Chapter Text
Durin has been pacing back and forth across the deck of the ship for the better part of their entire voyage. He is enamored by everything: the gulls, the waves, the movement of the crew. Wanderer watches him prance back and forth across the deck of the ship, rambling about the smell of salt in the air and the ingenuity of the vessel.
At one point, Durin slides right up beside Wanderer and plants both hands on the gaffrail, gawking out into the ocean. “Isn’t it amazing, Hat Guy?”
“I’ve seen water before,” says Wanderer. “So have you.” He’s leaning against the gaffrail, too, with his back to the ocean.
“But it’s the sea!” says Durin. “Look at it! It’s even bluer than the sky!”
“Yeah, well, don’t let the sky hear you say that.”
Durin squints at him. Early into their relationship, Durin would come up with all kinds of outlandish explanations as to why Wanderer’s mood had soured, and that was funny, but enough time has passed between them that Durin can generally tell when something is wrong, and there is nothing Wanderer hates more than when Durin tries to figure out what it is.
“Is everything okay?” says Durin. “I thought you’d be happy that we saved Columbina.”
“I am happy,” says Wanderer. “This is my happy face.”
“I mean, I won’t argue with you, because I’m not sure what your happy face would look like, but you seem to be in a worse mood than normal.”
“Is that so?”
Durin frowns. “You would tellme if something was wrong. Wouldn’t you?”
Probably not. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Durin wilts like a kicked puppy.
Damn it.
“Look, I’m just feeling a little more run down than usual, alright?” says Wanderer. “It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”
Durin lifts his head again. “Really? Are you sure you shouldn’t get some rest?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I mean some real rest. In a real bed.”
Wanderer snorts. “On a ship?”
“Why not?”
“You might enjoy the waves now, but they’ll make you sick if you don’t respect them at least a little bit.”
“Do you get seasick?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know! You’re really frustrating to talk to sometimes.”
“Then don’t talk to me.”
Durin actually seems to consider this. “No,” he decides. “That’d be like letting you win.” He pauses, then lurches against the guardrail at the sight of something on the horizon. “Hat Guy, look!”
“Don’t fall, idiot.”
“I can see the Academiya tree!” cheers Durin, undaunted. “Wow, even from a distance it’s huge.”
Wanderer rolls his eyes.
“Let me guess,” says Durin, “you’ve seen trees before, too?”
Maybe Wanderer should be nicer around him if Durin is collecting up all his nasty tendencies like achievements. Wanderer crosses his arms across his chest and masks a wince when it pulls at the metal stitches in his shoulder.
“It’ll be good,” says Wanderer, “to be home.”
Durin beams.
Wanderer wouldn’t have minded a long trip home if it weren’t that every time the ship jostled against the water his shoulder lurched fiercely. He hoped the pain would improve with time, but so far all time has done for him is deepen the ache. As usual. He’s been more aware of his core, too, ever since getting it back from the Traveler. It’s ominous, but in a funny way, so he lets it go.
Durin is still freaking out about the tree.
When their ship docks and the crew lowers the gangplank, Durin is the first to sprint out into the port. Wanderer is the second, watching Durin closely. The dizziness follows him off the ship.
“Watch your step.”
“It’s so lively!”
“And watch where you’re going.”
Durin preens over his surroundings a while longer before returning to Wanderer’s side, walking close enough that his tail brushes the backs of Wanderer’s calves.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” says Wanderer.
“Well, I know that,” says Durin. “I was born six months ago, not yesterday.”
“Is that Durin!?”
Wanderer’s head snaps around first, with Durin’s quick to follow. That bunny girl from Mondstadt is sprinting at them from across the port.
“Great,” says Wanderer. Durin sprints forward to meet her halfway. “And there he goes.”
“Amber! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” says Amber. “I’m here to pay Collei a visit, she’s staying with Cyno in the city while she prepares for the entrance exam.” Her eyes skirt up to Wanderer, and she waves. “Hi, Kasacchi!”
Wanderer nods his head at her. He doesn’t like her, and he knows she doesn’t particularly like him, but they’ve never had a real quarrel. Her endless optimism is, just, exhausting.
“Oh, Collei!” says Durin. “I’ve been wanting to meet her for a long time. Tigh—Tighnari? Did I say that right? He told me he thought she and I would get along, she sounds nice.”
“Oh! Are you doing anything now? You could come with me to meet her.”
“Really?”
Now she’s done it. Durin likes meeting new people the same way fire likes meeting new wood.
Amber nods eagerly. “It’s just a casual housecall, so I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She’s finally going to teach me how to play Genius Invocation TCG.”
“Lucky you,” says Wanderer. When Durin turns to look at him, “You should go.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Unless you want to join me at the Academiya for some riveting diplomatic meetings with Lesser Lord Kusanali,” says Wanderer.
Durin makes a face.
“That’s what I thought,” says Wanderer. He nods at Amber again. “Have fun.”
Durin looks uncertain, but it ends as soon as he and Amber start actually making their way out of the port. As soon as they’re out of sight, Wanderer lets himself relax. The pain starts fresh again in his shoulder, and there's a newfangled dizziness nestled behind his eyes. How ridiculous. He lied about the diplomatic meeting with Lesser Lord Kusanali, but Durin has better things to do than bum around after him like a lost duckling.
Wanderer takes a deep breath to stave off the lingering dizziness and makes his way to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Every step is carefully chosen and even more carefully executed.
By the time Wanderer ventures up the winding pathways that lead to the Sanctuary, his vertigo has become so intense it’s hard to even tell if he’s going the right direction. Thankfully, his feet have made the journey enough times that muscle memory saves the day. He pushes open the doors of the Sanctuary and steps inside, flooded by the sensation of warm, growing energy and the lingering smell of rain.
“I’m back,” says Wanderer.
Half a second later, Lesser Lord Kusanali appears in the corner of his vision. She’s smiling like a newly bloomed flower.
“I thought I sensed a malicious presence!” she chirps. “Welcome home.”
“Did you hear from Dori?”
Nahida solemns. “I did.”
Wanderer draws a shallow inhale. It was hard to think about it with Durin by his side, but now that the kid’s gone off to do his own thing, the reality of all that happened in Nod-Krai crashes down around him with fresh finality.
“How close were we to being ready for war?” says Wanderer.
Nahida reaches for his arm and gives it a squeeze. “We were ready,” she says firmly. “But I’m glad it didn’t have to come to that.”
Wanderer bites the inside of his cheek. Ready? Ready how? Dottore is coming for Irminsul and the guy’s got a special place in his heart for Sumeru, which is as good as a doomsday prophecy. Nahida has never ceased surprising him with her brilliance, but she’s just an Archon. After Nod-Krai, even a title like that seems small.
Nahida gives him a tug. “Here, join me. Let’s sit a while and talk this through.”
Wanderer follows her. It’s only a matter of time before she calls him out for walking funny or holding himself like a wooden board; might as well be sitting down for it.
The Sanctuary of Surasthana wasn’t designed with ‘cozy chit-chats about the end of the world’ in mind, but Nahida bustled it up anyway. Alongside giving him his own quarters deep into the halls of this place, she put together a sitting room, fit with couches, tables, the works. She even managed to get her hands on an espresso machine, and Wanderer can only think how his old coworkers would have killed to have one of those in the Fatui headquarters. Tragically, it’d be cheaper to actually hire a hitman than to import goods from Sumeru to Snezhnaya.
Nahida sets a cup to brew and gestures at him to have a seat at the nearest couch. “Before we get into it,” says Nahida, “I’d like to take a look at your shoulder. You’re injured, aren’t you?”
Wanderer sits. “You didn’t waste any time with that.”
“What did you expect?” Nahida moves to sit beside him. “Turn around.”
Resigned, Wanderer does what he’s told. The coffee machine gurgles as Nahida unhitches the clasp of his haori and slides it off his shoulder.
“What happened?” says Nahida.
“Dottore managed to get the drop on me,” says Wanderer. “I got careless.”
“Careless? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Is it that hard to believe I wanted revenge?”
“I find it hard to believe you’d freely admit to it,” says Nahida, “unless you were attempting to hide the real reason you behaved recklessly. So?”
Wanderer focuses on the sound of the coffee machine to distract from the biting pain in his shoulder. “Dottore got his hands on the Traveler. Someone had to do something.”
“Now that sounds like you.” Nahida spreads her hand over the wound, tracing each metal staple with the barest tip of her finger. “Who did this? It’s decent work, but surely not a doctor’s.”
“Ineffa. The robot. It was fast; I just needed to stop the bleeding.” Ineffa only helped him under the pretense that he would see a real doctor as soon as Dottore was in the ground. Lying to her was easy enough.
“You’re lucky you can’t get infections,” says Nahida. He can tell by her tone alone that her brow is pinched. “This is a deep wound.”
“I’m aware of that, thanks,” says Wanderer. He isn’t angry with her, but it hurts, and he already answered plenty of questions for Durin on the voyage here.
“I’m going to remove the staples,” says Nahida, “and replace them with thread. Is this amendable?"
“Do your worst.”
“Alright. Oh, the coffee’s done.” She shifts to retrieve a cup, then returns to press it into his hand. “Hold still and drink that while I work.”
Wanderer accepts the cup and the distraction. She settles in behind him.
“What else is troubling you?” says Nahida.
Wanderer sips at the coffee. He doesn’t know what kind of witchcraft Nahida infuses that machine with, but the brew comes out perfect whenever she’s behind it.
“I don’t think Dottore has finished playing his hand,” says Wanderer.
“I agree with that,” says Nahida. Particles of warm dendronic energy dance around the injury, loosening the staples. “The good news is, I don’t sense anything malicious on your wound. I doubt even he could supplant a Segment that easily.”
Wanderer’s blood goes completely cold.
Holy shit. Holy shit he hadn’t thought about that.
“I was saying that to reassure you,” says Nahida, “not to make you paranoid.”
“Thanks. It didn’t work.”
Nahida presses her thumb to the back of his neck. “We learned a lot about the Doctor in Nod-Krai, including both the depths and the limits of what he is capable of. I understand what the Traveler thinks, but I’m with you. I don’t trust that the Doctor is really gone. You can feel it, too, can’t you? The unrest in your spirit?”
“My spirit hasn’t been rested since the day I was born,” says Wanderer, but he knows what she means. “Dottore is conniving. The sick bastard probably knew he’d get himself beat halfway to hell and planned for it in advance.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” says Nahida. “In any case, there's nothing to be done just yet; we have time to rest and recollect ourselves. I’ve already contacted the Hydro Sovereign and Archon of Fontaine, and we’ve been steadily growing our relationship with Inazuma’s Raiden Gokuden and the Milileth in Liyue. We have allies all across Teyvat. Stopping the Doctor is a common goal.”
Nahida managed to remove the staples without causing any pain, but the weaving of the energy thread doesn’t go as smoothly. Wanderer presses his fingertips into the ceramic, firm enough he feels a pinch under his fingernails.
“If that’s the case,” says Wanderer, “are you sure now is the best time to fuss over me?”
“Of course. If the Doctor loses his mind and tries to destroy Sumeru, you’re our most valuable asset.”
Wanderer sips some more of his drink, just to have something to do and to keep his mind off the sensation of wire tying his skin together. At long length, he hears Nahida release a breath behind him, and the warmth at his shoulder disappears.
“That should be secured for now,” says Nahida. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell me?”
“Let me think.”
“Don’t answer that. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you should tell me?” The way she’s looking at him is odd, somewhere between curious and accusative.
“Why?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Something about you just seems… different.”
“Maybe it’s the trauma. You’re always talking about that.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Why not?” says Wanderer. “I looked that guy right in the face and he didn’t remember a damn thing about me or what he did. You don’t think that’s messed up?”
“I didn’t say it isn’t messed up,” says Nahida, “but I will digress to my earlier assessment of your unusual willingness to divulge information when you’re hiding something else.”
Wanderer looks down at the coffee between his hands. His reflection ganders back at him, rippling as he breathes. The Traveler and company managed to beat down Dottore this time, but he learned the depths and limitations of their combined strength, too. Dottore fights dirty; Wanderer has known this about him for a long time. Columbina has ascended on high, and Sandrone is gone, and he’s distressingly aware of the current his core creates through him. He’s never been able to count the pulses of his core before. Or maybe he’s just never listened. He doesn’t know.
“I’m tired,” says Wanderer quietly.
Nahida lays her hand on his head. She says nothing, but he can feel the soft compassion of her Knowing. It flows through every intricacy of his recognizable self, sheathing the uncertainty in a veil of something that sounds unmistakably like her voice: Another time, it promises. We can worry another time.
Wanderer draws a trembling breath through his teeth. “Don’t tell Durin.”
Nahida withdraws herself. “Don’t tell Durin that you’re tired, or that you’re hurt? Because I think he knows.”
Wanderer doesn’t answer.
“… I understand,” says Nahida. “Your secret is safe with me. You know, the first time we met, I never thought you’d turn out to be such a worrywart. You’re full of all kinds of surprises.”
Wanderer wipes his face with the back of his hand. “How riveting.”
“That’s a good word for it. When will Durin be with us? Or is he busy socializing?”
“He went with that Amber girl from Mondstadt, and apparently the Grand Mahamatra is going to teach him cards.”
“Oh, my. In that case, we may not see him for years.”
Wanderer huffs.
Nahida slips off the couch and brushes off her hands. “Well, while you finish your drink, I’ll go pick up something for dinner. And no, I won’t hear any objections. Just tell me what you want to eat or I’ll be forced to make my best guess.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Best guess it is, then.”
Wanderer goes to stand up. The moment his knees are straight, vertigo hits him like a tsunami. He staggers into the arm of the couch, sloshing coffee over his wrist.
Nahida jumps. “Kasacchi?”
Wanderer has already corrected his posture, but the room is sideways and his nausea is back in full force. “It’s nothing,” says Wanderer. “I was on that ship for too long.”
Great, Nahida is giving him that ‘I’m concerned but I don’t want to scare you off’ look. By some miracle, she doesn’t push it. “I believe you,” she says. “Get some rest.”
“That’s the plan.”
Wanderer makes his way out.
“And I’m sorry,” says Nahida, “about Sandrone.”
Wanderer stops in the doorframe.
“I know you weren’t friends,” says Nahida, “but she was someone you knew. Someone you were familiar with. I know you both had a lot in common, and you know better than most that no one truly leaves your life once they’ve come into it, no matter how close you were or were not.”
Wanderer squeezes the cup in his hand and shuts his eyes. His vertigo is worse without a visual center, but he can’t possibly face Nahida after that.
“I heard she died with a smile on her face,” says Wanderer. “That’s more than most of us get.” He turns to look at Nahida over his shoulder. “Sandrone wouldn’t be sorry. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Nahida bows her head to him, and he departs with his coffee in-hand.
A small hand is shaking Wanderer’s shoulder. His consciousness returns to him like a trickle of water, slow and steady. He opens his eyes and is immediately met with a fresh dose of dizziness. He squeezes his eyes shut again. It passes.
“Kasacchi?” says Nahida.
“Ugh,” says Wanderer.
She has the audacity to giggle. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you should move somewhere more comfortable so you can get some real sleep.”
Real sleep. What was he doing before this, anyway? Wanderer lifts his head off his desk. A slip of paper clings to his face. Right. Studying. He can see his coffee cup in the corner of his eye, empty. Nahida stands beside him with a small smile and two bowls of savory-smelling curry balanced precariously in one arm.
“I won’t scold you for studying to wind down,” says Nahida, “but I will if you don’t get some real sleep.”
Wanderer presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Late,” says Nahida, peeling the paper off his face with her free hand. She sets the bowls onto his desk and glances over the paper. “Is this… your dissertation?”
“Something like that. Hey, don’t read it.”
“It sounds interesting so far!” says Nahida, holding the paper out of reach as he makes a pass for it. “I enjoy hearing more about your insight on Tartasuna and societal issues in Inazuma. In addition to this, I think it could be useful to a lot of people living in Inazuma now to hear your thoughts on this, as someone who’s seen its rise and fall over a long stretch of time.”
Wanderer rolls his eyes. Nahida swats his shoulder with the paper, which has about as much impact as a grasshopper trying to move a brick. She slides the paper onto his desk. Wanderer glances out the window at Sumeru City at night, the scope of which is visible from his vantage point at the Sanctuary.
“Eat,” says Nahida. “I paid for this and you aren’t going to waste it.”
With a note to pay her back, Wanderer takes up his bowl. “I’m assuming Durin hasn’t gotten back yet?”
“Cyno stopped by earlier. He said Durin is welcome to stay the night with him and Collei. I figured you might want some more time to collect yourself, so, I accepted his offer.”
“Thanks.” Wanderer misses Durin’s presence and even Durin’s noise, but he doesn’t have the energy to keep up an act, nor does he have the energy to deal with Durin’s worried-puppy face if the kid catches on to him.
Nahida slides the paper onto his desk, takes up her own curry, and eats with him in the quiet of his chamber within the Sanctuary. Beyond them, Sumeru City prepares to settle in for the night. The oil lantern he left burning on the hook over his desk flickers like a cat’s tail.
“How are you feeling?” says Nahida.
“Stiff,” says Wanderer, because she would sense a lie before the words even left his mouth. “But fine.”
“Is the curry to your liking?”
“It’s tolerable.”
Nahida grins.
The meal continues in silence. Dormant nausea continues to rock through Wanderer’s system, but it isn’t anything he can’t push to the back of his mind. It has to be lingering dread over Dottore and what could have happened (and could still happen) in Nod-Krai and Sandrone’s death and what might’ve befallen Sumeru if they didn’t win. What could still befall Sumeru after winning. That’ll make anyone nauseous, even a creature like him.
“Kasacchi?”
Wanderer is staring into his empty curry bowl, although he doesn’t remember finishing. He shakes himself. Nahida reaches for his bowl, stacking it atop her empty one and leaving both on the desk as she slides out of her chair and offers him her hand.
“I think that’s about enough for today,” says Nahida. “You can finish your dissertation in the morning. It’s time to rest.”
Wanderer pushes back his desk chair. “I don’t need you to lead me there like a child. I can—”
The moment his feet are underneath him, his vision goes dark.
When he opens his eyes, he’s splayed out on the floor with Nahida’s face five inches from his, her hands on either of his cheeks and a look of muted panic behind her eyes. He sees his chest heave, but every breath he takes is alarmingly shallow.
“Goddammit,” Wanderer wheezes.
“Breathe,” says Nahida, distracted. She runs her thumbs beneath his eyes and stares very hard into him. “When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”
“The way here.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I did,” he bites at her. The fact that she’d accuse him without a second thought, after he’s actually done what she’s asked of him for once, stings more than he has the guts to admit.
Nahida blinks. She, too, seems surprised by his outburst. “Okay,” she says. “I’m sorry. I was just startled. Your energy is… extremely low. The last time your energy was like this was just before you fell into that coma.”
Wanderer shuts his eyes and tries to breathe through his nose. “Great. That’s just what I need. A long nap.”
“It’s not funny,” says Nahida.
“It’s a little funny,” says Wanderer. He curls and uncurls his fingers, just to make sure he can. “Could you stop fawning over me now? I’m not going anywhere.”
Nahida sits back, folding her hands in her lap. She’s thinking about something. “Are you familiar with how your body usually heals?”
He’s still struggling to get a deep breath in. “More or less.”
“Is it possible your energy is so low because it’s being channeled toward your wound?”
Wanderer tries to push himself upright, but his arms tremble viciously beneath his weight, and it’s so embarrassing that he gives up before Nahida can catch on to his struggle. He feels nauseous again, swelling, and he hasn’t felt this nauseous in decades. This isn’t normal.
“Probably,” says Wanderer. He has no idea.
Nahida reaches for his arm. She helps him sit up, one hand against his back to keep him steady. The room spins. He shuts his eyes and takes a few more shallow breaths. A metallic taste grows in the back of his throat.
Nahida’s hand stops just shy of his shoulder blades. “Can I look at your wound again?”
He shakes his head. The thought of being exposed like that when he feels like this is more than he can stomach.
“Alright.” She pats his head a couple times, which makes him roll his eyes again, which makes her flick his temple. “All you have to worry about for now is getting better. Sweet dreams and bedrest.”
“Sometimes,” says Wanderer, “I’m reminded that I’m your prisoner.”
Nahida smiles brightly at him. “And my secretary! And my evil vizier. You have your hands in too many pots, you know, that’s why you need a break.”
Wanderer sighs.
Nahida squeezes his arm and helps tug him to his feet. “For now, though,” she says, “your only job is to be a student who needs some extra time on their dissertation after facing a traumatic event. And if you roll your eyes at me one more time, I will make you write an essay about it.”
“Ohh noo.”
He really doesn’t feel like writing another essay, though; Dottore damaged his writing arm.
Nahida squeezes his elbow. “I know you said not to fuss, but you’ll forgive me if I monitor you a little more closely for the next couple of days. I don’t like how quickly you went down.”
He can be amenable to that. He didn’t like how quickly he went down, either. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
“It would. And—I’m sorry to ask you this—are you sure nothing else happened in Nod-Krai that you want to tell me about?”
“Pretty sure.”
He’s telling the truth, but dread hangs over them anyway. It follows him into his dreams until he isn’t sure whether he slept at all.
Wanderer can detect the very instant Durin steps foot in the Sanctuary, if nothing else because Durin has the social subtlety of a landslide, and also because the Sanctuary is deceptively small and echoes like a tin roof. As Wanderer stirs, he can hear Nahida’s voice outside his door, guiding Durin through the wonders of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Durin is asking his thousand and one questions, as usual.
Wanderer sits up. The floor spins beneath his feet. Damn it, what is with his body and its obsession with vertigo? He slept, damn it, and even though it was a sleep rocked with despair and memories, it should still count for something. Nahida would tell him he has far more than a single night’s worth of rest to catch up on, but that’s stupid. This body is stupid. Once he’s steady enough to stand, Wanderer ties his haori around himself and forgoes the rest of his bells and whistles for the day. He’s having a hard time keeping his balance, but at least the pain in his shoulder has diminished into a dull ache.
He steps out of his quarters into the hallway just as Durin and Nahida turn the corner.
“—was huge, and Hat Guy made fun of me! Even though it was the sea! The sea! Sometimes I think he’s way too nonchalant about traveling.”
“Well, he has spent a lot of time in a lot of different places,” says Nahida. She glances up, then does a double-take and smiles when she and Wanderer meet eyes. “I suppose there are some things you just get used to.”
Durin is his normal enthusiastic self, prancing along beside. And then he catches sight of Wanderer and somehow his face brightens even more.
“Hat Guy!”
Wanderer blinks, and suddenly Durin is in front of him.
“Genius Invocation is amazing,” says Durin. “And Collei is super nice, too. You should let the General Maha—Mahamatra?” (Nahida nods.) “You should let him teach you how to play sometime so we can do it together. You’d be really good at it.”
“Sure,” says Wanderer. He has the urge to lean into the wall for support; he suppresses it.
Durin looks him up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ‘dressed down’ before. You’ve got something on your face, too. Is it ink? It looks like ink. Were you studying? What were you writing? Was it something for school or was it one of those diplomatic things with the big words?”
“In that order? Probably. Yes. Yes. And both.”
Durin frowns at him. “I thought you were going to rest. I mean, it’s amazing that you did all that! But after Nod-Krai, you told me we’d lay low here in Sumeru for a while.”
“And we are,” says Wanderer. “Look at this. I ‘dressed down’ and everything.”
“Then let me teach you everything Collei and Cyno taught me about Genius Invocation TCG yesterday,” says Durin. “Please? It might take your mind off of whatever’s troubling you.”
“You’re both conspiring against me,” says Wanderer.
Nahida and Durin say “Yes” at the same time.
Wanderer sighs. His mind is everywhere all at once, but he did promise Durin (and the Traveler. And Ineffa. And even Columbina) that he would take the reprieve while it lasts. The people of Sumeru need a chance to breathe again, too, and recover from the threat of catastrophe.
“Alright, alright,” Wanderer agrees. “Fine. Let’s—play cards.”
Durin’s smile is way too sincere, like he knows exactly how difficult of a decision it was for Wanderer to come to. “Thank you.”
Idiot.
The feeling doesn’t go away. Wanderer blames the sunlight and falling asleep at his desk, but there's a prick in the back of his mind that nags and nags and nags about it. He can’t stop thinking about what Nahida said, about Dottore and Dottore’s Segments and the stitched-together hole in his shoulder.
Durin found a table for them in the cafe outside the Sanctuary, down near the base of the Great Tree. He’s been explaining the roll of the dice for the past ten minutes, and Wanderer can only remember half of what he’s said.
“—you really only wanna keep the dice of the elements you’re using. The rest of them, you can re-roll them at the start of each round to get better luck. Are you listening? Hat Guy?”
Wanderer intentionally plays the wrong card.
“No, not like that,” says Durin. “You can only play cards that correspond with your element dice! It’s like—It’s like money.”
“Yeah,” says Wanderer. “I love buying my coffee with my specially ordained, coffee-only coins.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”
“Is that Hat Guy?”
Wanderer puts his head in his hand. “Goddammit.”
“And you must be Durin!” says Sethos brightly, reaching out to ruffle Durin’s hair between his horns. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Durin looks delighted. “Really? Oh, that’s nice. Who is this, Hat Guy? Is he one of your schoolmates?”
“More like a nuisance,” says Wanderer.
Sethos dramatically places a hand over his chest. “Aw, you’re tellin’ me you didn’t even mention me to the kid? Harsh.”
Wanderer leans back and crosses his arms. “Yeah, you know, it’s funny how you just never came up in conversation. Maybe you can learn a thing or two about gossip from that.”
“Gossip,” says Sethos; he’s turned his attention to Durin again, and he jabs his thumb at Wanderer. “Can you believe this guy?”
Durin shakes his head. “He gossips about people a lot.”
“Like I said,” says Wanderer. “If it bothers you, go away.”
“And like I said,” says Durin, “that’d be like letting you win, and I’m not gonna let you win.”
Chuckling, Sethos pulls up a chair and reaches for the strap of his satchel. “Seems to me like you’ve met your match, Hat Guy.”
“What are you doing.”
“A couple of good-natured people playing cards? I was hoping you’d deal me in,” says Sethos, setting his deck of cards on the table. “Or are we really gonna have you be the little guy’s only competition?”
“I’m teaching him how to play,” says Durin.
“I see,” says Sethos. “In that case, let’s make sure Hat Guy here loses. It’ll be good enrichment for him.”
Durin looks at Wanderer, then looks back at Sethos and nods. They deal out their hands and prepare their standby decks.
“Why are you here?” says Wanderer.
Sethos grins up at him. “What do you say we practice learning by doing?” Before Wanderer can retort, he turns to Durin. “Why don’t you start us off, little guy?”
Durin casts his dice.
Genius Invocation TCG is as simple as it comes. Wanderer dealt his share of strategizing as Scaramouche at the Tsaritsa’s war table. Hell, the Vision Hunt Decree was his baby; Sandrone might’ve called it stolen valor or a fluke, but he did earn the Electro Gnosis in the end.
Sandrone.
“You’ve cheated,” says Sethos as Wanderer successfully tanks Sethos’ most powerful card and flicks it off the playing field. “You’ve absolutely played this game before.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Alright, that’s it,” says Durin, drawing a card. “I’m not going easy on you anymore!”
Sethos looks appalled. “You were going easy on him?”
“Why?” says Wanderer, kicking one leg up over the other. “Don’t tell me that was your best effort. C’mon.” He slings his dice across the table, discards two to reroll, then takes his turn. “I’m waiting.”
Sethos makes some sort of aborted sound in the back of his throat. The game carries on. Durin manages to get one victory in, but Sethos lands a grand total of zero, which is a new kind of embarrassing when up against one person who’s never played the game before and another who’s still learning the alphabet.
“Maybe your deck just needs some work,” says Durin, trying to console Sethos after a sixth consecutive loss. “You have some good cards, I wonder if there's a different way to put them all together…?”
Wanderer snickers.
“No,” says Sethos dejectedly. “Thanks for trying, little guy, but I can admit when I’ve been beaten.” He shuffles his cards and deals out another round. “Last one. Last one and then I’ll admit defeat.”
Wanderer pushes back his chair. “You two do that. I’m going to grab another coffee. What do you want, Durin?”
“Oh, can I get a coffee, too? One of those sweet ones?”
“Make that two,” says Sethos.
Wanderer stares at him. Sethos stares back.
“You’re ridiculous,” says Wanderer.
He rises from his seat and everything goes to hell.
The feeling that hits him can only be equated to somebody smashing a metal chair over his head. It is immediate. The pain is an explosion behind his eyes. The lightheadedness comes next. He’s aware of hitting the floor, aware of the makings of panic form in the people around him, and then nothing else.
After that comes the snippets.
He’s lifted off the floor by a pair of lean arms. He hears Durin’s voice, scared, which festers a heat beneath his skin that makes him want to lash out at something. If he was only able to move. He can’t move. He’s taken, swept away from the noise of the cafe into a different kind of noise: the noise of the streets, then the noise of professional-sounding voices and flickering oil lanterns emitting golden light. Heat swells under his skin above his bones, boiling his blood.
When he opens his eyes, he recognizes the lights of the Bimarstan. Everything is warm—he’d even say cozy—and the drapes have been pulled over the windows throughout the facility. Most of the beds are empty. It’s dark outside the windows.
“Fuck,” croaks Wanderer.
A chair scrapes the floor beside him. “You’re awake,” gasps Durin. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”
Wanderer swallows. He tastes metal in the back of his throat. Sethos isn’t here, just Durin. Good. Sethos doesn’t have to be here for this. Wanderer offers Durin a placating hand, trying to pat the kid on the head, but Durin gets the wrong idea and grabs ahold of his hand instead.
A healer steps up. She has an air of professionalism about her and a clipboard held to her chest. “It’s good to see you awake, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine.”
She reaches toward him, but he bats her hand away and tries to sit up.
“Hat Guy,” says Durin, “I don’t think you should—”
“I said I’m fine, Durin.”
“You’ve been unconscious for several minutes, ever since you were brought in here,” says the healer. “Your temperature increased significantly while you were asleep. You’re a student of Vahumana, aren’t you? Have you ever been diagnosed with Eleazar?”
“No,” says Wanderer. “I was on a ship here yesterday and I’m still feeling the lingering woes of travel. That’s all.”
The look on Durin’s face is nothing short of betrayal, but there's some anger there too that Wanderer knows he’ll be hearing all about as soon as the healer is out of earshot.
The healer turns. “I’ll give you a minute to recuperate.” She leaves. He almost feels bad.
“Why did you lie to the healer?” says Durin.
“Because nothing is wrong,” says Wanderer, “and everyone’s getting their hands twisted up over nothing.”
“You passed out,” says Durin. “Like—Like you completely passed out. It wasn’t even the meditation thing you did in Nod-Krai, you were on the ground and we couldn’t get you to wake up.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” says Wanderer.
Durin bites his lip. “You… You aren’t hiding something? Really? This… This just happened.” Durin speaks like he’s asking the questions to himself, not to Wanderer. “What do you think it could be?”
“I told you already. The ship probably threw off my equilibrium.”
“You didn’t have any problem with your equilibrium on the way to Nod-Krai.”
“Different boat.”
Durin is still studying him. “You really don’t know what’s going on.”
“What do you think?”
Durin pauses, cupping his chin with his hand, and Wanderer appreciates he didn’t press for more answers because Wanderer has zero. He can’t stop thinking about what Nahida said about Dottore and Segments. He’s aware of Nahida’s dendronic thread in his shoulder.
He hears light footsteps behind the curtains around his bed. A moment later, Lesser Lord Kusanali shows herself into the space.
“Hi, Miss Nahida,” says Durin. He isn’t surprised to see her.
“Hello, Durin,” says Nahida. She pulls up a chair beside Wanderer, across from Durin. “Kasacchi—”
“I didn’t do anything,” says Wanderer.
“I never said you did,” says Nahida. The look on her face is one he’s only seen when she’s mulling over a complicated delegation in her head. “Yes, I don’t believe you’ve lied to me, or to Durin. I don’t think you’ve been reckless or done something to hurt yourself. And I know you’ve rested. I promise I’m not accusing you of anything, but I have to ask: what did you do in Nod-Krai, exactly, to defeat the Doctor? I need a step by step account, please. Don’t leave anything out, even if it seems insignificant.”
Wanderer takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s a long story.”
“We have time,” says Nahida.
Wanderer begins to share. He committed every move in Nod-Krai to memory, because he knew Dottore would be doing the same. He recounts from the beginning, and Nahida listens, and Durin sits in silence while he speaks.
It continues like this until he reaches Sandrone’s formula.
“We needed a power source to ensure it would react in time,” says Wanderer. “Sandrone was building it, but we were missing vital energy to carry the Formula into fruition. So I let her—”
The words are cut off from his throat. Nahida leans forward, curious, but Durin seems to have reached the same realization as Wanderer. His eyes are wide, and he stares at his shoes between his hands.
“What?” says Nahida. “What did you let her do?”
“I let her use my core,” says Wanderer.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Was it removed?” says Nahida. “Or were you inserted into the Formula yourself?”
“It was removed,” says Durin. “Albedo and I—we took care of watching his body while the others went to save Miss Columbina.”
“For roughly how long was your core separated from your body?” says Nahida.
Wanderer stares into his hands. “It shouldn’t have been long enough to cause an issue like this.”
“Have you ever been separated from your core before?”
“No, but I—”
He thinks of Tatarasuna. It’s one of just a few memories he can’t actually bring himself to recount, not in detail, and especially not in front of someone like Durin. Durin is so new to everything in this world, he shouldn’t have that view of things tainted just because Wanderer’s lived the kind of life he has.
“Durin,” says Nahida, “would you mind stepping out for just a minute?”
Durin’s wings twitch. “Why?”
“Just for a minute,” says Nahida.
“Is it because of something that’s hard to say?”
Nahida nods.
Durin looks at Wanderer, then takes a deep breath.
“If it’s because you’re afraid of it changing my perception of you,” says Durin, “I… I would like to stay.”
Wanderer begins to argue—to scoff, snark, whatever—but Durin leans forward and continues before he can utter a sound.
“I know you don’t like to talk about your past,” says Durin, “and that’s why I won’t ask any questions. But if something’s been done that’s hurt you, or affected you now, then I do want to know. Sometimes, I…” He reaches up to clasp the ornament against his chest, shaped into a heart. “I feel like I’m the only person who gets support,” says Durin, “for the things I’ve been through and what I’ve had to endure. And it’s not just you,” when Wanderer opens his mouth again. “Albedo and Mr. Kaeya, Master Diluc and Collei, all of you talk like you’re scared of what I’ll think if I really knew you, but none of you think differently after knowing the truth about me.”
“It’s a cruel and wicked thing,” says Wanderer before he can stop himself.
“So am I,” says Durin. “Or—Or so I was.”
Wanderer turns to Nahida. She nods to him. He inhales a trembling breath.
“In Taratasuna,” he says, “my body absorbed all the corrupted filth from that place’s walls. If my core was going to be damaged by something, that would have been it.”
“Maybe,” says Nahida, “but you had Niwa’s heart protecting you back then, didn’t you? And I don’t believe your core has been damaged.” She pauses, then stands and offers him her hand. “Bear with me a moment, Kasacchi, and stand up as you normally would. I want to test something.”
Wanderer places his hand in hers and stands.
The effect is immediate and all-encompassing. The world drops out from under him, and the next he opens his eyes he’s gasping heavily for breath, laid flat on the hospital bed, and Nahida is pushing energy through his palm while Durin hovers by his side.
“Catch your breath,” says Nahida, using her other hand to push back his hair. “I’m sorry to make you do that.”
Wanderer swallows. He’s out of breath. “What did you find?”
“Take a moment first,” says Nahida, “then we’ll discuss.”
“No. Tell me. Tell me—” He has to stop to breathe. “Tell me what you found.”
Durin is looking between him and Nahida.
“It’s as I suspected,” says Nahida. “It seems as though… something between the core itself, and your own body, has been severed. Have you ever heard of patients who receive an implant of a vital organ? Or an implant of blood? The body has to accept that organ, regardless of whether or not the mind desires it.”
“You think my core is rejecting me,” says Wanderer, understanding. “Or that my core is rejecting my body.”
“It isn’t a perfect comparison,” says Nahida, “but it is the best hypothesis I have.”
“So what do we have to do to fix it?” says Durin.
“Nothing,” says Nahida. “We don’t do anything to fix it.”
“But—”
“There’s no substitute for my core, Durin,” Wanderer snaps. Durin doesn’t shrink away from him, but Wanderer feels a stab of guilt regardless. He tries to steady the heat building in his chest and goes on, “None of my ‘parts’ are replaceable. You can’t even give me blood if I start to bleed out, it’ll just be over.”
“Over?”
“Everything that makes up Kasacchi is one of a kind,” says Nahida, “including all his external components.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” says Durin. “Why couldn’t we, just, make a new part for you? Like Ineffa.”
“Because I’m not a robot,” says Wanderer, “I’m a sentient puppet hewn of a branch cut from Irminsul.”
“Then why can’t we just go get another one?”
“We can’t just get a new one,” Wanderer says, “it’s not something you can just waltz up to and prune, Durin, Irminsul is the heart and soul of this world.”
“And the technology of his core is of ancient Khaenri’ah,” says Nahida. “I’m afraid there isn’t anyone alive today, and only a select few even back then, who’d know how to replicate something as intricate as a core.”
“And it wouldn’t work to swap it out with a new one anyway,” says Wanderer. “Not unless you want me to come back as an entirely different person with no memory of you.”
“Okay,” says Durin. He’s using his ‘this seems like a big problem but I really think we can solve it’ voice, which is fine when he’s doing stuff like math or phonics but has no place in a conversation like this. “Then, what do we do? Miss Nahida?”
Nahida is thinking again. “There is a chance his core will correct itself with time,” she says. “It was designed for his body, after all. Until then—Fever, fainting spells, nausea and vertigo, joint pain… Right now, the symptoms are presenting themselves as late stage Eleazar, and there are lots of good doctors here in Sumeru that have experience mitigating that until we can come up with a solution.”
“And,” Durin says, “what does that look like? What can I do to help?”
“I’m going to look for some compression equipment, and there are good herbal treatments as well.”
Wanderer doesn’t ask how she knew about the joint pain. He can’t believe any of this is happening. It would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? Just his luck. He has the first breath of fresh air in his whole damn life and he goes and does this to it? The poetic, ironic nonsense of his core literally rejecting him makes him think of Irminsul itself, of his attempted erasure, of Kabukimono and Kunikazushi and Scaramouche the Balladeer and—
“Kasacchi,” says Nahida, “are you okay?”
Wanderer stands. His vision goes black, but he was expecting it, and manages to catch himself on the bedframe before he can topple over. Nahida is with him in an instant.
“I’m leaving,” says Wanderer. “Don’t try and stop me.”
Nahida catches his wrist. “You’ve just fainted and you’re still burning up. If you run off, you might get hurt.”
Wanderer has never considered jerking away from Nahida before. This is a first. “I’m not weak. I just need—”
“We’ll go,” says Durin. He’s on his feet, too, though Wanderer didn’t hear him move. “You want to be alone to, to process all of this, right? Stay here and we’ll go. I’ll make sure the healers know not to bother you.”
Wanderer can’t breathe. Spots bloom in his vision.
Nahida releases Wanderer’s wrist. “Don’t give up hope,” she says. “This isn’t over yet.”
There is more tucked behind her words than Wanderer has the energy to dig up. She leaves with Durin, and Wanderer falls flat against the bed and stares up at the ceiling. The current of his core ripples through him like a heartbeat. Traitor. He breathes through his teeth and drapes his arm over his eyes when they burn.
What a joke.