Chapter Text
“May I ask what owes me the pleasure of your presence?”
Flins' head was slightly bowed with his usual deference. It never ceased to amaze the traveller: every word he said, every gesture he made felt like it had been perfectly rounded and rehearsed. While Flins' politeness seemed automatic to him, it never sounded counterfeit. The traveller nevertheless hoped that Flins' exquisite manners stemmed more from his force of habit than his will to maintain others at a safe distance.
“Nothing in particular, I merely wanted to see you.”
Which was the absolute truth. And considering the very secluded place the Ratnik called his home, there was no way the traveller could pretext they were passing by. No one would believe it. So no need to pretend. Flins being very perceptive, it brought a refreshing tone to their exchanges. Sentences were elaborate yet simple, adorned with beautiful and courteous words, but aimed directly at the heart. The traveller liked that about the Lightkeeper. And reciprocally. Flins gave them a smile that could be mistaken as half-hearted when it was, in reality, another one of his pirouettes to hide the emotion he had been surprised with.
“As I said before, you are most welcome in my abode anytime you wish. Please, come in. You must be weary from your journey. It's a very long way from Nasha Town after all.”
He opened the door to his house and bowed as he let the traveller in. He then made sure he could sense no hostile presence that would have come after them and promptly closed the door.
“I shall apologise for the summary furniture. As you know, I do not spend much time in my own house, nor do I have the pleasure of receiving esteemed guests such as yourself.”
“It's perfectly fine. I didn't come to check up on your lifestyle.”
The traveller gave Flins a gentle smile and a quick wink.
“I'm thankful. May I interest you in a drink?”
“Will you have one with me? I know you don't need to, so don't force yourself.”
“Let's see... I might have the perfect thing for the occasion.”
Striding elegantly across the dim-lit room, Flins squatted in front of the floored cupboards, opened one of them.
“If I remember correctly, it should be here.”
His slender fingers moved a few things here and there. Glassware softly clank as he cautiously took out an opaque bottle which he presented to the traveller, who gave him a quizzical look.
“Can we agree on the fact that you are, like me, older than you look, and can definitely hold some liquor?”
They looked at each other in a silent understanding.
“Yes. What are we having though?”
The bottle seemed to have been stashed away for some time. The label was written in a language that the traveller had not yet come across during their travels.
“This is a bottle of the finest Fire-Water made from whence I hail. It uses a mix of herbs and spices I have never managed to learn the secret of. Sadly enough, most of the people who knew how to brew this particular blend have died with their craft. I believe this is one of the last bottles ever made. And I'd gladly share it with you.”
“I'd be honoured to.”
They both felt at ease with one another. Flins leading a more solitary life than the traveller, he was accordingly surprised by it. It had been a long time since he last felt this good in someone else's company. Perhaps it was because they were both stranded in a world they could hardly comprehend. Perhaps the weight of their respective secrets felt lighter when shared with one they could trust. And perhaps the brief contact between their fingers as Flins placed a cup in the traveller's hand awoke sensations in them that reflected in their eyes when they gently smiled at each other. They sat across each other on low stools and extended their legs that naturally entwined at their feet.
In the warm silence that reigned between them, they shared drinks. The liquor smelled of a distant region the traveller had yet to go to. The subtle dosage between the herbaceous taste and the bitterness of the alcohol told tales of an unforgiving yet nostalgic land. Eyes closed, savouring each sip of the precious beverage, they allowed the delicate burn to fill their throats instead of words. It had been a very long time since the traveller had been able to enjoy such a refined drink, and in good company. For a moment, Flins had forgotten about the Wild Hunt, the duties ever burdening him, the weight of loss, and the traveller paid no mind to this twin lost to the Abyss.
While none of them could become inebriated with the quantity they drank, the traveller could still appreciate the pleasant effects of the alcohol. Deliciously light-headed, they looked at the way the transparent liquid collided against the cup and contemplated the ripples echoing at the centre.
“This is delicious. Thank you, Kyryll.”
The Lightkeeper slowly raised his head and their eyes met. The gaze they exchanged conveyed many feelings. Those of acknowledgement, easier to identify, and some, less obvious, more tenuous, of mutual understanding and appreciation, of a shared pain they both knew too well.
“Ah, I’m sorry, I did not mean to stare. It has been a very long time since someone called me by my actual name.”
“Do you dislike it? Your name.”
“I do not. How should I say this? Having ceased to use it long ago, the sound of it is almost foreign to my ear.”
Seeing the traveller suddenly get lost in thought, he promptly added:
“It is no offence to say it. I quite like the way it rolls on your tongue.”
“Do I even pronounce it properly?”
Flins nodded.
“You do. Though, if I may, it does sound a little stiff. Not much, of course, just enough for me to recognise your way of speaking even with my eyes closed.”
And he did not say it was a bad thing.
“May I ask where your flying companion is?”
“Paimon is staying at the Flagship. Nefer has her running errands in exchange for food.”
“I recall Miss Nefer’s sharp intellect here.”
The Ratnik playfully smiled. The traveller stifled a laughter.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, I just thought that you truly looked like a fae just now.”
“Did I?”
Flins’ voice had darkened. He leaned in so he could whisper in the traveller’s ear:
“I think I will take that as a compliment.”
The candles in the room wavered and the air suddenly became chilly, sending a shiver through the traveller’s back. Flins’ playful dark and whimsical side did not frighten them. If anything, it merely awoke a strong curiosity.
“Would you tell me more about your past, Kyryll?”
Perhaps if they said his name more, it would belong to him again. If they knew more about him, would Flins feel less lonely?
“Ah, I would enjoy nothing more, yet the hour grows late. Too late for me to take you back to Nasha Town, that being said.”
“Are you due for a patrol tonight?”
“Luckily, it is a day off for me, which means we can both stay here, if you wish. And that I can grant you your request.”
He bowed with a mischievous smile. The traveller could tell he was eager to unravel more mysteries.
“I’m even happier I came on such a day then.”
They sent a beaming smile that warmed up even Flins’ blue flame. The Lightkeeper took a seat to keep his composure before adding:
“Though let us make this more interesting, shall we? You can ask me anything.”
He took a dramatic pause during which he relished in the traveller’s surprised look.
“However, for each question you ask, you shall answer mine. It only seems fair, does it not?”
The traveller quickly gave it some thought. Were there questions they would rather not answer? Definitely. Did this statement apply to Flins and his aeons of secrets? No.
“I’ll play along.”
“Wonderful. You may start.”
“Are there other faes such as yourself in Teyvat?”
Flins gracefully tilted his head to the side, eyes slightly closed with satisfaction. This was a clever question to ask, and an excellent way of phrasing it. Perhaps a little too much.
“Oh, so you get first question and choose to not ask about me? I'm almost upset. As for the answer, that depends on the way you see things: do distant relatives count?”
The traveller remained silent. They knew Flins was referring to those devolved beings who all shared the same tragic fate. They also knew they would not get him to elaborate further. Flins gave his question some serious thought. Their recent confrontation with Rerir, and Dainsleif’s struggle with the course of action to take had led the Ratnik to seriously put things into perspective.
“What will you do if your twin cannot be reasoned with?”
The traveller suddenly felt the piercing sharpness of the yellow gaze Flins laid on them. They pretended to sip from their glass to hide the uneasiness that this question unleashed in them. It’s what you get for riling up a fae, they assumed. Flins’ eyes were fixed and he obviously was waiting for an answer, which the traveller provided after a while:
“I don’t know. But I guess we would fight.”
As the sadness induced by this image threatened to engulf the traveller, Flins mercilessly added with his ever-playful tone:
“I see. Well, it's your turn again.”
And just like that, he was back to his refined and gentle demeanour. The traveller pondered for a while.
“Do you think you will go back to Snezhnaya at some point?”
A soft laughter escaped from the Ratnik’s lips. It was so delicate it sounded like the flapping of a tit’s wings, beautiful and fleeting, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. The melancholic undertones did not escape the traveller’s ear, however, bitter subtleties akin to the herbaceous drink they had just shared.
“My country as I knew it no longer exists. I believe there is nothing for me there anymore. Only the snow covering a past I seek to detach myself from.”
“Would you like to belong to the world as it is now then?”
They exchanged a silent understanding and a gaze, more solemn than a promise, more sober than a vow. Time and words briefly suspended and Flins took one step closer to the traveller. Then another. His porcelain-like fingers reached out for an errand strand of hair on the traveller’s face. In a gesture that seemed to contain the delicacy of the entire world, Flins drove it back behind their ear. His fingertips withdrew unhurriedly. The caress of a silky veil, ghost-like, discreet, at the perfect frontier between reality and wilful interpretation. Flins’ face was adorning his unreadable smile when he said:
“Now now, that’s a breach of the rules we agreed upon, asking two questions in a row. Let us leave it at that for tonight. Though I do have one question of my own: will my bed suffice for you to sleep on?”
“Will it not be cramped if we both sleep on your bed?”
Flins let out a real laugh this time. Or rather, as real as his poise allowed it to be. He tapped on his hip and replied:
“No, I shall sleep inside my lantern, as usual.”
“Do you even use your own bed, or is it too bothersome to retain your form while sleeping?”
Another silence. Another piercing gaze.
“Your sharp wit easily rivals with Lady Nefer’s intellect.”
His tone was darker, like the sun had just set behind the hills. A cold rush of air made the candles tremble and the traveller shiver. This was a warning sign. Do not cross the line. The traveller held Flins' gaze once more, as if undeterred by the unspoken threat. It was their way of saying “I see you, and I accept you”. The Lightkeeper eased up and his eyes softened. His tone did too.
“Forgive me for being so secretive. I have crossed centuries pretending to be someone I am actually not. Old habits die hard. And after spending such a long time being dormant, I shall say that sleeping in my lantern feels more... homelike. Which, in this case, is for the best, for as you said, the bed is indeed too small for the both of us.”
“Will you stay though?”
Flins' eyes narrowed. He elegantly removed his coat, and the rustling of the fabric landing on top of the chair sounded like whispered words of comfort. His metallic accessories clanked softly as he got rid of them one by one, like that many layers of protection. He carefully laid them on his table. When he was done, all that remained was the fae in his casual attire. He faced the traveller again and there was less formality, more intimacy when he answered:
“Yes.”
He stepped out of his shoes. To the traveller, it felt as though he was taking off a lot more than mere clothes.
“Will you be comfortable enough, Kyryll?”
And perhaps it was too late to go back to being formal. Perhaps it was no longer appropriate to maintain this amount of distance between them. Perhaps there was indeed more to the traveller's words and their question was not so much about physical practicality anymore.
“Why would I not be? I have entrusted my lantern to you before.”
Though he was no longer wearing his armour, he was still wearing his enigmatic smile.
“I will take good care of it.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Good night then, traveller.”
Without another word, he disappeared inside his lantern. The glassware was now glowing gently, radiating a purple halo. After blowing out the candles, the traveller set the lantern beside them on the bed. They kept looking at the shimmering little flames seeping out of the lantern, dancing and twirling as a wisp. What would Flins see or hear from inside his lantern? Was he actually going to sleep in there? The traveller's mind was full of questions. Yet in the dead of night, the only certainty they held was that of their fingertips resting on the precious lantern.
Their eyes had long closed when five little dark spots mirrored their digits from within the glass.