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Beneath the new moon, whose pale and distant light barely touched the earth, someone watched him in silence. A trace of tenderness and mockery drifted like an echo through the gloom, dissolving into the darkness that surrounded him. Illuga remained still, his gaze fixed upon the vast, star-strewn sky, where the constellations danced with a calm that contrasted the storm of thoughts pulling him under.
Though the echo of victory still rang in his ears, it was only a triumph won at the cost of darkness itself; the truth of the price that had been paid continued to weigh upon his heart. The great battle against the Eye of the Abyss had marked the end of an era, yet it did not cease to haunt his dreams. The lives of his companions, fallen beneath that same moonless night, pressed upon him like an impossible burden to cast aside, for their names still whispered in every corner of his soul.
His friends, who had once been his support, came to him with soft and gentle words, like balm upon wounds that never truly healed. Day after day, night after night, those words seemed to fade away with the same stealth by which the new moon hides among the clouds. As time moved on, the voices that consoled him dissolved, washed away by a torrent of guilt and a growing shadow: that of being the only one who had returned alive.
And in the stillness of those endless nights, when the breeze murmured like a lament, Illuga understood that victory was not merely a place where one could rest. It was a heavy memory, or an unhealed wound, an eternal lesson in the immaturity and fragility of a young man who, by fate’s cruel irony, found himself standing alone at the end of everything. Even then, the moon continued to watch him, as though it knew the true enemy had never been the abyss.
—At last, I have found you, young master.
Beside him, a man who seemed to merge with the darkness itself sank down onto the ground. The night wrapped around him, and his presence appeared absorbed by the shadows, as if he had never existed beyond them. Illuga, however, could not prevent his chest from tightening; a faint shiver ran along his spine, as though the very air had changed temperature. His heart struck once, heavily, against his ribs, yet he remained motionless, refusing to let his surprise reach his face.
There, within his small refuge, that corner he had believed to be safe, reality arrived in the form of the last person he would have wished to encounter at that moment. Darkness had embraced him in silence, but he was no longer alone; destiny, or perhaps calamity, had chosen to meet him on that uncertain night. And as the stranger took a seat at his side, Illuga could only watch with a stillness born of the desperation of one who can no longer flee.
Flins was… special, a being overflowing with singularity in every gesture and every word. There was something about him that set him apart, marking him like a lost constellation in the sky of the ordinary, a star whose light shone only for those willing to behold it with the devotion of a secret lover. Illuga did not know exactly when he had begun to lose himself in Flins’s gaze, nor when Flins’s words, so sweet and laden with poisoned beauty, had begun to draw him into a whirlwind of unexpected emotion.
Perhaps it had been a whisper, or the fleeting brush of his lips as he spoke his name. Perhaps it had been one of those jokes laced with playful venom, teasing words that, though they sounded like mockery, carried the softness of a caress. Like a river that moves slowly, in silence yet sweeping everything along its path, Flins had begun to slip into the most intimate corners of his being. And by the time Illuga realized it, he could no longer resist. In his mind, Flins’s figure had become an irresistible enigma, a labyrinth in which he longed only to lose himself further and further, hoping to discover something new and deeper, something that would belong to him alone.
In every glance and gesture, there was something that held him captive, as though the very air he breathed had been steeped in Flins’s presence. And though reason sometimes whispered that not everything about him was as perfect as it seemed, something within urged him to keep searching, to unravel the hidden soul so full of riddles and unspoken promises. Because, deep down, Flins was not merely special; he was the promise of a new world, an unknown horizon. And Illuga, without knowing when or why, no longer wished to stop exploring.
But his answer, cruel and final, echoed like an icy reverberation in the distance. Flins did not wish to share his life beyond what was strictly necessary. There was no past to tell, only the shadows of lightkeepers fading into the city’s mist; and even in those fleeting moments, it was impossible to know where he was, as though he slipped between the folds of time without leaving a trace.
Illuga, his soul brimming with shattered hopes, found himself trapped in an endless waiting. He spent lost hours among the shadows of the Final Night Cemetery, in a forgotten corner where the wind carried away the whispers of time. There, beneath a sky that threatened to fall to pieces, he waited for him. And Flins, as always, arrived in a fleeting flash, ephemeral as everything that had ever been shared between them, unreal as the promise that something might endure.
And it would have been enough… had he not, one night, in the stillness that always precedes dawn, overheard a conversation he was never meant to hear.
—So then… can you fly? —Varka’s question drifted through the air, scarcely more than a whisper, yet shaped by that fragile curiosity woven from wonder and awe. The tavern, lit only by the trembling glow of candles, seemed to cradle the murmur among the shadows of the gathered faces. Flins’s laughter soft and ethereal, intertwined with the silence of the night like a distant, calculated song, waiting for the answer to take form. And yet, by the end of the conversation, Varka would remember none of those words.
—I believe you are mistaking the fairies of tales for reality, Mr. Varka —Flins replied with a courtesy that, though distant, did not conceal a spark of amusement. He neither denied nor confirmed the claim, leaving doubt suspended in the air like a perfume difficult to decipher. Varka, for his part, did not press further, but changed the subject with the swiftness of one who knows the moment for the question has already passed. He spoke instead of Barbatos, the Anemo Archon of Mondstadt, who, according to legend, could summon winds powerful enough to sweep across the entire city. Some distant tale even claimed he had once sent a place beyond space itself.
Illuga, captivated, longed fervently to hear more, eager to unveil the secrets Flins seemed to guard so carefully. Yet a fleeting glance, almost imperceptible, was enough for him to understand that Flins knew his conversation was being overheard. Bearing the weight of an unspoken revelation, Illuga withdrew, knowing his curiosity would have to wait at least one more day.
Until the fear of losing Flins became a tangible threat, and fate pushed them inexorably toward a confrontation with Dottore. Flins, who had always been a silent, protective guardian fading into the shadows without anyone speaking of him, had finally stepped forward. He now advanced beside his old and new companions, like one who leaves behind a whisper lost to the wind to become a cry that resounds with force.
And though this filled Illuga with a strange happiness, it also bitterly reminded him of something he himself had never managed to do.
That bitter truth had hurt like the edge of a forgotten blade. Yet now, with the weight of uncertainty upon his shoulders, Illuga could do nothing but speak, even as his voice trembled like a fallen leaf in the wind.
—I have heard… certain rumors about you —The words came out with difficulty, as though something long buried in the depths of his being had finally broken free, demanding answers. And though the entire world might crumble and Teyvat itself dissolve into the air, Illuga needed to know the truth—. They say you are a fairy.
Flins’s smile did not reach his eyes, but the mockery did, a faint glimmer of amusement, as cold and distant as lightning in the dark.
—That would be… terrifying —The irony of his words did not surprise Illuga, yet something in the chill with which they were spoken tore through what remained of his soul, causing his already fractured heart to shatter once more into a thousand pieces.
—Mr. Flins… take care.
Nothing more needed to be said. The words, heavy with silent meaning, fell between them like the final rain before a storm, imbued with a weight that required no voice. Within his chest, a prayer, and a last whisper to the Lunar Goddess, rose into the air, while the echo of his own longing faded into the vastness of an uncertain future. All that remained was faith: that broken faith which, despite everything, still found solace in the hope that, even if the mission before them might drag the world toward the abyss, perhaps, somehow, everything would turn out well.
But deep down, Illuga knew the true battle had already begun, and it was not against Dottore, but against loss itself.
And so, beneath the cold light of the radiant moon, he made a promise and, with it, sealed his condemnation as payment before his Goddess.
“Oh, Lunar Goddess, if you allow him to return alive, I offer you my love for him as tribute.”
If that was the only way to ensure his return, then so be it. His heart and his feelings had already been shattered once by a lying fairy, what did one more surrender matter, if this time it would at least serve a greater purpose?
When Flins returned, an invisible weight that had been crushing Illuga’s chest for so long finally gave way. Yet in its place came something heavier still, not upon his body, but within his soul. He chose to step back, withdrawing like a shadow, and began to watch in silence. What he saw felt strangely foreign: the person he believed he knew was no longer the same. Flins was surrounded by new and unfamiliar faces, faces that laughed and shared with him a kind of closeness Illuga had never come to experience. Smiles and camaraderie that seemed to belong to another time a time in which he had never existed.
And somehow, that was all right.
After all, their paths rarely crossed, like two rivers flowing side by side without ever touching. Illuga accepted his place; he adapted, like a soldier trained to fulfill his duty without deviation or distraction. And in his role as captain, he carried out his tasks with precision, almost mechanically. Yet there were nights, like this one, when darkness did not merely cover the outer world, but seeped into the deepest corners of his mind. Nights when the most unsettling thoughts rose, silent, yet heavy, demanding to be heard. In those moments, when silence became unbearable, he…
—You are unusually quiet tonight, young master —Flins’s voice cut through the relentless current of his thoughts like a gust of wind dispersing dense fog. The man with the somber face, gazing at the stars with his customary distant look, added with a faint smile—. Tonight will be one of the coldest in Nod Krai. You should go inside before the cold devours you completely.
Illuga, however, could not help but form a bitter smile, as though the irony of the moment struck harder than any icy wind. He looked at Flins, whose face reflected a wisdom he himself could no longer fully comprehend.
—Even for someone as perceptive as you, Mr. Flins, I find it hard to believe you have not read the mood of this night —he replied softly, though his voice carried a sorrow he refused to reveal in full. In his eyes, a flicker of melancholy struggled to surface, but he suppressed it quickly, as he always did.
He longed to be alone, so fiercely that the desire burned through his very entrails. Flins’s presence, though comforting, brought him only greater pain. With each passing day, it became harder not to walk toward Final Night Cemetery, that place forever bound in his mind to the figure of the one most precious to him. He desperately wished to read the old man’s reports, to know whether he was well, or whether, in some way, Flins might need him.
Yet at the same time, an invisible weight kept him bound. His promise, one made long ago, held him back. If he were to break it… then everything would collapse.
And the pain he would feel in doing so was something his soul could not even begin to imagine. The blade of that decision, ever-present in his thoughts, kept him captive, trapped within a cycle of silent despair. But the darkness of that night, so deep and all-encompassing, seemed determined to consume not only him, but his very will.
—It seems that, in some way, I have offended you… May I know how, exactly? —Flins asked, his voice unsteady, as though the weight of doubt were closing in around him. There was something in his tone that revealed an inner struggle, as if he wavered between speaking and surrendering to the silence they shared.
But the answer he received was not spoken, only a stillness as deep and dense as the night itself. Silence reigned for what felt like hours, until at last Flins sighed and, his face marked by an almost tangible uncertainty, continued:
—Miss Columbina mentioned that she never accepted your offering. I do not know precisely what she meant, but she asked me to deliver her reply. It seemed important, and yet… you have deliberately been avoiding me. Even your father refused to tell me where you were. Perhaps that will help you clarify your thoughts. You are young, I am certain you will resolve it sooner or later. Beyond that, I am here for you, whatever you may need…
The softness of his voice, laden with years of experience and silent, lost battles, did nothing to dull the poison Illuga felt coursing through his veins. The hatred and pain within him finally erupted, and his answer spilled out in a bitter tone, like a poorly healed wound torn open once more.
—She did not accept my offering? You are here for me? How amusing… —His laughter, though forced, echoed with desperation—. All this time I kept my distance, knowing it was the only thing binding me to this life, to the lie I told myself, convinced it was what was best for you… After all, I am still the same child my father and you found so many years ago, the one you must keep safe from everything and everyone, even from myself. You need not say anything more. It must have been terribly amusing, wasn’t it, Mr. Flins? Mocking me, just as everyone else does.
The words left his mouth with restrained fury, yet beneath them lay a pain so deep it seemed ready to overflow, as though everything he had kept silent for years had finally taken shape, demanding to be heard.
Flins looked at him in silence, as serene as still water before a storm. Yet his reply, though gentle, was like a reflection too clear of the reality Illuga was trying to deny.
—Young master, I believe you are blending two different grievances into one —Flins said, his voice more relaxed than usual, as if attempting to restore some measure of balance to the conversation, as if he understood more than he wished to admit. But the false calm carried in his words echoed distantly, only deepening the unease in Illuga’s chest. That tranquility felt too hollow, too far away.
The terror that filled Illuga’s heart upon hearing him was almost tangible. That calm, once his refuge, now seemed more threat than comfort. Something in that answer whispered that the ice of years long past had finally cracked, and that the hidden truths he had always refused to see were now rising before him with the same cruel certainty as a sealed fate.
It was as though, at last, Flins truly stood there, closer than he had ever been, yet already too late to be what Illuga had once hoped.
In silence, Illuga looked at the man before him, as if weighing in that instant the true source of the storm within. The weight of so many emotions seeped into his gaze, one that still did not dare break the wall of ice he had built around himself. Was his anger born from the fact that Flins had deliberately never revealed he was a fairy? Yes, in part. But the fury consuming him did not arise from that single moment of mistrust. It was not the exposed lie, but something far deeper and older, something more primal. Something dwelling in the most hidden reaches of his being, like a wound that had never fully closed.
Nor was it Colombina’s refusal to accept his offering. That rejection, though bitter, could not explain the vastness of the emptiness inside him. What truly tore at him, what kept him ensnared in a web of dark thoughts, was the knowledge that Flins, his protector and constant shadow, would never see him for what he truly was: his equal, and a man to love. That cruel reality was the truth, and it struck him with a sharper, more merciless pain than any other disappointment.
Somewhere in his heart, he had always nurtured the hope that one day, even in silence, Flins might look at him as a man, not as a child to protect, nor as a burden to guard against. But that hope was vain. Flins, with his years and wisdom, and even with his quiet indifference, would never see him that way. Never with the eyes of a lover, nor even with the eyes of a true friend.
And that bitter truth hurt more than any abandonment. Because it was a silent denial, a rejection as deep-rooted as an ancient tree, one that had been growing inside him for years, nourished by his own illusions, by the false belief that there was something more between them, something that bound them beyond years of service and loyalty.
Illuga swallowed, yet the feeling of being trapped, of being a light that could never draw near to Flins’s darkness, grew more unbearable with every passing moment. What he desired, what his shattered soul longed for, was something neither time nor words could mend. And that wound, bound to an irrevocable truth, was what kept him caught in a cycle of silence and distance of his own making. In the end, the question was no longer why, but how he could go on knowing that the love he had once dreamed of would never be his.
Though his shoulders trembled, Flins wrapped his arms around him with a softness that contrasted the cold of the night, drawing him close with a strength only transcendent moments could grant.
—So, you have finally accepted it… —he whispered, his voice a low murmur, so gentle it nearly faded into the stillness of the frozen air, like a secret meant for them alone within that fragile intimacy—. Good boy.
With a tender gesture, Flins caressed Illuga’s face, as though his skin were a precious treasure he feared might break. Then he leaned in, approaching with a slowness overflowing with unspoken promises. His lips brushed Illuga’s with the delicacy of an unvoiced question, an initial, timid touch, like a sigh in the darkness of the night. He sought, unhurriedly, the silent permission to cross the threshold between the fleeting and the eternal.
When that permission came, soft and wordless, like the answer of a melody already known, Flins surrendered himself, exploring with devotion every corner of the kiss he had long desired. Every inch of the skin he had yearned for, every heartbeat he had awaited.
Illuga, now, was his, and his alone.
The End.