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It started, as most troublesome things did in Wanderer's life recently, with Durin....
Wanderer had been quiet for days—a sharper, more brittle quiet than usual. The aftermath of the last clash with Dottore's lingering schemes had left no physical wounds on him, but a corrosive sort of frustration hung in the air around him like static. He spent hours staring at the fractured horizon of Frostmoon Enclave, his expression smooth as porcelain and just as cold....
Durin, who perceived the world in feelings and sunbeams, noticed immediately....
"Hat Guy," he asked, poking his head into the secluded alcove Wanderer favored. "Your energy is all prickly. Like a sad cactus."
"I am not a cactus... Go away."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Do you want to go throw rocks into the lake..?"
"...Tempting, but no."
Wanderer was trying, he really was, not to let his foul mood spill onto the one person who seemed impervious to it. He'd bite back his harsher retorts, settling for simple dismissals. But Durin could sense it—the frustration was a dark cloud, and Durin was a creature who lived to chase clouds away....
He tried to look at whatever Hat Guy was looking at, yet he couldn't understand what was going on...
The last traces of Dottore's machinations had been scoured from the land, but not from the air. Not from the set of Wanderer's shoulders as he stared at a fractured piece of Kuuvika machinery, his indigo eyes seeing nothing at all...
"Hat Guy," Durin said again, his voice soft against the low hum of the realm. He held a curious, glowing flower he'd found. "Look. It pulses when you hum. It likes you."
Wanderer didn't turn. "Flowers don't 'like' anything. They react to stimuli. Put it down before it decides you're a stimulant it doesn't appreciate."
Durin put the flower down carefully but didn't move away. He tilted his head, studying his friend. The dark cloud wasn't just around him anymore; it seemed to be in him, a weight pulling his edges down. "You're... not okay," Durin stated, not as a question.
A flicker of irritation. "I am okay..." He sighed, "I am... contemplating."
"Contemplating looks a lot like sad-cactus-energy," Durin observed, remembering a phrase he'd picked up from a chatty merchant. "All prickly on the outside, thirsty on the inside."
That finally got a reaction—a short, sharp exhale that wasn't quite a laugh. "Your analogies are as precise as a drunkard's aim."
"But they hit sometimes!" Durin insisted, edging closer. He knew better than to push for hugs when Hat Guy was like this. Words were the bridge. "Do you want to talk about the contemplation?"
"No."
"Do you want to go find more pulsing flowers?"
"No."
"Do you want... some water? For the cactus?"
Wanderer's gaze finally slid to him. The irritation was there, but beneath it was a deep, weary exhaustion that made Durin's heart feel small and tight. He was trying, Durin could see. Trying not to snap. Trying to hold the shattered pieces of his mood together so they wouldn't cut the one person who kept walking through the debris field...
"...Your concern is noted and archived," Wanderer said, his voice deliberately flat. "Now, go archive yourself somewhere else."
It was a dismissal, but a gentle one. For him. Durin took it, but the mission had already crystalized in his heart. He needed to fix the cactus-energy. He needed to find a sunny spot for this particular, prickly plant.
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The realization of the date came to Durin later, in a casual moment with Lumine. They were sharing some rice buns Lumine had brought from Liyue.
"Lumine," Durin asked, mouth full. "When is Hat Guy's birthday?"
Lumine looked at him, "Wanderer's birthday? Why asking now?"
"He seems off," Durin started, taking a bite of his bun, "and I remember he mentioned it once but never specified the day"
Lumine thought for a second, "Well- you know him," she sighed, taking another bun, "He hates this sort of things"
He hates his birthday was left unsaid...
"I know," Durin said. Looking defeated for a secons, before smiling again, "said it's a useless marker, but I think markers are important! They're like... map pins for your heart!"
"It's... the third day, second moon" Lumine paused, wiping her hands. She thought back. She remembered the quiet day he'd mentioned it, years ago now, with that same dismissive tone. "Which means... The day after tomorrow."
The color drained from Durin's face. "The day after... TOMORROW'S TOMORROW?!"
"Uh, yeah? That's what 'day after tomorrow' means," Paimon said, finally joining the conversation.
"But that's... that's no time at all!" Durin wailed, clutching his head. "I haven't planned the meaningful action! I haven't secured a venue! I haven't prepared the strength-conveying materials! There's no cake!"
"Cake?" Lumine's eyes softened. She'd seen Wanderer's withdrawn mood too. "You want to throw him a party?"
"A small one! A non-mushy, non-silly, serious gathering for conveying friendship strength! But I need help! And I need it NOW!"
Lumine smiled. It was a sweet, if doomed, idea. "Alright. I'll help. But we need a place to do this, and we need to recruit someone who can help us keep it... 'non-mushy'."
"Albedo!" Durin and Paimon said at the same time.
"Exactly. He's logical. He's smart. And Hat Guy... tolerates him. Sometimes."
"Let's go find him," Lumine said, standing up. "He mentioned he wanted to study Kuuvahki"
"So he's with mister Flins!!!" Durin added, already getting up. "But let me look for something else first,"
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The first thing Durin decided to do before looking for his brother, was tracking Hat Guy and get his approval...
And his entire being fizzed with excitement as he found Wanderer at the cliffside again....
"Hat Guy! I have decided on a meaningful action!"
Wanderer didn't turn. "If it involves glitter or singing, the answer is no."
"It involves gathering! And friendship! And... it's soon!"
"What is?" He said with a sigh,
"Your birthday!"
The silence that followed was profound. Wanderer slowly turned, his indigo eyes flat. "No."
"But—"
"No. I told you. It's a useless marker. We are in the aftermath of a crisis. Celebrating is absurd, frivolous, and insultingly naive." His voice was low, final. The dark cloud around him seemed to crackle.
Durin met his gaze, not with fear, but with devastating earnestness. "But you're sad. And gatherings make people less sad. I read it in a book. It's called 'conveyed strength.' I want to convey some to you."
For a split second, something flickered in Wanderer's eyes—not anger, but a deep, weary vulnerability. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a familiar, defensive scowl. "Do what you want. Just don't expect me to be there."
That was all Durin needed. It wasn't a 'yes,' but it also wasn't a 'no, and I will annihilate you if you try.' It was permission to try...
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Durin's next stop had to be Big Brother Albedo....
He was smart. He knew how things worked. He could make plans that didn't involve glitter....
He found Albedo in The Knight of Favonius' secret base, observing the swirling patterns of light on a stone Flins had brought with him....
"It's not that simple though," Flins started, pointing at the diagram on the paper, "it destabilizes the entire foundational—"
"Albedo!" Durin called, skidding into the chamber, his urgency making Flins pause mid-sentence.
Albedo didn’t look up. "If this is about enhancing the explosive yield of your 'sunshine rocks,' the answer remains no."
"It's better! It's about Hat Guy!"
That made both of Flins and Albedo look up...
Albedo sat his tools down. "Go on."
Durin explained in a torrent of words...
"So we should have a small party! Just us! To make him less sad!"
Albedo listened, his expression unreadable. "A 'party.' For Hat Guy. An individual who finds social obligations taxing at the best of times." He steepled his fingers. "Your hypothesis—that a positive social stimulus will improve his affective state—has merit. However, the execution is fraught with variables. He is likely to reject overt sentimentality."
"That's why I need your help! You're smart! You know how to make things that aren't... mushy!"
"I am also," Albedo pointed out, "someone he tolerates at a distance. My presence may be counterproductive. He will likely only accept you and, perhaps, the Traveler."
Durin's ruby-red eyes instantly filled with huge, shimmering tears. His bottom lip trembled. "But.. but you have to come! I'll be so sad if you don't... I might cry. For days. I won't be able to eat. Or help you with your experiments. I'll just be a little puddle of sadness in the corner..."
Flins, observing, coughed lightly into his hand, a sound that might have hidden a laugh. "The emotional variable appears... significant."
Albedo stared at the welling tears. He was a genius alchemist, a sovereign of creation, utterly immune to political pressure and mortal threats. But he was hopeless against Durin's "sad puppy dragon" routine. A smile touched his lips....
"Very well.. I will assist in a logistical and observational capacity. And I will attend." He picked up his sketchbook. "But if he attempts to throw me off a cliff, I am holding you responsible."
Durin's sadness vanished. The tears dried up immediately, replaced by a sun-bright grin. "He won't! You'll see! This is going to be great!" He bounced on his toes. "Okay! First we need a place to make the cake! And a plan!"
Albedo glanced around the study. "The Knights' secret base has a small, rarely-used kitchen on the lower level. It is basic, but serviceable. It would provide privacy."
"Perfect!" Durin chirped. "We can start there! I'll go find Lumine! I told her I'll go look for her later!" He declared, "She's the best at the fixing-things-and-making-things-edible part!" He turned to dash out, then paused, looking at Flins. "Bye, Mister Flins! Sorry for stealing my brother!"
Flins offered another small bow. "Not at all. It was... educational. Good luck with your 'conveyance of strength'."
Durin was about to leave when he turned "I'm sorry for not inviting you," he said with a smile, "I'd really do that you if Hat Guy was okay with 'crowd gatherings'"
"It's okay, little sun" Flins held up a hand, chuckling. "My place is among the silent stones. The social rituals of 'birth days' are beyond my expertise. I wish you luck, though. The stormcloud could use a little sunshine."
"Okay bye!!" Durin waved as he went on his way to find Lumine..
As Durin's footsteps faded down the hall, Albedo let out a soft breath. Flins helped him gather his notes, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Youthful enthusiasm is a shining catalyst," Flins remarked. "It often succeeds where careful planning fails. I shall leave you to your... culinary alchemy." With a final nod, he took his leave.
Albedo was alone. He looked down at his Kuuvahki diagrams, then at the door where Durin had been. The plane of the day had changed....
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Finding Lumine was the easy part. She and Paimon were near the city, Lumine sorting through some collected materials while Paimon debated the merits of Fisherman's Toast versus Satisfying Salad.
"Lumine! Paimon! Emergency friendship assembly!" Durin announced, skidding to a stop before them, slightly out of breath.
"Is this about the walking storm cloud?" Paimon guessed, floating upside down. "Did he finally decide to rename himself 'Thunderous Grump'?"
"It's about his birthday!" Durin said, leaning in conspiratorially. "We're having a small, non-mushy party to fix his sad-cactus energy! Albedo's helping! Hr said we have a secret kitchen!"
Lumine's eyes softened. She'd seen the dark cloud around Wanderer lately, the way he'd been even more taciturn than usual after the last traces of Dottore's machinations had been cleaned up. "A party, huh? He'll hate the idea."
"But he needs it," Durin insisted, his voice earnest. "Will you help? You're good at missions and plans and... baking?"
"Paimon is an expert on all things edible! Especially cakes!" Paimon zoomed upright, puffing her chest out. "We'll make the best cake ever! Even if he's a jerk who doesn't appreciate that"
"First, he's not a jerk!!" Durin replied, ready to throw tantrum, "AND WE MUST HURRY" He suddenly yelled, "WE ONLY HAVE ONE DAY! LESS THAN A DAY! WE NEED A CAKE, AND A PLAN, AND A LOCATION, AND—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Lumine grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. "Breathe, Durin. One day is plenty. We just need to be efficient. Okay. First, what kind of cake does he even like?"
Durin's panic subsided slightly into focused anxiety. "He doesn't like sweet things. At all. He calls them 'cloying' and 'pointless'."
"WHAT?!" Paimon shrieked, doing a mid-air loop. "A cake that's not sweet?! That's blasphemy! That's like... a Mondstadt without wind! A Mora that doesn't shine! A—"
"We get it, Paimon," Lumine cut in, her mind already working. "So, something balanced. Savory, almost. Maybe a dense nut cake, with a dark chocolate or coffee glaze? Something... sophisticated. Bitter, like his attitude."
"Ooh, a 'grown-up, grumpy-person' cake!" Durin nodded, latching onto the idea. "Yes! That sounds like him!"
"Alright," Lumine said, clapping her hands once. "First step, recon. Let's go check this 'secret kitchen' Albedo mentioned and take stock of supplies."
They found Albedo already in the small, sparse kitchen. It was clearly meant for brewing tea or simple meals, not baking. It had a basic stove, a small icebox, a single counter, and a sad-looking set of mismatched bowls and utensils. Albedo was inspecting a wooden spoon as if it were a rare artifact.
"It is... functional," he concluded. "Though the variable of insufficient equipment will add a degree of difficulty."
"It's perfect!" Durin declared, opening empty cupboards. "It's secret! And it has... a bowl! And a... thing!"
Just as Lumine was tying an apron around her waist, her Adventurer's Guild badge chimed with a specific, urgent trill—a priority commission. She grimaced, checking it. "An emergency. I have to go."
Durin's face fell. "But... the cake..."
"I'll be fast. I promise. Just... wait for me, okay?" She put her hands on his shoulders. "Don't start the actual mixing. Just... get everything measured out. Read the recipe I'm going to write for you. Can you do that?"
"I promise!" Durin said, giving a solemn, military-style salute. "I will be the best pre-measurer ever!"
Lumine quickly scribbled some instructions on a piece of parchment—amounts, order of steps—and handed it to him. "Paimon, keep him from doing anything too creative."
"Hey! Paimon is the voice of reason!" Paimon huffed, but she was already eyeing the block of cocoa with hungry intent.
With a final, slightly worried smile, Lumine dashed out of the base....
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For about ten minutes, Durin was a model of restraint. He carefully laid out bowls. He found the measuring cups. He stared intently at Lumine's note, his brow furrowed in concentration...
'Cream the butter and sugar.' "Okay. Butter. Sugar. But... Hat Guy didn't like sugar. The recipe said 'sugar.' That was a problem. A big problem." He said with panic..
His eyes landed on the basket of strange, berries Albedo had collected once for study. They were a deep, vibrant purple. They didn't smell sweet; they smelled sharp and electric. Perfect! A non-sweet fruit! He could mash them up! It was a brilliant innovation!..
The first sign of trouble was the berries. They didn't mash; they exploded into a violent, staining juice that covered his hands, the table, and parts of the wall with electric purple. Undeterred, he scooped the pulpy juice into the bowl with the butter. It immediately separated into a greasy, purple swirl....
"Okay, okay, salvageable," he muttered to himself, channeling Lumine's problem-solving energy. He added the flour. Then he remembered the eggs. They were... suspiciously warm. He cracked them in. The mixture became a slimy, lumpy, purple paste.
"It needs... structure!" he declared. He added more flour. Then some of the ground nuts. Then, for good measure, a handful of the whole dried dates. The mixture in the bowl transformed from a paste into a dense, sticky, purple-flecked dough that heaved ominously....
Paimon, who had been nibbling on a sunsettia, floated over. "Uh... Durin? That doesn't look like any cake batter Paimon's ever seen. It looks like something you'd find at the bottom of a very suspicious cave."
"Nonsense! It's innovative!" Durin said, heaving the dough into a pan. "Believe me!," He shoved it into the oven and lit the fire. "Now we just wait for science to happen!"
Science, indeed, happened. It began with a low groaning sound from the oven. Then a series of alarming pops. Then a smell—a bizarre combination of burning nuts, sour berries, and hot stone. Thin tendrils of glowing purple smoke began to seep from the oven door.
"IT'S ALIVE!" Paimon screamed, darting behind a flour sack. "THE CAKE IS ALIVE AND IT'S ANGRY!"
Durin stared, wide-eyed, a mix of horror and scientific fascination on his face. "It's... communicating!"
It was at this precise moment that Albedo, having concluded a phase of his analysis, walked in to check on the progress....
The scene that greeted him was one of sublime catastrophe. The kitchen looked as if a mitachurl had attempted abstract painting. Purple stains adorned every surface. Flour snowed gently from a torn sack...
In the center, Durin stood facing the oven like a tiny general confronting a rebellious dragon, while Paimon peeked out from cover....
Albedo took a slow, deliberate breath. "Durin," he said, his voice perfectly calm, a stark contrast to the visual noise. "You promised Lumine you would wait."
Durin jumped, spinning around. Guilt, excitement, and defensive pride warred on his flour-dusted face. "I was just... executing the pre-measuring phase with proactive integration! But the sugar was wrong, so I used the glowy berries for non-sweetness, and then the eggs were warm, and the dough wanted to be independent—"
A particularly loud BANG from the oven cut him off. Albedo, without a word, moved forward. Using a thick cloth, he opened the oven door...
A wave of heat and a truly apocalyptic smell rolled out. Inside, the 'cake' had not risen. It had... sunk. It was a blackened, cratered disk, from the depths of which a faint, sickly purple light pulsed rhythmically, like a dying star....
"Fascinating," Albedo observed, leaning closer. "It appears to have undergone pyrolysis while the luminescent compounds in the berries remained thermally stable. You have essentially created a small, edible charcoal briquette that doubles as a nightlight."
"It's a disaster!" Paimon wailed, finally emerging. "Lumine's gonna be so mad! And Hat Guy will use this as an excuse to be extra grumpy for, like, a millennium!"
The door to the kitchen, which had been ajar, was suddenly pushed fully open, and a booming, jovial laugh shook the remaining flour from the air...
"BY THE ANEMO ARCHON'S MISCHIEVOUS WINDS! Having a bake-off with a pyro Whopperflower in here, are we?"
Grand Master Varka filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. He took in the scene: the Chief Alchemist, clinically observing a culinary atrocity; the small, ashen-faced dragon-boy covered in purple and flour; the hysterical floating fairy; and the pulsating horror in the oven. His eyes twinkled with pure, unadulterated delight.....
Durin looked up at the giant, legendary warrior. "We're making a friendship-strength-conveyance cake! But it's exhibiting... uncooperative emergent behavior!"
Varka threw his head back and laughed again. "I see! Well, in all my campaigns, from the frozen peaks of Dragonspine to the golden sands of Sumeru, I've learned one thing: sometimes the mightiest charge ends with you in a mud pit, and the stealthiest ambush is foiled by a squirrel." He winked, his gaze kindly. "The mark of a true comrade isn't never failing, lad. It's knowing when the battlefield is against you and making a tactical retreat to fight another day!" He nodded toward the glowing charcoal disk. "I'd say this particular battlefield is well and truly lost. Might I suggest a strategic withdrawal?"
The words 'tactical retreat' and 'another day' clicked in Durin's strategically-minded brain. He looked from Varka's encouraging face to Albedo's patient one, then to the smoldering evidence of his failure. His shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in acceptance. "You're right. We need a new base of operations. One with... better ingredients. And maybe a less vengeful oven."
"An astute assessment," Albedo said, closing the oven door on the glowing failure. "This environment is too limited, and our resource pool is contaminated."
Just then, Lumine returned, slightly out of breath, her clothes dusty from dealing with the construct. She stopped in the kitchen entrance, her eyes sweeping over the apocalyptic scene, then landing on Durin's guilty, hopeful face....
She didn't get mad. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her lips, and then she laughed. "Oh, Durin. I leave you alone for twenty minutes..."
"It was a tactical reconnaissance!" Durin insisted, reviving slightly. "We have now identified key weaknesses in the plan! We need a new venue!"
Paimon zoomed over to Lumine. "He made a cave monster! A glowing, stinky cave monster!"
Lumine walked over and put a hand on Durin's floury head. "It's okay. We just need a better kitchen." Her eyes met Albedo's, then she grinned. "I know just the place. One with unlimited ingredients, perfect temperature control, and total privacy."
Durin's eyes lit up. "Where?!"
"My Serenitea Pot." Lumine said proudly, "Let's go" she added as she placed the small furniture with its waypoint in front of them....
The world settled into the serene, sun-dappled calm of Lumine's main courtyard within her Serenitea Pot realm. The air here was perpetually mild, scented with whatever flowers Tubby had last deemed fashionable. The sound of a gentle breeze through adeptal bamboo chimes was a stark contrast to the echoing thumps and Paimon's shrieks of the Knights' kitchen.
Lumine led the way to her personal kitchen, a spacious and well-organized area that Tubby kept in immaculate condition. Polished stone counters, hanging copper pots, a proper oven, and rows of neatly labeled jars containing everything from Sumeru spices to Fontaine cocoa powder. It was a baker's paradise.
Durin's eyes went wide with reverence. "It's... it's beautiful," he whispered, as if entering a cathedral.
"Okay," Lumine said, clapping her hands together. She had changed into a simple apron. "New rules. I am the General. Paimon, you are Head of Taste Testing and Moral Support. Albedo, you are Head of Structural Integrity and Chemical Analysis. Durin." She looked at him. "You are Head of Berry Washing and Enthusiasm. And you must keep your enthusiasm inside the designated bowl. Understood?"
Durin gave a sharp, serious salute. "Understood, General Lumine!"
Albedo gave a slight nod, already examining the quality of the vanilla extract. "A clear chain of command. Efficient."
The second attempt was a study in peaceful, focused cooperation. Lumine measured the dry ingredients—flour, finely ground almonds, a pinch of salt, a careful amount of a darker, less refined sugar. She showed Durin how to properly cream room-temperature butter and sugar together until it was pale and fluffy, using a proper wooden spoon. He watched, utterly fascinated, his previous pounding technique thoroughly discredited.
"See? Air is your friend here," Lumine explained. "You're making it light."
"Air... friend," Durin repeated solemnly, as if learning a sacred truth.
Albedo oversaw the integration of the dry and wet components, ensuring no over-mixing occurred. "Over-development of the gluten strands would lead to a tough, dense matrix. We are aiming for a firm yet tender crumb."
Paimon's job was the most important: she taste-tested the separate components. The flour ("Tastes like dust! Why would you eat that?"), the ground nuts ("Crunchy! Good!"), the melted dark chocolate for the glaze ("Bitter! But... in a fancy way!").
For the special ingredient, Lumine had vetoed the glowing berries. Instead, she found a jar of crushed, dried coffee beans from Sumeru. "Bitter, complex, aromatic. He'll appreciate the lack of cloying sweetness."
She let Durin add a precise teaspoon to the batter. He did so with the gravity of an alchemist adding a philosopher's stone.
The batter that resulted was thick, smooth, and a rich, nutty brown. It smelled of toasted almonds and dark coffee. It did not glow. It did not ooze. It sat obediently in the bowl.
"IT'S BEHAVING!" Durin cheered in a hushed voice, as if afraid to scare it.
It baked without incident. No strange sounds, no ominous smoke. The scent that filled the teapot kitchen was warm, rich, and deeply inviting. When Lumine pulled it from the oven, it was perfect. It had risen into a gentle dome, with a crack down the top that Albedo deemed "aesthetically appropriate stress fracturing."
They let it cool. Lumine prepared the glaze—a simple mixture of the finest dark chocolate and a touch of cream, poured over the cooled cake until it formed a smooth, glossy, dark shell. It looked like a polished river stone, elegant and understated.
Albedo produced a small notebook and made a final sketch of the finished cake. "Iteration Two. Successful. Variables controlled. Result: visually and olfactorily acceptable."
Paimon floated around it, drooling. "It looks... expensive. Like the kind of cake a really grumpy, rich noble would eat while sighing about the state of the world."
"That's the idea," Lumine said, smiling. She cut a tiny sliver for a final taste test. The cake was dense, moist, with a deep, nutty flavor and the barest hint of coffee bitterness that melded perfectly with the dark chocolate glaze. It was, unquestionably, an adequate cake. A triumph.
Durin looked at it, then at his flour-stained clothes from the earlier disaster, then at his friends. His heart felt so full he thought it might glow brighter than his failed berries. "We did it. We really did it."
"You did it," Lumine corrected, ruffling his hair. "This was your mission from the start. We just helped with the... tactical details."
The cake was ready. The teapot realm was serene. The stage was set. Now, they just needed their reluctant guest of honor.....
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The winds over Frostmoon Enclave were sharp and constant, Wanderer descended from a high thermal, his landing on the familiar cliffside as light and precise as a bird of prey. The sky was the usual bruised twilight, no different from any other day. A useless marker, indeed...
He spotted her immediately. A point of gold and white against the grey, leaning against a weather-smoothed rock. Lumine. Beside her, Paimon zipped in a small, impatient circle.
"He's late! He's late!" Paimon's shrill voice carried on the wind.
"He's exactly on time," Lumine replied, her voice calmer. "You're just impatient."
Wanderer allowed the ghost of a smirk to touch his lips before smoothing his expression back to neutrality. He approached, the gravel crunching softly under his boots. "Keeping a busybody waiting is its own reward," he said, his tone flat.
Paimon huffed. "Hey! We're not busybodies! We're... punctual appreciators!"
"Wonderful. Appreciate this, then." He didn't bother with preamble. From within the fold of his garment, he produced a small bag. Filled with Fatui materials. He held it out to Lumine. "I heard you needed them for some reasons. Don't thank me. I was having fun."
Lumine took it. Her fingers were warm against his for the briefest moment. She held it up "Thank you, this will solve a lot"
He shrugged, already turning his body away, signaling the conclusion of their business. The transaction was complete. The letter's conditions were met. Let's meet up so I can give you a gift. That way, at least for one moment, two people can be happy. He had given the gift. The moment could end...
Even if the other person wasn't there now..
After all, he was the one who pushed Durin away..
"Durin insisted I bring you to the actual meeting spot," Lumine said all of a sudden, her words halting his pivot.
Wanderer went very still. He didn't turn back, but his shoulders tensed, a predator sensing a shift in the air. "This is the spot," he stated, voice low.
"He says the 'conveyed strength' hasn't reached optimal levels here. Something about ley line interference?" She added, deadpan that was utterly suspicious. It was a lie, but a lie woven from Durin's own peculiar logic, which made it dangerously plausible.
A long, slow breath escaped him, frosting slightly in the chill air. He could see it now. The clumsy, earnest trap. The sheer, predictable inevitability of it. He could walk away now. He should. It would be the smart thing....
But a darker, quieter part of him, the part that had written the letter, the part that had kept the date in some forgotten corner of his memory, was curious. What pathetic, heart-on-its-sleeve spectacle had the little dragon concocted..?
"Fine," he bit out, the word sharp with surrendered annoyance. "But if this involves a choir of tone-deaf whopperflowers, I am leaving a crater where they stand."
Lumine's grinned. "No whopperflowers. Promise."
She led him away from the cliff edge, towards a more sheltered outcrop where she had discreetly set a portable Waypoint anchor, its yellow runes glowing faintly against the rock. Wanderer eyed it with deep mistrust...
"Your teapot?"
"It's where the optimal ley lines are," she said, her eyes glinting with a challenge. "Scared?"
He scoffed, loud and dismissive. "Of your over-decorated pocket dimension? Hardly." Pride, that old poison, sealed his fate. He stepped onto the Waypoint platform beside her.
The world dissolved into a swirl of azure light and the gut-lurching sensation of teleportation. It lasted only a second before solidifying into the warm, still, perpetually-perfect air of the Serenitea Pot realm....
The sudden quiet was deafening. Sunlight, real and golden, filtered through the leaves of a large, graceful tree. The air smelled of damp earth and sweet flowers.....
It was tranquil. It was peaceful...
It was a perfect place for an ambush....
His instincts screamed. Every sense heightened. The silence was wrong. The teapot was never this empty; the little adeptus spirit was usually puttering about, or the air was filled with the sounds of crafted animals....
"Lumine," he said, his voice dropping to a warning growl. He took one cautious step onto the soft grass. "If this is some idiotic—"
"NOW!"
The shout came from above—a voice brimming with pent-up, explosive joy....
Wanderer's head snapped up, his body coiling to dodge or strike. But the attack wasn't a projectile or a blade. It was a compact, warm arms...
Durin dropped from the thick branches of the tree, arms wide, a beaming smile already splitting his face. There was no malice, no stealth, just a direct, joyful line from point A to point B....
"YOU'RE HERE!!"
The impact drove the air from Wanderer's lungs in a soft, surprised oof. Small, surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his middle, locking in a vice-like hug. He staggered back half a step, his balance compromised. The scent of sunshine and ozone and, faintly, burnt sugar, filled his nose....
"Durin! You little—!" he choked out, his hands coming up, fingers splayed. To push? To pry? They hovered, useless, in the air...
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAT GUY!" Durin yelled, the sound muffled against his scarf but no less deafening for it. The words vibrated through his ribcage...
It was the perfect, absolute distraction. His world narrowed to the shock of the hug, the weight against him, the shouted words that felt like a physical blow to a different, hollow part of his chest. His guard, his formidable, centuries-honed guard, was down. Shattered not by force, but by affection....
Lumine moved....
She was a flash of gold in his peripheral vision. Her target wasn't his vitals, but his identity. Her fingers closed around the firm, wide brim of his hat. A swift, smooth pull, and the familiar weight was gone from his head.....
The sudden exposure was more violent than the hug....
He froze. Completely. The world tilted. The cool air touched his ears, his messy hair. It felt like being skinned. His hovering hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in indigo strands, a purely instinctive move to cover the vulnerability. His eyes, wide and stripped of their usual sardonic veil, found Lumine...
She had danced back three paces, holding his hat aloft. A triumphant, unrepentant grin spread across her face. She looked like a cat who'd not only gotten the cream but also the whole cow.
"Lumine." His voice was low, stunned, barely a whisper. Then it hardened. "Give. It. Back. Right now."
"Security deposit," she announced, her tone cheerful. She plopped the oversized hat onto her own head. It immediately slid down, engulfing her skull and settling over her eyes, "You're not hiding. Happy birthday, Wanderer"
"Hey! Don't damage it!" Paimon shrieked, zipping out from behind the tree. "We could sell it to a museum! 'The Hat of the Grumpy Wanderer!' It'd be worth a fortune!"
From behind the corner of the main building, Albedo stepped into view. He held Lumine's Kamera with the steady focus of a researcher documenting a rare phenomenon. Click. The shutter's sound was crisp in the quiet...
He lowered the device, examining the captured image. "Ambush parameters executed successfully," he stated,. "Happy birthday, Hat Guy"
"YOU TOO!??" Wanderer yelled, still stuck in Durin's hug.
Albedo looked up at Wanderer's frozen, hatless form. '"That indicates maximum surprise with a high probability of latent, grudging acceptance."
Wanderer stopped. He stopped trying to process, stopped fighting the sheer absurdity. The fight drained out of him all at once...
He looked down at Durin, who was still clinging to him, grinning up with stars in his ruby eyes. He looked at Lumine, a disembodied grin under his own hat. He looked at Albedo, the serene archivist of his downfall....
A deep, shuddering sigh wracked his frame. It was the sigh of a man who had faced god's betrayal, closest friends' death, manipulation, only to be undone by a hug and a hat theft.
"I hate you all.." he muttered. Cheeks blushing. "I'm going to throw you off that cliff"
Durin finally released his death-grip, but immediately snatched Wanderer's wrist, his small hand warm and insistent. "No you're not! You're going to eat cake! We made it twice! The second one doesn't glow or try to crawl away!"
He allowed himself to be led, a captive in every sense, towards the simple cloth spread under the tree. He saw the cake then. It was small. Unfrosted. A dark, modest dome under a shell of glossy chocolate....
It looked serious. It looked... like something he might actually eat. The care in that detail, the understanding it implied, was a quieter, more disarming ambush than any other....
He sat, heavily, on the cushion placed there. Lumine finally walked over and, with a gentleness that contradicted her earlier theft, placed his hat down beside him. Not on his head, but within reach. A peace offering. A sign that he was, technically, free...
He looked at it, then at the expectant faces around him. He did not put the hat on...
He left it there...