sky.
"If I had a choice, I would’ve wanted to be born ordinary."
"No secrets. No tainted blood. No pulse speaking in a language the world forgot."
"But I never had that choice, Luc.
I am what this world made of my body."

Now Diluc stood face-to-face with him.

"If you feel like an empty vessel," he whispered,
"then let me fill what’s left with something real."
"With little arguments, morning tea, and… people who will never stop waiting for you to come home."

Kaeya said nothing.

Behind them, shadows of the Abyss crept through broken trees like black roots climbing from dead soil.
They reached for Kaeya—
whispering in one voice, echoing from all directions:

"Time’s up."
"Choose."
"Us… or the world that never truly welcomed you."

Diluc stepped to Kaeya’s side, raising his Claymore.
"You’re not alone."

Kaeya lowered his head.
The voices in his mind rang like war bells.
But beneath the roar… another voice broke through.

Not a whisper. Not a command.
But a warm voice.
Small. Cracked. Familiar.

"Kaeya… come home."
"You don’t belong to them."

Kaeya’s eyes widened.
That voice…

Not his father’s. Not the Abyss.
It was his own.
A voice buried long ago beneath masks and lies.

His grip on the abyssal spear tightened—
then slowly, he let it go.
The weapon fell to the ground with a soft thud.
And with it, Kaeya collapsed into Diluc’s arms.
"I… I'm tired."

The dream world began to shatter.
Cracks spread from beneath their feet—up the sky, across the earth, through the air.
Everything broke.
Everything fell.

---

In the real world…
Kaeya gasped awake, body jerking before slowly settling again.
His face was wet with tears that hadn’t yet dried.

Lisa pulled her hand back from the mirror—now fully shattered.
"You made it out," she said, breathless, trembling with relief.

Kaeya turned his head. His eyes locked onto Diluc’s—
those usually sharp crimson eyes, now glistening with a fear too raw to hide.

Kaeya gave him a weak smile.
But it was real.
"You were right..." he whispered.
"I’m not alone."

Diluc lowered his head, breath shaky.
His hand clutched Kaeya’s—tight, anchoring, desperate to confirm he was real.
"And I won’t ever let you forget that again."

Chapter Text

Even after returning from the dream world, Kaeya had not truly recovered.
His body remained weak, and his eyes still looked clouded—
as though he were trapped somewhere between two realities.
Not just from exhaustion,
not just from pain—
but like someone who had come back from a battlefield no one could see,
and left a part of his soul behind.

Kaeya didn’t sleep that night.
His body trembled beneath the blanket pulled up to his neck.
Each time he closed his eyes, the fragments returned—
the broken sky, the blood on his hands, and the voice…
Always the voice.
Telling him he didn’t belong to himself.

Diluc sat silently in a chair by the bed.
His gaze fixed on the floor, but his ears perked at every change in Kaeya’s breathing.

Kaeya tried to sit up. But pain burst through his chest like fire.
"Agh—!"
He bit his lip hard, stifling the scream to not disturb the stillness of the night.

Diluc stood instantly, steadying his shoulder.
"Don’t push yourself."

"If I stay still… the voice comes back," Kaeya whispered, pale.
"I have to stay conscious. I have to stay... real."

Diluc lowered his gaze, gently gripping Kaeya’s arm.
"You’re here. With us. That’s real."

---

Dawn had yet to touch the sky when the Dawn Winery was cloaked in mist—
not the usual silvery white, but a faint, glowing purple... and it whispered.
Jean sent out an emergency signal.
But Mondstadt... wasn’t ready.

From the shadows, Abyss creatures began crawling between the vineyards and broken fences.
They didn’t attack—not yet.
But they waited.

Drawn by the mist, Kaeya now stood in the courtyard, on his knees, gasping for breath.
His eyes flickered blue every few seconds—
a pulse, like a dying light.

"They’re here for me," he murmured.
"They can... feel me again..."

Diluc unsheathed his Claymore.
Together with Jean and Lisa, they formed a shield around Kaeya—watchful. Defiant.
"You don’t belong to them," Diluc said.
"They will not take you."

But the mist replied with a cold voice:
"The vessel is cracked, but not broken."
"All we need is one more wound. One more breach."

The sky rumbled.
The wind died.

Then—
one note.
Soft.
Sharp.
Slicing the air.

And in an instant, the mist was torn apart.
A burst of divine wind roared, striking the Abyss creatures, hurling them back,
burning their shadows with light unseen.
The remaining creatures froze.
Paralyzed.
Still.

"—Am I late? Oops… I got lost in the vineyard. Too many pretty dandelions. Hard to resist!"

A small figure floated down from the sky, landing casually on a broken vine post—
Venti, plucking his lyre with one hand, that usual mischievous smile on his lips...
But this time, his eyes didn’t smile.
"Abyss, this land is mine. And you... were not welcomed."

Kaeya looked up slowly, his breath catching.
"...Venti…"

Venti smiled at him, then touched down silently between Kaeya and the Abyss.
But this time, the smile held no laughter.
Only sorrow.

"You called for me, Kaeya.
I heard a strange song echoing through my land—Mondstadt."
"A song of old blood. The song of a lost king."

Venti’s eyes softened as he looked at Kaeya.
Then turned to the gathering darkness.

He lifted his lyre and played one single note.
Only one.
But the wind answered with a howl.

"Kaeya is a child of two worlds—
but his body stands in Mondstadt."
"As long as the wind still blows in this land...
not one of you will touch him."

One of the Abyss creatures shrieked and lunged.
Venti smiled.
But not the smile of a bard.

The smile of a god.

Then he whispered:
"Go ahead…
and I’ll make you sing your final note, and blow your death song into the pit you came from."

One of the creatures hissed, leapt into the air, claws aimed at Kaeya.

But Venti raised two fingers.
The world stopped.

No—
not truly stopped,
but as if everything but him held its breath.

The air tightened.
The wind gathered at a single point.
And then—
it exploded.

Not just any wind.
This wasn’t a storm.
This was the will of the heavens long forgotten—
a divine breath tearing through reality itself.

The creature never touched the ground.

It was unmade—
not torn apart by force,
but by a harmony too pure for any dark thing to endure.

Its remains vanished,
swept away in a spiral of emerald light,
like dust never meant to touch sacred earth.

Venti did not move.
Did not chant.
Did not smile.

Only his eyes glowed—
commanding, as if all the air in the world bowed to one thing: sound.
Sound that could heal.
Or destroy.

The other creatures staggered back.
Some turned and fled.
The rest froze, trembling with primal fear.

Jean glanced at him, stunned.
Even she—with all her training, with her Vision—
felt the pulse of ancient magic in her bones.

And in that moment, she knew—

This was the Wind Archon.
Not a mere bard.
Not just a legend.
But one of the Seven,
the ones who carved laws into the sky itself.

And today—
he chose a side.

The Abyss creatures—dozens of them—retreated.
None dared approach again.
Slowly, they slithered back into the darkness.

Venti stood tall before Kaeya, one hand still holding his lyre,
which now glowed like a fallen star.

Then, as the tension faded, he walked closer—
the wind circling him in gentle spirals.
"I did not come as a bard," he said.
"But as an Archon."

He placed a hand on Kaeya’s chest—light as spring breeze.
From his fingers, a faint flute-like sound rang out.
Kaeya’s body tensed.
Then began to tremble.

"Your voice… is fractured," Venti whispered.
"Like two songs forced into one."
"But I’ll help tune it—if only for a while."

Kaeya collapsed into Diluc’s arms, his body burning like fire from within.
But for the first time since the dream—

There was no voice.
No song.
No call.

Only his own breath.
Only his heartbeat—still erratic,
but his.

Venti rose again, eyes narrowed.
"I can hold them off. But not forever."
"Khaenri’ah knows the ancient melodies. They can pierce the wind."

Jean stepped up beside them, injured, but unshaken.
"What do we do?"

Venti looked at Kaeya, then pointed north.
"We take him where the song began."
"Otherwise… he’ll unravel. From the inside out."

"The Chasm again?" Diluc asked, voice cracked like shattered stone.

Venti shook his head.
"No."
"We go to the first tree—
where Kaeya’s blood first crossed this world’s."

Kaeya opened his eyes, faintly.
His breath shallow.
"Luc… if I have to go there...
will you come with me?"

Diluc didn’t answer.
He only gripped Kaeya’s hand—tight.
"To the end."

Chapter Text

The journey northward was more than just a physical trek.
The farther Kaeya moved from Mondstadt, the louder the voices inside him grew.
But this time, they weren’t merely calling.
They were tempting.

“Kaeya Alberich. That name is not a burden. It’s a throne.”
“Those scars are not weakness. They’re proof that you were meant for more.”

Kaeya walked slowly through the snow of Sal Vindagnyr.
The wind pierced like knives to the bone, yet it was nothing compared to the storm in his mind.
It felt as though the world demanded he choose a side—with no room left to simply be himself.

Behind him, Diluc followed in silence. His hand never strayed far from his claymore, but his gaze was fixed more on Kaeya than the icy trail they tread.
Lisa and Jean kept pace behind, their elemental shields holding firm.
Venti—true to form had vanished the night before. But the winds he left behind still whispered the way.
On the third day, they reached the edge of a frozen lake.
At its center stood a black tree—alone, like a wound in the white expanse.
Its trunk was stone-like and hard, and its thick roots spread beneath the ice, gripping the earth as if it would never let go.
And from the tree’s bark, the voice came.

“You have returned, child of stolen blood.”
“Come. Remember your first form.”

Kaeya stepped onto the ice.
His steps faltered, but his resolve did not.
“Luc…” he whispered hoarsely. “If I stop being me… don’t fight. Run.”
Diluc replied without hesitation.

“Too many people have left you, Kaeya. I won’t be one of them.”

When Kaeya’s fingers touched the tree’s bark, the world split in two.
He stood between two realms: one frozen, choked with ancient roots, the other warm, bathed in golden light he did not recognize.
And there, in the light, stood a man in dark robes.
Eyes blue as the cold sea. A gaze… identical to Kaeya’s own.

His father.
“Kaeya.”

Kaeya froze. “This… this isn’t real.”

“True. But this is memory. Stored deep within your body. And there is something you must hear… before they take you completely.”

The memories poured in:
A night when Kaeya was still an infant, crying within a crystalline incubator.
Cold voices discussing his potential.
Talking of blood meant to bridge the abyss and the mortal world.
Of a plan he never chose.

“You weren’t born,” his father said. “You were designed. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to choose.”

He knelt. Eyes steady with pain he no longer tried to hide.
“I placed you in that world not to lead us back.
But so you could decide—who you wanted to become.”

Kaeya collapsed to his knees.
“Then why are they calling me again?” his voice broke. “Why won’t they let me live?”

His father looked at him—gentle, but unflinching.
“Because you’re the only path left. Kaeya… You’re not the key.
You’re the door.”

---

Shadows of the abyss began creeping from the tree, blackening the air.
They reached for Kaeya’s body in the real world, lying helpless in the snow.
Light and darkness clashed over him.
Ice cracked. Earth trembled. The sky seemed to scream.

Jean and Lisa fought to hold the line, guarding Kaeya from the shadows.
And Diluc—
stood between Kaeya and ruin. Bleeding, but unmoving.
“I know you can hear me!” he shouted. “I know you’re still YOU!”

Kaeya stood.
Between two worlds. Between two voices.
One was his father.
One was the abyss.

But his eyes focused only on one figure:
Diluc. Trembling. Bleeding. Still standing.
“It’s not blood that makes me real.”
“Not origin that gives me life.”
“But choice.”

Kaeya closed his eyes.
Inside, a voice answered. Not the abyss, not echoes of the past—
But his own.
Broken. Shattered. Honest.

“If I return… I’ll always feel half-empty.”
“If I stay… I’ll lose everyone who waited for me.”
“No matter where I stand, I’m wrong.”
“No matter what I choose, someone will get hurt.”

His tears fell—
Not with a sob. Not with a cry.
But quietly, like the first rain after a long drought.

Venti whispered on the wind,
“Not every song must end sweetly.
But you deserve to choose your own melody.”

Kaeya turned.
Toward Diluc.
Toward the land that had both hurt and protected him.

“I… want to choose not out of guilt.”
“Not because of blood.”
“But because… I want to live. Not just survive.”

His hand reached out.
Slowly.
Toward the world he had left.
Toward those still waiting.

The abyss screamed.
Dark roots lunged to seize his wrist—
But before they could touch him, wind seared them to ash.

And Kaeya—
finally stepped forward.

A crack of light burst from the first tree.
It blazed. The world trembled.
Light and dark collided within him.
His body convulsed—
Then he screamed—
a raw, echoing cry that shattered the invisible cage built around him since birth.

And the world collapsed.

When the snow finally stopped falling…
Kaeya lay still on the frozen earth.
His breaths shallow, his chest rising slowly.
But his eyes—
clear. Calm. Quiet.

“I… came back.”

Diluc rushed to his side, pulling him into a tight embrace despite his own wounds.
“Don’t leave again.”

Kaeya looked at him.
A faint smile on his lips.
“I won’t.
I finally know… whose voice I want to hear forever.”

Chapter Text

Kaeya stood before the black tree, its trunk not entirely buried.
The wind carried the scent of old metal and promises long unkept.
The sky above was neither blue nor gray—
Just… empty.
As if the world had forgotten how to paint itself for places like this.

Jean and the others had already returned to Mondstadt.
Diluc lingered at a distance. He had wanted to stay, but Kaeya had asked him softly, almost teasingly—
“If you stay, I’ll keep being a coward. And… I’m trying to stop doing that.”

Now, alone, Kaeya listened.
And for the first time, the voices did not scream.
Did not poison.
Did not command.
They simply… waited.

“Choose, heir.”
“Point your blade to this land and we shall awaken it.”
“Point it to the sky, and we shall fall silent.”

Simple.
Brutal.
Honest.

Kaeya looked at his hands.
They trembled.
Not from fear, but from knowing he no longer understood what victory meant.

Was it victory to return as Khaenri’ah’s son, to rise from ashes and reclaim?
Or was it victory to deny it all—even if that meant belonging nowhere?

“Mondstadt never fully embraced me.”
“Khaenri’ah only seeks me because I’m still breathing.”
“And I… I just want to be someone not shaped by what I’ve lost.”

He let out a quiet laugh.
His voice hoarse, soaked in truth.
“But of course, the world doesn’t care about longing.
The world only likes to collect answers.”

Kaeya raised his sword.
The air quivered.
“If I must be a legacy,” he said slowly,
“then let me rewrite what that means.”

He plunged his sword into the ground—
Not as a traitor.
Not as a son returned.
But as someone who chose where to stand.

And the land did not explode.
Did not crumble.
Did not roar.

It simply held still.
Then calmed.

For the first time…
Silence didn’t feel like a threat.
But like an answer—
One the world finally accepted.

Chapter Text

Kaeya didn’t heal overnight.
His body had returned to Mondstadt, but sometimes, his soul still lingered in the northern snow.
The abyssal voices no longer growled, but they hadn’t truly left.
They still lingered—like shadows that no longer bite, only watching from afar.
Silent. Patient.

That night, a gentle wind drifted through the window of Dawn Winery.
It brushed against the curtains like the notes of a flute, stirring the air with a sound barely heard.

Kaeya opened his eyes.
Perched on the window sill was a small bard—messy green hair, a tilted hat, and that ever-mischievous smile that always held something behind it—Venti.

“If I’d known you were actually listening to my songs all this time,” Venti said, plucking at his lyre with ease,
“I would've performed more seriously.”

Kaeya chuckled softly. His voice was hoarse, but warm.
“Your songs used to sound like jokes. Now... they feel like spells.”

Venti smiled, then stepped down from the window and walked gently to Kaeya’s bedside.
He sat at the edge, his movements as light as the wind.
“I can help strengthen the barrier between their voices and your heart,” he said calmly.
“But it requires one thing... something that can’t be bought.”

Kaeya sighed.
“What now? Blood? Memories? I’ve already given everything.”

“No.”
Venti shook his head slowly.
“I need… a song from you.”

Kaeya frowned.
“I don’t know how to sing.”

“But your heart does.”

Venti closed his eyes.
The air around the bed began to swirl, forming a gentle ring of wind.
It circled like butterfly wings, touching the walls, then returning—
as if searching for the center of sound.

“Picture a single note,” Venti whispered.
“Not one that was passed down. Not one that was taught.
But one that can only come from you.
And sing it… in silence.”

Kaeya closed his eyes.
Slowly. Hesitantly.
But deep inside, something began to rise.
Not words.
Not a perfect melody.
Just one voice—cracked, soft, and real.

“I want to live.”
“Even if I’m broken. Even if I’m not whole.
I want to live… as myself.”

The circle of wind glowed gently.
The lingering echoes of the abyss trembled—then faded.
Not banished.
But finally… released.

Venti opened his eyes and smiled faintly.
“Good,” he said quietly.
“The note of your heart is in tune again.
You’re not a broken song, Kaeya.
You’re just a song… that isn’t finished yet.”

Diluc stood in the doorway, watching everything without saying a word.
Venti turned to him.
“He’ll need time. But that note will hold…
as long as you stay.”

Diluc nodded, calm and firm.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

Kaeya looked at them.
There was weariness in his eyes,
but also a new peace.
A faint smile curved on his lips.

“If my life really is a song…
I’m grateful there are still people willing to listen.”

Venti laughed softly, light and crisp like dry leaves in the wind.
“And I’ll always come back…
when your melody begins to waver again.”

He leapt onto the windowsill, his body lifted by the breeze like a leaf.
No parting words needed—
only the lingering tune of his lyre left in the air.

Kaeya looked out at the sky beyond the window.
That night was truly quiet.
Not an empty quiet—
but a peaceful one.

Chapter Text

Healing doesn’t come like a wound wrapped in clean bandages.
Sometimes, what remains isn’t pain…
but the awkwardness that grows from silence left too long.
That was what lingered between Kaeya and Diluc.

After everything had settled—
after the world stopped pulling Kaeya in two different directions—
what was left wasn't victory,
but two brothers who had once hurt each other,
now sitting at the same table,
with so many things they’d never truly said aloud.

---

That morning, a brief rain passed.
Sunlight slowly filtered into the dining room of Dawn Winery,
illuminating the long table that remained mostly empty.

Kaeya sat at one end, stirring tea that had already gone cold.
Diluc entered silently.
He held the teapot—and somehow, somewhere along the way,
he had learned to pour tea without needing to ask.

Kaeya glanced over, then gave a faint smile.
“If this keeps up, I might start assuming…
you’ve missed having a little brother around the house.”

Diluc pulled out a chair. Sat. Slowly.
“If I said yes, would you run away?”

Kaeya laughed.
But this time, there was no sarcasm in it.
Only honesty—still learning how to walk again.

The silence between them was no longer a battlefield.
But a bridge being rebuilt,
one wooden plank at a time.

“Luc,” Kaeya spoke,
“I thought… it would take you longer to let me stay.”

Diluc looked out toward the vineyard. His eyes didn’t blink.
“Time doesn’t change who you are to me, Kaeya.
It only… made space for me to see again—
what I once refused to look at.”

Kaeya chuckled softly. Hollow, but true.
“You sure?
I’m not exactly good at being your little brother.”

Diluc took a deep breath.
“I’m not good at being your older brother either.”

And after a long pause, he added—
“So… let’s learn it together.”

---

In the days that followed, their closeness remained awkward—but real.
Sometimes they argued over small things:
tea that was too sweet,
a book borrowed without asking,
a window left open by mistake.

But nothing froze over in silence anymore.
Because in the midst of all the imperfection,
they finally began to understand...

...that home isn’t a place without wounds.
But a place where someone chooses to knock on the same door, again and again.
Because they know,
the person on the other side will still open it.

Chapter Text

Spring crept gently into Mondstadt.
At Dawn Winery, the vineyards bloomed earlier than usual.
Dandelions floated among the grass, dancing without purpose.
The sky no longer felt heavy, and the air carried the scent of soil awakening from a long cold slumber.

Kaeya walked slowly between the rows of vines, wrapped in a light cloak.
Each step was still heavy, but no longer dragged by fear.
The voices… no longer came.
Or perhaps they did. But now, he didn’t hear them.
Not because they vanished—
but because something else spoke first.
The wind.

Days passed. Not always kind.
Sometimes soft, like misty mornings.
Sometimes sharp, like shadows of a past left unfinished.
But now, he had something he’d never truly had before—
Willingness.

Willingness to be present,
to sit in spaces once filled only with silence,
to ask, even if the answer might hurt,
and to answer, slowly, haltingly, truthfully.

Kaeya was learning
that the empty rooms within him
were not meant to be hidden,
but slowly filled—
with voices, laughter and the courage to stay.

And Diluc…
learned that being an older brother
was not about keeping the world whole,
but about staying when the world fell apart.
About holding a trembling hand—
not to pull it away from pain,
but to say:
“I won’t leave you there alone.”

---

Atop the Cathedral tower, a lone bard stood.
His hat tilted, as always.
His eyes gazing far, as though reading the sky.
The lyre in his hands never truly silent.

Venti sang a song not written in any book—
a song about someone who wasn’t a hero,
nor a monster,
but a fragment that chose to live.

“Blue-haired boy, with the voice of two worlds~”
“You were never alone, even when you thought you were~”
“For the wind… will always come first, before you fall~”

---

That night, Kaeya stood by his bedroom window, looking up at the moon.
His eyes were tired—but peaceful.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. But he wasn’t afraid.

The wind brushed his hair gently,
whispering something that could only be felt—
not understood.

And in the breath before sleep took him, Kaeya whispered—
barely audible:
“Thank you... for still being there.”

There was no reply.
Only a single note—
soft, faint, carried by the wind—
before the night closed itself completely.