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Chapter Text

If there was one thing Venti knew with absolute certainty, it was that every wish came with a cost. No matter how selfless it was, there was always something taken in return. That was the logic of this world.

If only he understood at the time just how much he was truly giving up.

When he went to Thousand Wind Temple millennia ago, he begged the Shade of Time to lend him a fraction of her power so that he could keep his friend (as well as the city that formerly worshiped her) safe. Venti thought she would at least balk at his forwardness, scold him for overstepping his authority (which wasn’t anything at all), or to even turn her back on Mondstadt for forgetting about her under the tyrant’s reign.

He did not expect her to hum, the chimes of her halo echoing through the wind and she closed her eyes in thought. He waited in anticipation of her verdict–no doubt she was scouring the timeline to weigh the costs of her meddling. The Shades weren’t allowed to interfere with mortal affairs directly, after all.

Though this was exactly the exploit Venti hoped would work in his favor. He was nothing more than a meager, immortal Anemo spirit, bringing subtle changes for the better. Perhaps he could be useful to the Shade of Time as well—he just had to know her price.

“You would do this, not knowing of the repercussions it will cause?” Istaroth said quietly. “There are more than just simple terms that come with me giving you a fragment of my power. Tell me, wisp of wind, what do I stand to gain from such a transaction?”

Well, she at least seems interested, Venti thought to himself. “Almighty Ruler of Time, I am just an Anemo spirit, I know not what I can offer you that will appease you.” 

Istaroth tilted her head at him, finger tapping lightly on her cheek. “I know everything that has been, is, and will be. I know of your fate, and that of the precious friend you hold so dear to your heart. It will be your burden to bear, and one to bear alone.”

“I understand.”

“No,” she said distantly, looking somewhere beyond him. “Not yet, not now. But some day, yes, you will. A heart is a heavy burden, little one. You will be labelled a sinner for this action in the eyes of the Heavens, and thus, your fate will be bound to them until the moment of your prodigal return to my side. Even when everything falls to ruin, your fate will be inescapable.”

Venti didn’t understand everything the Shade of Time had said, but something within him told him not to press further, for he was unlikely to get a straightforward response. “Then there will come a point where I will serve you directly?”

“If things progress as expected…” she trailed off, running her hand along one of the chimes of her halo. “It is likely, though, that there will be other repercussions. Ones you will not know of for a long time. But for now, you merely need to record and bring me stories.”

“Stories?” Venti parroted, tilting his small frame in confusion. 

The Shade of Time nodded her head once. “My attention is infinitely divided across all instances of reality, both those that do and do not take. It is my duty to chronicle ‘history’ as humans refer to it, however, intricate details of importance are sometimes lost amidst the bigger picture.” Istaroth opened a palm, clockwork imagery springing to life and showcasing what appeared to be various timelines. “That is where you come in. A tiny breeze floating amidst the world can fill these essential loopholes in our story. Your experiences and knowledge of this world will tell me which seeds to nurture, and where weeds must be pruned if we are to reach the optimal ending.”

Venti flinched back slightly in the air, surprised at the rather…indifferent tone in the Shade of Time’s voice. “But…how will I know what matters to you? To Teyvat? Isn’t everyone and everything important?”

“You will understand in due time,” she said simply. “Should you accept, of course. My power will become yours, and with it, the burden of what is relevant and what is not will become clear to you.”

Venti looked around for a moment in thought, weighing the cost of accepting the Shade of Time’s proposal.

“Oh, I do so long to see the birds in flight!” Cecil said to him one afternoon, giving a melancholic sigh as he looked up at the wind barrier. “And to gaze upon the sun, so large and round, gleaming oh so bright! Pray tell, will the skies be that beautiful, boundless blue? And at night, will countless stars shimmer too?”

Venti closed his eyes, knowing that whatever price there was to pay for this wish—becoming a sinner or selling his fate to the Heavens—it would be worth it to see Cecil and Mondstadt freed.

“I accept your terms.”

Istaroth beckoned Venti closer, outstretching a palm for him to rest on. “Then tell me, formerly nameless wind now bound to the name ‘Venti’, what is your greatest wish?”

Venti straightened his posture. Well, as much as he could for a tiny spirit. “I wish to be able to protect those closest to me in Mondstadt–to allow my dearest friend to see the sky as he has so desperately yearned for his entire life, and for everyone to be truly free.”

Something in Istaroth’s perfectly neutral expression falters. A ghost of a frown, only for a moment, before she sighs and bows her head.

“Very well, I grant you an extension of my power. You will serve as my eyes in this world until the time comes for me to return. And remember, little one, this is the curse you bear for loving humanity.”

Contrary to what Venti imagines will happen when being bestowed power from one of the strongest entities in the entirety of Teyvat, it’s a lackluster event. She gives him a poke in the emblem in the center of his chest, a small blue glow appears, and then nothing. He feels no different, no more powerful than when he first arrived, which he articulates eloquently with an: “Uh…”

“It was successful, no need to fret.” Istaorth says gently, as if speaking to a child. “The powers will reveal themselves when required and as you build a tolerance for them.” She inclined her chin, indicating for Venti to vacate her palm. “For now, I am required elsewhere. Until we meet again, little wisp of wind.”

And Venti was alone at the temple, with only his thoughts for company.

When he arrives back in Mondstadt, he makes no mention of his trip to Thousand Winds Temple, nor his new abilities. Something told him this was something best kept to himself.

Beyond enhancing his innate wind abilities, Venti seems nor feels any different. Cecil, and the rest of the revolutionaries, see his power gain as something caused by their belief in the little Anemo spirit.

Venti does not correct them.

The moment the barrier falls and Venti watches as Cecil bleeds out in the knight’s arms, he’s given the first true taste of Istaroth’s powers.

It’s sudden and overwhelming—glimpses of things foretold to occur, yet obscured and shifting as though not entirely set in stone. A man with curling golden horns stares at him longingly, him sitting in a throne high above, and a calamity that pales any other.

“Venti?” His friend calls gently, worriedly. The wisp of wind shakes himself, moving to hover at the bard’s cheek, expression solemn. “Do not mourn for me little elf, it’s okay. We are free at last, and I finally got to see the sky and birds in flight. Ah, there truly is no greater delight….”

Cecil passes a few moments later, and Venti feels a heaviness settle in his small frame unlike any other he’s experienced before. His emotions bleed into the wind, causing the snow to fling into the air.

The knight and Gunnhildr watched in worry, too drowned in their own grief to settle the tempest Venti had become in his despair. 

It’s a few hours later, when the sun is nearly set and long after Venti has calmed himself, do envoys descend from Celestia and crown him as Anemo Archon. 

There is no celebration by him or the people. It is a somber occasion. He doesn’t want to be a god, and the people don’t want to be ruled by one.

He makes no protest as invisible shackles place themselves upon his newly human form. If this is what he must endure for his friend’s dream and to see Mondstadt free, then so be it.

It’s then that he begins to understand the consequences of his wish.

Years pass, and Mondstadt eventually thrives after he’s reshaped the land. The people are thankful to him—their resentment towards all gods seemingly forgotten after being blessed with perfect weather, fields, and health. Any god would applaud themselves at a job well done, but not Venti.

All he wants to do is slip into the anonymity he once had as an aimless Anemo spirit, but that’s difficult with a pair of large wings at his back and draped in the finery of the Heavens. 

So, one day, he adopts the guise of a mortal bard like Cecil. He tells Gunnhildr of his plan—the knight, Brend Ragnvindr, had departed a few years prior insisting on making his own way in the world—and she had apprehensively accepted. They made up a story about Lord Barbatos being summoned back to Celestia, and a few weeks later, Venti the Bard appears. He expected at least someone to see through his ploy, but surprisingly, no one does.

How strange, but he opts not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Things carry on in this new normal for a while. He busks around Mondstadt and sleeps wherever the breeze calls for him to rest his weary head. Mondstadt is happy, and he is happy.

The cycle is broken one day at where some new faces arrive wearing clothing he’s unfamiliar with. It reminds him of what the people in the land west of Mondstadt wore, but it was decidedly different than he remembered it being.

He listens as they chat with the other marketgoers towards the city gates. They brought samples of their silks and some regional specialties, saying that the newly appointed Geo Archon had finally made the ancient roadways safe for passage again, and had united the area into what was now known as 'Liyue'. 

A flash of golden horns and diamond-shaped pupils filled Venti’s vision. The man’s expression was resolute as he inclined his head politely.

Who is he? Venti thought to himself, I saw him once before, could this be one of the ‘stories’ she wants me to investigate? Is he the Geo Archon?

As he makes his way to Gunnhildr’s abode, he finds that he can’t recall the last time he’s visited her. She’s been so busy that he feels guilty taking up any amount of her time. 

With a song on his lips, he knocks on the door to her home three times. He amuses himself by rocking back and forth on his feet, stopping once the door opens and he’s greeted by an unfamiliar face.

“Oh, hello,” the young teenager says, looking like Gunnhildr but also not. “You’re that bard, right? Can I help you with something?”

“Um,” Venti licks his lips, not having expected someone other than Gunnhildr to answer the door. “Is Gunnhildr home?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, mother? Yes, she’s in her office. Is it something urgent?”

Mother?! Venti balks, eyes scanning the girl. Surely she would have told me something as important as this? Maybe she adopted a child?

“I-it’ll be quick, I just need to inform her of something.”

“Well, all right,” she acquiesces. “Just know she’s a busy woman.”

Venti nods and swallows nervously as he follows her stoically through the home, eyes trailing over the portraits. 

It was clear that it had been years since they last spoke, and Venti feels guilt welling up inside him.

The pair stop in front of an ornate oak door. Her daughter knocks thrice. “Mother, you have a visitor.”

“Let them in, Berit.”

Berit nods and opens the door for Venti, and he’s surprised by Gunnhildr’s appearance. Her face has far more wrinkles than he remembers, and her hair is more silvery than golden. He steps in slowly, cautiously, flinching when he hears the door click shut behind him.

“Well, well, I was wondering when the infamous silver-tongued bard would stop by.” Gunnhildr sets down her quill and smiles gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Venti. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Venti blinks. Was she messing with him?

“Sorry I didn’t stop by earlier,” he chooses to say, inspecting her office. “A lot has changed since I last saw you. I didn’t even know you had a daughter!”

Something he says seems to disturb her. “Have we met before?”

“That’s not funny, Gunnhildr.”

“I am not playing games,” she says seriously, standing up and one hand moving to rest on the pommel of her sword. “I would surely know if we’ve met before.”

Venti feels his stomach drop. “Gunnhildr, it’s me, it’s Venti.” When he sees no recognition in her eyes, he tries something else. “We were there together at the end of the revolution—when Decarabian’s tower fell.”

Her eyes narrow sternly. “It’s too early to be drinking, bard.”

Venti’s jaw slackens in horror. “Gunnhildr, surely—” He flinches at her expression, shoulders sinking. “You really don’t remember me.”

It’s clear something in the way he says it causes her to falter, and her firm expression softens minutely. “I’m…sorry. That was both one of the best and worst days of my life.”

“Too many deaths,” he says quietly, lost in the memories of that day. “We said no more gods, but I still became one.”

“Became a god…?” Gunnhildr ponders, suddenly approaching the bard. He can feel her breathing pick up through the wind. “Wait a moment…Lord Barbatos?”

He gave a sheepish chuckle. “That’s me…”

Gunnhildr's eyes widen and she inhales suddenly, hand going to her head and knees wobbling unsteadily. Venti catches her effortlessly, gentle reassurances flowing from his lips. 

“Lord Bar—Venti,” Gunnhildr breathes, pulling back just enough to look at his face and inspect him. “How could I forget one of my dearest friends?”

The bard gave another nervous laugh. “Well, it also seems that I lost track of time a bit…. Belated congratulations on having a daughter, she takes after you.”

Gunnhildr smiles, and for the first time since he walked through the door, he finally feels the coil around his heart relent just a bit. “Thank you, and again, I’m sorry for my…memory slipping. My age must finally be getting to me.” 

Venti doubted that, but opted not to say anything. He had seen humans twice her age with their wits about them. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she had been overworking again.

“Anyway, what brings you here?” She continues, sitting back at her desk. “I know you prefer to keep your distance when it comes to matters of Mondstadt’s governance, unless….”

“No, no,” he says hurriedly, “It’s about the land to the west. Liyue, I think it goes by now.”

“Oh? Now that you mention it, I have been hearing some rather interesting reports from there.” Gunnhildr shuffles the paperwork at her desk, finding one that looks more like a quick letter than a formal report. “We’ve seen an uptick in visitors from there. Something about trade routes opening and some dangerous feuds finally settled. Perhaps we should send a delegation there to establish relations….”

“Actually, it’s funny you mention that,” he turned to look out the office window, which just so happened to face Dragonspine. “I was thinking of visiting to meet the Geo Archon. Might as well get to know my colleague, after all. Oh, do you think he’s one for festivals or drinking?” 

Gunnhildr’s lips quirked up, knowing the bard’s penchant for indulging in alcohol of any variety. “Your stamina is likely to be unmatched by anyone, god or not. Though, I would caution you to not be too…forward.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

The clan head hummed. “From my limited visits and interactions with people from Liyue, contracts, honesty and tradition are paramount.”

Venti tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t see the problem.”  

“You’re a bit of a…free spirit.” Gunnhildr said delicately, which Venti readily agreed to. “The Geo Archon is also one that emphasizes ‘Order’ to my understanding. Your carefree approach to things he may find…distasteful.”

“Oh,” Venti says quietly. “Well, I do have a way with words and song, courtesy of Cecil. Maybe I can win him over that way?” The former Anemo spirit taps on his cheek, already trying to come up with new verses for the occasion.

“Though I do suppose it would be best for you to introduce yourself first. Then, you can inform me of how your visit went and we can see about exchanging a more formal delegation between respected human officials and get a more formal trade route established.” 

“That makes sense,” Venti agrees readily, a warm smile on his face. “I promise to do my best to make Mondstadt proud!”

Venti isn’t far into Liyue’s territory when a small group of illuminated beasts—adepti, they call themselves—stop him in his tracks. 

“Identify yourself and your intentions, strange one.” The buck says sternly. His companions, two cranes, watch and poised to act at a moment’s notice. 

But the bard isn’t dissuaded. They’ve just come out of a long and violent war, unease and suspicion were natural reactions to a strange and powerful foreigner on their lands, after all.

“In this mortal guise, I’m Venti, a humble bard.” He says, bowing politely and sweeping his cape for dramatic effect. “Though, to a select few, I am also Lord Barbatos, Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. I’ve come to meet with the Geo Archon and see if we can become friends!’ He manifested a bottle of wine. “See, I even brought a gift!”

“A-Anemo Archon?!” The three adept politely inclined their heads respectively. “Forgive us, Lord Barbatos, we did not know—”

“Aw, it’s fine, don’t worry!” He waves his free hand. “I like my anonymity and I didn’t necessarily announce my arrival beforehand. Sorry about that, ehe!”

The three adepti share a look, puzzled at the carefree and aloof nature of the neighboring archon. “Rex Lapis is busy at the moment attending to some affairs, but we can take you to a place where we can give you a proper welcome. However, it is atop a mountain peak, so—”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all!” Venti summons the wind, taking on his archon attire complete with wings. “Lead the way!”

The adepti weren’t very good entertainers, Venti had to admit. It was obvious they were a more reclusive bunch, but what they lacked in conversation, they made up for in hospitality. They gave him a variety of dishes to sample, some finely brewed tea, and upon him asking, explained how the sharp pointed mountains of Liyue came to be.

“Rex Lapis would cast down the ‘Wrath of the Rock’ upon vengeful gods, and in many instances this took the shape of his spear. Most of the mountains of Liyue were formed this way.” Moon Carver said, gesturing to a particular mountain formation. “Some are less pointed than others due to erosion from over the centuries.”

The bard hums, carefully taking a sip of his tea. It was bitter and sat heavily on his tongue, but he suppressed any outward expression for the sake of diplomacy. “He sounds like a fierce god.”

“Oh, our lord is,” the crane, Cloud Retainer, agrees readily. “One would be hard pressed to find a god mightier than he.”

Venti laughs, choking on his tea at her bold proclamation.

“Ah, One meant no offense.”

“None taken,” he says while setting down his cup. “I never wanted to be a god or archon, so I’m perfectly content to hide in the shadows.”

“Is that so?” 

Venti turns his head at the new voice, and his jaw drops. It’s the man from his visions–the one with amber eyes and golden horns, posture immaculate and hands clasped behind him respectfully. He feels his heart hammer in his chest and he stands up abruptly, the tips of his wings caressing the edge of the store table in his haste.

For the first time in his existence, Venti doesn’t know what to say. He bites his lip, syllables dancing at the tip of his tongue, but nothing that comes to mind sounds right. So, he manifests the bottle of vintage dandelion wine in his outstretched hands. “F-for you,” he says, cringing at the stutter.

The Geo Archon’s face is unreadable, and it takes all of Venti’s willpower to keep his wings from trembling in anticipation. Will he like it? Should he have brought something grander for a first meeting?

“Thank you.” Rex Lapis moves to take the bottle from his hands, and Venti couldn’t help but gasp at the rough texture of the other’s palms while simultaneously transfixed by the beautiful geometric patterns trailing up his forearms. “Shall we savor what you’ve brought for us, Anemo Archon?”

Venti swallows and takes a calming breath. “I would enjoy that, Geo Archon.”

“Please,” he says, extending a hand to shake. “Call me Morax.”

Venti grasps his hand, noticing how small his hand is in comparison. “And I’m Barbatos. It’s, um, very nice to finally meet you!”

Morax’s expression softens minutely, a ghost of a smile appearing. “Likewise,”

Oh, Venti was doomed.

Chapter Text

When the dragon was young, there were three moons in the sky—but never at once, always changing and passing the mantle with unerring precision. The three moon goddesses, having been created by the ancient dragon king himself, were tasked with overseeing the world in his absence as he searched for more knowledge.

The goddesses, focused firstmost on maintaining the moon chariot and their positions in the sky, came together and fractured their own power, kuuvahki, into seven elements that would allow their creations to more readily govern the world below as they tended to the heavens.

These beings became known as the Seven Sovereigns—the progenitors of dragonkind and the first species to roam Teyvat.

The dragonling came into existence sometime after this, never knowing their parents, but feeling a particular inclination toward the Geo element. Although they could fly like other of their kin, they preferred to stay close to the earth, carefully tending to their den and collecting items with a degree of perfectionism that others considered strange.

But that didn’t matter to them. 

By the time the dragonling reached the beginning of what one would consider ‘adolescence’, there was a great war. A war so grand that all of the Sovereigns participated, and the Moon Goddesses urged the Dragon King to return from his sojourn beyond.

The Dragon King returned, and with a mighty roar, entered the fight.

During this time, the little dragon hid themself away, buried beneath the rubble. Many other dragons fought, both older and younger than them, but they knew that if the Dragon King and Sovereigns were struggling against the mysterious entity and their four counterparts, what chance did they stand?

At one point, they bore witness to the Dragon King and the mysterious entity locked in aerial combat. The strange, bipedal creatures seemed largely unscathed, whereas the bodies of several Sovereigns had fallen to the scorched earth and churning waters below. 

The little dragon had crawled closer to the ledge they were peeking around, their curiosity getting the better of them. They watched as a pink miasma began to build in the Dragon King’s mouth, and all at once fired on the mysterious being.

The being deflected with a mere gesture, and the Dragon King recoiled in a mixture of shock and panic, unable to stop himself as the terrifying beam continued undeterred, ravaging the land.

The little dragon could hear the desolation in the Dragon King’s roar. How it pained him to tear apart what he had so lovingly created.

The young dragon crouched closer to the ground as the earth shook around them, loose rocks tumbling harmlessly off their scaled back. They watched helplessly as the Dragon King turned his head skyward, exposing his soft throat and underbelly as he directed the uncontrolled attack into the sky above.

It was all they needed. The entity and their four counterparts rushed in at once, pinning the Dragon King before driving a sharp object into his flesh. 

The little dragon watched in horror as the Dragon King’s eyes turned pink, maw clacking in rage as the beam finally fizzed out. He twisted and turned, making his injuries worse.

There was a cry from one of the entity’s companions, and they disappeared instantly. The little dragon watched on, confused.

That was, until Dragon King gave another roar, light seeping out from the pores in his body.

Then, everything was white.

The Moon Goddesses reluctantly bowed to the Heavenly Principles in the wake of Nibelung’s defeat, offering them a portion of their power to mend the broken Teyvat. Their power was seeped deep into the land, and the three knew it was instrumental in saving their progenitor’s first creation.

Even if it meant siding with the enemy until what was reflected in Teyvat’s oceans in the dim moonlight came to pass, they would do what they had to…but they would remain fiercely loyal until the day of Nibelung’s prophesied return.

As the divine nails carved from the three goddess' power fell into the land, they watched as it restored the fragile Ley Lines, yet causing untold devastation in the areas surrounding them. Then, the Heavenly Principles took it a step further, terraforming the land to cultivate it for a special project.

That project being humanity.

The dragon watched as the strange bipedal creatures began to wander the lands in the absence of their kin. They had not seen one like themselves for far too long. Although the dragon had been reclusive by nature, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness watching this new species from afar.

Something that had not been present before the Heavenly Principles—Time and Seasons—began to shape how the dragon saw the world around them. Many cycles passed, and gradually, over time, the dragon found themself edging closer and closer to the bipedals, but always carefully out of sight. Humans, they called themselves, and the dragon couldn’t help but marvel at what they built for themselves under the guidance of the Heavenly Envoys. They had safe places to rest at night, food in their bellies—they wanted for naught. 

One day, in the midst of the season where coldness seeped into the ground and the dragon took to basking to keep themself warm, they heard shouting from the humans. They knew not why they raised their hackles at the envoys, but the dragon knew better than to interfere.

The Heavenly Envoys appeared uncertain what to do, and called forth one of the Shades.

The dragon watched from far away as the powerful entity calmly and resolutely issued her decree. They knew not the words that were spoken, only that those that were spared were sent into the wilds to survive on their own while the Heavenly Envoys and those that remained stayed inside.

The dragon did not see the humans that protested again.

A few nights later, the dragon heard cries pierce the silence, the sharp tang of iron filling the breeze. They crawled from their den to investigate, using the underbrush and superior senses to remain undetected. 

What they saw surprised them greatly.

It looked like one of their kin, but they smelled like a rotting corpse, sickly pinkish miasma pouring from around its mouth where it bit onto a human. The human, a female cradling a smaller one wrapped in blankets against her chest, furiously kicked at the beast with her free foot. 

The dragon gave a warning snarl, attempting to break up the scuffle without having to resort to a fight.

But something was wrong with their kin. They did not respond appropriately, instead doubling its efforts into tearing the flesh from the human. It cared not that it was trespassing, nor the seemingly contagious poison they seemed to be carrying, if the miasma seeping into the human was any indication.

The dragon slapped their tail against the ground, causing shards of Geo to erupt between the two and separating them. The human backed away and clutched their bundle, making themselves smaller in the dragon’s presence and noise coming from her mouth.

The dragon did not understand the human way of communication, but the body language was clear: submissive, no threat. This was a mother protecting her offspring, something the dragon understood.

Their kin, however, reared back angrily and thrashed about. They gave another warning snarl toward their poisoned kin in hopes of shaking them from their state, but it was unsuccessful.

With an adept precision they had honed over the years of staying hidden while feeding themself, the dragon carefully launched a spike of Geo into the rampaging dragon’s chest.

The enraged dragon froze, falling to the side and disappearing into a pinkish swirling smoke. The dragon recoiled at the acrid scent of decay and rot, shaking their head and backing away from the dusty remains.

Their tail bumped against something. Turning around, it was the woman and her offspring, the former looking increasingly pale while the offspring wailed. She was breathing heavily, murmuring things to them that they did not understand. 

It was then that the dragon caught sight of something shiny hanging from the woman’s neck. The human noticed this, removing it slowly and offering it to them with her head bowed.

The dragon breathed over the gem, Cor Lapis, not unlike the gemstone that made up their own back. The mother gestured from the gem to her offspring, her eyes flicking down to the injured leg that only seemed to be growing worse.

They need not understand her language to understand her plea. 

They exhaled over the gem, coiling their long serpentine body around the pair with their fluffy tail conveniently resting on the offspring to keep them warm.

They felt the human’s shoulders sag in relief, soft whimpers muffled into their mane.

Several hours later, dawn still some time away, they heard the mother’s breathing pick up. The human had grown progressively more warm throughout the night, shaking as the throes of poison gripped her.

The dragon perked its head up when the mother stood up weakly, confusion settling in when the human placed the sleeping offspring in their coiled form. Their eyes met, and the dragon understood.

She did not wish for her offspring to see her die.

They gave a gentle grunt, inclining their head and nuzzling the offspring as their mother limped behind a tree. Out of sight, but within hearing range.

She died before the sun rose.

The dragon did not know what to do with human offspring. The only den they were familiar with no longer existed due to the Shade, so they waited, sun rising as they kept the child warm. 

The offspring cried, but they could only do so much to console them. The offspring would cry until they grew tired and fell asleep, and the cycle repeated.

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that the dragon heard footsteps–other humans. They coiled their tail tighter around the offspring, apprehensive at other humans approaching. And yet, they did not move, finding themselves strangely rooted to the spot.

Unsurprisingly, the humans discovered them and the offspring they protected, shock evident on their faces. They saw the claw marks in the dirt, the pile of ash, and one of the humans called to the other upon finding the deceased mother.

A Heavenly Envoy approached, the humans parting for them. They said nothing, merely watching the dragon with thinly veiled interest as they leaned forward and picked up the offspring.

The dragon knew better than to protest despite the instinct rising up. They had seen an envoy summon a Shade, and they had no interest in meeting one face-to-face. 

The envoy said something to them, perhaps an expression of gratitude based on the soft, melodic voice they spoke in, but the dragon couldn’t be sure. 

The envoy said something aloud, causing the humans to kneel. A hole tore into the sky, and out she came.

The Shade. The very same one he had watched destroy a civilization.

The Shade said nothing at first, listening as the envoy spoke with calm certainty. Then, a smile grew on her face, one with too many teeth that caused the dragon to tense.

The Shade hovered as she grew closer, amber eyes peering into their own, as if measuring their soul. The dragon did not cower—there was no sense in running from a Shade. 

The Shade looked at the Geo spikes from when they had separated their kin from the human mother, hand running down the dragon’s scales and mane much to their discomfort. She walked around them, not dissimilar to how they inspected their kin from afar when they were still a hatchling. 

The Shade said something to the envoy, a cube of red energy manifesting her hand before she pierced their chest with it, a terrified roar escaping them. 

Their body felt as though it were burning alive, twisting and reforming into something new. Their back shortened and limbs lengthened, they felt the breeze intensify, as though the scales that had previously protected them from the elements had faded away. 

Then, the Shade pulled her hand from their chest and they fell to the ground, the earth hurting much more than before as their limbs refused to cooperate.

“That is much better.”

The dragon snapped their head up, but not before catching sight of the soft flesh their claws had now become. Like a human’s.

They inspected their body, finding that their form now reflected a human, except for the long tail that coiled around their leg. Their head felt strangely heavy, and reaching up with their more dexterous hand, felt the curvature of their horns.

Human, but not quite.

“I bestowed upon you the blessing of ‘Space’, dragon.” The Shade said simply, with no inflection. “Unlike your kin, you have shown promise in caring for humanity, so I have unshackled you from your primitive form and have given you the capacity to become more. But seeing as you were not human before, you require a name….”

The Shade leaned in closer, the menacing aura returning and rivaling the day they had witnessed her slay Nibelung alongside her companions. “I am Asomday, Shade of Space and Sustainer of the Heavenly Principles. Let’s forge a contract, shall we, Morax?”

Their contract, if it could be called that, was for Morax protect humanity in exchange for a portion of Asmoday's powers. To the former dragon, this ‘contract’ seemed to be quite open-ended, a sharp juxtaposition to the rigid rules set forth by the Heavenly Principles.

The Shade did not linger more than necessary, leaving them in the hands of the envoy and group of humans, disappearing in a swirl of stars.

The envoy proclaimed that they were now their protector. To worship Morax meant that they would be able to better protect them from the dangers that lurked in the shadows, something that the Shades did not have time to deal with.

If the danger lurking in the shadows was anything like the poisoned kin they had fought, they were surprised the Shades–or no one else for that matter—had decided to intervene.

The envoy handed off the offspring to another–a family member it seemed–and helped Morax to their feet, summoning an elaborate piece of clothing made of the earthly tones their draconic form bore. Morax dressed themselves, and once the envoy was satisfied, placed a hand at the small of their back, encouraging them toward the village.

That night, with the moonlight glowing in the pond attached to his new…abode, Morax inspected themselves more thoroughly. Their horns and tail were still on display, something the envoy told them earlier would become easier as they ‘settled’. 

Morax did not know what they meant, words still foreign with a too—small mouth and tongue, and merely nodded. The envoy and humans began to refer to them as ‘he’, something that didn’t exist in dragon language beyond the Dragon King. The envoy attempted to explain the nuances of gender and reproduction to the former dragon, but yet again, they found themselves nodding along.

He, now, he supposed.

One thing that did not escape Morax’s scrutinizing gaze were his new diamond shaped irises resting inside perfect circles. Gone were the thin slits of his kin, but the rich amber hue remained, like a geode inside a cracked rock.

If the Dragon King saw Morax now, he would surely be a disappointment. 

And yet, taking care of that offspring had filled a hole in his chest he didn’t know he possessed.

He bowed his head to the moon in the sky tonight—the Eternal Moon, Aria—and whispered a prayer. For so long as they too watched over what this world had become after Nibelung's defeat, so too, would he.

Adapting to a human body became easier with time. His years alive predating humans helped when they encountered things in the wild they had never seen before. They sought his counsel, far more than the celestial envoy’s, which was also likely due their increasing disappearances.

The people began to demand more of Morax in exchange for their prayers and offerings, something that he agreed to readily at first, soaking up the power and defending the land and people within. But as requests grew more and more, he drew upon his experience with Shade.

Contracts.

Before the envoy’s frequent disappearances, they taught him many things such as reading and writing. Such things, the envoy stressed, were crucial to those tasked with watching over humanity.

Morax took every lesson in stride, absorbing all knowledge he could meticulously. He had learned everything up until this point through careful observance and it served him well.

Hopefully it will continue to.

He was reading over a contract between two farmers when he felt a disturbance in the Ley Lines. Morax grasped at his chest, nails digging into the robes he had grown accustomed to wearing. He could hear the humans panic, shouting and asking if he was well, but one of the aides he had taken on calmly reassured them.

That was, until a deafening roar sounded from above, the shockwave causing a sudden microburst of wind toward the ground, flattening many homes instantly. 

The weight in Morax’s chest intensified—whether it was from the original disturbance or the screams of pain from the humans he protected, he wasn’t sure.

His aide covered her mouth in fear, hand shaking as she pointed toward the heavens

Morax looked up and saw the Moon Sisters battling it out in the daytime sky. They fought over the chariot that controlled the sky, each hit upon the other resonating through the Ley Lines.

Morax knew there was nothing he could do to stop them. He shed his human appearance as the envoy had taught him, calling upon the Geo element to create a protective shield over the small village he had learned to call home.

It took all of his strength to maintain the barrier, fueled by the prayers of the people below him.

He would not falter.

When Morax no longer felt the hammering against the rocky shield, he tentatively dropped it enough to see through.

What he saw horrified him. The remains of two moons shattered hovered in the sky, while the third and smallest, the Iridescent Moon, was no longer there. He felt his breathing pick up, not sure what had just transpired.

And then he saw her—Asmoday, the Shade of Space. She waved a hand across the sky, and everything was like it always should be. 

She must’ve felt his eyes on her, for she turned and held up a single finger to her lips, before disappearing.

Unbeknownst to Morax, the Heavens conspired against the Moon Sisters, turning them against each other.

It was another win for the Heavenly Principles.

The Heavens became silent after this. All envoys had been recalled, and just like the human civilization from long ago, Morax never saw them again.

But in their place appeared strange teal spirits, eager to guide lost humans back home.

One remained by Morax’s side from a time. Hovering and floating, distant yet present. It was strange. Morax did not mind their presence. 

One night, his curiosity got the better of him once more. He followed the spirit beneath the fake moon’s light toward the center of the village, where a small statue had emerged seemingly from nowhere. He had been busy as of late—between mounting demands from the villagers and the strange entities like his kin from years prior starting to appear more frequently, it forced him to leave more regularly to deal with threats.

And yet, he had no recollection of this statue.

As the spirit settled into the statue, a small teal flame appeared beneath its wings, and a spear matching his draconic form manifested.

He exhaled, his hands shaking as he grasped the weapon. His aura flowed through it perfectly, its weight perfect.

He bowed his head, an amber tear falling from his cheek and coalescing into a geode before it thunked to the soft dirt.

“It seems a tragic fate has befallen you,” Morax whispered, clutching the weapon tighter. “And yet that seems not to have shaken your resolve.”

The spirit did not acknowledge Morax.

He placed the geode at the base of the statue, kneeling in prayer as he had seen the villagers do to him time and time again. He lifted the spear with both hands, moonlight highlighting the exquisite detailing.

“I know not what you said that day to…her, and we never spoke of it again, but I cannot help but feel as though you were the one that spared me the fate of my kin.” Morax swallowed. “This is my contract to you: I will take up the mantle of protecting and nurturing these people until my dying breath, just as you did with me all those years ago. This is set in stone, unbreakable, even if the ground beneath us crumbles away…I pledge this to you, friend.”

The moonlight disappeared behind the clouds, and Morax returned home with a heavy heart and new weight upon his shoulders.

Chapter Text

“My Lord, there is a god at the village gates that wishes to speak with you.”

Morax placed his quill in the ink well next to the contract he was reviewing, clasping his hands under his chin. “Is that so?”

Gods had been appearing more and more through the centuries. There were easily hundreds now—too many to keep up with for a more reclusive god like Morax. If it truly was a god waiting at the front gates…that would be a first. 

The gods he had run into had been young, naive things. They charged head-on into matters without thought and weapons drawn. These new gods formed around concepts the humans worshiped, and that first taste of power for many found itself too tempting for them to resist. So they consumed, more and more, stealing worshipers and land until they ultimately came across someone that put them in their place.

And more often than not, that god was Morax. He did not thrill in bloodshed, but it seemed to follow him at this point. It was a necessity, and one that he, fortunately or unfortunately, seemed to excel at.

Especially since his late friend’s gift.

And just like that fateful day so many years ago when he protected that infant, he took in the humans that had been subjugated by their respective gods after their demise. 

To say he had been horrified by what they had endured was a gross understatement.

Morax relied on contracts to keep everything fair and balanced–that was how everything should be, in his opinion. The people he watched over prayed to him of their own volition, not forced until they were beaten and starving and on the verge of death. That…was unfortunately more common than not.

There had been many over the years that Morax couldn’t save, and for every person he couldn’t, he vowed to do better. Be better, grow stronger. He would be as steadfast as the earth beneath him.

In that time, his fondness of humans grew, incredibly and irrevocably so. They held his heart in their hands, whether or not they knew it, but he would do anything to see them safe.

“Indeed, Lord Morax.” The guard replied, shaking the god from his thoughts. “If I may add…he does not appear to be hostile.”

Morax arched his brow. “Interesting, I shall see what he wants. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You are dismissed.”

The guard saluted and departed back to his station.

Morax carefully stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his attire before vanishing in a swirl of Geo energy.

Whatever god Morax was expecting, it wasn’t…this.

“Well hello there, you must be Morax!” The bear-looking god proclaimed loudly, giving a hearty laugh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Morax blinked, surprised at the friendliness the god gave off. He sensed no hostility, no, rather the god’s aura seemed to have a sort of…hominess. 

“Indeed, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He said, inclining his head politely. “Though you have caught me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid I do not know your name.”

The god laughed again, a deep rumble that shook his entire frame. “Ah, where are my manners? I’m Marchosius! After all of the recent power shifts, I figured I should introduce myself since we’re neighbors now.”

Morax felt the fur on his tail rise slightly at the god’s comment. “Others have said that before under false pretenses….”

Marchosius looked at him for a moment, briefly stunned, before ambling closer and slapping Morax on the back. The god squawked at the sudden motion, stepping forward to balance himself.

“Oh, that’s a good one!” Marchosius said, wiping a tear from his eye. “You had me for a minute there.”

“...you’re genuinely here peacefully.” Morax breathed, tenseness vacating his shoulders. “I have not had such a luxury before.”

“While it saddens me to hear that, I can’t help but be glad!”

“Glad?” Morax parroted. “Whatever for?”

“Because I wish for you to indulge in the finest hospitality I have to offer!” Marchosius boldly proclaimed, tapping his chest proudly. “Although I am technically the God of Soil, my cooking skills are unparalleled! They call me the ‘God of the Stove’ now, haha!”

“Ah, similar to myself in a way.” Morax nodded. “The humans refer to me as the Lord of Geo, as well as the God of Contracts.”

“And many other formidable titles.” Marchosius’ grin schooled itself into a more formal and neutral expression. “Morax, if it’s agreeable, I would like to cook for you.”

Morax blinked, confused. “Cook for me? But us gods have no need for human sustenance.”

“True, but there’s nothing like sharing a meal together! I bet I can whip something up that you’ll love.” Marchosius leaned in closer, obviously eager. “What do you say?”

Having never received such an offer before, Morax found himself nodding. “Very well.”

Marchosius truly was a God of the Stove, Morax was convinced.

He had prepared some type of savory noodle dish, and Morax found himself cleaning his bowl in record time. The bear-looking god had guffawed, asking if Morax wanted seconds, and he couldn’t help but humbly accept.

While Marchosius cooked, Morax asked questions about the god and his people. It was then that Marchosius’ said what was truly on his mind.

“Morax,” Marchosius began, the most serious he had seen the other god. “What are your thoughts on forming a partnership?”

“Hmm,” Morax placed his chopsticks down, patting his mouth with his napkin. “We would have to settle terms and such.”

“Of course,” the other agreed easily. “I’ll readily admit it, I’m not a warrior god. I know a day will come where the people that pray to me will be threatened and a meal will not quell an invader’s thirst for blood. I propose that I assist with the more day-to-day needs of humans–feeding them, handling small affairs, that sort of thing. Contracts I would leave to you as that’s your dominion. Obviously matters of protection I anticipate you would take forefront, though I would support our people however possible.”

Morax made a noise, pondering. Ever since his friend’s disappearance, his task load had become so much that he couldn’t tend to daily things any more, relying on others to fill the void where he could not. “You make a compelling argument.”

Marchosuis smiled, raising his teacup toward Morax. “Do we have an agreement?”

For the first time in many years, Morax felt the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Yes, I believe so.”

Partnering with Marchosius proved to be a wise thing to do.  

Their people mutually benefited, and Morax found himself indulging in the company of another for the first time since his friend…left. Marchosius always prepared their meals, and Morax their teas.

His problems seemed lesser with Marchosius by his side, and for that, Morax was grateful.

Then, there came a day where their patrolmen found a strange woman near the border tinkering with something they couldn’t quite describe.

Morax nodded to Marchosius, disappearing in a swirl of Geo.

When Morax arrived at the described location, he heard the sound of metal clanking and frustrated mumbling. He stood behind a tall rock formation, far enough that the woman wouldn’t be able to sense him.

“If you’re going to stand there, you may as well come give me a hand.” The woman said, not turning away from her work. “Or you can at least listen to my ramblings while I try to figure this out….”

Morax flinched. How had she been able to sense him so readily? He had deliberately concealed his aura to match the landscape around him.

With a sigh under his breath, he quietly extricated himself from his hiding spot and walked toward the strange woman. He dared not approach too closely, maintaining some distance in case things took a sudden turn.

Her back was still toward him, her pristine fingers working deftly on whatever contraption she was fiddling with. Her attire was spotless despite kneeling in the dirt, long sleeves and ashen hair billowing in the wind. She muttered something under her breath again—too quiet for Morax to hear—sighing in exasperation as another large thud echoed from the…thing.

“Well, may as well take a break since I’m not making any progress.” She said aloud, standing up and turning toward Morax. She wiped her hands of any residue, her pale blue eyes locking with his amber ones.

The god’s breath hitched, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. But this wasn’t out of fear, no. This was…something else. Something he had no name for.

“Judging by the horns and tail, you must be Morax.” The woman said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m Guizhong, God of Dust.”

“I-it’s a pleasure to meet you, Guizhong.” Did he just stutter? No, that was impossible. “And you would be correct, I am Morax.”

She concealed a smirk behind her long sleeve. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“O-oh?” There it was again, that insufferable stutter. “Hopefully…good things?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She said teasingly, and Morax felt as though he were standing on a cliff and about to plunge into the icy water below. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Goodness, are you always so uptight?”

“What?” He replied eloquently, lost in the sound of her voice. He cleared his throat abruptly. “What I meant to say was, excuse me?”

“Morax, God of Contracts, known for following everything and every rule to the letter….” Guizhong murmured, walking around him and regarding him carefully. “Seasoned warrior, and among those old enough to remember, a dragon-turned-god.”

His sharpened nails dug into the palms of his hands. “How do you know that?”

Guizhong giggled, and he found himself enthralled by the sound. “When everything erodes or burns away, it is always dust that remembers,” she replied mysteriously. “Lost knowledge, memories of the far-flung past…isn’t it so fascinating? Gods and humans come and go, but there are always remnants left behind by those in search of what they do not know.”

Guizhong spoke so cryptically, and Morax found himself stepping closer, the contraption she was working on now in plain sight, though he had no idea what it was.

“Is that why you’re here? Fiddling with this…item?”

“Astute,” she praised, and Morax felt a warmth in his chest. “Apparently it’s a relic from long ago when the humans lived in a land adjacent to the heavens. Its purpose escapes me, but I wish to rebuild it and understand its function.”

“Why?” Morax asked. “Don’t you have your people to worry about?”

It’s here her smile faltered. “I am not a strong god, Morax. Other gods would conceal this fact, lest another take away what I cherish so.” Guizhong offered him a somber smile. “Though something tells me you’re a benevolent one, and would not unfairly strike another.”

The God of Contracts swallowed. “You are right. I would not.”

“That is the other reason I fiddle with these contraptions. My skill lies in repairing them, and it's because of them that I am able to arm my people against the dangers that lurk in the shadows.” 

Morax hummed. “You notice it too, then.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And I realize the dangers of my being so close to your border, but this was a piece simply too important to leave here. I just have to figure out how to get it working again….”

They stood in silence, but Morax didn’t find himself minding. Guizhong listed off everything she had tried so far, and the god found that most of the words sailed over his head. He nodded along at the appropriate times, tail swishing behind him in an unfamiliar motion.

“Do you have any ideas?” 

“I’m afraid I’m out of my depth here,” Morax confessed reluctantly. “Though, you did mention taking a break earlier. Perhaps…would you like to return to the village with me?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“I could brew you some tea,” he offered quickly. “And my colleague could prepare a hearty meal for us both. I have heard humans mention it is difficult to work on an empty stomach. Perhaps it would spark some ideas for you…if that’s acceptable?”

Guizhong smiled at Morax, and he swore his felt heat on his cheeks. “That sounds wonderful, Morax.”  

“Then let us—” he stopped abruptly when the shorter god threaded her arms around his bicep.

“You’re going to teleport again, yes?” She said, batting her perfect eyelashes at him. “I don’t know where I’m going, so you’ll have to escort me like the fine gentleman you are.”

“R-right,” he said, swallowing his nerves. “To the village.”

They disappeared in a swirl of Geo, both with a smile on their face.

And just like how Morax’s life was forever changed upon meeting his friend and Asmoday, his life was changed once more by the enigma that was Guizhong.

He could listen to her speak for hours about anything and everything. He found himself seeking opportunities to spend time with her beyond meals. They would take walks together, Guizhong narrating her latest experiment while Morax provided a thorough history of the land.

And yet, Morax wanted more. He wanted Guizhong to live in the village as well, but somehow, this was different from Marchosius—they had shared a common goal with different strengths. This was…a yearning.

(When Morax had broached the subject to Marchosius, the god gave one of his signature deep laughs and slapped him on the back, winking at him. He agreed readily.)

And, to no one’s surprise, their alliance grew by one. 

Morax’s days had been brighter ever since Guizhong came into his life. Even though she had a penchant of bypassing guards and appearing directly in his room to chat with him or drag him away from his duties, he found that he didn’t mind. His guards were baffled at first, but soon, they grew to accept it.

“Come on Morax, if you sit at that desk any longer, you’ll become as immovable as the earth you love so much.” Guizhong pleaded, her sleeve-covered hands balled against her chest. “I’ve wanted to show you this place for weeks!”

“Guizhong, please, just a little—”

“Nope, you said the same thing an hour ago. And the hour before that! That contract can wait.”

Morax sighed, though the both of them knew it was for all for show. He was still a dragon, after all, and as such they did not like to give in so readily. 

But that smile of hers…it was infectious and made his heart swell. He would do anything for her. 

“What did you wish to show me?”

“You’re so impatient for a god that takes pride in his patience.” She quipped back at him. “Haven’t you heard that the best things are to be savored and the journey is half the experience?”

“I am patient on the battlefield because I need to be, Guizhong.” Morax replied with no bite, following her up the pathway to the top of the mountain. “I assume our destination is the peak?”

“Correct, but that’s not the surprise.” Guizhong replied mysteriously, tugging him along. “You don’t think I’d drag you away just for that, hm?”
Morax hummed. “No, I suppose not.”

Guizhong giggled, running ahead and forcing Morax to sigh softly and lift up the hem of his ceremonial attire and chase after her.

When he found her, she was sitting daintily on an amber colored tree near a shallow pond, a blanket with food and drinks nearby. 

Morax wracked his brain for a reason Guizhong would do this, his mouth opening and closing a few times before settling on: “What is this?”

“A picnic, silly,” she giggled, hopping down from her perch. “Come, sit, sit! I’ve worked hard on this and I refuse for any of it to go cold!”

Morax knelt on the blanket, watching as Guizhong pulled out perfectly hot bowls of slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup, as well as a teapot and two teacups.

“You made this on your own?” Morax asked, impressed. Guizhong had prepared some smaller meals before, but it was typically left to Marchosius.

“I’ve been spending a lot of time under Marchosius’ careful tutelage while you’ve been locked up in your office with piles of paperwork.”

He took the offered chopsticks from Guizhong. “What inspired you to do so?”

“You know I enjoy learning new things—machinery and history aside.” The God of Dust replied as she carefully poured the tea. “Though, admittedly, I had more personal reasons as well.”

This piqued Morax’s interest. “Oh, what would that be?”

Guizhong looked down toward her meal, crimson decorating her cheeks. “I’ll tell you after your next surprise.”

“Is that a promise?” He found himself asking, the instinct to get her confirmation in word itching at him. 

“I promise,” she said resolutely. “I’ll endure the Wrath of the Rock if I must.”

“Guizhong—”

“Relax, Morax,” she whispered, scooting closer to him. “Let’s just bask in the moment, hm?”

Later that evening, once the sun had set and the stars dotted the night sky, Guizhong held Morax’s hand in her own.

Morax’s breath hitched, turning toward the other god. Her free hand went up to his cheek.

“May I kiss you?” she asked softly, eyes on looking between his eyes and his lips.

Not trusting his voice, Morax nodded.

It was perfect.

Their once tiny village grew larger year by year. Their people prospered from the rare instance of three gods overseeing them, as well as a variety of illuminated beasts called ‘adepti’ and seasoned warriors known as ‘yaksha’. 

History would remember this village as the Guili Assembly.

One day, in the dead of night while everyone else slumbered, Morax felt a restlessness settle over him. 

It had no discernible cause—everything had been well lately. No, perhaps restlessness was the wrong word. This felt more like a pull at his instincts…his draconian ones.

He found himself sliding out of bed and walking out of the Guili Assembly without a destination in mind, not caring that the moon had passed its apex and was now beginning to descend. His feet carried him steadily, his hands clasped in front of him.

It wasn’t until he rounded a particularly jagged cliff face did his memory begin to stir. It was dim, like trying to read something by lamplight, but he would always remember this place, even if his mind did not.

This is where he had hatched.

Puzzled as to why his instincts brought him here, Morax carefully stepped closer to the cave, sensing a presence within, though a weak one at best. 

The god’s eyes widened at what he saw.

It was the Geo Sovereign, barely conscious and poorly healed wounds where his eyes once were. 

Morax’s breath hitched. How…how was the sovereign still alive? Hadn’t they all been wiped out by the Heavenly Principles and the Shades?

A sinking sensation filled the dragon-turned-god. This sovereign whom he shared an elemental alignment with would likely see him as a traitor for all he had done since he met the Shade of Space. The sovereign may barely breathe…but Morax did not want to tempt fate.

And yet, something tugged inside him, urging him closer. His draconian instincts pleaded for him to approach despite his rational mind’s warnings.

He relented, toeing closer ever so carefully.

Then came a low grumbling, not unlike an earthquake. “Who goes there?” The sovereign asked weakly, turning his sightless eyes in Morax’s exact direction. “Another dragon…? No…not quite. What are you, little one? You seem…familiar.”

Morax froze, tail coiling around his leg in a self-soothing motion he hadn’t done since he was a hatchling. He had never met a sovereign face-to-face before, though he had seen the carnage they could wreak first-hand.

“You tremble….” The sovereign bellowed, resting his head on the dirt once more. “You are afraid of me. Why? We are kin.”

“A-almighty Geo Sovereign, f-forgive me for interrupting your slumber.” Morax cringed, his Draconian was inadequate from millennia of disuse, the shapes difficult in his human mouth.

“Please, little one, call me Azhdaha. The time for titles…is long behind us.” Azhdaha said gently, softly exhaling on Morax unintentionally, ruffling his robes. 

“Azhdaha….” Morax whispered, just enough for the dragon to hear and grunt in approval. “H-how are you still alive?”

“...I do not know.” The dragon admitted. “It was long ago now, and I sustained many injuries from that fight. Ever since that invader and their Shades descended…I fear my memory is not as it once was. Though…this place brings me comfort.” Azhdaha paused, as if briefly contemplating something. “What brought you here, little dragon?” 

“Instinct, I suppose. I hatched here a long time ago.”

The dragon perked up. “Is that so?”

Morax nodded his head, and though the former sovereign couldn’t see it, it seemed as though he could sense the movement through the earth.

“I sired a clutch here, a very long time ago….” Azhdaha trailed off, as though lost in thought. “I…. Nevermind, it matters not. What is your name, little one?”

“I am Morax.”

“Morax,” the dragon breathed. “That is not a dragon name.”

“I did not possess a name when I hatched…someone else gave me that name.”

Azhdaha leaned closer, carefully smelling Morax. “You hold the form of a human, and yet your lineage shines through despite the binds placed upon you. Tell me, Morax…who gave you that name, this form?”

Morax looked away, shame filling him. The nightmares he had of the Dragon King and sovereigns soon after attaining this form came back full force, how they mocked him for bending to the will of invaders are their rules so easily. “One of Shades.”

“Truly?” This piqued the dragon’s interest. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because I protected a human hatchling as their mother died from a corrupted beast.” Morax confessed, pointed teeth scraping the flesh of his lips dangerously. The more he spoke, the more the Draconian language felt natural for him again, allowing him to continue through his frustration. “After witnessing this, the Shade bestowed me my name and form, and said that I was now bound to the ‘new’ order.”

Morax expected Azhdaha to belittle him or to retreat further into the cave to escape the disgrace he committed against his kin. And yet, the dragon’s words shook him to his core: “You have a gentle heart, Morax.” 

“W-what?” Morax sputtered.

“You heard me well,” the dragon replied, chuckling. “It is…nice to see that one of us has managed to adapt to this new world.”

“You’re not upset? Furious?”

“Why would I be?” Azhdaha asked, perplexed. “I can sense things through the ground, you know. My sight may be gone, but I’ve watched over this land for millennia. You’ve built a sanctuary for the misfortuned and protect them with the ferocity of the dragon. Your form may not be as it once was, but your heart beats strong, as does your instincts.”

“I—”

“I am not so stubborn as to believe things will always remain as they once were.” Azhdaha interrupted gently. Then, after a moment: “Well, I was that stubborn once upon a time, but my defeat and self-imposed exile has taught me much. If I had a hatchling…I would hope they would turn out like you, Morax.”

Morax…didn’t know what to say. He wringed his hands uncomfortably, emotion clawing at his throat. He shuffled anxiously on his feet, thoughts racing.

He felt the ground rumble—Azhdaha was laughing again. The once mighty dragon leaned down toward Morax, his forehead just a few feet away from his.

“Do not keep me waiting now, Morax.” Azhdaha called softly. “Surely you remember how to greet kin after all these years?”

Morax’s shoulders slumped in relief, his much tinier horns bumping against Azhdaha’s massive frame. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good, good,” Azhdaha bellowed, settling back down. “Now forgive me, I haven’t had so much excitement in…eons. I must rest now.”

Morax bowed his head. “Of course, it was a pleasure to meet you, Azhdaha.”

“The pleasure was mine, little dragon. Though…I have a selfish request to make.”

“Oh?” Morax asked, folding his hands.

“Visit me again?” The massive dragon sounded uncharacteristically small. “Your presence…it brings me great comfort, like a balm over my wounded heart. Though, I’m afraid I cannot offer much more than my company in this…weakened state.”

“It shall be done,” Morax responded. “Company is more than enough for me. Consider this our contract.”

Azhdaha laughed and shook his head. “You are a strange one, Morax. But until next time…be well.”

When Morax had left the cave, it felt as though a missing puzzle piece had finally made itself known.

Azhdaha…yes, it had to be. They shared more than a Geo resonance and draconian heritage, if his suspicions were correct.

When he returned back to the Guili Assembly, the sun near its apex, Guizhong and Marchosius had been worried. He assuaged their nerves by saying he had taken a walk and merely lost track of time, saying he would inform them if he did something similar in the future.

It stung him to lie, but something told him that Azhdaha’s presence was one he should keep to himself. He did not want the Heavens to finish what they had started millennia ago. They had spared him…but something told him they would not take kindly to a sovereign milling about.

He atoned by bringing Guizhong her favorite flowers—Glaze Lilllies—and Marchosius a rare herb to add to his culinary inventory.

It lessened his guilt slightly, which was enough for him.

However, these peaceful times weren’t meant to last.

A decree came from Celestia suddenly and without warning. Seven thrones to be claimed, and only the strongest gods would prevail.

Morax, Guizhong and Marchosius did not verbalize what each of them already knew. Instead, they focused on the sanctuary they had built. Morax defended the borders from encroaching gods; Guizhong, the yaksha and adepti supported him in battle; and Marchosius tended to the day-to-day needs of the people.

It worked. For now.

The first time Morax was able to sneak away after the Heavens’ decree, he went to check on Azhdaha.

The former sovereign was gone.

It started off small, or what could be considered ‘small’ in the grand scheme of what was now known as the Archon War. 

A mysterious, tainted god decimated many of the lesser gods not a part of the Guili Assembly. Rumors spread of massacres led by a shadowy mass that puppeted a young boy bearing the mark of a yaksha with broken wings. 

Morax had been trailing this mysterious god and yaksha for years. Whenever his generals—also yaksha—cornered the boy, he would seemingly disappear into thin air before he could arrive. It frustrated the God of Contracts greatly—he had never met an opponent who lurked in the shadows quite like this one.

It was said the little yaksha never spoke a word—likely due to the threads around his throat if reports from his generals were to be believed.

They absolutely were.

This time, they witnessed firsthand the tears in the boy’s eyes as he plunged his sharp claws into anyone that crossed his path, movements jerky and inorganic. 

The young boy froze upon having gored a young child. Potent karma rolled off him, enough that the god controlling him slackened its hold enough for the boy to sink the tips of his claws into the exposed flesh above his heart. The boy did not scream, but rather a momentary sereneness caressed his face at the thought of his torment ending…only for it to be ripped away as the tainted god reestablished its hold.

It was then the boy screamed. Another failed attempt to escape. The entity cackled, and lunged toward the assembled yaksha.

The four yaksha generals were beaten and bloody, yet they stood firm as the broken form of the god’s puppet laid on the ground, poisoned blood trickling into the river.

“This isn’t over,” the dark god rasped through the boy’s broken jaw. “I'll be back and I will not rest until the blood of the Guili Assembly and its gods soak into these lands forevermore!”

“No,” the oldest and most senior yaksha, Bosacius, shouted. “This ends today. Leave the child and fight us!”

The miasma cackled, a harsh sound that rattled the near-dead yaksha’s broken bones. “If you’re so eager to die by my hand, then very well!”  Smoke poured out of the yaksha’s mouth, coalescing into a semi-dense form with pink-colored eyes and maw. “You all would make fine additions to my collection!”

What the god hadn’t noticed was that the four yaksha generals had them surrounded in each cardinal direction. Each of them pulled out a tiny figure carved from stone—a dragon.

Golden light swirled from each of them, coiling around the miasma and rendering it unable to escape.

“What is the meaning of this?!” It shrieked, thrashing against the golden binds. “Slave, get up! Rescue me from this filth!”

The broken yaksha attempted to push himself up, only for his body to collapse back into the dirt and tainted karma to spill from his lips.

“He serves you no longer,” came Morax’s eerily calm voice from above, eyes filled with rage and polearm poised for attack. “You shall face punishment for your transgressions and be purged from this world.”

“Morax,” the entity spewed, licking its poisoned teeth. “Free me from these binds and let us settle this like the gods we are. You value fairness in all things, do you not?”

“You would be correct,” Morax’s tail writhed, betraying the rage he tried to keep tempered as he crossed his arms. He felt an aura building inside him—one he hadn’t sensed in centuries, no, millennia now. “However, you have proved incapable of this. Therefore, you shall face the Wrath of the Rock.”

“No—!”

“I WILL HAVE ORDER!”

After decimating what little physical form the corrupted god had, Morax weaved a seal into the ground to contain the remnants of the monster’s lingering will. Yet another taint upon the land.

He found himself relieved—the lingering power of Asmoday within him quelled upon defeating this monstrosity. Morax had never felt her power so vividly before, and the rage and influence it had over him was…terrifying.

Morax rarely lost his level head, but after everything that god had done to the innocent, his yaksha, and that young adeptus…his protective instincts couldn’t help but surge forth. That being was a particular scourge on this world, and one that would continue to linger due to the strength it had amassed from decades of senseless slaughter.

He also couldn’t help but feel…different. As though there was now the tiniest of cracks in his being. It was infinitesimal, too small to be seen by the naked eye. 

Perhaps he was imagining things, Morax told himself.

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel it was the price for using her power.

“How is he?” Morax asked as Guizhong and Marchosius exited the dimly lit room. Cloud Retainer and Streetward Rambler, two faithful adepti that had aligned with him several hundred years ago, now stood watch over the young yaksha’s bedside.

“The situation is grave,” Guizhong’s normally chipper voice was anything but, replaced with a rarely-seen seriousness. “We’re not sure if he will pull through. For a yaksha so young, his karmic debt already exceeds the others, and that’s not even mentioning the…injuries he’s sustained.”

“And he refuses to eat anything,” Marchosius added, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “It’s as though the mere sight of food upsets him.”

Morax’s tail swished in contemplation. “An unfortunate but not unexpected complication. The others reported that the…god forced him to ingest the remains of those it forced him to kill.”

Tears welled in Guizhong’s eyes. “I wish we had been able to help him sooner. Maybe…maybe—”

“Hey, now,” Marchosius interrupted gently, making a gesture for Morax’s eyes alone and signalling him to go over and comfort the upset god. “He’s free now and in the best care possible. We’ll do everything we can to help him.”

Morax wrapped his arms around the God of Dust, muffling her cries in his chest. “We will do everything we can, my love,” he whispered to her, kissing her forehead gently. “This is my contract to you: I will do everything I can to see this little one well again, no matter how long it takes.”

Guizhong took a deep breath, pulling away enough to look up into Morax’s serpentine eyes. “We’ll do this together. He deserves a peaceful chance at life, just as we have.”

Morax bit his tongue, stifling words of how yaksha’s were only born out of a need to purge the evil lingering in the world—how that god had taken advantage of this poor young yaksha and molded him into the perfect weapon.

“One day,” Morax vowed, “he will find peace.”

He refused to specify what kind.

With time, the young adeptus recovered. It was a slow, tedious process, and the God of Contracts couldn’t help but marvel at the young adeptus’ willpower.

The poor thing at first had begged Morax to kill him, for he felt as though he had committed too many atrocities to live. Morax knew how it was to live with a powerful guilt—one that festered in the knowledge of going against your own kind—and gently consoled the yaksha.

“Your story is not anywhere near done, little one,” Morax said while rewrapping the bandages around the adeptus’ torso, the endearment from Azhdaha coming to mind. “We all carry our burdens—and while yours is heavier than most, I know myself and everyone here would endeavor for you to live.”

“I’m just a tool,” came the hoarse voice from the adeptus, who didn’t even flinch at the pain as Morax secured the gauze. “A weapon meant for slaughter.”

“As a yaksha, you were born to help cleanse the world of evil. That is why your skills are so exceptional…and why that thing that called itself a god was so reluctant to let you go.” Morax sighed at seeing the adeptus’ impassive face. “I have four yaksha generals, you know. They’ve been eager to meet you.”

“...even though I harmed them?” came his small voice.

“They do not blame you for what was out of your control, and neither do I.” Morax said gently, continuing to inspect the young one’s healing wounds. “If anything, Bosacius has been perhaps a bit too eager to spar with you. Indarius and Bonanus…wish to comfort you, and Menogias is already preparing new clothes for you as we speak.”

“But why?”

“Because they care for you,” a new voice interrupted. “And the five of you share a kinship that only you can understand.”

Both turned as Guizhong appeared in the doorway, and Morax found himself grateful at her presence. She was much better at these sort of emotionally dynamic situations than he was. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped on her lap. “May I hold your hand?”

“Why?” The little yaksha repeated again, even more confused than the first time.

“I wish to offer you comfort.” Guizhong said lightly. “When things become too much for me, I find that another’s presence brings me peace. I have sought Morax out on plenty of occasions for this reason, isn’t that right?”

He didn’t miss Guizhong’s pointed look. “Guizhong is correct. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

The yaksha looked between them, nodding his head after a moment. 

“If either of us makes you uncomfortable at any point, all you need to do is say so.” Guizhong gently rubbed a single finger across the back of the young yaksha’s hand. “We understand this will take you time, and that’s okay. From now on, your story starts anew.” The God of Dust gasped suddenly. “That reminds me, you said you have no name you can recall, correct?”

“T-that’s correct,” 

“That simply won’t do. Morax,” she turned toward him. “You’re better with names than me, any suggestions?”

He hummed. “How does the name ‘Xiao’ sound to you? Yaksha typically have two names—one more civilian, and one for battle, based on your illuminated form.”

“Xiao,” Guizhong tapped her cheek in thought. “Xiao, Xiao. Hmm….”

“...I like it.” The yaksha nodded. “It sounds…nice. And…I guess you could say that my illuminated form is…Alatus.”

“Well, that’s settled!” Guizhong clapped happily, startling the yaksha. “Oops, sorry, I get a little too excited sometimes. Welcome to the Guili Assembly, Xiao!”

Morax smiled, placing his hand delicately on the yaksha’s shoulder. “Yes, welcome home, Xiao.”

Neither expected the yaksha to suddenly pull them close, sobs muffled by their clothes. They looked at each other warmly, returning the unexpected gesture and murmuring soft reassurances.

Morax felt a deep rumbling in his chest.

“Are you purring?” Guizhong asked softly.

He definitely was. “Don’t ruin the moment, Guizhong.”

Guizhong poked him gently in the side of his stomach—one of his most sensitive places. If anyone were to ask, a yelp most certainly did not escape him.

Though…the sound of Xiao’s weak laugh was most definitely worth it.

Xiao took to the other four yaksha like fish to a river. Naturally and thriving under their tutelage. He had moments of relapse, but the bond they had built saw him through time and time again. 

And in those especially dark moments, he found himself seeking Guizhong and Morax. He never asked for anything, merely hovering enough to confirm the karmic whisperings were just that: his own debt trying to drag him down once more.

But that didn’t stop Guizhong from doting on him, or Morax from taking him out to the practice area to spar. 

Morax could tell Xiao was grateful, even if he struggled to express it.

If only that decree from the Heavens could be rescinded.

Morax had been summoned south to fight off a particularly strong god: Osial. The ancient God of the Vortex proved to be incredibly cunning despite not possessing all of its mental faculties. It sent tidal waves along the coast, rendering any sort of ground support impossible. 

The only thing that had halted the god’s offense was the ballista Guizhong had invented with Cloud Retainer’s assistance and his stone spears, though both suffered from a limited reach. Every time Morax thought the battle was starting to turn, something new cropped up.

First, the ancient god sent forth smaller mimics that exploded dangerously. Then, an especially strong storm rendered aerial attacks more difficult due to the fierce winds. Now…a miasma started to bubble up from the central figure of the god’s many heads.

Morax’s skin crawled. He had sensed this poison many times before, and it never meant anything good.

He and the adepti had been whittling away at the god’s strength for days at this point while Guizhong, Marchosius, and the yaksha took care of the Guili Assembly and its borders.

“M-my lord!” A voice called, out of breath.

He froze at the sound, knowing it well. She shouldn’t be here. Not unless…?

She stood in front of him, her face bloody and limbs quivering from exhaustion. Morax felt his breath hitch.

No.

“Streetward Rambler,” he swallowed his nerves, directing the other adepti to continue the onslaught. “Why are you not at the Guili Assembly?”

“This was a trap, my lord!” She cried, her normally perfectly braided hair flowing free in the wind of the storm. “The Guili Assembly is under siege! Marchosius and Guizhong are attempting to evacuate the people while the yaksha try to hold off the gods—”

“Wait, gods?” Morax’s eyes widened, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. 

“The gods bordering the Assembly struck a deal together,” she huffed, collapsing onto the ground. “Summon Osial to lure you away, then stage a combined offensive.”

He felt her power burn inside him. He hadn’t used it since the day he freed Xiao from his former master, but now it beckoned to him. Protect, something screamed at him. Whether it was his draconian instincts or the dormant power thrashing against the cage in his mind, he didn’t know.

His vision turned gold, his human guise crumbling away like flecks of Cor Lapis into the wind, body elongating and twisting into what he remembered as a young dragon. 

He did not marvel at the sudden appearance of his long buried form, taking to the sky and weaving through the typhoon like it was nothing. The pressure inside him built, like two seismic plates ready to slip and cause untold devastation. 

In that moment, he remembered the incredible force the Dragon King had unleashed upon the Heavenly Principles and their Shades. With a mighty roar, he turned his head skyward.

The clouds parted and dozens of rocks the size of his mountains rained down from the sky, pummeling the ancient god.

But this wasn’t enough for the God of Contracts. He manifested the polearm his friend gifted to him long ago, imbuing it with the power Asmoday bestowed upon him. 

A single spear manifested above the dragon, etched with celestial markings. Osial roared once more, the rocks having stunned the ancient god but not defeating it.

He threw his spear.

The moment Osial’s aura faded, sealed at the bottom of the ocean, Morax flew to Guili Assembly.

He did expect to find Marchosius and less than half of the Guili Assembly with him, all injured in some type of way, including his yaksha generals. His friend looked at him in subdued awe, having never seen the God of Contracts in this form before.

Morax scanned the group once. Twice.

“Where is Guizhong?” He asked, fear gripping him. “Where is she?”

Marchosius looked down at the unconscious figure in his hands—Xiao—and shook his head.

Morax felt his world come to a halt. “No,” he whispered in disbelief, “no, no, no!”

He continued in the direction of the Guili Assembly.

Or rather, what was left of it.

When he arrived, he could sense the lingering malevolent wills of several gods. The taint seeped into the land, causing the flora and fauna to wither as it spread further and further from Guili Assembly. There was no one left to fight, no blood to be spilled, and his instincts did not know what to make of it.

He landed in where the center of the assembly once stood, his body shrinking down to its normal appearance. 

“Guizhong!” he called. “Guizhong, where are you? I am here!”

There was no response.

He felt his knees buckle beneath him, horror and grief clutching his heart. He slammed his hands into the dirt, causing fissures to emanate from him. 

But then, he sensed something. A bit of dust on the wind caressing his cheek as though beckoning him. 

With hope in his heart, he followed.

When Morax found her, or rather what was left of her, there was nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped covering of dust with a lone Glaze Lily in the middle. 

He sensed no malice from her death as was typical for the lingering will of gods. Instead, he felt a calm acceptance, realizing that she had likely surrendered her life force to take the attacking gods with her.

He exhaled, shoulders slumping in defeat. He had been too late. Guizhong…was gone.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he whispered brokenly. “My lovely, beautiful Guizhong.”

With a detached calmness, he used Geo to condense the remnants of her dust into a brilliant gemstone, plucking the Glaze Lilly with the utmost care.

Morax turned back to where the remaining survivors and Marchosius were. He took a shaky breath, clutching the remnants to his chest, and disappeared in a swirl of Geo.

“I failed her, my lord. I’m so sorry.” Xiao had come up to him immediately upon his return, karmic debt pouring from his wounds. “I-I wasn’t good enough, I—”

“Xiao, let’s give Morax some space.” Marchosius interjected gently. “He knows you did your best, but he needs some time alone. How about we….”

Morax did not hear the rest of the conversation, Guizhong’s gemstone and Glaze Lily resting at her usual spot at their table.

Her now empty spot.

Streetward Rambler and Cloud Retainer attempted to visit him sometime later, apologies and condolences on their lips.

He did not acknowledge them.

“Friend, as much as it pains me to say this, we must think of the people.” 

Morax made no move to respond to Marchosius.

“We all grieve for her, and I know you loved her greatly,” the God of the Stove said gently, his own voice unsteady. “But the war continues, our home is tainted, and the humans grow weaker each day. We must do something.”

“Leave me be, Marchosius.”

“I have,” the god said patiently. “For weeks, but we can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Morax looked up at his longtime friend, eyes cold and flat. “What would you have me do that you cannot do yourself?”

“Morax,” 

He had never heard Marchosius say his name like that. Never. He had never heard the calm disapproval in his tone, one that made him feel like a small child being lectured. 

He clutched her gemstone closer.

His amber eyes slid upward, the silent reprimand sitting heavily on his conscience. The God of the Stove slid a bowl in front of him—his favorite, slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup, and yet he had no appetite.

“Eat,” Marchosius encouraged, holding out a pair of chopsticks. “Please? She…she would hate to see you like this.”

It was dirty of his friend to pull that card, but he was right. She…wouldn’t want him to wallow like this. Guizhong would have forced him out of his stupor a long time ago. She would have said something witty, or perhaps something gentle to coax him to eat. She knew he was often his own worst enemy, especially when he was stuck in his own head.

Guizhong….

Morax sighed and began eating, though much more slowly than he normally would.

“Thank you,” Marchosius said after a moment. 

Morax said nothing, slurping the noodles and downing the broth mechanically. Once he had finished, he set the bowl down and placed his chopsticks aside. “Was that all?”

“Mostly, but I wanted to speak with you about…what comes next.”

Morax lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t press further.

“We are the last two gods of this land,” Marchosius said, sitting beside him. “The Heaven’s decree is still in effect. Many others have ascended to the throne, and with it comes untold power….”

“...I know what the decree entails.” Morax folded his arms defensively. “I will not…I refuse to let anything happen to you, Marchosius.”

“I know,” his friend said with a hint of melancholy. “That’s why I hope you can forgive me.”

Fear gripped his heart. “For what?”

“For this,”

Morax felt his muscles tighten, though it was no doing of his own. He began to list to the side, and Marchosius’ hands carefully guided him down to the ground. His breathing and eye movements remained unaffected, yet, he couldn’t speak or move.

“Morax, listen to me very carefully,” Marchosius began gently. “I am going to sacrifice my life force to prevent the spread of corruption from the Guili Assembly. As an archon…you can protect what’s left of our people and rebuild better than before. Though this time…we won’t be there for you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Morax tried to fight against whatever concoction Marchosius had slipped into his food. Even her powers were mysteriously inaccessible to him. 

“I can see it in your eyes that you don’t want this.” Marchisous sighed softly. “But it’s the only way. You’ve always been the steadfast leader and defender that we all have depended upon. So forgive me for making this choice for you, old friend. Maybe if we’re lucky…our paths will cross again some day.”

Morax’s screams of protest echoed in his mind alone as Marchosius disappeared in front of him. 

Then, several hours later, with some feeling back in his extremities yet not enough to walk, Morax sensed it.

A rumbling through the land, the lingering malevolent wills burned away by his friend’s noble sacrifice.

Morax felt tears at his cheeks, a broken cry trapped in his throat as the paralytic continued its hold over him.

The land would take centuries to heal…but it no longer threatened to grow or bring death upon those that mistakenly wandered there.

Morax’s guilt mounted. The hollowness inside him felt all-encompassing.

Another crack.

He was now Geo Archon.

A Celestial awarded him his title and throne, placing a chess piece in his hand. It sunk into his chest, and just as Marchosius said, the power within him grew one-hundred fold.

He did not protest or question anything the Celestial said, lest he desecrate his friend’s sacrifice. He moved as they instructed, his eyes now facing the survivors of the Guili Assembly, the yaksha, and adepti. 

They all bowed to him in reverence, the name “Rex Lapis” upon their lips, for Morax was now too privileged of a name for them to utter.

Satisfied, the Celestial vanished in a swirl of stars, leaving Morax with what was left of the home he had built with his friends.

“Come,” he ordered, spear manifesting and mask carefully in place so they would not see how hollow he felt inside. “To the harbor, we shall rebuild there.”

They followed him without question.

Morax threw himself into what he knew best: contracts. He helped to write the laws of the new land, establish a government that would serve as the primary day-to-day management for the country, and created a currency with his own blood to standardize payment methods instead of relying on bartering.

Something that was once a joy for him was now his method of coping. He worked tirelessly, not needing to rest anymore as an archon. The only interruptions came from his generals or yaksha.

Three knocks sounded at the door. 

“Enter.”

Xiao stepped inside, his wounds having healed through Streetward Rambler’s careful monitoring. His youngest yaksha general bowed. “Rex Lapis,”

“Xiao,” he said with no inflection, warmth a distant feeling for him now. “What brings you here?”

“I wish to be stationed in Dihua Marsh permanently.”

Morax’s quill stopped. “Why is that?”

“My karmic debt is too much to be around ordinary mortals without consequence.” The yaksha said, eyes still on the floor. “And I would like to atone for my failures.”

Morax felt a twinge inside him. “Xiao, you know—”

“Rex Lapis, please hear me out.” Xiao requested, and Morax closed his mouth. The yaksha had never interrupted him before.

“It…would make me more at ease to be there,” he whispered softly, gloved hands digging into the palms of his hands. “Plus…I wish to preserve her legacy—her sacrifice for us.”

Morax swallowed. The horrors of that day danced in the depths of his mind, never forgotten. “If that is what you wish to do,” he paused, seeing Xiao’s broken body in his mind’s eye—his promise to Guizhong. Peace, peace for Xiao, he had promised her. “And if you believe it will help with your debt, I will not stop you.”

“Thank you—”

“However,” Morax stood up, placing his hand on Xiao’s shoulder. “If anything, and I mean anything troubles you—be it a god or your debt, you come seek me right away. I do not wish to see anyone else….”

Xiao blinked, expression neutral. “I understand.”

The yaksha turned to leave, but Morax called out to him.

“One more thing,” he stepped closer, arms coming up slowly, slow enough that Xiao could say no if he wished. The adeptus did not make a noise, allowing Morax to wrap his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Xiao. If anything…the fault lies with me. I should have foreseen something like that occurring.”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“And neither could you.” Morax returned softly, brushing Xiao’s bangs away. “So please, let go of this guilt. I know…I know how heavy it is to carry. You did your best, and that’s all I could ever ask of you.”

He heard Xiao sigh against him, then the yaksha pulled away. “I should go.”

“Be well, Xiao.”

The yaksha disappeared in a swirl of teal.

Morax picked up his quill. He had a lot of work to do.

Despite the Archon War having come to a close, the roads were still treacherous due to the lingering malevolent wills of dead gods long before the fall of the Guili Assembly. The yakshas, born for this purpose by Teyvat itself, took it upon themselves to deal with the aftermath to stop the spread of disease and death amongst the people.

The first to succumb to her debt was Indarius. Her mind fractured from the voices of those she had damned. She raged across the outskirts, her footsteps causing wildfires behind her.

Bosacius had attempted to calm her down, but by the time Moraz arrived, he sensed her soul was too far gone. No amount of healing or rituals would ever grant her any reprieve now.

He took his draconian form, spear in hand.

“I’m sorry, Indarius.”

Crack.

Morax was not present for the fight that claimed Bonanus and Menogias. The duo frequently took on missions together, and in the heat of battle, their debts proved to be too much. They saw each other as foe and brought each other to the grave.

Xiao and Boascius stood behind him as he completed their funerary rites. Neither made a sound.

Crack.

“Rex Lapis, if you ever have any doubt on my ability to carry out my mission…please give me a swift death.” Xiao said to him one day.

“Xiao—”

“I do not wish to undo the little good I have done when my debt ultimately consumes me.” Xiao whispered, pain lacing his voice. “Please, it would be a mercy.”

Morax closed his eyes, self-loathing filling him. “Very well, Xiao.”

“Thank you.”

Crack.

Morax found himself taking another late night walk, just as he had done many years ago. And, once again, his feet led him to the same place: the cave he hatched from. 

Azhdaha was here—he could sense it long before he arrived, no doubt thanks to the gnosis sitting in his chest. He knew the former sovereign could sense him through the ground as well, but still opted to verbalize his entrance.

“Hello, Azhdaha,” he said. 

“Well, it’s been a long time, Morax.” Azhdaha rumbled. “I’m pleased to see you survived Heaven's cull, though you carry yourself much more differently now.”

“It…has been difficult.” Morax said, not knowing where to begin.

“I sense a story. Please, come closer, I have missed your company.”

“Where did you disappear to?” Morax found himself asking instead, inching closer. “I came to see if you were safe, but you were gone.”

“Ah,” Azhdaha nodded. “I apologize, but I descended underground. Those fools from the skies…they detest what lies beneath enough that they refuse to step foot there. I did not wish to be found.”

“I understand.”

Azhdaha hummed. “You’ve grown, Morax. Your power…you hold my authority now.”

“Your authority?” Morax balked. “What do you mean?”

“The seven seats in Celestia did not appear from thin air.” The former sovereign chuckled bitterly. “When that invader came, he stole our power… it’s why I’m as weak as I am now. He stole the Geo Authority from me, and somehow, you now possess it.”

Morax thought of the chess piece in his body. “Then the right thing would be to give it back—”

“No, Morax.” Azhdaha shook his head. “I am…too eroded now. My sharp edges have weathered over the years from Time itself. My memory is not as it once was, though I was hoping to see the light of day once more before….” The great dragon sighed. “Alas, it is a silly dream.”

Morax felt a thrum in his chest, ready to answer his call at a moment’s notice. “Perhaps…would you allow me to try something?”

Azhdaha grunted, bowing his head. “Very well.”

Morax tugged on his connection to his gnosis, Geo markings coiling up his forearms as he bid the power to heal the former sovereign’s sight. 

Nothing happened at first, then he heard a surprised gasp from Azhdaha, scales and flesh knitting back together miraculously under his guidance.

“Morax…” Azhdaha breathed in awe, eyes blinking several times before settling on his much smaller humanoid form. “Oh, this is what you look like. Your horns and tail….”

“Ah, I’ll tell you the story another day, but I…recently discovered how to take on my original form again.”

“Really? May I see it?”

Morax found himself chuckling at the former sovereign’s eagerness. He stepped back, shedding his normal appearance and into his draconian one, not unlike cracking open a geode.

He took a moment to stretch out. In this form, while still smaller than Azhdaha, they were a lot closer in size and their resemblance was uncanny.

“Morax,” Azhdaha whispered, voice breaking. “Oh, I suspected, but to see it with my own eyes…. Yes, you take after your mother in appearance, but your colors and abilities….”  He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “I suppose you owe that to me.”

“...so you are my sire?”

“...yes.” He whispered. “My duties as sovereign kept me away, and I knew not what happened to the clutch we had together…. I never saw your mother again, but…ah, it warms my old heart to know you survived. And you still inherited my authority, even if it’s through that interloper.”

Morax watched as Azhdaha ambled closer, butting their horns together. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

Azhdaha laughed, sending a small earthquake through the local area. “Indeed, we do.”

Morax was in his private study atop the peaks of Liyue (a name he had chosen in honor of the moons from long ago) when Xiao suddenly appeared.

“Rex Lapis,” the yaksha bowed, jade polearm at his side. “There is a visitor here to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“The Anemo Archon.”

Morax hid amongst the trees as he listened to the adepti entertain the Anemo Archon. He had intended to make himself known right away, but for some reason, he sensed something strange within the archon. Something similar to him, but also different. Was it because they also possessed a gnosis?

As Cloud Retainer boasted about his deeds during the Archon War, his ears caught something interesting.

“I never wanted to be a god or archon, so I’m perfectly content to hide in the shadows,” the Anemo Archon said with a bitter laugh.

They…also didn’t want this power? This burden?

He stepped out from the bushes. “Is that so?”

His adepti bowed to him, and the Anemo Archon scrambled to his feet, producing a bottle filled with some type of drink. “F-for you!” 

Morax took the bottle from the other’s hands, inspecting the immaculate craftsmanship. The Anemo Archon’s wings quivered behind him, his emerald eyes watching him in thinly-veiled fascination.

“Thank you,” he said, gesturing to the table. The adepti made themselves scarce. “Shall we savor what you’ve brought, Anemo Archon?”

The other swallowed, his polite mask never slipping. “I would enjoy that, Geo Archon.”

“Please,” he extended his hand. “Call me Morax.”

Morax did not miss the teal blush that adorned the other archon’s cheeks, and he couldn’t help but be delighted by the sight of it for some reason. Was his heart beating faster? No, surely it was just his nerves from meeting a new colleague.

The winged archon gave him a bright smile, his daintier hand dwarfed in his massive, Geo-etched one. “And I’m Barbatos! It’s, um, nice to meet you!”

Oh. Oh, no.

He knew this feeling. He knew it well. “Likewise,” he forced himself to say.

Morax was doomed.

Crack.