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“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person.”
The pair of ethereal, reddish claws froze in midair, as if hitting an invisible wall and bouncing back off of it. In retaliation, the entity gave an animalistic snarl…
“Now, begone.”
…only to be extinguished, as the sun’s light and heat evaporates the rain.
A faint flicker of an ancient power in those dead eyes that reflected nothing, a flurry of flames, blue and burning… and danger was averted. Once more, the monument remained unscathed. That vicious ghost again, the young man said to himself, bringing the lantern closer to the stone slate, which read “Aarnivalkea Chudomir” – the last standing homage to his father. How many years has it been now?
Brought upon the shore, the frigid gale was wailing. A song of days past, painfully familiar. A knife to the lungs for every single breath. Everwinter without solace. Icy waves, crashing on tall, blackened rocks which paved a treacherous path up to the solitary tower. The lighthouse. Once a beacon, a ray of hope, now a deserted, barely standing building. On this forsaken stretch of land, where the earth meets the embrace of the sea, all vibrations of the soul are past, present, and future.
A befitting residence indeed for a Ratnik such as Flins. His very existence was a graveyard.
~
Somewhere far, far away, in the depths of what once was the nation of love, tyranny thrived still. There, resources were scarce. There, the powerful took from the weak. And it was not humanity who suffered the greater losses – no, curious thing – but the merciful creatures of the forest, the fae.
Long years of resistance taught them to shapeshift precisely into the form they dreaded – the human body. What began as a coward’s ruse turned into a survival mechanism. Masterful in their craft they were, but even so, one detail always eluded them – the eyes. As habituated as they were to living in the dark, unfettered by human-made technological advancements, their mimicked pupils served no real purpose, hence their gradual disappearance. Design flaw or merely a consequence of evolution? Only the eyes could betray their true ancestry. Eventually, humans learned. After that, the fae had never been safe again.
Seeking refuge from the crossfire, a couple found comfort in a cave, where neither sword nor frost could harm them. In trembling silence they waited for the storm to clear, for the enemy to give up pursuit. It was then that the first Cryo Archon reached forth to them with a blessing.
Love – the miracle that begets life.
Beautiful it was. It did not last.
For death always finds a way. Death steps back, smirking at His childish foe, setting an infallible countdown in motion.
Time flew by… and the solemn hour came. The female fae leaped at the enemy in a desperate need to protect her mate. Barely moments before, he had shielded her from a platoon’s range of fire.
Oh, how the humans learned! Gone were the barbaric instruments of war. Now, devastation merely required triggers pulled or buttons pressed.
Powerlessly, the male fae watched in horror as his partner collapsed to the ground, but not without first having driven her slim spear in the enemy’s neck. The rumble of the forest receded. Echoes of sorrowful moans and unfulfilled wishes rose to a desolate gray sky.
“Save… child… proof… love.”
On that day, in that blood-soaked snow, was Flins born.
~
Dark clouds engulfed the last remaining tender moonlight. The Final Night Cemetery was all the more unsettling of a sight like this. A reminder to fetch more oil, Flins told himself as he went through the motions of the trivialities of such a task. Walking up to the lighthouse, humming an amusing folk tune of the Nod-Krai of old, he went over his to-do list once more; weeds around the gravestones? He had plucked out. Cured meat and biscuits left over from a fellow Ratnik who visited him the other day? He had extracted the nutrients as usual (after the colleague’s departure, of course). The newly purchased coin? Already sitting dust-free in his lifelong collection, between a jade necklace and an oval amethyst. Reports? He had dutifully finished another three. Fish on the dinner table? Ah… Hopefully the new ghosts would pay heed to his advice and “kindly take their conversation elsewhere” while he’d be fishing.
Task set, Flins started climbing the metal ladder. Like the rest of the building, that too was crumbling apart. The erosion of time spares nothing. Each handhold was slightly more slippery than the last, and, as he carefully made his way up, the pungent scent of the sea enveloped him. He welcomed it with a gentle smile. This was home, after all. He set the oil in place, then added just the slight portion of his power to the mixture – blue flames like primal fire rose, and the lighthouse was revived. Through the gray mist, its flare reached wide and far – an indomitable blade cleaving the darkness, the very promise of life against the despair of death. Looking to the distance, Flins smiled. Light surges evermore throughout the night. Now then, I would very much like to see fish on the dinner table tonight.
~
“Whatever did you do to your hair?” the male fae asked, a trace of amused surprise in his tone.
“Do you not like it, Father?” Flins replied, whisking long, light-blue tresses to the side.
Aarnivalkea Chudomir froze but for a second, as if a memory had briefly returned to haunt him. Then, his face softened. The more he lingered his gaze on Flins’s makeover…
“You even started pursuing polearm training,” he mused.
“I keep her picture in my breast pocket at all times,” the younger fae went on. “And I’ve come to realize the spear befits me. When I return from my duties, would you spar with me?”
A heavy silence suddenly fell on the father and the son. A burden so familiar, you’d think they had gotten used to carrying it. In mutual agreement, they stepped closer to one another.
“Blood of my blood,” the older fae said, his features succumbing to a melancholy so sweet, but bitter still.
Flins nodded, his hair swaying with the simple movement. From up front, he was the spitting image of his father, dark blue locks framing his face, but at his back they cascaded in waves.
“This is the form I’d be most honored to keep,” he said, cupping his father’s shoulders, which had started shaking.
The dead name hung on both of their lips, but they did not dare speak it.
“When you find yourself alone amidst a lightless place, remember who you are. Ignite your flame. Darkness cannot claim you so long as it burns.”
“But, Father, why are we afraid of the dark? Us who have lived inside it for so long.”
“We have adapted to it without becoming part of it. Thus we’ve come to know it, navigate it, but not being afraid of it would be ill advised. All powers in nature must be respected, Flins, or you will be blindsided at your peril.”
“Like combat training,” the young fae followed. “Simply because I’m familiar with a handful of techniques doesn’t mean I should not be wary of my opponent.”
“That belief will indeed get you far.”
“Thank you, Father. I am really looking forward to our match tonight.”
And so, Flins departed with fresh hope in his heart.
On that night, the land of the fae was burned to the ground, its ashes buried in the snow. Humans celebrated their victory; upon desolate fields they extended their own civilization, rivers they drained and forests they decimated, building towers that could soon scrape the heavens.
On that night, the last living fae in Teyvat drifted far from a homeland he no longer had, estranged from a world he truly believed he had known. The furious sea carried him away, torturously slow, eating at his senses until he had nothing left to give. Out of an instinct so dear, so benevolent, he kept looking up, up, up in the distance, willing the moon to illuminate this watery grave with no end and no beginning.
Why are we afraid of the dark? We have dwelt in it for so long, that fading, merging with it would seem the right course of action.
“…When you find yourself alone amidst a lightless place…”
Flins did not sink that night. More so, when the tide eventually brought him ashore, in an unknown land, he beheld the light he had longed for. “The Lightkeepers” – yes, as humble as it was to receive their gracious guidance, so too shall he light the path for other lost souls to find their way.
~
The terrible foe approached, neck cracking, killing intent in his sole red eye.
“I should pity you, had I any heart left.”
Knelt on the ashen-black shore, Flins dared to stare him down. The freezing shiver of death, blood retaliating with hot pulses, teeth clenched to chop his weakness into tiny bits.
“Once, you had one,” he spoke. “Throwing it away was your oversight, and such are the consequences.”
“A negligible loss. For you, however, not so much so.”
Roaring with Abyssal power, the very bedrock rumbled. The epicenter of this calamity – the Sinner Rerir – raised his arm, and a battalion of ghostly claws, elongated and twisted, sprouted like an omen of disease.
“I overestimated you, Flins,” Rerir admitted. “Unlike me, you were born a monster. Now that you are the last of your kind, it would be fair to think your goals align with mine.”
“You seek to destroy the world,” the fae said, slowly regaining his posture. “Why would you assume I seek the same?”
“How laughable!” the hideous entity mocked. “As you stand alone facing inevitable demise, I dare you to find any hope, any glimmer of kindness for this gods forsaken realm!”
Flins readied his grip on the spear, but the attack receded. Rerir smirked before casting his arm to the side… A deafening noise. It all happened very fast. Stone, which had withstood time, crumbled easily – all too easily – in mere seconds. The monument. The homage to Flins’s father. Legacy. The materialization of his principles and values.
Rerir had blindsided him indeed.
Time lay still. Sleep paralysis, a nightmare you cannot wake up from. And in that moment of heightened perception, Flins heard his heart breaking, along with the monument.
“You spoke of oversight,” the Abyssal monster taunted. “You know full well that you do not belong among people, yet you risk precious energy to place your trust in them. What is their existence in the lifespan of a fae? How many have you buried? For centuries, you have submitted yourself to a painful cycle of hope and regret. See now how it waxes full, coming back at you, crushing you!”
One fist to his chest, Flins saw just that. His legs gave out, his face caught fire; it burned and stung and stung and burned like never before. The enemy mattered no more, the only thing he could still focus on was the ruined resting place of his family. Anguish would pour out of his parted lips, had his voice not died.
“What for do you keep fighting?”
So did the Lightkeepers solemnly declare…
“Your attempts to cling to whatever false humanity have failed!”
Prioritize the survival of human life at all costs…
“Look inside yourself, your heart is as black as mine!”
Shrouded in purple Abyssal smoke, Rerir snarled once more, charging at Flins. The time for mercy was over. The fae had refused to join his cause, which only meant that one of them had to perish. Rerir would take scant satisfaction from an easy kill such as this.
Right before the moment of impact, however, the sound of sizzling filled the air, followed by an unforgiving thunder. Flins death-gripped his spear with his left hand, raising it lightning-fast. With his right he brandished the blue flame lantern, allowing the darkness to take over. Astonished for a slight second, Rerir resolved to brute strength in order to disarm him, but it was then that he saw and heard and felt the mother of all nightmares. White light, shaped as monstrous eyes, a piercing wail, a whoosh of magic… a power that met his own level, if but not challenging him.
“Remember who you are. Ignite your flame. Darkness cannot claim you so long as it burns.”
Those words the Abyssal creature understood. What followed, however, was an undecipherable chant. Little did Rerir know it would be the herald of his end.
“Let all mortal flesh keep silent before the light…”
The night, ablaze with blue, a ghost chained no more by its case of flesh. Rerir willed his power to serve him still.
“Let the dead bury the dead and let the living mourn the living…”
Violent slashes flowed seamlessly, each tearing, ripping at the human confines.
“As I stood by the door of the Golden House, guarding the eternal flame.”
In horror watching bits of his body slumping to the ground, Rerir summoned an ocean of Abyss to shield what was left of him. Face to face with such an unprecedented challenge, all he could do was laugh as the sky went haywire with lightning. The blue light blinded him before a figure that simultaneously was and wasn’t Flins spoke amidst the storm:
“You, who were born human and sought out to stop time itself, managed to stop your own.”
Rerir opened his mouth to counter, but his breath was cut short on account of that long, silver spear stabbing his chest. Flins plummeted down with him, and when they both hit the earth below, Rerir was on his knees, bereft of arms and feet, the fae’s weapon still embedded in his decaying flesh.
Lantern in hand, dismissing the darkness he had briefly allowed to take control over him, Flins turned on his heel. He circled around Rerir, face bearing traces of grief, yet unyielding.
“You cannot destroy me!” the enemy cried still. “I will always find another way!”
“As will I,” came the reply. “You revealed before that you can grow your limbs back, hence this time I’ll ensure that not even ashes remain of you.”
The last thing Rerir saw was the lantern, brandished, along with Flins’s white, lightning-struck eyes. Thunder bellowed, then the Final Night Cemetery fell into silence.
~
With practiced precision, the lonesome Ratnik paid his respects to every single gravestone. Some of the men and women he knew, others bore solely the melody of their name. Ghosts, trapped in a foreign timeline, hovered to and fro, re-enacting scenes of their life. Patiently, Flins watched and listened. High above, the lighthouse stood watch.
Eventually, there were no more graves to visit, so with heavy feet he made his way back to the empty, makeshift bunker that was his humble abode. Stopped middle-step, a shiver running down his spine. The desecrated monument. His own broken heart.
How many times had it kept breaking now? Perhaps, at first glance, clinging on to hope after centuries of setbacks seemed folly.
A twig snapped somewhere not too close but not too far either, followed by a noise coming from the bushes. It took Flins one second to assess any potential threat – none. If Rerir had somehow returned, his entrance would have been anything but stealthy. Hence, he indulged his aching need for reminiscence; he knelt before the monument, shut his eyes tight, uttering a single, simple confession:
“I have dishonored you.”
The solemn stone responded but with constricting silence. For once in centuries, Flins truly felt alone. Curious thing feelings are; you’d think there was a limit to what a living being could experience, yet he still had tears to weep. He did so for the thought of how noble it was to comfort someone in grief. He did so for his own selfish desire of receiving comfort… again. When one must venture the dark of the night, it is advisable that they carry a light, and he had exhausted his own.
Adrift once more in a cold, watery grave? Whence we’d started? He’d laugh. Oh, he’d throw his head back and laugh.
Perhaps Rerir was also laughing at him, from whatever Abyssal corridor he navigated. Flins knew that a primordial evil such as the Sinner could never truly be defeated, even though the flesh had been destroyed. Because the essence of evil always finds a way, precisely as Rerir had said. Precisely as Death itself does. But then maybe… just maybe… the essence of good shares this talent.
As a fae, Flins had a broader understanding of life. As a prosecuted fae even, one who had oftentimes given his full trust to humans, he was convinced that treachery was a highly probable course of action in the world of the living. The choice presented itself: justified pessimism towards life itself, or… a different kind of trust – one which stems from courage, not naivety.
Bravery in a time of mourning. What a thing to ponder. Would it not be easier to… simply let go? Just like last time. The memory struck him fast as lightning. He remembered the stubborn, merciless nest of thorns in his throat, he remembered his own two hands – once allied to his cause, now turned foes – trembling on the spear he could no longer point anywhere else other than at himself. What kind of lunatic retains their sanity in the heart of darkness? The fair course of action would be to embrace it, fully and completely, until your very own essence merges with it, becomes part of it, insomuch as you start bleeding darkness.
A lunatic, or… a resilient fighter. A matter of perspective, needless to say.
Soft footsteps on the shimmering grass. Flins did not hide, nor retaliate.
A fellow Lightkeeper, dressed in the custom black military uniform, young and hopeful, gun stowed at his right thigh.
“Sergeant Flins, sir! Apologies for the inconvenience, but there have been reports on chaotic Abyssal occurrences in this area–”
Sergeant?! the fae widened his eyes, dead eyes that reflected nothing.
“I beg your pardon,” he replied, unbothered by his tear-stricken face, “but sergeant Sousi’s funerary rites have barely finished. It–”
“Sir, are you hurt?” the younger man cut him off, extending a hand.
“…Thank you for your concern, but there’s no need. I am well. I did encounter the enemy, who seems to have a connection to the Wild Hunt phenomena. Rest assured that my report will ensue.”
A brief chuckle escaped the Lightkeeper as he shook his head.
“I was asking about you, mister Flins.”
“Oh. Oh my. My bad,” came the reply.
“I can only imagine what the enemy looks or feels like. You are so powerful to have faced him on your own.”
“I only did what anyone else would have done. As goes our saying, honor the dead, protect the living. However, I… failed in that first regard.”
Slowly, Flins turned around, beckoning at his father’s memorial. Cautious, his fellow soldier urged him to reveal more.
“I built this for somebody very dear to me,” the fae said.
In the brief silence that fell, he placed a hand on his chest, bowing to the ruins. Immediately, the other man followed the gesture.
“I could tell. It would do me great honor to assist with the reconstruction effort, sir. Does your family rest here? Or maybe a loved one?”
“…My principles,” Flins answered in a faint voice. “My values and beliefs. My hope. My… light.”
“But I can see your light.”
The fae looked over his shoulder, wide-eyed. The movement was sudden, but it did not startle the other Ratnik.
“You barely know me.”
“Yes. Even so, you spoke of principles, beliefs, and hope, didn’t you? I look at you and I can see all these.”
“You see a faded shadow.”
“Which bears its own source of light.”
At the unexpected remark, Flins faltered, a soft breath escaping him. Have I embraced my darkness so much for so long that I’ve lost sight of…?
“Most people would sooner call me a monster at the mere glimpse of my true form.”
“Then forgive them, sir. Itchy trigger finger – professional flaw.”
Flins did manage a laugh.
“But if they find the courage to accommodate you, I’m certain they’ll be able to see what I’m seeing – a man who faces adversity, doesn’t surrender to it, keeps his soul clean and his words kind. A role model. I insist that you should be sergeant.”
“…You should know,” Flins said, “I may not be human.”
“Actual humans are even less so, more often than not.”
“Heh, quite the philosophical debate!”
“I’m pleased you find it entertaining. If I may be so bold, now that you’ve mentioned that, I remembered how the Lightkeepers came to be, on that Final Night. The few survivors found a blue light. It was you, sir, wasn’t it? All those centuries ago.”
Slowly, the fae nodded. To his surprise, the melancholy that enveloped him did not hurt. On the contrary, it was soft and warm, like a kiss to an old scar.
“Remember who you are. Ignite your flame. Darkness cannot claim you so long as it burns.”
“…Yes. And I also found my light once more, grace be to those people. Hence why this place, the memorial–”
“We will raise it again, post-haste. Let me honor you as you have done for our predecessors since then.”
Mirroring the other man’s smile, Flins beheld that beautiful glimmer of hope – once elusive, now clear and true. Tears flowed too, shimmering with that fabled blue light, which had become a people’s very creed. He could barely believe his eyes – the human kept holding his gaze, not a single trace of fright, but one of admiration.
Perhaps – Flins dared to think – this here, now, is the reconciliation between humans and fae, at long last.
His pain was the bedrock on which this honorable order of the Lightkeepers had been founded. His pain had not driven him to pillage and plunder… but protection. Nothing, not even the combined malice of all Five Sinners, could rival the surge of incandescent hope in him. The stone had been broken, yes, but his principles, unscathed, were radiating around him like the halo of the moon.
“I’ll be running a tight ship,” he said, straightening his posture.
“Better to keep your sights on the horizon then,” the fellow Ratnik replied, proudly giving the military salute. “Sergeant Flins, sir! At the ready!”
“A formal meeting is required for us to reassess where we stand in the wake of the Abyss attack. We should head into town. Buildings can wait. Oh, goodness, how absolutely rude of me! All this conversation, and I didn’t even ask your name!”
~Fin~
Wednesday, September 24th 2025, 20:18
BONUS: author’s workbench
-Flins, HOW OLD IS HE???? (he looks like he is in his mid 20s)
-Final Night Cemetery
-Ratnik (pl. Ratniki)
-Lightkeepers
-doesn’t have pupils – was born and lived in the dark (harsh winter), humans might perceive him as scary, uncanny, or even “dead”. Does he NEED sleep or not?!
-is of a different race – the fae – looks like a monster, but is human in spirit, rejects his monstrous abilities (his Burst form), only uses them when in dire need.
-Rerir – was born a human, rejected humanity, embraced being a monster, seeks to destroy the world, despises Flins for not joining his side (you are a monster like me, so join me!)
-Snezhnaya
-Nod-Krai
-the Abyss + Rerir (one of the Five Sinners)
-the monument to Aarnivalkea Chudomir (I have a 50/50 chance to guess "father" right)
-Father + mother took shelter in a cave - months later, the mother, pregnant, succumbed to her wounds while defending the father from a lethal blow, begged him to save the child (Flins) because “he is the proof of our love”.
-the last of his kind (the fae – an exterminated race)
-humans hunted down the fae (?)
-drifting (literally + metaphorically), sinking, drowning - seeing the light - clinging to it.
-the Lighthouse! (+ oil, he has to keep lighting it) HOPE (re-enlightening hope)
-used to keep his hair short (father), decided to grow it (in memory of his mother)
-father used a sword, mother used a polearm
-Kyryll – “Lord”, Chudomirovich – “son of”
-Rerir destroys the monument - Flins enters his Burst form.