Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins had a fairly normal life. At least, in his opinion, it was normal. While strange things occurred in his day-to-day experience, it was just the norm. Nothing out of the ordinary, like the sun rising every morning, or the blooming of begonias around the creases of the lighthouse. 

He liked it this way. He enjoyed coming out of his dim little home every night to wander the graveyard, to lay clusters of frostlamp flowers upon the lumped grass to honor the resting souls. Flins spoke to the spirits that floated about–he rarely spoke a word to a human other than the other Lightkeepers. He was content with such a routine, despite others finding it odd.

And today was just as any other he had gone through. It was the same routine as always: Wake up in the mid-afternoon after a long night of glossing over paperwork and standing watch upon the lighthouse, then work himself to the bone for hours until nightfall. He had the full schedule memorized.  His eyes cracked open around 13:02, his chambers dark and silent as ever. Flins sat up like a dead man rising from the dirt, before he dragged his legs out of bed and padded to his closet to swap his sleepwear for a uniform. He shrugged his coat over his shoulders and gingerly tied his scarf around his neck, stepping into his boots by the door.

The crisp air hit his face hard the moment Flins twisted his door open, breaths coming out in puffs of fog. Winters in Nod-Krai were harsh–it’s truly a surprise his body isn’t used to it by now.

Boots crunched against the snow as he stepped out, his routine of picking flowers for the dead having now begun. Flins wandered the graveyard for what felt like hours–picking frostlamps from the ground and laying them onto the graves, hearing the grateful chirps of spirits from within. His lips tugged into a small smile. With the spirits pleased, Flins took a step back–his gaze wandering to the mid-day sun. He brought an arm to shield his eyes from its blinding light, until he let out a soft huff of air and began the trek back to the lighthouse. The others were on break in Nasha Town–he had time to polish his jewels for a moment or two.

_______

The noise of hard work echoed through the streets of Nasha Town. The chatter of the villagers filled every corner with a comforting energy, an aura that consistently lingered throughout. Ineffa and Aino stepped side by side down the cobblestone paths, packages of bolts clutched within their arms. Aino chittered happily over her new ideas for an invention, spouting off the blueprints and their exact purpose. Ineffa only nodded her head every so often to show that she was listening to the girl’s seemingly never ending energetic rant session. She liked to hear about her inventions–it was good to see her focusing less on the stress of the recent occurrences with the Wild Hunt and more on her passion…

The air began to cool as the sun set beyond the horizon, the sky darkening into dusk. Aino sped the pace of her steps, her laughter bringing a very slight smile to Ineffa’s lips. She couldn’t help but feel protective over the girl–like an older sister. She never had family prior to Aino…

Ineffa paid little attention to the skies as they walked. She felt no need to be on her guard–there was only the rustle of leaves as squirrels skittered up into the trees, and the chirps of crickets while they slowly peeked from beneath stones. Nothing to be wary of, especially considering Aino appeared perfectly fine as she skipped ahead and up the hill to the workshop. They pushed the door open with a miniscule struggle, the boxes being dropped by Aino’s other equipment. She beamed happily, already eagerly tugging the boxes open to get a look at the brand new supplies within. Ineffa only watched in silence, scanning over the scene to confirm the lack of danger. Aino would wail and go on a rampage if she got even the smallest cut on a box–it must be avoided at all costs.

The first gasp in the night alerted her senses, drawing her attention immediately. It seemed to catch Aino off guard, too–she even slowly lowered the bolts back into their box and adjusted her sleeves. Ineffa stalked in the direction of the closest window, arm reconstructing into a broom. It may not be much–but it’s enough to keep Aino safe. Aino followed close behind, a hammer clutched tight in her palm.

What they saw outside was enough to almost send Ineffa’s defensive system into overdrive.

Her eyes raised to the moon that hung low in the sky as it slowly raised above the land. What was once a bright light that represented their land and its deep history almost felt marred. Its previously dim white color was now stained crimson–as if someone were stabbed upon it and their blood seeped into its very being. It glowed an ominous red, and Ineffa couldn’t help but notice that the land outside felt foggy. 

Ineffa swiftly took her polearm into her hands and exited the workshop hastily, eyes landing upon the chaos that was now Nasha Town.  The people fled around in a stuffed, teeming crowd of terror, everyone running around like chickens that were missing their heads. Doors slammed shut, blinds were yanked down over windows–the wails of children rang throughout as they were hurried into their homes. Whatever this was, it was sending the townspeople into a mass hysteria–and Ineffa needed to figure out why.

She turned to Aino–who was still shaken by the entrance, hands wrapped around the hammer she had grabbed earlier. Her sapphire eyes flitted up to meet Ineffa’s–softening ever so slightly at the calm, comforting look she was given. Aino took a deep breath, then set the hammer down on a table by her side.

“..What’s going on? Why…Why is the sky like that?”

Aino’s voice trembled with every word. It left a cold feeling in Ineffa’s stomach.

Ineffa let out a low noise–one like a sigh–before crouching to the girl’s level. With her usual, stable tone, Ineffa spoke.

“Calm yourself, Aino. I am sure it’s nothing other than a strange occurrence. I will search for any past sightings of a red moon.”

Aino nodded. Ineffa closed her eyes, brain searching vastly for something–anything that could give possible context behind the phenomena, only to come back completely bare-handed. There was not a single thing explaining what was going on.

For the first time, Ineffa felt panic. A deep sinking in her stomach that was far more than just the emptying of garbage she had sucked up with her vacuum. Alarms were practically blaring in her head, echoing through her metal skull.

Ineffa’s gaze went back to the rising moon–the moon stained with blood.

__________

The schedule he once followed had been thrown completely off balance.

Flins scuttled about in his room, throwing books off shelves and hyperventilating hard enough that he almost thought he would pass out.

Something was going on–something he didn’t have an answer to. A blood moon had never once happened, in the entire history of Teyvat. Sure, it changed phases, or sometimes gained the illusion of a blue tint to its surface–but it was never bright red. It had to be a warning.

The sound of a fist loudly rapping against his front door snapped Flins from his own mind. He inhaled deep enough to make his lungs hurt, before stepping out into the main room and opening the door. 

He found nobody. It was the spirits.

They were panicking. They all seemed to appear at once, each begging for forgiveness of some sort, for mercy on their dead souls–everything. They seemed to believe this was doomsday.

And, as Flins tipped his head to the side to watch the moon as it rose to the middle of the sky, he couldn’t help but agree with them in some way.

This must be it, he thought, lips downturning. It has to be.

Chapter Text

Exactly seventy-two hours have gone by since the red moon first rose into the sky and sent the entirety of Teyvat into a state of mass hysteria.

Flins had dug vigorously through his office, sliding papers onto the floor and digging through endless cabinets. He needed something–anything–to write in. 

Afterall, if this truly was the end and every person across the planet would be wiped out by this fog, he wanted to record it down. If one day, a new civilization sprouts from nothing, he wants them to find it–to know the dangers to come shall they see the blood moon rise.

His fingers trembled as he pulled a dusty, completely barren journal from deep within a cabinet. Flins flipped through every page–stepping over and collapsing into a nearby chair with a deep exhale. Perfect.

Flins opened to the very first page, grabbed the nearest utensil without even processing what he was using, and immediately began scribbling words in shaky handwriting. His breaths came out as if he had just ran all the way across Nod-Krai and back as he wrote, hand quivering around the pen.

Day 3.

Nothing out of the ordinary for now. 

The spirits are still in panic. They wail at me for shelter every night, when the moon rises They beg for me to let them into the lighthouse–I close them out and ignore the sound of them hurling their empty bodies at the windows. 

I have yet to dare to leave my safe space. The traveler made an attempt to draw me out this morning–I turned her down. I cannot trust a single soul until I know it’s safe. 

Just last night, I stood out at the top of the lighthouse and watched the sky for any changes. It seems to be worsening.

-The aura around the moon glows brighter. It feels like an eye watching our every move–waiting to finally strike when we let out guards down.

-The fog grows thicker. I tied my scarf around my nose and mouth to avoid breathing it in–I don’t yet know what may happen if one inhales it.

-When the Traveler arrived, she told me the animals have gone mad. She noticed after paying a short visit to Lauma. 

I am unsure if Varka is safe. Thousands of miles away in his home nation–I can only hope he is alive. The mailing services are closed, I cannot communicate with him–and I doubt he will make the trek to Nod-Krai in the midst of this.

I must keep looking, learning more about the phenomena we are witnessing. I am no scientist–but I must do something to stop it, find a way to fix this, before we all ultimately are slain by the moon.

–F.

Flins dropped his pen to the desk with a loud clatter, slamming the journal shut. Simply recounting his experiences and findings is causing him to feel an intense ache in his stomach, a deep feeling of pure dread for what’s to come. He stands from his chair with one goal in mind–Find a solution to end this.

He knew it would be a long process. Teyvat is a strange place with hundreds of anomalies that are recorded on the daily–but the moon suddenly bleeding is not one of those. It’s new, uncanny almost. Just observing it from the lighthouse filled Flins with the urge to hurl, or throw his body over the railing. 

From what Flins gathered from that night, he can most certainly confirm one thing–It wants people dead.

_______

Flins sat hunched over at his desk for hours, scribbling notes and theories into his journal. With every new observation, another unanswered question sprouted. It was an endless cycle of getting closer to an answer, only to be driven right back to the beginning once again. It was exhausting.

It was when he glanced out of a nearby window that Flins realized the sun was beginning to set, slow as ever. His grip around his pen tightened as he watched the sky fade into shades of gold and amber, a frown tugging at his lips. Here it comes.

Breathing in deep, he stepped out of his home within the lighthouse, hands trembling as he scaled the broken ladder upwards. With every step, he felt his stomach drop further. What would he witness tonight? Would some great creature burst free from the moon and attack the nations?

The influx of questions and lack of answers made him sick.

Flins clutched his lantern tight as he reached the top, managing every bit of strength in his upper half to pull himself up onto the tower. He leaned on the railing to catch his breath–and waited. His eyes flitted around the horizon, hands clutching the metal rails tight enough to make his knuckles ache. His book laid idle to the side, a pen placed neatly where he had been writing previously to mark his page.

When he spotted the familiar glow from beyond the skyline, he bit his bottom lip between his teeth, and dragged his scarf up over his nose. He was ready–completely prepared to sit on the lighthouse, throughout the everlasting night.

_______

As the moon rose once again, nobody could feel fear anymore. The townspeople only watched helplessly as it lifted into the dimming sky. Children skittered into the safety of their homes after taking the time to get outside and play, merchants pulled their wares down and retreated inside–it was practically routine to them. 

Ineffa had taken on the duty of patrolling Nasha Town, watching for any younglings still out and about. Her gaze drifted to the skies, observing the blood moon while it ascended. 

Aino had pleaded for her to stay behind in the workshop–but Ineffa felt inclined to turn her down. Nobody else could muster the boldness to roam outdoors and scope out anyone who was trapped in the moon’s light–she was the only one willing to do so. And so, she bid a temporary farewell to Aino before she had left and made the trek to the seemingly barren Nasha Town. 

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary in the empty streets–other than the obvious, of course–so Ineffa allowed herself to breathe. She explored every corner of the town, never finding a single person out. Everyone was too shaken to dare to leave the safety of their homes. With an approving nod, she began to make her way back to the workshop.

It was on the walk back that she was stopped by a sudden noise from behind. Ineffa practically snapped around, eyes scanning the area rapidly. Her sensors were in overdrive, sensing something that posed a risk to her safety. Spear in hand, Ineffa turned in every direction for any signs of a monster in the town–until her view landed on a towering, wolf-ish creature standing upon its hind legs. It bore its teeth at her–and in the split second it lunged towards her direction, Ineffa struck the tendons in its neck with the saw of her spear. With the flip of a button, the sawblade sliced into the creature’s neck–a pained screech escaping its bloody jaw.

In its last moments, it just barely struck Ineffa’s leg–the wires of her knee stretching taut before coming loose completely, the metal snapping off. She didn’t overreact, drawing her polearm free from the flesh of the beast.

Ineffa could only spare her bared wires a quick acknowledgement, the urgency to get back to the workshop overshadowing the concern. She managed to limp up the hill and stumble to the door–oil dripping down her calf with every step. Ineffa gripped the door tight and shoved it open–practically collapsing to the hardwood floor the moment she was indoors. The clatter of her polearm falling from her grip alerted Aino–who immediately bounded away from her current work  The concern on her face was visible the moment she got close–Ineffa only stared up at her from where she lay.

“Ineffa! W-what happened!?”

Aino practically cried, dropping to her knees by Ineffa’s legs. Her focus shifted to Ineffa’s clearly broken leg, the wires exposed to the light. It was only then that Ineffa realized just how bad the damage had been. She shifted her gaze off someplace else, avoiding eye contact with Aino. In a low, exhausted tone, she spoke one word:

“Monster.”

______________

The ascension of the morning sun was both a relief and an annoyance for Flins. His eyes were wide open throughout the course of the night–watching the moon with not even but a blink that could distract him from observing. He scribbled another page of notes, eyebrows furrowed as he recalled everything he witnessed the previous night.

Night 3.

It is most certainly worsening.

The moon was brighter. It brought an ache to my eyes and a throbbing sensation in the back of my head if I watched it for too long, as if it were punishing me for daring to stare. I almost collapsed three times due to the thickness of the fog–even through my scarf. It’s a poison. If inhaled, it may kill. 

I returned to my chambers halfway through the night. I fear if I were to stay out longer, I may have done something irrational.

The spirits are still in a frenzy, and I am beginning to run low on rations–but I cannot make the journey to Nasha Town, if something truly is out there, waiting to catch its prey. If I starve here, so be it.

-F.

Flins breathed out a sigh as he set his journal to the side, marking the page. He was beginning to go mad in this chaos–he can feel his mind slowly slipping further, day by day, the more he watches the moon. 

He slowly wandered to his cramped kitchen, shuffling through a cabinet for anything to wade off his intense hunger–only to find a mere, dented can of stew. Turning it over in his hands, it was long past its expiration date. Flins only silently stared down at the can–before dumping it into the garbage with a disgruntled huff. His only choice is to leave the safety of the lighthouse, and walk the many miles to Nasha Town.

________

Flins exited the lighthouse after approximately an hour and a half of pacing his kitchen, and debating if the frostlamp flowers outside were edible and enough to keep him alive until this was over. Alas, he found that they were not–the bittersweet taste still lingered on his tongue.

The journey to Nasha Town filled his chest with a feeling of distaste. He knew he had to–otherwise, he would starve to death as a recluse that shelters himself within a lighthouse by the sea. He dragged his legs with every step, eyes flitting across his surroundings. Flins was taken aback by the bustling town in front of him when he arrived–the townspeople acting as if nothing had happened at all, like death wasn’t looming over them through every second of the day. His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment–the glee in their movements made it feel far more uncanny than if they were sheltering in their homes.

Flins kept up a quick-stepped pace through the streets of the town, the only goal in his mind being to purchase enough food to keep him sated for a month or two, then return to the comfort of his lighthouse and never show his face in society again.

He stepped up to a merchant off to the corner of the main plaza, before reaching for whatever foods he could fit into a paper bag. Flins felt the intense stares from the townspeople burning into his back, the soft whimper of dogs as they tucked their tails and cowered close to their owners. It was nothing new to him.

The merchant himself appeared wary of Flins, calculating the final cost of his purchase whilst keeping a close watch on him. His eyes flickered between the food on the wooden stand and Flins himself, his fingers tremoring around a cluster of carrots as he set them into a bag. Flins didn’t react. He only silently brought a handful of mora from the pocket of his coat–which, made the merchant flinch away, expecting him to pull out some sort of weapon–before he set the pile in front of the man.

Bags of rations in hand, Flins began to make his way back home–not even sparing the shivering citizens around him a single glance. Why should he care about what people think of him? He’d be more concerned if they weren’t terrified of him. Though, the cowering into corners and shielding children’s eyes was overkill. He wasn’t that disgusting to look at.

Just as Flins reached the front gates of the town, he was stopped by a melodic voice behind him–one he recognized well, and dreaded to hear. Lauma.

“Flins. Intriguing, seeing you leave the shadows.”

To many, the gentleness of her voice may have been a comfort–making them feel safe, nurtured, cared for–but for Flins, it gave him the nagging urge to claw his ears off. Being in Lauma’s presence made him feel bitter. She abhorred him, and he reciprocated the sentiment. Flins drove animals away simply by breathing the same oxygen as them, Lauma drew them in by existing. They were opposites. He shouldn’t even be holding a conversation with her in front of other people.

His voice came out with a certain bite behind it–not hiding how inconvenienced he felt by being around her.

“What do you need.”

It didn’t come out as a question–the words escaped him as a demand. Flins turned to face her slowly, fingers clutching his paper bag tight. He simply wants to return home and consume a proper lunch–but apparently he can’t even have the pleasure of doing that.

Lauma’s tender aura flickered for a split second. Her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched tight–before it was gone a moment later. She let out a hum, the soft tone she always used now tense and restrained. “...We must talk. Privately, preferably.”

Flins crossed his arms at that. Talk? To her? He would rather allow the Blood Moon to take his soul. But, Lauma looked serious. Flins felt obligated to go along with it. He silently nodded his head.

Lauma didn’t speak, either–she only turned around and walked back into Nasha Town, expecting Flins to follow. He bit his lip between his teeth until he tasted blood, and followed a fair distance behind. He felt even more stares following his movements through the town–it was strange to see him, of all people, following after Lauma. 

She led him in the direction of The Flagship and into the building–all eyes on him.

Lauma continued to walk at a steady pace–only occasionally falling into a limp before returning right to the same stability.

They arrived in the rooms in the back, Lauma pausing at a door to knock in a specific pattern. Exactly five knocks. It was opened a moment later, and she strode right in–Flins hesitantly following after. The door was shut immediately, the lock clicking into place–and for a split second, Flins thought they brought him here to slay him.

He was only met by the stares of multiple people–including the Traveler, for some odd reason.

Lauma, unsurprisingly, was the first to say anything.

“...I brought you here for a reason, Flins.”

The way she said it made him fear the news he was about to hear. Internally, Flins began predicting everything they could potentially tell him– Nod-Krai will be destroyed, we are all falling into inevitable doom, Varka was killed back in Mondstadt–

He was stopped by a cold hand on his shoulder. Flins craned his head, noting Ineffa standing by his side with somewhat of a welcoming expression on her typically blank face.

“Come in. We have refreshments.”

She guided him further inside and towards a table with a variety of glasses settled upon it. Flins cocked an eyebrow at the setup. They have to be filled with poison. Don’t drink any of them.

“...I apologise–I am not thirsty at the moment.”

Ineffa didn’t reply. She stepped away and settled back down onto the edge of the bed–which drew Flins’ attention to the exposed wires in her knee. He wanted to question it–Ineffa would never allow herself to be injured, even when she had rescued Nasha Town from destruction. She had simply polished her metal limbs, and carried on with her routine. Flins chose to ignore it, for now. 

A woman–he’s not overly familiar with her, but her cat-like gaze immediately set him in his place–spoke up from the table after taking a leisurely sip at one of the icy drinks, her eyes fixed on Flins directly.

“We have brought you here to communicate…a problem. You are one of we few with direct elemental energy from the moon itself–so, reluctantly…You are involved.”

Flins desperately wanted to tear his hair out and plead them to just get to the point. His anxiety was driving him mad where he stood, swirling around in his chest like a terrible concoction. He waved a hand to encourage her to continue.

“Monsters have begun to sprout from the soil. Ineffa encountered one just last eve–and it certainly was not a stray Rifthound.”

She spared Ineffa a short glance. Ineffa clasped her hands together in her lap, looking downwards at the old wooden floors.

“It was no Rifthound. It bit my knee just as I struck it down.”

Flins couldn’t find a single word to reply with. Monsters? It sounded like something completely ordinary for Teyvat. It almost made him chuckle. They handled the Wild Hunt and its twisted creatures on an almost daily basic–but this is leaving them shaken? 

He couldn’t help but scoff at them.

“...Are we quite sure the moon isn’t driving us all mad, and we are mistaking common creatures for the macabre?”

It was not the proper thing to respond with, as the woman who had been speaking previously let out a dangerous hiss and stood from her seat–the chair wobbling on its legs from her rough handling. Before she could charge at Flins and claw his eyes out, Lauma stepped to her side and held her back by her arm.

“Nefer. This is not something to get heated over. Flins can be valuable to us–as much as I dislike admitting it.”

The woman–Nefer–clenched her fist. Flins felt a strange satisfaction, watching her become this ferocious towards him due to mere words. Nefer let out a huff, tearing her arm away from Lauma’s loose grasp, before returning to her seat. She went silent, then.

Lauma turned back towards Flins, fixing her stare back onto him.

“It is not a ‘mistake’. We are truly dealing with monsters.” She continued, giving him a look of warning before turning back towards the rest of the group–particularly the Traveler and Paimon. Lumine seemed to shiver at whatever it was she recalled–Paimon going downright pale.

“It was terrifying! T-this…huge thing started chasing us all the way into Nasha Town!”

Paimon cried, her arms hugging herself tight. She looked utterly shaken–whatever had chased them clearly traumatized her deeply. Lumine placed a hand on her shoulder, getting Paimon to temporarily relax. “I don’t know what it was…It looked straight out of a horror novel.”

…Their descriptions really weren’t helping Flins figure out the truth of what they saw. He let a sigh escape his lips, and shook his head.

 “Wow. If you all are any more vague, we might actually solve this mystery.” Flins muttered under his breath, sarcasm laced into every word. Nobody found it humorous–but he didn’t mind. They just can’t properly understand good jokes.

Lauma frowned further. She was about ten seconds away from strangling this man for his unseriousness. “Flins, this is serious. Animals are being slaughtered by whatever lurks in the night. I know, you do not care for some measly birds or deer–but at least contribute.” She retorted back at him, her nails digging into her palm. The room fell silent–Flins only bit his tongue and sank into a chair, resting his lamp upon the table.

With that, Lauma relaxed–breathing in deep, then exhaling softly. Finally.

Lauma fixed him with the same firm gaze, seemingly completely relaxed once again after Flins finally complied.

“Now. Have you seen anything from the lighthouse? Anything…Strange, or suspicious?”

She questioned him. Flins stopped to actually think. He has yet to spot any monsters wandering the cemetery–the moon itself is the only ‘odd’ thing he can recall. 

He doesn’t want to tell them his findings, though. They were his observations–he personally risked himself to watch the Blood Moon for two nights in a row and collect data on the changes he witnessed. What did they all do? Nothing, except hide indoors and cower under their blankets.

Flins fiddled idly with his hands–tugging the edge of his gloves, twisting the ring around his finger or running the pad of his thumb over its amethyst gem–unwilling to give anything up. The room felt heavy with anticipation for whatever information he had. In a low mumble, he managed something.

“The moon stalks. The fog is a poison.”

Flins left it at that. The others collectively sighed at him–but what else could he tell them? That the Blood Moon will ultimately kill them all with its persistent fog and piercing gaze? Absolutely not. As hilarious as it would be to watch them fall into frenzy–he does not want to take that into his hands. Not right now.

The silence persisted further–until Jahoda let out a gasp of realization, raising her hand from her spot in the corner, where she had been completely idle until now.

“Ohh, I got it! The moon is like…an eye! And…The gross fog that’s been spreading is its weapon to poison us! Mister Flins is just being weird again!”

…Nobody was supposed to understand his words–Flins purposely kept it cryptid so they would not find their way to the truth. Alas, they are smarter than he hoped they would be. Flins bit at his lip and kept his silence.

He doesn’t take her little stab at his personality too hard–he’s heard worse things being aimed at him. Being seen as ‘weird’ was nothing.

The rest of the group seemed to also make the same realization she made–nodding and agreeing with it. Flins let out an exasperated huff. They took that as their answer.

________

Flins unwillingly remained in The Flagship with the rest of the group–refusing to say a word. He sat off in a dim-lit corner, legs crossed and his eyes directed down at his notes. Much to his annoyance–he actually wrote down the intel he gained from them.

Day 4.

Monsters have begun appearing. They are killing animals and chasing anything that moves. Ineffa lost a piece of her knee to a creature’s jaws–I will gather further information on what she saw.

From the way she described it at first, it sounded like a stray Rifthound. Their teeth are strong enough to tear through metal, after all. Then, she said it stood on its hind legs, and appeared to be morphed from a common wolf. Rifthounds cannot do that–they have no hind legs.

I will have to observe the moon from indoors, tonight. It may be safer.

-F.

Just as Flins closed the notebook and set his pen to the side, he was stopped by someone tugging at the edge of his coat. He glanced down at whoever dared to disturb him–seeing only a young girl with wide eyes and bright rose hair. Aino.

“...Yes?” Flins questioned, tipping his head to better see the girl. Aino appeared hesitant to talk to him–but she pushed through it.

“Can you…look at some of my blueprints? Ineffa says it won’t work out…But maybe your insanity will help it really work!”

…She sounded far too excited to be talking to him. Flins. The guy rumored to steal bones from graves and eat human limbs. That guy.

Flins raised an eyebrow at her. Aino was clutching a rolled up blueprint in her hands–eagerly staring up at him. With a defeated sigh, Flins turned his body and gestured for her to hand it over. When she did so willingly, he felt an ache in his chest.

Flins glanced over the blueprints, reading over Aino’s scribbled notes off to the side. A machine to stop the moon.

It made little to no sense. No matter what angle Flins used to view the blueprint, it still stumped him. Yet, at the very same time, Flins couldn’t handle letting her down.

He forced himself to make sense of it. If that bit of metal was placed slightly to the left and those wires connected properly…It could work.

Flins turned back to Aino–who stared with hope-filled eyes. His expression remained blank as he lowered it to her level, pointing out seemingly miniscule details that any regular person would never notice.

“Move this metal plate there. Connect it to those wires. Remove this portion entirely.”

The commands were straightforward enough for Aino to follow along with. She nodded her head, taking in the information she was being handed.

“Understood! I knew it was a good idea to talk to you! Thank you, Mister Flins!”

…And she bounded off towards Ineffa, plopping back by her side to make some changes to the blueprint.

That last bit of what she said stuck in the back of Flins’ mind–”I knew it was a good idea to talk to you.”

Nobody in the history of Teyvat had ever spoken such a sentence. Strange folk like him were not trustworthy–they did not help. Yet, he still assisted Aino. Perhaps, it was something about the trusting look she gave him as he read over her plans that dug straight into his stone heart.

I’m getting soft.

Flins heard the words echo in his head, as he watched the rest of the group mingle about with one another, seemingly with no problem. Lauma still gave him the occasional observant look–making sure he hasn’t somehow brought the dead to life in the corner, or something worse–but he could handle that. He’s handled far worse.

He paid close attention to the slowly setting sun through the window across the room. Soon, night would come–and Flins had to observe it.

He made a line of fast steps in the direction of the window, journal and pen in his grasp. Flins sat upon the edge of the bed, and watched. From here, he had a temporarily acceptable view of the rising moon.

The others were on their guard as they, too, watched. They anticipated something worse happening tonight–something far more dangerous.

Flins clicked his pen and turned to a fresh page amongst their tense silence.

It’s time, he muttered to himself in his head. What do you have for me tonight?

Chapter Text

Night 4.

It has shown few changes tonight.

It glows brighter, but nothing more, nothing less. The group has been on-edge throughout the night–something is causing them to feel tense. 

I, myself, have grown wary–a feeling I would have never thought I would experience. Something is out there. I can sense it in my mind. I peered a shadow just in the corner of my vision, before it was gone: A long, seemingly endless neck, elongated limbs, and claws that could tear to shreds. 

I must go out there and see what it is. A demon? A wandering spirit? A mere play of the shadows through the trees? I will never know unless I muster the bravery to see for myself. I have been chosen to go on a hunt for more food, anyways. Killing two birds with one stone.

_________________

It was the midst of the night when Flins was selected to leave The Flagship and meander out into the unknown outside. Aino and Jahoda were the only two that pleaded to not send him–but Flins was strangely inclined to be the one to hunt for food. It was easy enough–common wolves wandered into Nasha Town at night often, only chased away at dawn when the sound of echoing machinery startled them off. 

None bid him farewell as Flins stepped out of the room. They only stared, their gazes following him until the door was shut behind himself. He didn’t feel betrayal–he didn’t mind it. It was better than them trying to get his head on a stake within the first minute of him settling into hiding with them.

Fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots as he walked, lantern in hand and guiding his way through the dark. Flins kept his scarf over his nose, choosing to breathe more through his lantern than his own lungs. It was safer that way–the moon couldn’t poison him.

Nasha Town was eerily silent throughout. There was not even a whisper of sound–no families chattering over dinner in their houses, or cheers from the tavern. Nothing.

Pure silence was far worse than active commotion. The stillness of the night gave Flins the intense feeling of wariness–of impending danger.

Despite that, he kept going.

One of the merchants had left food on their stand–so Flins swiftly swept it into the bag he brought along. Fruits and vegetables would keep them somewhat sated until morning. He came across fish meat in a freezer–snatching those up too. He grabbed anything he could find, despite his original reluctance to do anything for the ones that shunned him. 

As much as Flins wants it to stop irking him so deeply, it aches worse than he wishes it did.

His steps echoed through the barren streets as Flins walked, head craning to search for anything else he could snag. The rest of the stalls were empty, much to his dismay. Whatever. They’ll survive with fruit and fish meat. No need to be stuck-up.

As Flins journeyed back and caught sight of The Flagship in the distance, he couldn’t help but slow the pace of his steps. Perhaps, if he stays out for just a tad longer, he’ll truly find whatever beast is roaming the streets.

He made a quick detour away from the path he was originally trailing upon–not before setting the bag down by the entrance to the tavern–, meandering through the streets in search for any hints as to what he had witnessed through the window. He has to find it–to know exactly what they’re up against here.

Just as Flins was about to give up and return to The Flagship, a loud clatter echoed from the distance. He immediately turned in the direction of the sound–suddenly on high alert. His hand clenched tight around his lantern. The ground vibrated with hard steps from nearby. Something was there.

Hurriedly, Flins dove behind a thick stack of crates–every breath coming in hitched and tense. The steps grew louder–harder on the ground. For a moment, Flins believed this may truly be it. Whatever had been creeping from the shadows is certainly aware of his presence. As it drew near, Flins dared to spare a glance over the crates–his heart sinking deep into his stomach. Whatever he was looking at, it most certainly was not human.

Or..Perhaps it was. 

Whatever it was, it was disgusting. Its torso was a mess of protruding bones and pulsing organelles, arms long with nails that could most certainly tear Flins to shreds if he were spotted by its sunken eyes. Flins has seen his fair share of dreadful beings–he lives in a cemetery, he’s seen things he certainly should not have seen–, but this…thing, it sent warning bells echoing through his head. It was its downright rotten face that brought his previous meals flooding into his mouth. An unhinged jaw, crimson dripping from between its crooked teeth–and almost empty eyes that Flins felt pierce through his own.

That was a human.

…That’s a human that sees him.

Flins didn’t hesitate to break into a sprint, heart pounding in his chest. He’s never been a runner–he prefers to float about, calmly meander around. But now, all he could do was run. It suddenly felt like the only thing his legs knew how to do. He heard an ear-shattering screech behind him, and he sped up. The ground vibrated below his feet with every lumbering step, and he knew it was much faster than him.

He dared a glance behind himself–and seeing that bounding after him on its disgustingly long limbs would cause never-ending nightmares to haunt him.

He had to get away. He had to reach the tavern, get to safety, get away from this thing that wants to devour him–

Flins felt his ankle bend against a rock. His heart sank further than it already had. His body collapsed to the ground helplessly, arms gripping the cold cobblestone path to drag himself forward. 

The burn of agonizing pain bled through his leg–both from his twisted ankle, and the sinking of claws into the flesh of his calf.

This is it. This is my end. Soon, I’ll be buried in the Final Night Cemetery with not a single gift from a loved one, and I’ll wander aimlessly with the other spirits–

Before he knew it, the ground left his reach as he was raised by an unforgiving grip on his leg. Flins managed to get a proper look at it now–its downright mortifying features, the hunger in its soulless eyes.

As Flins was raised closer to its unhinged mouth, he remembered the lantern hooked to his belt. In the few seconds before it was in the process of almost devouring him, Flins sieged the lantern into his fist, and with every ounce of energy he could manage to muster, he shone the flames bright into its eyes.

He hit the ground within seconds, the creature wailing as its enormous hands covered its face. Flins took the chance to stumble to his feet and rush back to The Township. If it caught him again, there was no guarantee the lantern would work a second time.

By the time Flins made it back to the tavern, his leg burned with pain. He pounded loud raps against the door–and the moment it opened up, he collapsed to the hard wooden floor in front of whoever had opened it.

The gasp he heard could only have come from one person–Lauma.

“Flins–What could have possibly happened out there? And where is the food?”

Her tone came out concerned–drawing the others out of the rooms, too. It didn’t take long before Flins was surrounded by them, and being carefully lifted and dragged to the nearest booth. He felt a flood of relief wash over him at the feeling of something soft below him.

Flins could only stare up at them with an exhausted gaze. He could barely even keep his eyes open at that point. To his surprise, Lauma was the first to come to his side and settle next to him.

“Flins…Tell us what happened. No ominous riddles–be straightforward.”

…Flins didn’t even know if he could speak in a riddle in the state he was in. He allowed his breathing to slow from its intense hyperventilations for a moment, then closed his eyes to just process.

That thing was most certainly not a mere monster. It had to be something worse.

He felt eyes on him as they waited for his answer. Flins let out a barely-audible huff of air–finally managing some words.

“...Monster. Human-like monster…It tried to eat me.”

Everyone, as a collective, felt their blood run cold and harsh shivers trail down their spines. Aino and Paimon both appeared the most affected–cowering behind Nefer. Ineffa stared Flins down for a moment–analyzing his condition.

“I am sensing a twisted ankle…and a deep laceration on your calf. These must be tended to immediately, lest it lead to severe infection.”

From a cavity extending from her midriff, Ineffa pulled out a clump of bandages and approached Flins’ limp leg. She gave him a look–silently telling him to expose the wounds. Flins hesitated at first, but nonetheless, still pulled his pantleg up to his knee.

Now that he can actually see it, Flins realizes just how deep that creature got him.

Everyone practically flinched back at the sight of his injury–torn skin, dripping blood– all except for Ineffa, at least. She seemed to be focused on inspecting the damage, reaching back into the cavity for antiseptic and some cotton swabs. Flins kept a straight face as Ineffa disinfected the wound. It burned, yes–but not as terribly as the initial injury.  Ineffa tied a bandage tight around it, covering the gruesome laceration from the other’s watching eyes. She then focused onto his twisted ankle, his boot being tugged off so she could properly assess the damage.

Ineffa’s metallic fingers pressed lightly against his ankle–making Flins tense, lips pressing into a thin line. Ineffa pulled her hand back and hummed robotically.

“It is recommended to allow your leg to rest for approximately a week for proper healing. We will handle the food collection for the time being.”

She then glanced up towards Flins’ face, examining his expression. Outwardly, he appeared distraught at the idea of being confined to the tavern–but deep down, he was celebrating. He would much rather stay in the safety of The Flagship, than be out there with whatever that was. He’s sure if he encountered it again, it would truly kill him this time around. Flins only nodded his head a couple of times, and laid back against the cushions of the booth. His head pounded with a migraine–and the lingering soreness from his impact against the hard stone ground. 

He would request for Ineffa to scan him again, ensure he isn’t concussed now–but she had already stepped away and cracked open the doors, extending an arm out to grab the bag of food Flins dropped outside whilst he was out. The rest of the group seemed to completely brush him off the second they caught sight of something to consume–all surrounding Ineffa and digging into the bag. Knowing just how hesitant they seemed about letting Flins in, they would likely leave exactly two blueberries in the bag for him. That’s fine–he could survive on an empty stomach for a week, if it came down to it.

Flins chose to lay silent against the booth, eyes slipping shut. The exhaustion of his injury was slowly consuming him–dragging him further into sleep.

Just for a few hours, he could let himself take a rest.

…He deserved it.

___________________

…While some in the world got an opportunity to take a short rest from the sheer stress, panic, and exhaustion, others were not quite lucky enough to bask in such a luxury.

Mondstadt was in chaos. For the past four days, they had been in a constant war with whatever beasts ascended from below. Varka had more blood on his hands than he ever had before, hands callused after clutching his claymore for hours at a time. The muscles in his arms burned with exhaustion.

He couldn’t give up–despite how deeply it hurt to keep pushing. Jean had begged him to stay behind in Dawn Winery with the other survivors–but he couldn’t. He’d already lost fifty of his men to the monsters from the fog, he refuses to lose any more. Their pleading faces have stuck in the back of his mind throughout every hour of the day. They haunt him all night, as he slays any creature that dares challenge his blade. Varka is sure if he loses any more knights, he may fall into endless insanity. Truly, who wouldn’t? He may have survived at least three major wars against beasts from the worst of Teyvat, and witnessed the deaths of countless companions–but how much longer can he handle watching them be slain in front of his very eyes?

As Varka slumps back into his chair in the dim bar of Angel’s Share, his fingers clutch tight at the bottle of Elderflower Cosmopolitan he had been gifted–for free, much to his surprise, and slight dismay–. He stares at the ruby liquid within, lips pressing into a solid frown. The blood of his companions as it bled into the soil, their pained faces–

Varka hissed in a deep gasp at the sudden hand on his shoulder. His head snapped around–only for him to make direct eye contact with Jean herself. She gave him a solemn look, before sinking into the stool by his side. Diluc came by with a mere glass of tea for her, sliding the cup across the counter in her direction and stepping into the back room once again. Everyone is tense.

Jean took a slow sip of the cold tea, sighing in relief at the refreshment. Her sapphire gaze then turned to Varka–and the same expression from when she first arrived returned.

“...I know this is hard on you. It…wasn’t exactly how we wanted to welcome you back home.”

Her voice was mournful, her gaze locked intently onto Varka’s. He turned away impulsively, tapping a hand against the counter. It was something he unknowingly began to do every time he sat idle for a long period of time. 

Varka let a humourless laugh escape himself. He cut it off quick, feeling his throat burn from the tension within his vocal chords. Hours of yelling the names of your companions in the midst of battle will do that. “...It’s all good with me. I don’t need any fireworks or parties.”

He tried a smile, glancing back down at his bottle and swirling the liquid around a few times. Tipping his head back, Varka took a swig–the spice of alcohol burning on his tongue. Blood. You’re drinking your companion’s blood, you’re just as bad as those beasts that consumed them–

Varka spat the drink out the moment it began to spill down his throat, coughing into his fist. He gasped for air, Jean reaching over to pat his back, her eyebrows raised at the sudden outburst of choking. Once Varka was finished coughing up the last bit of alcohol in his mouth, he slammed the bottle onto the counter–alerting Diluc, whom had just returned from the back room.

“...Is it that horrible?”

He tried to joke–but his voice only came out monotone as ever, making it sound more like he took a personal offense from Varka spitting it out. The bartender grabbed a handful of napkins and placed them in front of Varka–eyes flitting towards his crimson-stained shirt. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Seriously, though–you’ve acted off since you returned, Grandmaster. Something is irking you–and we can tell it’s not just the Moon.”

Diluc stated, direct and blunt, whilst preparing Varka a glass of water. His eyes narrowed at him from where he stood behind the bar–he could read Varka’s face with ease. While the man may deny the truth of his feelings, his expression betrays him every time without fail.

Could he even tell them the truth? Varka doubted they would believe him in the first place. He couldn’t just be blunt and admit that he yearned to return to Nod-Krai in the midst of the chaos–they would take it the wrong way, assume that he hates it here in Mondstadt and would much prefer being in a far more opulent nation. He knew that wasn’t it–but they wouldn’t.

Varka clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers. He brushed over the lump beneath his glove, fiddling with it anxiously. They can’t know. They can’t know about my companions, or the contentment I felt homing there for three years, and they absolutely, most definitely cannot know about Flins.

A tap against the counter snapped Varka free from the intense flow of thoughts in his head, eyes flicking up towards Diluc–who still held the same concerned expression. Jean faced him in the same way. Varka could only bite the inside of his cheek, before finally clearing his throat and letting out a –clearly false– boastful chortle. 

“Nah, all’s good here! I’m just…winded from all the fighting, ya know?”

Neither of them seemed to buy his flimsy excuse, yet they decided to let it blow over for now. No point in pushing if he would never give them a proper, honest answer.

Jean frowned softly at him, whilst Diluc turned away and picked up her empty glass to wipe it clean. Varka could only tilt his head downwards at the bar, eyes lingering on the Wolfhook berries Diluc had placed along the rim of his glass. His heart throbbed in his chest at their dark amethyst hue, throat beginning to burn with incoming tears. Don’t do it, Varka. Stop breaking into pieces every damn time you see something purple, it’s just a colour, for Archon’s sake–

Inhaling a deep, hitched breath, Varka pushed his stool back and stepped off into the restrooms. The edges of his eyes brimmed with unshed tears, throat feeling as if it were closing in on itself. Varka shoved his way into a stall–and everything flooded out. He’s probably dead out there.  I should have never left. I thought I could make it back in a few weeks before our special day, and of course, the Moon betrayed us. 

Varka buried his face into his palms, taking in tight gasps for whatever air he could get into his lungs. Hell, he couldn’t even tell if they were working properly–he was suffocating. He bit down on a finger, teeth digging into his roughened skin until it flushed red and drew blood.

It’s a sign. We weren’t meant to be, we never were. The Moon Goddess would much rather kill all of Teyvat before allowing me his hand.

The image of an unresponsive corpse flashed across Varka’s eyes against his will. He pictured it in detail–His face, agonized yet finally at peace from the nagging voices. Those amber eyes that only ever looked alive when I glanced his way–truly dead. His body twisted in ways it should never be, his blood pouring across the ground from an accelerated impact after he finally allowed himself to listen to the intrusive impulses in his head–

Varka hunched over the toilet in front of him, hurling up the miniscule amount of food he’d consumed through the day. He coughed and hacked it all–knuckles whitening from where they clutched the porcelain. He’s dead. Flins is dead. He jumped from the top of the lighthouse to get away from this, and I never got to say goodbye–

He gasped in another struggle for air, before heaving over yet again. Or a monster got him. It tore him apart, I will never hold one piece of him again–

“Grandmaster Varka? Is that you in here, hacking up a storm?”

He snapped out of it. Varka coughed into his fist a few more times, then flushed the water down the toilet. Steeling himself for a proper interaction with another human being, he wiped his face, and opened up the stall door. He made immediate eye contact with Kaeya leaning against the wall as he stepped out–the captain’s expression morphing from one of amusement to barely concealed concern. Kaeya fell silent for a good sixty seconds before he mustered even a sound.

“...You look like hell, Grandmaster. Might I ask what had you hurling up every ounce of alcohol you drank tonight? Other than the bartender pouring far too heavy, of course.”

His lips twitched up into a smirk, only to vanish a moment later. It was clearly not a good time to make snide jokes–considering Varka appeared as if he had just glared Death straight in its eye.

Varka shook his head, pushing past to approach the sinks. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he realized–he really did look like hell. What’s happened to him?

He splashed cold water onto his face, wiping it with a towel after. Kaeya followed behind him, leaning his hip against the counter. He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He was well aware of the spreading word that Varka hid something from everyone he came in contact with–a secret deep enough to draw concern from anyone who held conversation with him recently.

Varka watched his reflection in silence, despite the questions practically emanating off of the Captain. He shouldn’t look this way. Even in times of war, he kept himself neatly groomed. He couldn’t even manage that. 

He worried his lip between his teeth, eyes closing and eyebrows furrowing. Varka felt Kaeya pat the back of his shoulder firmly, a sigh slipping from him.

“You can trust me, Grandmaster. I’m not one for giving advice, but…Getting it off your chest will improve your health greatly.”

Kaeya urged him–voice uncharacteristically gentle. It was bizarre. The Cavalry Captain was never soft. He held a certain seductive charm that never once faltered, his aura bringing citizens in endlessly.

But now? He let some of that impossible gentleness slip through the cracks–and much to Varka’s dismay, it was working. Screw him and his way with words, it’s no wonder so many people throw themselves at him.

Varka kept his eyes shut and hands clasped, leaning his forearms against the counter. He needs to let him in. He’ll go mad if he doesn’t.

“...I wish to make home in Nod-Krai.”

He uttered, almost feeling Kaeya’s emotions shift. When Varka cracked an eye open and turned his head in his direction, he didn’t appear angry. Kaeya seemed moreso taken aback by the confession, fingers twitching against his arm. He waved a palm for Varka to continue.

And he did. He let it all spill out at once–everything he’s been holding back just flooding out of him–and Archons, did it truly lift a heavy weight from his chest.

“I have…Really fallen for the place. The people are unbelievably welcoming, and…actually beckoned me to stay. But uh…Obviously I had to come back home, so I turned ‘em down.”

Varka let out a breath of relief now that it was actually out to someone other than his own brain. But, when he turned to Kaeya once again, he only saw his facial features tense. He knew there was more–Varka wouldn’t have gone into an intense panic attack because he wanted to live in Nod-Krai instead of Mondstadt. 

Varka bit his tongue, dragging it over his teeth in silence. He twisted the ring on his finger–drawing Kaeya’s attention. His eye widened, sapphire blue flicking back up to Varka’s face. Varka tensed–and his words came out before he could think twice to stop it.

“...I’m also engaged.”

Kaeya only nodded. His lips twisted back into that same enchantingly irritating smirk.

“Yeah, I know.”

__________

Varka felt a certain sense of relief when he exited the restroom with Kaeya. His heart settled into a resting pace, lungs no longer working overtime to keep him breathing. Kaeya moved languidly through the tavern, sinking into a stool at the bar and crossing his legs. Diluc only rolled his eyes and passed an empty glass to a different bartender. It clearly amused the Captain.

Kaeya swiveled his head towards Varka, resting his chin upon his fist.

“How about I buy us a round of drinks, hm? Wash those thoughts right out of your mind.”

Varka considered the offer silently, running over the idea in his head. It was most likely not the best decision to drink more alcohol. His throat still burned from what he expelled.

He shook his head, hand waving dismissively. Kaeya only hummed in reply, happily taking the glass handed to him by the bartender. His throat bobbed as he took a swig, glass clinking against the wooden bar when he set it back down with a pleased sigh.

…They sat in the peaceful tavern atmosphere until late into the eve, chattering over eventual non-alcoholic beverages. Varka allowed himself to finally relax in the presence of a close companion, sipping at berry juice throughout the conversations. Thoughts of Flins still lingered in the back of his mind–but for now, he refused to allow his visions to wander into morbid territory. Perhaps, he truly is alive. Would he still think of me, in the midst of this chaos?

When the two men finally exited Angel’s Share and stepped out into the cold nighttime air, all hell seemed to break loose. Just as Varka had given Kaeya a farewell and a firm pat to the back, shrill alarms sounded in ominous echoes throughout the streets of the city. Kaeya acted immediately, his knightly impulses kicking into overdrive. He drew his sword, and without another glance back at Varka, sprinted off in the direction of the front gates.

Varka cursed under his breath. Of course when he allows himself to breathe for a night, those monsters organize an invasion. Typical.

His palm wrapped tight around the handle of his claymore, legs moving fast through the teeming crowd of people. He pushed past them cautiously–spying at least ten knights guiding townspeople into the ‘safe zone’--the Cathedral. The building monsters avoided like a vicious plague.

His hyperventilative breaths came out as fog in the winter air, snow crunching with every firm step Varka took. He had to get to the front gates–they typically invaded that particular zone. His mind was hyperfocused on just getting to his destination–until a softspoken whistle whispered through his ears. 

The hairs on his neck raised, blood running cold as the relentless snow that powdered along his mussed hair. Varka swiveled his body in every direction–the wind whipping in his face. The whistle persisted with every movement Varka made in the direction of the gates, growing stronger in his head the further he approached.

Out of the corner of his eye, Varka spotted a singular movement–the flap of wings, then nothing.

Oh, Archons, no–No, no, no!

Impending dread flooded into Varka’s body, chilling him to the bone. His legs moved–but he barely processed it. Not when the gloom of a mournful lyre being plucked was resounding between his ears in opposite frequencies with the distant whistle. It felt as if ages had passed by the time Varka even got close to the gates, trudging through the thick snow. He shielded his eyes from the approaching wave of an icy blizzard–icicles prodding at his skin. Almost there, I’m almost there–

His foot bumped something warm in the snow. Varka’s stomach sank–but he didn’t dare glance down. Keep going. Don’t look.

He continued his trudge, huffing intense breaths. He could barely grasp a proper intake of oxygen. He was suffocating.

The intense scent of iron wafted through Varka’s senses. Blood. The blood of his allies, their bodies buried in the snow. He’s kicked at least eight in the last five minutes of forcing himself through the blizzard.

He felt his boot brush against another object–bringing him down to the ground hard. The powdery snow cushioned his fall–that was the least of his worries. It was what he tripped over that brought his berry juice burning into his throat. Varka coughed against his hand–crimson staining the pale surface below.

Through the relentless hail storm, Varka caught sight of a head of dim blue hair, blade clutched tight in his palm. He attempted to holler out to him, to no avail. His vocal chords refused to work in his favor. Varka gasped and hacked painfully, limbs going numb from his time collapsed in the freezing snow.

Another screech echoed in his ears, the whistle growing louder, unavoidable. Varka saw it with his own eyes–the exposed spine, its extensive wings that elevated it into the air and kept it steady through the horrid storm. Endless bones and flesh ran down its enormous body–drawing his attention to everything else.

Its chest. Holy shit, that’s our Archon, that thing is the God that vowed to protect us for all of eternity–

Varka’s hand extended helplessly to draw Kaeya’s attention to him. He had to get away from that thing–it looked starved.

Just watching Venti’s contorted body expose itself from amongst that being of flesh, bones, and feathers was enough to bring pure acid up from his stomach. Varka hyperventilated fast, eyes peeled wide at what was laid out in front of him.

Kaeya drew his sword to its abdomen–piercing deep through the mess of feathers and bones. It wailed in an agonized screech–the whistle almost bursting Varka’s eardrums from the sheer pitch itself. The world around him went completely silent, save for the ringing in his ears.

He should have been grateful for it, had it rang for just ten more seconds–because Varka would have much preferred losing his ability to hear completely, if it meant never hearing the devastating scream of pure terror that came from deep within Kaeya’s chest as his body flung above the Monster, and the resounding crunch of bones and his blade when it dragged him within its jaws.

The sight of Kaeya’s lifeless form would haunt him for eternity.

I was holding a steady conversation with him just three hours ago. I poured my secrets out to him, and he’s now nothing but food for the beast that was once our Archon–

The beast released another echoing screech–only to flail its twisted wings and take to the skies. Varka could only lay there, body completely numb and unmoving, eyes following as it flew out of his sight.

In his last few seconds of consciousness, Varka saw Kaeya’s softened features, his laid-back attitude and snarky way of speaking.

May the Anemo Archon guide his soul.

Chapter Text

The crunch of boots  in the snow with every step lingered in his ears, limbs quivering in the frigid air of the mountains in the midst of winter. Every inhale burned in his lungs, his exhales agonizing. He struggled against the piles of white that bit at his thighs as he fled, pants completely soaked through and leaving the flesh of his legs completely numb. He can’t even think of why he was here, wandering one of the iciest mountains in the entirety of Teyvat–he must be a psychopath. Or perhaps he’s simply lost his mind–he cannot differentiate the two any longer.

The devastating wail of a vile creature shook  the trees, and sent cold shivers down to his very bones. Something craved his soul–and it would not stop until he was its next fulfilling meal.
Flins increased his pace to the best of his ability–fighting against the land that held him back from escape. This is truly it for him. He will collapse from the agonizing hypothermia, the cold that bit at his skin.

His legs were far too weak to carry him anymore–giving out completely and sending him reeling to the icy ground. Pain shot through his body, leaving aches everywhere that wasn’t quite numb just yet. Flins struggled to breathe through the frigid air, palms clutching at handfuls of snow to drag his limp body forward. Slowly, the paleness of the ground faded into crimson. Flins couldn’t process it–he knew it was likely to be his own.

Grunting under his breath, he struggled to crawl further. The creature had long abandoned its attempt to snag him–the forest eerily still. The trees no longer quaked, the ground no longer vibrating with every one of its intense steps.

Flins continued on–every inch of his skin unfeeling. His teeth chattered, lip bitten to the point of bleeding. His every bone ached with each tremoring drag of his torso against the freezing land. He would die here–he’s sure of it.

The stains of crimson in the snow grew in amount the further Flins crawled. Although his consciousness had begun to grow blurry from his loss of blood, what appeared in front of him most certainly was not his own. He bit down on his lip hard, and kept going. The shadow of a figure came into his vision, the amount of stained snow almost excessive. Someone was there.

When Flins managed to drag himself up to the body, his blood ran cold–colder than it already felt. That luscious golden hair was far too familiar–far too painful to see tinged red. He managed every ounce of strength within his weakened body to rise over it–fingers shaking as they rested upon the unmoving chest of the one person he trusted most.

Flins shot up with a yell, almost slipping out of the booth in his panic. Eyes turned towards him immediately–sending a wave of something akin to embarrassment through him. When he truly processed where he was–within the warmth of The Flagship, thousands of miles far from Dragonspine and its relentless blizzards–, he allowed himself to relax. Flins’ eyes slipped shut. He allowed himself to breathe.

When he opened them once again, the Traveler was standing over him, staring down with an air of concern around her. She crossed her arms, tilted her head, and looked him up and down. “...Nightmare? I get those a lot. I don’t normally wake up hollering, though.”

Lumine shrugged her shoulders–something deep flickering within her golden irises for a mere second before it vanished. She sunk into the opposite booth, elbows placed upon the table. Flins took a moment to sit up properly and adjust his appearance, clearing his throat. Lumine only stared back at him from across the table–waiting.

She wants an explanation. Lovely.

Flins shook his head and went to stand up–but the intense look Lumine gave him kept him rooted in place. He certainly understands how she keeps Paimon in check so easily, with that kind of glare. Flins twisted at his ring, tapping a foot against the floor. He isn’t getting out of this–he knows it. He can’t tell her everything.

“...It was about your crashed wedding, huh?”

Flins’ head immediately snapped up from where it was tilted, jaw dropping just slightly. How did she know about his engagement? That was impossible. Not a single soul in Teyvat, save for himself and his missing partner, was aware of it. Flins stared back at her, gloved fingers digging into the wooden table. Lumine’s lips quirked up as she rested an elbow upon the table, chin pressed to her fist.

“Don’t look so mortified, I’m the only person here who knows. I haven’t even told Paimon.”

Somehow, Flins couldn’t help but find her excuse to be flimsy. Lumine may be a trustworthy person–one of the few that never fled the moment they breathed the same oxygen as him, or didn’t see him as a freak that hid away in a rusty lighthouse–but it’s obvious when someone is lying. Through years of others faking smiles around him, only to abandon him in the end, Flins has adapted to reading facial expressions.

And Lumine looks guiltier than a spirit caught creeping up behind him in the midst of his duties.

Flins cocked an eyebrow and tipped his head. Lumine cleared her throat. She knew she was caught in the midst of a lie–but could she really be blamed? Paimon was the nosiest critter she’s ever met in the five years she’s resided in Teyvat. The second Paimon realized Lumine had something hidden from her, she began to prod until inevitably, the Traveler gave in and spilled.

“Flins is due to get married to the Grandmaster on the last night of Winter!”

Paimon’s jaw had absolutely dropped at such news, her small hands slowly releasing Lumine’s scarf after she had been yanking on it to get information out of her. That wasn’t the secret she had been expecting–Paimon truly believed Lumine planned on tossing her back into the ocean where she found her!

“Uh…What?”

Lumine covered her face and groaned exasperatedly into her palms. She sank into the mattress of their temporary bed, elbows to her knees. Paimon hadn’t seen her this distraught since they first met. Muffled by her hands, Lumine let out her next admission in a huff.

“I was supposed to keep it a secret…They were keeping it private until a couple weeks before it would happen, but I overheard them talking by the lighthouse. I didn’t even know they were together!”

She recalled exactly what she had witnessed. Lumine originally intended to pay Flins a short visit to question him a bit about the Final Night Cemetery, if he was aware of any good areas to hunt for local specialties–only to stumble across the man himself, embracing Grandmaster Varka just in the doorway of the lighthouse. They hadn’t done more. Perhaps there was a short brush of lips against Flins’ forehead–but Lumine was intent on blocking what she had witnessed from her mind. Lumine could remember hearing the whispered words, “...Another month, and I’ll be livin’ in this old lighthouse with you. I’ve gotta admit…I’m actually pretty excited. I love it out here.”

Flins had ducked his head after the light peck–Lumine could just barely make out a tint of rose to his pale cheeks. She hid discreetly behind a cluster of graves–straining her ears to hear properly. 

Flins’ gaze lifted to meet Varka’s yet again–softened much further than anyone has ever seen of him. Lumine couldn’t help but feel as if this changed her view of the two. She may have seen Flins occasionally let his walls down around her and Paimon–pausing for a leisurely nighttime conversation with them, or displaying the jewels he had scavenged over the years…–but never once was he affectionate. He detested embraces or flowery words. It felt unrealistic for one to show care for his icy self.

And yet, here the truth was, laid out right in front of Lumine. When Varka vanished within the warmth of the lighthouse, door shutting behind him, she made her escape back to where Paimon chattered with a cluster of spirits.

……

…Flins stared back at Lumine with a deadpan glare, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line, like he was holding back a flurry of swears in fae language. (Lumine is unsure if he truly did bite his tongue–she caught a hint of a mumble under his breath that she couldn’t quite decipher.) 

The Traveler cracked a nervous smile and a humourless laugh. Flins furrowed his eyebrows further, and shook his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he breathed something more once again. From the twinge of irritation within the words, Lumine was sure she didn’t quite need a translation.

“Listen,” Lumine pleaded, leaning forward against the table with a look of pure guilt. “I just so happened to be nearby and hear what got said, not my fault.” 

Flins narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn’t be serious, invading their privacy in such a way, only to play it off like some silly mistake? He almost felt offended at such ignorance.

“Do you prefer to be buried by the seaside…Or in range of the lighthouse?”
That sent Lumine off, the traveler showing little hesitation in springing up from the booth and carrying herself back over to the rest of the group. Flins tipped his head to the side–he meant it as a mere jest. He wasn’t truly going to bury Lumine in the graveyard.

A low hum drawled from Flins’ throat as he reclined in the booth, arms crossing across his chest. He might as well relax before chaos ultimately breaks free at eve.

Slipping his eyes shut, he lay his head back against the cushion. It was typical for the others to brush his presence off–he didn’t mind it. He understood their reasoning–Flins was thought as an ominous being, a fae that sets his sights on a target and robs them of their soul and bones. Those were mere rumors. Flins ignored them–he knew himself best.

One other person knew him closely–and said person would likely never be seen again. The beasts have no doubt devoured Varka like a full three-course meal by now. And if by some miracle he were to still be alive, he’s already given up on Flins. Found a gorgeous lady from Mondstadt to wed instead of him, with his sunken eyes and frail limbs.

Flins forcefully snapped himself free from such delusions, raising himself from the booth to stand upright. He cannot allow himself to think in such a way–Varka is a strong man. He could be bitten between the jaws of a dragon and make it out alive, all to return home to Flins. 

And he’ll do it again when this disaster has ended.

_________

Day 7.

The creatures have grown more morbid as the days go by. Ineffa and I concluded that they were once human beings, twisted and morphed into these vile monsters through inhalation of the fog. The moon itself seems to have its own effects.

They become aggressive if they spot a possible target. My wound from my first encounter has become enflamed. If I am not cautious, I may resort to amputation. It is simple enough to regrow the limb.

I will monitor it for now. 

Ineffa and Nefer made their way outside to scavenge Nasha Town for any injured townspeople, the rest of us left to construct a plan to survive, and perhaps put an end to this mess.

Flins shut the journal with a soft thud, a sigh escaping him. He’s been entrapped within The Flagship for two days, relying purely on the rations left behind by the others. Jahoda had expressed kindness towards him–bringing him leftovers of meals they crafted, or simply sitting by his side and listening to his chatter of his days with the spirits. He recalls once saving her from a cluster of irritated ghosts, whom aimed to drag her soul from her body. Conveniently, Flins had just been exiting the lighthouse to cleanse the graves–stumbling across the girl flailing her arms desperately, swiping them directly through the translucent bodies of the spirits. Flins waded them off, helped Jahoda stand from the wet soil, and wandered in the direction of a family’s gravestones with a rag in hand. He hadn’t realized Jahoda would be this appreciative, as to go against the other’s wariness around him and willingly deliver him food.

She had, once again, meandered over with half a plate of almond tofu, ever so silently settling it down upon the table. Flins watched it–as if expecting it to somehow be poisoned. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“...You have my gratitude, Jahoda.”

He had murmured, grasping the offered cutlery within his palm and poking at the cold tofu. He scooped a portion upon the fork, biting it off with a deep hum. A tad bland–but enough to keep his hunger at bay.

Jahoda beamed, flashing a toothy smile as she turned to skitter back into her room, lest someone like Lauma catch her gifting food to the fae. She would never hear the end of it.

Flins was quiet as he ate. With every bite of almond tofu, memories flashed across his vision. Varka once cooked for him. When he found Flins hunched over a desk piled with paperwork, hands digging into the roots of his hair, he would shake his head and step into the kitchen. Steaks were his specialty for dinner–fried eggs at breakfast, and occasionally, a traditional sandwich at lunch–though Varka often had been overtaken by work at noon. He once spilled to Flins the history behind his decent skill in culinary–his father would call him to assist his mother almost nightly for dinner. When they grew beyond the age to care for themselves, Varka took on the role himself.

Flins recalls the tears that pricked at his sapphire eyes as he retold the tale–only for him to swiftly wipe them away and brush it off with a boastful laugh.

By the time Flins finished his meal, a certain emptiness had wormed its way into his gut. It wasn’t hunger–he had devoured a half plate of almond tofu seconds prior. It was something more. A deep yearning for what he had lost. Before he knew it, his throat began to burn with incoming tears.

Flins was grateful of the barren tavern as he allowed himself a moment to wallow in his woes.

___________

Nasha Town remained idle for the night, citizens tucked safely into their homes.

Ineffa and Nefer wandered the empty streets, in search for a sign of the monster Flins had been wounded from. From what they had come across so far, he most certainly was not jesting. Walls of houses were marked with deep scratches–dug deep enough to not have been caused by a child at play. Footsteps led directly to the front gates of the town and further into the land out of its bounds. They could only assume it had fled after drawing blood from Flins.

The fog of the moon had grown thicker–more suffocating. Ineffa needed not to breathe, Nefer struggled against every inhale. They searched every crevice of the town for something, a sign of the beast still lingering in the vicinity of humans. If it somehow had remained in Nasha Town, they had to take care of it as swiftly as possible. If it were to infect another person, a widespread disaster may occur.

Every step against the cobblestone led them further into fatal territory. Nefer gave Ineffa a side-long glance, humming low.

“...Are we truly trusting that Lightkeeper?”

It was a simple statement. Nefer hadn’t trusted Flins one bit, despite Lauma’s gentle nudges at her to allow him in. When monsters had sprouted around Nod-Krai, she primitively wished to let him be slain. His desperate scribbling in that journal every night that passed only furthered her suspicion.

Ineffa hadn’t turned towards her, gaze direct on their path as they walked. She typically would not trust a being like Flins, especially near Aino. But, she never saw warning signs when she glanced his way. If Flins truly was a traitorous fae with the intention of slaying them all when they least expected it, Ineffa would have known by now–and Flins would be disposed of.

“Yes, Nefer. Flins could prove a useful ally.” Ineffa stated, direct and upfront. Nefer’s nose scrunched in distaste. She fell into silence, their journey through the town continuing as such.

Nefer’s fingers twitched around her catalyst at a clatter in the distance. Ineffa, too, picked it up–sawblade in hand. They refused to allow such a beast to wander any longer than needed. On their guard, both women turned every angle–searching. Ineffa’s mind echoed with blaring warning signals, her vision fading to red as she craned her head in a particular direction.

In the second she made eye contact with it, it broke into a dash, an ear-piercing shriek escaping its morbid throat. Ineffa clutched her sawblade–legs unmoving by Nefer’s side. They completely intended on fighting back against it–taking it on themselves. Flins had clearly been incompetent, face to face with such a measly target. They could take it down with ease.

The entity charged head-first, bloody, crooked teeth bared at the duo. Its wailing vibrated the ground beneath their feet as Ineffa raised her sawblade, hands clutching the handle tight. It whirred energetically, coursing pure energy through its system when Ineffa sank it into the creature’s protruding ribcage. Nefer distracted it whilst Ineffa worked to take it down–crimson spilling upon her metal limbs. With an agonized yelp, it fell to the hard ground with a thud.

Nefer breathed a sigh of relief. The people of Nasha Town could finally relax, now that this thing was dead. 

Ineffa yanked her polearm free from its thick flesh with a grunt of effort, wiping the tainted sawblade. The two shared an affirmative nod, beginning the walk back to The Flagship. They simply abandoned the creature in the streets–it would hopefully vanish when the sun rose.

Ineffa bowed her head as Nefer entered the tavern first, following close behind. Lauma and the others within their group had exited their rooms, settled around the bar counter–idly chattering amongst themselves whilst consuming what they could assume to be some sort of chocolate treat. The Traveler appeared fairly prideful–she likely baked it up herself with the ingredients she purchased that morning.

A glance to the side, Ineffa caught sight of Flins laying silent upon the booth he had been stationary in since he was wounded. Nefer brushed his almost invisible presence off and stepped towards the bar, sharing a small smile with Lauma as she sat by her side. Ineffa tipped her head to the side. They’re completely ignoring his existence. Strange.

Flins didn’t seem as if he minded, though. He had curled in on himself in the small space he was given, violet strands spilling down his shoulders and veiling his face. Ineffa approached further–stopping in place upon hearing a barely concealed, choked inhale. The sensors in her skull went off–human emotion.

He was crying?

Ineffa, hesitantly, continued closer. The struggled breathing grew audible the further she approached–until she extended an arm, cold hand pressing to his shoulder.

Flins sat up with a start, snapping into a straightened position. Gloved palms wiped his eyes, erasing any evidence of his emotions–despite the quiver of his lip and tremble in his fingers.

Flins adjusted his coat into place, fixating his hair to appear proper. Clearing his throat, he craned his neck towards Ineffa.

“May I help you?”

He questioned, clasping his hands in his lap. Ineffa could sense the tension within his body–something irked at his head. Ineffa hummed and sat upon the bench across from him, eyes scanning over his facial features. Stress lines, bitten lips, an undeniable tension through every inch of him…

Ineffa watched him idly for another thirty seconds, performing a silent scan of his body language. The way he fiddled with his fingers, avoiding making proper eye contact–something was wrong with him.

“I am sensing high levels of stress within your system. Am I to assume something is irritating such a reaction?”

Such a matter-of-fact tone made Flins flinch back. He avoided her gaze further, shifting his body to the side. He hadn’t wanted to share the truth with any others–it was bad enough that Lumine spilled it to Paimon. Breathing in until his lungs ached, Flins managed a flimsy lie–or, at least something close.

“Are we not already aware that something is off in my head?”, Flins paused, narrowing his eyes, “It is nothing that hasn’t already been for ages. Do not get your screws twisted over it.”

Ineffa, clearly, hadn’t believed him. She knew it was something more than ‘what was already there.’ Flins may be skilled in the art of twisting words into falsehoods–yet his expressions gave him away completely. While what he said held its own truth, it was not what Ineffa was searching for. She shook her head.

“I can sense your lies, Kyryll. I am programmed to memorize human behaviors–you are not okay.”

The use of his given name shattered the facade of stability. Flins furrowed his eyebrows, biting his lip between his teeth with a huff. He gave in, leaning his torso over the table–voice lowering to a murmur.

“So be it. I was due to be a groom in exactly a week, before the Moon Goddess made the decision to curse the entirety of Teyvat. To further my agony, my fiance is likely dead.” 

His words came out in a hiss, fingers digging into the edge of the wooden table. He sank back into the cushion, crossing a leg over the other.

“Does that clear things up, Ms. Ineffa? Or must I write a novel of my woes?”

Ineffa fell silent. Though it wasn’t something she expected, not one part of her mechanical brain was surprised. She had a hunch of who the lost groom had been–Varka did have a strangely bright sparkle within his eyes whenever he entered The Flagship and ordered a round of drinks for every patron.

It was the final ends of his sentence that caught her attention. Is he aware that Varka is not dead? Mondstadt is a safe zone at the moment, as far as Ineffa is aware.

Ineffa opened her mouth to notify Flins of such information–only to clench it shut at a ground-shaking rumble. The walls groaned with the sudden weight of the roof, lights creaking–a couple shattering upon impact to the ground.

Flins went to stand–a sudden spike of pain shooting through his calf. A pained grunt escaped him as he collapsed back against the seat, hands clutching his leg. Ineffa had long sprinted off through the quaking building to find Aino and ensure her safety, the others scurrying out of their rooms, weapons in hand. Flins attempted to stabilize himself on his feet again, slipping into his boots slowly. The agony throbbing in his leg would have to be ignored for now–he needed to find his polearm.

Stammering towards a wall, he clutched the handle. Wooden beams crashed upon the floor, dust rising from their years of never being cleaned. The others were in a rush, pushing one another in the direction of the door. Lauma stood behind the rest, ushering Aino and Jahoda outside. Lumine shielded Paimon from the incoming planks from above, narrowly dodging around them. Ineffa and Nefer had defended something off from the back of the tavern–monsterous wails ringing in Flins’ ears. That certainly was nothing good. Something was invading.

Flins panted as he leaned his weight against his polearm, every step spiking pain throughout his ankle and calf. Whatever was out there, he had to escape it. He cannot guarantee his survival again if faced with another morbid entity. He spotted Lauma close by–managing to drag himself in her direction. Please, for once, trust him–don’t throw him down like fresh meat. 

His heaving breaths caught Lauma;s attention, the woman turning towards him. She pursed her lips as she watched him struggle against his injuries–expression debating. Questioning if she should abandon Flins here with the beasts, allow him to be their next meal. Or, perhaps she could save his life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She settled on the latter.

Breathing a sigh, Lauma extended a hand–clutching Flins’ arm and yanking him towards the door. She almost threw him to the ground–but even that would be too cruel for him. Lauma guided Flins down the steps until he could stand on stable ground, attempting a smile.

“...Just this once–I’ll trust you not to harm us.”

Flins only stared back at her, arm released from her surprisingly tight grip. He stumbled for a moment, before regaining his stability against his polearm. He simply bowed his head.

“...You have my gratitude.”

They left it at that. Flins dared a glance behind himself towards The Flagship–watching on as the wooden structure collapsed in on itself. It felt as if every memory from within the tavern had been buried beneath the rubble–the days of drinking with the other Lightkeepers, staying the night when he wandered far too long in the midst of the night, sitting by the side of Varka and nursing a bottle of dandelion wine straight from Mondstadt.

That was all gone.

For the sake of his own sanity, Flins turned his back to the tavern, and staggered behind Lauma through the slowly collapsing Nasha Town. Smoke rose to the sky, burning embers illuminating his every movement. The panicked screams of the people rang in his ears–they were slowly dying around him, whether from the blazing fires that overtook the town or the ever thickening fog. 

Flins pushed on, pulling the fabric of his scarf over his face yet again. Better not to breathe any air here, lest smoke and fog fill his lungs and cause him to drop dead.

Heavy steps sounded behind him–then a warning call. “We’ve gotta evacuate! These things are taking over!”

Nefer and Ineffa had returned from battling the entities, now sprinting up by Lauma and Flins’ side. They appeared deeply exhausted, wires twisting from Ineffa’s limbs and blood dripping from Nefer’s lip. Lauma caught sight of the injury, almost stumbling to a stop–immediately picking the pace back up at the wailing of monsters behind them. She would stress over Nefer’s wounds when they weren’t running for their lives.

Spilled substances squelched beneath every hard step–Flins refused to glance downwards. He knew it would be far too morbid of a sight to truly process. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly locked in front of him, on the fast approaching seaside docks as they rushed towards the closest ship. The agonized screams grew louder–Flins spotted cold bodies along the way, blood spilling upon every surface. 

At least three creatures had followed them down to the docks, advancing on them fast.

Ineffa stayed behind on the dock, skillfully untying the knotted ropes holding the boat down as the others climbed inside. Flins sank down upon the wooden bench, letting a sigh of relief escape him. His leg ached. He would survive.

Ineffa swung herself with the rest of the group, grabbing one of the oars and rapidly swishing it through the dark waters. The creatures slowed to a stop–wailing and screeching at the edge of the docks, clawed hands reaching out uselessly.

They survived.

Flins allowed some of the tension to flood free from his body through a deep exhale. He hunched forward, elbows on his knees. He would never forget everything he had just witnessed. The flailing bodies, the blood as it splattered upon the ground and his boots–the hunger in the eyes of the creatures.

He closed his eyes.

Flins didn’t sleep well that night, under the watchful gaze of the Moon.

Chapter Text

Night 7.

We made an escape to a nearby island after ‘they’ invaded. It stung to abandon such a memorable town–but in the end, it was the only choice. We have come across a bold, gallant woman named Beidou, who, for the last week, has made multiple trips to and from the outskirts of Sumeru, carrying survivors into a safer land upon her ship. She was willing to board us at one simple cost–an intense, intricate inspection of our skin. She pulled the others aside, leaving me with a man she called ‘Kazuha’, for privacy purposes. I understood.

Kazuha explained everything as he checked my flesh. Those infected by the Moon would develop boils along their bodies, and their skin would sink inwards. And, recently, they established another effect caused by the Moon’s fog–Blood-Moon Flu. What would begin as a mere scratchy throat developed into violent coughs of blood and innards. They were forced to throw far too many men overboard after they contracted the illness. It is highly contagious.

Lumine had chosen to stay behind in Nod-Krai for the time being, with the intent of investigating the truth. She refused to take any objections. We departed without her and Paimon both–I feel guilty. I should have been the one staying back, sacrificing myself–not them. But what can I do anymore?

For now, all we can do is wait until we arrive in Sumeru. I can only hope we are safer there.

-F.

“...Mister Flins?”

A voice came from his side, snapping him free from his reverie. Flins glanced up from his seat, shutting his journal. Jahoda and Aino stood by him, their hands tucked beneath their sleeves. Jahoda appeared particularly shaken, her lip trembling from the coolness of the night. Without the warmth of a heater down in the decks, it was inevitable that they would begin to grow cold. Flins only tipped his head and gestured for her to continue.

“Uh…We’re getting really cold, and there aren’t that many blankets left…” Jahoda started, pausing as a shiver racked through her bones. “...Can we…maybe use your lantern for warmth…? Please?”

Flins felt something tug painfully at his heart. Aino’s hands had clasped together beneath the oversized sleeves of her jacket, and Jahoda clenched her arms around herself. They both gave glances in the direction of Flins’ lantern on the desk, its flame flickering idly. Are they aware it is dangerous to approach a blue flame?

And yet, he found that he couldn’t turn them down. They aren’t the undead. They will freeze in this weather.

Reluctantly, Flins took the handle of his lantern into his hand–lowering it carefully for Jahoda to take. Firmly, he stated, “Be cautious. The blue flame could scorch your skin.”

The girls simply beamed, taking in the warmth emanating from the lantern. They cupped their hands close to its radiating heat, sighing in relief as it waded away the cold in their bodies.

“Thank you, Mister Flins! You’re a lot kinder than the others say you are…”

Flins almost scoffed at such a sentence–despite knowing its truth. Everyone said he was cruel and strange. When would they finally see the truth of his being?

He didn’t reply.

___________________

Upon the sun’s rising at dawn, the crew fell back into their daily routine. Beidou remained at the bow of the ship, protective mask tugged down around her neck. She hadn’t seen a mere lick of rest through dusk–and yet, somehow still, her veins coursed with determination to bring the survivors someplace safe. Beidou had seen the sheer horror etched into their features as they scrambled onto the ship and below the deck, flesh burning at the contact with the Moon’s rays.

She breathed a sigh into the frigid air, gripping the wheel tight. They would be sailing for at least another five hours. Beidou could only hope none of them killed each other in that span of time.

She caught sight of Kazuha making his way up from below the ship, then taking in a deep inhale of the salty air. His lips tilted into a barely-there smile in Beidou’s direction, his steps trailing up until he stood by her side. “Captain,” Kazuha began, bowing his head downwards. “I have counted all survivors–They appear in stable conditions.”

Beidou only nodded, gaze focused upon the spanning sea in front of them. Kazuha hummed into the wind.

“...Yet, some have been scorched. They are being treated.”

Such news brought a scowl to the captain’s features,, her eyes narrowing. “That bad, eh?”

The responding sigh confirmed her concerns. She had watched it go down the previous night–every survivor wailing and stumbling over one another in an effort to get into the deck, and away from the moon’s burns. She, herself, suffered a harsh scorch upon her shoulder–simply from seconds in its beams.

Over time, more survivors crept out from below, exhaling in relief when they weren’t immediately seared upon exiting. They chattered idly amongst themselves as the crew worked around the ship–few still resting underneath. Over a warm lunch, they allowed themselves to relax.

….

“Can we truly trust this man, Lauma?”

The words came out in a tone of concern. Nefer crossed a leg over her knee, tapping a hand idly upon the table by her side. From the moment Flins became obligated to stay within their group, Nefer felt wary. His presence was off. 

Lauma pressed her lips into a thin line at the question. She had never once trusted him–even animals were wary whenever nearby him–and that was never a good sign. But, in a time like this–where simply exposing skin underneath the moonlight could scorch one’s body like it was nothing but fresh meat–they couldn’t afford to abandon survivors.

“...I do not trust him either–but, at the moment…We have to.”

Nefer sighed low in her throat, watching Lauma across the room. She didn’t want to trust Flins–he would only pose as a risk to them. “We don’t have to trust anyone. What if he’s secretly infected? That monster wounded his leg–how can we prove that it didn’t sink its vile disease into his blood?” Her words came out venomous, drawing a soft frown upon Lauma’s face. Slowly, she came forward, bringing a hand down to interlock with Nefer’s own–which tapped anxiously against her thigh.

Lauma held eye contact for a silent moment, hand squeezing around Nefer’s palm.

“If Flins were infected, we would have seen the signs by now. I am…not a fan of him, either…But do we truly have any other choice?”

‘We, too, would be monsters, if we killed an innocent.’ remained unsaid between them–but the lines of hesitation and annoyance that formed upon Nefer’s skin showed that she knew what Lauma wished to say.

“...Alright. I will tolerate him…temporarily. But should he do anything that puts you in danger…I will not be so lenient.”

Lauma only smiled.

“Thank you, Nefer.”

….

Flins passed the closed door silently. Somehow, such distrustful words hadn’t irked him–it was nothing new to him. He could count on one hand, how many people truly trusted him, refused to believe that he could be dangerous.

He bit his tongue, and continued journeying up onto the upper deck, arms crossed behind his back. In the time that had gone by, the sun began settling beyond the horizon–the passengers and crew sharing a steaming dinner despite the frigid winter air. Flins approached the table, finding a singular empty seat at the very end–a full plate of food settled in front of it.

Hesitantly, he sat–stabbing the silver fork into the baked fowl, and silently feeding it into his lantern. The flickering flame burned brighter in response to the fuel, his body feeling the income of new energy. Those closest glanced towards him curiously–likely questioning why he was scooping his food into a lantern instead of eating it. He brushed off their stares.

“Weird way of feedin’ yourself, but I respect it.”

A deep voice came from behind his back–filled with mirth. Flins recognized it quickly as the Captain, an amused smirk tipping on her lips. Flins shrugged as a response, and returned to shoveling food into his lantern. The flame flicked gleefully, before he closed it and set it aside.

“...Is there something wrong with how I consume food?” Flins questioned, defensive of his habits. It wasn’t his job to explain his own quirks to others–it was up to them to take the clues and figure it out on their own. Beidou let out a throaty, boastful laugh at his reaction. “Woah, kid–no need to be so defensive! I was just curious.” 

Beidou slid into the seat next to him, elbows placed upon the table’s surface. She appeared content with allowing them to simply float about the sea temporarily–at least, until the moon would inevitably rise, and force them below deck once again.

Flins refused to allow it to irk him. The nights were fairly peaceful–he was required to share his temporary room with another person, but they were silent enough to rarely bring him annoyance. They stayed in their own half of the room, and he stayed within his. They never struck up conversation with him–Flins could only assume it was due to his appearance.

Flins fell into a silence. He was far too exhausted to bother with a conversation at the moment. Beidou hadn’t seemed to mind–tipping her head back and taking a swig of her drink. 

Flins kept his quiet as the ship rocked gently along the seas.

_________

Kaeya’s funeral had been nothing grand.

With such a little amount of time –between endless piles of paperwork and fending off whatever beasts ascended from below–, Varka could only organize a miniscule, intimate ceremony for the Cavalry Captain. At least half of Mondstadt’s residents arrived, expressions of woe upon their faces. Diluc had been particularly disturbed–his features twisted into a constant look of distress. He lingered about the service silently, never speaking a word. He turned away as they shoveled dirt over the wooden coffin, lips downturned into a frown as he backed off. Jean had offered an embrace–Amber squeezed his shoulder from his side, and Lisa bowed her head.

On any regular day, Varka would have come up to him and given him a swat to the back, laughing boastfully into the air–but it wasn’t like that. The man had just lost his brother–it wasn’t the time to joke with him.

Delivering the news to Diluc had been the heaviest task he’d taken on throughout all of this. He had been opening boxes of fresh deliveries in the back room of Angel’s Share, setting every bottle down with gentle care. He was quick to notice the tension in Varka’s movements–pausing and standing to full height.

Varka hadn’t allowed him to question his purpose here. He couldn’t manage to turn it into something gentle–for this situation wasn’t gentle. There was no way to dance around the truth. And so, low in his throat, Varka’s voice came out.

“Kaeya is dead.”

He watched the slow twist of Diluc’s face, from shock, to ultimate realization. He prayed it was a mere sick joke–that Varka had picked up some strange behaviour from Nod-Krai and believed it to be hilarious to tell him his brother was dead.

The seriousness within his gaze shattered Diluc’s every hope. Kaeya was truly gone.

He wanted to hope he had at least gone peacefully–but in such an era, it was foolish to wish for such a thing.

…

Varka only watched Diluc from afar. His movements were slow, legs dragging across the grass until he collapsed in a seat nearby. Jean and Amber approached him and sat on both of his sides–Lisa settling soon after. Jean wrapped a hand around Diluc’s trembling fingers, her eyes gentle as they observed the furrow of his brow.

“...He’s in a better place now…Right?”

Diluc blinked, then nodded slowly. As much as he didn’t want to admit to such a statement–he knew it was the truth. Kaeya no longer had to suffer in this world–watching as his companions dropped, one by one, to the beasts of the night. His own health had been slowly declining the more he fought against them.

It was for the best–and Diluc knew it.

Still, the truth stung. He never got the chance to apologise. To simply go up to Kaeya and wrap him in a familial embrace, to be the brother he should have been. Nothing was ever Kaeya’s fault–and still, Diluc pushed him away. He brushed him off completely. Kaeya had often requested to spar–and Diluc ignored him. He asked to have a simple drink, or breakfast together before he was called off to his duties–and still, Diluc turned his back to him and ignored it–tuned out the sigh of defeat and the silent steps as Kaeya made his exit.

And now, the only family he had left was buried just outside of Dawn Winery, grave surrounded in calla lilies and an old photo from his training days. The regrets bubbled in his stomach. 

Diluc closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh morning air. He needed to move on.

Varka came up to him soon–biting his lip and crossing his arms. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his coat, and dangled something from between his fingers for Diluc to grab. His stomach only dropped further as the earring was set upon his palm.

“We…recovered this from his body. I figured you’d want it.”

The gesture brought his concealed emotions forward in a rush. Diluc’s throat burned with emotions that he had long buried, a singular tear trailing down his cheek–before finally, he broke.

Varka lowered himself to a proper height–enough to wrap an arm around Diluc’s shoulders and hold him to his neck as he choked out a low cry. Varka could practically feel the aching remorse that flooded Diluc’s body with every shaking sob.

He craned his neck to glance in the direction of the grave. The guests had long left already, off to return to their own casual activities. They had no time to linger around and grieve–not when the Moon itself was against them.

Varka breathed a sigh as he watched the grave–as if somehow expecting Kaeya himself to appear right in front of them, arms open wide with that signature quirk of his lips.

Such a fantasy would never come to life. Kaeya–the Cavalry Captain himself– the man who laughed with him within Angel’s Share, who Varka sparred with outside of the Cathedral every Friday morning, who everyone in Mondstadt adored and admired–was gone. Varka silently swore to avenge his slain companion.

Even if it killed him–Varka would slay those beasts.

What other choice did he have?

…..

“Attention! We’ll be docking in the Sumeru Desert in about a half hour’s time! Grab everything you brought on board–we will not be going back onto the ship!”

Beidou’s voice echoed across the ship from where she stood at the wheel–the sands of the desert growing closer within their sights. Flins stood idle by the edge–watching it slowly approach. He had never once even imagined a desert–this was strange. Something he had never believed he would someday witness.

Cheers erupted from across the deck as they docked upon the sandy shore, The crew tossed a ramp overboard, landing it on the ground with a loud thud.

Flins remained behind the other survivors as they rushed down, laughing amongst themselves. Flins wouldn’t break the truth to them–the reality that they still weren’t safe. Monsters in the desert would likely be far worse than they were in Nod-Krai.

Still, Flins clutched his lantern, and slowly stepped down away from the ship. Beidou nodded in his direction–he only waved a hand.

Ineffa and the rest of their group remained, waiting behind for Flins at the end of the dock. He would have expected them to immediately flee the scene–take their chance to get away from him.

They didn’t.

Silent as ever, Flins trailed behind them across the desert. The sand crunched beneath his boots, legs sinking occasionally below the surface. Ahead, the others chattered of their intentions whilst in Sumeru. Find other possible survivors, reside with them until the crisis passes.

The forests of Sumeru loomed far ahead of them–promising something. Survival, companions, possible eternal doom–he couldn’t tell from such a great distance away. He did know that they certainly were not safe here. It was best to avoid meandering casually through the desert–lest some sort of creature ascend from the sand and drag them under. 

With the sun beaming down upon them, their movements slowed. Aino had used her vision to manifest some sort of water for them to stay hydrated–Flins was unsure if it could be considered drinkable. It was enough to keep them alive and moving. Movement was the safest option.

The desert had become seemingly endless, spanning for miles. Lauma gently fanned Nefer with her hand as they walked ahead, Nefer occasionally returning the action. Ineffa had used her arm as a mini-fan for Aino, the metal of her limbs growing far too warm. Her circuits would overheat if she wasn’t cautious. Jahoda was the least exhausted, somehow–happily bounding in front of the group and snatching scarabs from the ground. Her laughter rang cheerfully with every trinket she grabbed from the ground.

Flins had begun to warm under his layers of clothing, despite his absent coat and rolled-up sleeves. The mid-day heat left his head aching. He was sure to collapse if they stayed in such conditions any longer. He was used to the hard bite of snowstorms, the approaching numbness within his limbs as he traversed the icy plains–not this dry heat that dragged the air out of his lungs.

A figure shifted in the distance. Nefer brought them to an immediate stop–eyes narrowing in on whatever hid beyond the billowing sands. Something was watching them. Nefer took slow, cautious steps towards the silhouette, palm wrapped tight around her catalyst. Lauma followed behind her, exchanging a nod as they stepped directly into the curtains of gravel.

The terrified squeal of a teenage girl came from beyond. Lauma and Nefer stopped. A teenager? Out here, in the desert, as a sandstorm began to wind up?

Locks of lime hair blew into her face, covering the petrified expression that twisted her features. She had fallen down to the ground at the spook–now gazing up nervously at the significantly taller women whilst clutching a bow tight between her shaking fingers.

Her violet gaze trailed across the women above her–inspecting. It lingered on their arms–the primary site of infection if one were to contract it. At the lack of severe burns and boils across their skin, the teenager perked up–lips widening into a relieved grin. Lauma and Nefer shared a single bewildered glance, then turned back to the girl. Lauma offered a hand–she took it, pulling herself up onto her feet with a joyful, genuine laugh. Moments ago, she had been utterly petrified at their presence–looking as if she was about to begin aiming her arrows at them at any given moment–but now, she appeared relieved. They weren’t monsters from the sandstorm, come to sink their teeth into her limbs and drive the infection into her blood–they were like her.

“Finally,”, she started, securing her bow upon a strap on her back, arrows gently tucked into a bag. “More survivors!”