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Varka wrote love letters. It was a strange albeit sweet revelation that Flins discovered late one night over drinks at The Flagship. The Wild Hunt had taken up the majority of their time and energy over the past week, with more outbreaks than usual appearing near cities and encampments. Between the Knights of Favonius and the Lightkeepers, they’d quelled them as quickly as possible with miraculously no civilian casualties, and all involved were celebrating their victory as the attacks dissipated yet again.
As Flins sipped a flagon of Firewater, his yellow eyes darted over to Varka, busy at work despite the festivities. The Grandmaster had pushed a pile of papers to one side, requisitions and the like, in favor of a blank page he’d nearly filled with a surprisingly elegant scrawl that had reached half way down the browned manuscript.
“Who are you corresponding with at such length?” Flins asked finally, not so nosey to read over the man’s broad shoulder, but curious enough to make casual conversation.
“Wait, you didn’t know?” one soldier said, to Flins’ left.
“Know?” Flins replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Despite rarely returning to Mondstadt, our Grandmaster up and got himself a fiancee,” another man across from them continued.
“And she’s gorgeous!” a female soldier swooned before taking a long drag from her goblet.
Flins’ eyebrows furrowed automatically before he could quell them. Not out of jealousy, mind you, but only because he somehow had not heard tell that the man he thought he was rather close to, was actually engaged.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” Flins said after a pause, smiling over at Varka who was grinning sheepishly.
“Sorry, just never came up. Jean was sort of playing matchmaker, and we’ve been corresponding while I’ve been in Nod Krai. With all the outbreaks of the Wild Hunt, I haven’t had much of a chance to write to my fiancee in the past few weeks,” Varka said with a grin.
“I had no idea,” Flins responded, “but I wish you both a bright future together.” And truly he did. Varka was a devoted leader, giving everything to his troops, to Mondstadt and Nod Krai, putting himself last to first help those in need. He deserved someone to love him, to come home to and find sanctuary and happiness.
“Thank you,” Varka said, glancing down into his drink. “It’s funny, marriage isn’t something I ever really considered. Not that I have a problem with commitment. I just worried about dragging someone into my messy life. Finding someone who can put up with me being gone constantly, putting myself in harm's way. It’s a lot to ask of a partner.”
“It is indeed,” Flins agreed.
“Probably helps that she’s a Vision holder. Electro. She’s a healer, doesn’t exactly like combat or wish to be a Knight, but she understands the cause and the peace I fight for.”
“Then it is most fortuitous that you found one another,” Flins said with a smile, draining the last of his alcohol. “Forgive me, the fatigue of the day seems to have caught up with me. I bid you all good night.”
* * *
After that evening, Flins became much more aware of the time Varka spent putting pen to paper. He attempted to ignore it, brush it aside, but it burrowed into him like a wolfhook thorn in his side. Something about the entire affair took up a small piece of his concentration and would not leave him in peace. Perhaps it was worry for his friend, hoping this woman would bring him joy instead of sorrow, leaving his heart intact instead of scattered to the fickle anemo winds when she decided to break it. Flins had seen so many human relationships end in tragedy and he did not wish that upon a man he held so dear.
“How is your fiancee?” Flins asked late one night as they settled by the fire of the encampment made earlier. Knights milled about, readying themselves for bed or staying up to drink and socialize despite the late hour. Though they were a serious bunch when necessary, they also knew life was short and to take pleasure when and where they could find it.
Varka had just read and folded a letter, placing it back in a pouch before grabbing ink and parchment to begin his own.
“She’s well. Worried about me,” he laughed. “Always getting stabbed at or slashed. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell her such things, but I don’t want her to go into this blind,” he finished with a shrug.
Flins glanced at the bandages that wrapped around Varka’s chest and over one strong shoulder peaking out beneath his shirt. “I’m sure she’s relieved you are alright. Perhaps you could give her some–but not all–the gory details?”
“A brilliant idea,” Varka agreed with a smile. “Who knew the fae dispensed such great love-life advice. Any other sango pearls of wisdom my friend?”
Flins smiled slightly, turning over his hands. “I would not say I am an expert. Though I’ve had a long life, much has been spent on helping others and putting my own needs aside.”
“We’re quite alike then,” Varka said, gazing into the fire. “But something tells me you’re not as emotionless as some of the supernatural beings I’ve met. When you love something, you covet it. Like a raven with shiny trinkets.”
“Perhaps,” Flins pondered with a finger to his lip. “I do keep close that which I wish to protect.”
“Maybe more like a dragon with his hoard then,” Varka laughed. “But I think if you decide to give your heart to someone, you would love fiercely.”
Flins could find no fault in that assessment.
* * *
It had been weeks since a Wild Hunt attack, but when one appeared suddenly, Varka rallied his troops and called on the Lightkeepers to aid him. A large Abyssal rift had torn asunder the beaches of Starsand Shoal, erupting the normally serene pink getties into chaos.
Flins arrived as quickly as he could, teleporting into the fray and suddenly finding himself with a giant glowing Wilderness Hunter swinging its wickedly curved blade straight at him. Catlike reflexes kicked in instinctively and Flins spun to the side, the weapon slicing so close that he could feel the wind of its passage against his cheek. He ducked, weaving between the taller creature’s trunk-like legs, before conjuring his polearm and slashing at the thing’s ankles. It went down with a howl, iridescent sand flinging into the air as it thrashed. Flins covered his face with the hem of his cloak, dashing past in an attempt to wind further into the battle, eyes honing in on blond hair and familiar armor, as expected, right in the middle of the fray.
Thrusting and slashing, Flins made his way forward with abandon. He was transfixed, dogged in his pursuit, until his feet skidded on wet sand and he was finally back to back with Varka.
“You respond quicker than my love letters, perhaps I should send them to you instead,” Varka laughed, twisting one of his two claymores until he beheaded an approaching Wilderness Exile with a well-timed swing.
Flins’ breath caught in his throat. His mind momentarily caught on the words, distracting him in the heat of battle, as a new wave of Wilderness Exiles rushed them.
“Flins!” Varka yelled, pushing him with his shoulder, catching an Exile’s blade with his own that had been headed straight for Flins’ chest. Cleaving the phantom in two, Varka turned to his companion, frowning as Flins shook his head and steadied himself. “You alright?”
“Of course, my apologies,” Flins said, unsure what came over him. Within an instant his head was back in the game and he and Varka fought back to back, protecting one another and sending the Abyssal evil back to the chasm that spawned them.
After long hours of battle, he could sense the human at his back growing weary, watched as Varka’s muscles hefted claymores with more strain, sweat flying from his brow and exertion and exhaustion rasping his commands. Perhaps Flins was again paying too much attention to the Grand Master but he worried that the duration was taking its toll on the mortal man. When an Exile sent an Abyssal blast of energy at Varka, Flins turned to parry it, not even noticing he was stepping directly into the slashing line of a Hunter’s scimitar.
Flins let out a cry as he fell to the ground, though it was not due to the wound of a weapon but by Varka shoving him aside with his hip. With the strength of an archon he swung both his claymores, cutting the beast in half as they met in the center, before he himself lost his balance, claymores dissipating, and fell on Flins, elbows bracketing him in the safety of his arms.
“You alright?” Varka asked, lips so close Flins could feel the words against him as he nodded.
“Apologise, I was distracted,” Flins replied as Varka pushed himself up, conjuring his claymores once again.
“Stay alive please. For my sake if no one else's," he chuckled tiredly, launching himself against the onslaught once again.
* * *
The attacks persisted, nearly one a day until Columbina sacrificed herself in order to banish Rerir back into the Eternal Moon. It was a hard-won victory, and though Abyssal rifts still persisted, the majority could be easily quelled and there was less risk to the population at large.
Both the Knights and Lightkeepers could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
A bright moon bathed a squadron of Knights celebrating one final evening at the Favonius Keep before traveling back to Mondstadt to be relieved by their fellow soldiers. Flins and some of his fellow Lightkeepers had joined them, finding it a good excuse to unwind and remember just what they were fighting for.
Varka and Flins sat at a long table under a royal blue tented canopy, drinking but not to excess, more content to watch others enjoy a night without obligations. Many had barely made it out alive, themselves included, and it was a sobering thought. Despite the gravity, they were attempting to enjoy the lightened mood.
“Do you remember the time Goodwin got so drunk he announced he would defeat Dvalin solo?” one soldier laughed as they traded Mondstadt stories.
“I’d almost forgotten,” another chimed in. “Didn’t we find him in Dragonspine at Durin’s Heart?”
“Oh right, he completely forgot which dragon he was supposed to be fighting!”
“And remember when Captain Kaeya carved the bushes outside the Favonius HQ to look like…” another started.
“A dick and balls? Yep, I wonder if it’s still there!” a young woman laughed.
“Or when that traveling scholar from Sumeru said the statue of Lord Barbatos was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen?”
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” a few of the soldiers agreed with a shrug and grin.
Flins looked over to Varka who was chuckling beside him and noticed the man wince and hold his side. Recently he’d fractured some ribs that were too stubborn for a healer and they seemed to be giving him trouble.
“Are you alright?” Flins asked as discretely as possible, knowing Varka hated showing weakness in front of his troops.
“Yeah, I think my bandages might have come loose,” Varka said, patting his side.
“If you need help rewrapping them, I’m happy to be of assistance," Flins suggested, knowing the other man would not wish to make a scene by calling a medic.
“Oh,” Varka took a moment, seemingly surprised. “Sure, that…that would be helpful.
Only a keenly observant man would have noticed how much more care Varka took to stand, the stiffness of his movements, as they walked away from the table and lifted a tent flap into a side room away from prying eyes.
“How bad is it?” Flins asked as Varka slowly removed his coat and then unbuttoned his shirt, setting it on a barrel beside them. His entire chest was wrapped in thick bandages starting from the navel up and over one shoulder, the hint of purple bruises visible beneath.
“I’ve had worse,” Varka said with his usual cocky grin. “Just hard not to laugh and pull something when I’m trying to enjoy myself.”
Indeed, some of the wrappings had loosened and begun to trail down his back, not doing their job to hold his injured ribs in place. Studying exactly how the previous medic had wrapped Varka’s ribs, Flins walked a careful circle around the man before pulling at the loose strands with his fingers as delicately as possible.
“Hopefully after tonight you can rest and allow yourself to heal,” Flins advised, winding the bindings into a tight coil before he began to redress the Grandmaster.
“I’ll sure try, but it’s going to be a bit rough relaxing while on horseback,” Varka said with a slight shrug.
“Oh…I…I didn’t know you were also leaving,” Flins said, taken aback. Of course he knew the troops were swapping with fresh soldiers, but he had assumed Varka would be staying, for whatever reason. His presence was such a constant to him, it was odd to think of Nod Krai without the Knight.
“Yeah. There’s some things I need to do in person back in Mondstadt. And I should probably check in on Jean other than just by letter.”
“Of course. I don’t know why I assumed otherwise,” Flins replied, beginning to wrap the bandages around Varka’s chest, trying to dampen his expectations. It was to be expected that the Grand Master was needed back in Mondstadt. It was his home, his priority. He even had a fiancee. Flins swallowed and continued winding the bandage around Varka’s chest.
“I’m not leaving forever, you know,” Varka said with a frown. “I mean, sure I won’t be back right away with the next troops. With Rerir gone and the Wild Hunt almost non-existent…well.” The man paused. “It’s not like I’m really needed here. Right?”
Flins stilled his movement. A deer caught in harsh lamplight. Yellow eyes widened at the loaded question. “There is much for you in Mondstadt,” he replied after a pause, fingers spread over bandages millimeters from Varka’s shoulder. And it was true. There was more for the man back home. With his people. With those who loved him. He wondered why his fingers suddenly shook.
“And here?” Varka asked.
Flins could feel the man’s sky blue eyes upon him yet he did not look up from his task.
“You’ve made many a friend here in Nod Krai. I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we will miss you,” Flins said truthfully.
He could feel Varka let out a sigh through his fingers as he positioned the last of the wrappings in place and tucked them securely against the man’s warm skin.
“Everyone here has been more than welcoming. It really does feel like a second home here with the friends I’ve collected. With you.”
“Perhaps then, when you see a lighthouse in Mondstadt, you shall think of me fondly,” Flins suggested, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. The bandage stayed securely to Varka’s muscular frame, hugging his chest and hopefully allowing his ribs to properly heal.
“Of course,” Varka said, and only then did Flins meet his eyes and see the sadness within them and wonder at it, not even realizing it mirrored his own.
* * *
Flins did not meet the Knights for a final goodbye. He was not sure what more he had to say, and watching their backs retreat into the distance seemed a depressing vision even for a man who lived next to a graveyard. So he made his way home, walking instead of utilizing teleportation, needed the ground under his feet and the wind on his face to sooth his thoughts. Nod Krai had been his home long before Varka. Flins had survived centuries before the man was even born. So why did he now feel so desolate, so lifeless even though the man probably had not even left the region’s border?
Perhaps it was because Flins’ own purpose had been banished alongside Rerir, his skills unneeded, his necessity as much an antiquity as he himself was. A relic of a past age, a weapon to be welded when needed then hung up to gather dust upon a shelf in times of peace. It had happened before. He could feel it happening again.
Passing a grave, he heard the whispered echoes of a ghost mourning an unfinished life, a lost love. Flins wondered what that must feel like. He hoped that Varka could find the purpose he himself could not. To not be just a sharpened weapon but to be sheathed, to bask in the peace he had created and not only serve as a tool of war. If anyone could find meaning beyond the battlefield, it was Varka. Flins could see it in his eyes. In the sadness their last night together. The care he gave to his soldiers. The hope he shared for a future without bloodshed, where he could marry and settle in his homeland.
Flins hoped Varka could find himself when he only felt lost.
Booted feet finally ascended the steps to his lighthouse hours later, the night darkening the sky and heavy clouds obscuring the luminescence of the moon. A creature of shadows, Flins did not mind as he easily picked his way forward and let himself in, feeling the exact same cold of the outside leaching within. He wondered what it was like to have a home. A place of warmth and comfort. Not simply a place to rest his head.
Surely he could make this lighthouse a home, but Flins had no honest idea where to start. A home was a place of warmth and liveliness, while he was all darkness. A place of food and cooking, when as a fae, he needed no such sustenance. A roof under which family and friends gathered, where he had none. Flins walked by the fireplace without even lighting it and sat at a table, propping his lantern on a hooked stand beside him.
“What will you do without me?” The words Varka spoke echoed in his mind, a conversation from last night as he and the Grand Master readied to part, finality weighing heavy on the fae’s shoulders.
“I guess I had better get to work finding a new drinking partner,” Flins had replied, clinking his glass to Varka’s own.
“You wound me, I had no idea I was so easily replaced,” Varka said with a bit of a laugh though he did not meet Flins’ eyes.
“I’m sure their company would not be as agreeable as your own,” Flins assured him.
“You know, you could always write to me,” Varka said after a long minute.
“You wish me to write?” Flins asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Like the loveletters to your fiancee?”
Varka laughed sheepishly, noting the sly grin on Flin’s lips as he teased. “Only if you want, of course. Just normal letters, nothing romantic.”
“My life is rather mundane,” Flins confessed. “I wouldn’t wish to bore you.”
“Trust me, Flins. You are the absolute opposite of boring.”
So Flins found paper and ink, sharpened a quill with a knife, and began to write. He wrote of the weather, of his long walk back to the lighthouse. When he could think of nothing more he summoned a raven and sent it to Nasha Town to be dispatched to Mondstadt.
Two days later he wrote Varka again. A dog had shown up at his door and kept him company, and Flins thought the Grand Master would find it amusing. The beast was docile and sweet, happy to lay on his feet or sit for scraps of dried meat Flins had stored away. When he woke the next day to find it gone, Flins found himself missing it despite their brief encounter. Something about the dog had reminded him of Varka.
Nearly a week later he wrote again of an errand he’d run for Nefer. The Ratnik had to sneak past some Fatui, disabling Landcruisers and infiltrating their headquarters to filch important documents Nefer thought would prove useful in her dealings. The letters grew longer and Flins found himself finding joy in them, though he received no reply as of yet. Even when he was not writing them, he found himself thinking of what he would pen, what small parts of his day Varka might enjoy hearing about.
He wrote as the weeks turned to months and the days grew more cold and grim. Unfortunately he spent more time cooped up in his lighthouse, less needed for fights or security detail. There was less to tell Varka and the letters became more sporadic, his words muted and stifled. Some he did not even finish, instead balling them up and throwing them to the floor before falling asleep at his desk, waking days later only to realize nothing had changed.
Everything seemed muted, foggy. Like he was observing his own life through frosted glass. Emotions felt distant, his past a vague memory as his eyelids drooped against the enormous gravity of staying awake. He recalled this feeling, the weightlessness, the pull of infinite slumber. He’d felt it before, given into it before, centuries upon centuries of rest before the Ratnik pulled him from his respite, given him purpose, a name, a place to rest his head. It might not be so bad, he told himself, to succumb once again.
Flins opened his weary eyes, briefly, finding himself still at his desk, lantern burning softly nearby. A quill lay discarded by his hand, his other resting on parchment where only a single name had been scrawled on top.
Varka
Flins felt he owed his friend an explanation. A reason for his surrender, and the knowledge that if needed the Grand Master could call upon him if his need was dire. So he wrote. Penning his last words before sleep wrapped him in gossamer wings and the peace he’d fought so hard for was his in solitude.
* * *
“Grand Master, you have a messenger,” a Knight reported after knocking once on the man’s office door. Varka frowned at the report he would probably never get to finish during daylight hours before glancing up and waving the man in.
After a moment the guard ushered in a strange sight for Mondstadt, a Ratnik clothed in the garb of his profession, looking flustered, a hurried blush high on his cheeks from the cold.
“Forgive me Grand Master Varka,” the man started as Varka indicated he sit opposite at his desk.
“Not at all. What becons a Ratnik of Nod Krai so far from home?”
“We know you have important matters to attend to here, but the rest of the Ratnik and I…well Sir we’re at our wit’s end,” the man continued nervously.
“And you think I can help because?” Varka asked, raising a blond eyebrow.
“You see, Sir, it concerns Master Flins.”
Varka felt his heart catch and stutter on the other man’s name. “Is he…is he alright?” he asked gently even as his pulse began to race.
“We…we aren’t really sure,” the messenger said, shaking his head. “We’re not sure when it happened. How it happened.”
Varka stood, knocking his chair to the floor, hands holding the edge of his desk in a death grip. If this man didn’t spit out what he needed to say right this instant, Varka was afraid he might have a heart attack. “Is Flins alright?”
“Possibly?”
“Possibly?!” Varka echoed. “Elabroate immediately.”
“Well, none of us had heard from him in months. There have been less missions, less necessity for a warrior of his skills. Then when Illuga went to check on him, we found him at his desk. Just sitting there, pen in hand, as if in the middle of writing a letter. To you,” the man swallowed. “But he was completely still. Like he was asleep. And he was covered, from head to toe, in purple translucent wings. A cocoon. We…Sir we can’t wake him up.”
The man passed a letter to Varka. Neat penmanship that the Grand Master knew all too well.
“We were able to take this from under his hand. It’s why we came to you as fast as we could,” the messenger finished.
It took mere moments to read the two simple lines, yet Varka’s eyes scanned them over and over, narrowing, searching for anything else hidden between what was written.
Dearest Varka,
I fear I am fading
And then it ended. No other sentiments, no sign off, not even a period. It was as if the moment Flins had penned the final word, he had, in actually, faded away. Varka could not fathom it. Would not allow this to be a reality. Not after all he’d been through with Flins. The feelings that had blossomed, even unreciprocated. That he’d nurtured in the dark and attempted to sew before leaving Nod Krai only to realize the man was quite oblivious to his intentions. Not that it mattered what Flins felt for him. Varka was never one to leave a man behind. Especially a fae who had stolen his heart.
“Take me to him.”
* * *
The lighthouse seemed even more cold and lifeless than normal, an impossibility Vakra had not been able to fathom until the chill of it crept into his very being upon entering the heavy metal door. He’d sped across Teyvat, chartering the fastest Waveriders and horses until finally arriving in Nod Krai seeking the fae he feared was beyond lost. The darkness seemed invasive, hugging the corners of the room from the fear of light’s dissipation. There were no trappings of a home, not a kettle whistling on the stove for tea, the smell of a meal over a fire, the skittering of bugs seeking scraps on the floor. It felt so dead. So lifeless.
Then Varka’s eyes caught a strange light, an indigo, dark like the fae’s lantern, faintly visible beneath a closed door. Trepidation lost to urgency, he pushed it open and found the fae within. Iridescent wings encapsulated his form, still hunched over his desk, slightly curled up protectively next to his faintly glowing lantern. A motionless moth to a dying flame.
“You all just left him like this?” Varka did not mean the words to be so clipped, so full of blame, but it was hard not to be shocked at the probable uncomfortable state of his friend.
“We…we couldn’t move him Sir,” one of the Lightkeepers said apologetically, coming up breathlessly behind him. “Illuga tried, but it was like he got electrocuted. You’re lucky we got the note out from under his hand, had to push it with a stick to do so.”
Varka let out an exasperated noise but did not press the matter further. If he was being honest, he could feel the electro in the air, a current dry like a hot wind, sending shivers of static over the hairs of his arms. He ignored it, as best he could, and stepped forward, booted feet loud in the silence of the room as he made his way toward the glistening chrysalis of a man he could discern within the shimmering wings.
“Flins,” Varka started, unsure if his companion could actually hear him, but willing to try nonetheless. “I’m going to pick you up now. And if you so much as try to zap me, I swear to Barbatos I’ll find all your bloody trinkets and throw them in the ocean.”
He wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined, but Varka thought the static in the room slightly dampened. Another step, slowly, and Varka made his way closer to Flins. The silence persisted, the unnatural glow of lantern and wings just as uncanny as before, yet when he reached a hand out to touch Flins on the shoulder that hid beneath ethereal wings, he felt barely the slightest flash of electro against his skin.
“Good,” Varka said approvingly. “Now this looks highly uncomfortable. So let's get you to bed. Er, a bed,” he said, hoping the other Lightkeeper did not think anything of the inference. Not that he and Flins had ever shared a bed, even if he’d have liked it. No, the man was much too solitary for that. He’d also probably protest greatly to being picked up and carried like a bride as Varka hefted him from the chair, forearms tucked under Flins’ knees and against his back, lifting him as if he weighed nothing as Varka went in search of a bed.
Strangely, the lighthouse seemed to have many. Perhaps in another lifetime it had housed families or troops, for there were many rooms along with a large kitchen and living space with multiple tables and sitting areas. Varka chose a room with a large bed and placed Flins over the covers, watching as the man continued to curl in on himself within the wings despite now having the space to stretch out.
“What do we do now Sir?” the Lightkeeper asked, confused.
Varka wished he knew.
“I’m not quite sure,” he confessed. “But he did respond to me when I asked him not to electrocute me. Maybe Flins can actually hear us.” He pondered a moment, wondering what the man needed. What could bring him back.
“If you could, send for healers, even those without a Vision. And any lightkeepers Flins was close to, maybe they can provide us with answers.”
* * *
“You know, he’s done this before,” Illuga said, sitting opposite Varka in the large common room of Flins’ lighthouse. The shorter blond had a large ledger on his lap, one leg crossed over his knee to prop it up as he flipped through the worn pages. Around them fellow Lightkeepers and even a few of Varka’s knights chatted and drank beside the firelight, making the lighthouse uncommonly cozy.
“By this you mean…what exactly?” Varka asked, still unsure precisely what was wrong with Flins. Over the past week they'd had half a dozen healers out to examine the fae. Most had left perplexed, one with minor electrical burns as she had attempted to stick a needle past Flins’ wings. A feat no one dared repeat.
“Sleep?” Illuga said with a slight shrug. “I’m not even sure what to call it. But the Lightkeepers who awakened him the last time recorded their exploits and I was able to dig up one of their journals.”
“And?” Varka pressed.
“That’s the trouble. This is quite different,” Illuga said, biting his lower lip in thought. “Acording to records, in the past, Flins had been asleep for centuries. He’d entombed himself under an altar, and only when that was broke during a flight and blood spilt upon it, the incantations traced in human blood as the men above fought and died against the Wild Hunt, did Flins awakened.”
Varka frowned. “That’ sounds like some sort of dark magic, blood sacrifice type of shit.”
“Indeed. Yet he is not exactly entombed here, there’s no seals, no wards. I have a feeling that even if we dumped a bucket of blood upon Master Flins, we’d just end up with a mess,” Illuga sighed.
“Okay. Back to square one then,” Varka huffed, settling back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’d stored his armor away in a room beside Flins’ own, instead taking to wearing a dark shirt and pants in the comfort of what was feeling more and more like his new permanent residence. He glanced over to a Lightkeeper pulling a pie out of the oven and watched two others laugh over a game of cards at a nearby table.
As strange as it seemed, as soon as the Lightkeepers and remaining Knights in Nod Krai had heard of Flins’ odd state, and Varka’s need of assistance, many had rallied. Not to the sword, not to the call to battle. But to help and give comfort. They brought food, alcohol, supplies and plain old good company. Varka had worried he’d feel alone in this dark dreary place with Flins’ nearly lifeless body his only companion, yet the light that sufficed it now made it worthy indeed of being called a lighthouse.
“He wrote to you,” Illuga said, after a moment’s thought. “Often, as I recall. Did he mention anything in the letters?”
“Other than the last one..about fading?” Varka racked his brain. “Perhaps?” He had definitely noticed the fae becoming more melancholy. There was less to do with the Wild Hunt almost entirely quelled. The Knights had all but left Nod Krai, and the Lightkeepers and Nefer rarely had use of his skills.”
“Flins seemed a bit lost,” he finally settled on. “I thought he might be bored. Or lonely. But I never thought something like this would result.”
“Hmm,” Illuga nodded, skimming the pages again. “Maybe the key, then, isn’t what, but why?”
Varka leaned forward, eyes brightening at the notion. “Even if we don’t know what this is cocooning him, you think we may be able to bring him out of it if we can figure out what caused him to enter this state?”
“Precicely,” Illuga said. “Do you know if Master Flins kept any journals himself?”
Varka shook his head. “You’re welcome to look, but I have no idea. Honestly didn’t even know he could write before he agreed to correspond with me.”
Illuga rose and poked around the rooms, returning a half hour later with a notebook but little else. “You mentioned his letters to you, but did you not write back?”
“Of course I did. Sometimes even before he wrote to me,” Varka said, raising an eyebrow, suddenly a bit self conscious. “Why?”
“Curious. From what I recall, Flins tends to keep things he is given. Yet I can’t seem to find a single letter from you,” Illuga said with a shrug.
“Shit,” Varka said. “I…I might know why. Flins probably thought I was completely ignoring him this entire time. Damn crows.”
* * *
Somewhere between Flins’ complete seclusion in the lighthouse and his metamorphosis into whatever fae chrysalis he had now become, the man had forgotten to check his mail. Getting letters out of Final Night Cemetery was easy. One need only barter with one of the many crows upon the roofs and haunting the graves with a shiny trinket and they’d gladly fly your letter off to Nasha Town. But unfortunately the dark messengers did not take kindly to return flights from carrier pigeons, so Flins’ mail had significantly piled up at the Nasha Town post office.
The mail attendant had been profusely apologetic as she handed Varka a stack of undelivered mail. The Grand Master grit his teeth and smiled, knowing the anguish it had caused his friend, despite it not being her fault in the slightest.
“I wonder if he can hear us?” Illuga wondered off-handedly once Varka returned, stack of mail under his arm, sinking into an armchair by Flins’ bedside. The fae’s condition had not changed in the slightest, yet Varka still felt bad leaving and was grateful the other Ratnik had been able to keep vigil by Flins’ side.
“Well, it’s not exactly like he listened when I told him to snap the hell out of it,” Varka said, directing the latter part of the sentence more loudly and in Flins’ general direction.
“No,” Illuga agreed, “But didn’t Flins respond when you told him not to electrocute you when you initially moved him?”
“Perhaps?” Varka said, attempting to recall. “Or maybe I just have a higher pain tolerance than you Nod Krai boys.”
“Hardly,” Illuga laughed. “But maybe talking to him might help bring him back? You might start by reading him those letters he never received.”
“Can’t hurt,” Varka said with a shrug.
* * *
That night, while some of the Lightkeepers and Illuga laughed and drank around the fire, Varka shut the door to Flins’ room and pulled out the first of many letters. He recalled writing it while still on the ship sailing back to Mondstadt, days after their departure from Nod Krai.
Despite feeling vaguely self-conscious and a bit silly reciting his own words allowed like a story book to the comatose fae, Varka tore open the envelope and began to read. There were the usual observations aboard a ship, such as his Knights getting seasick, another about a crewman who kept attempting to get Varka to remove his shirt and show off his muscles for reasons Varka pretended not to fathom. He read on to his comments on the weather, the strange homesickness that he’d developed both for Mondstadt and now Nod Krai, and what that meant for him, torn between two regions.
His next letter was written after he’d arrived back in Mondstadt.
‘“Dear Flins,
Apparently I had sorely forgotten just how much paperwork is involved in being Grand Master. What do you think is the quickest way to get myself fired?”’
Varka chuckled and read the remainder of the letter to Flins. He talked of drinking at Angel’s Share with Diluc, teasing Kaeya about where the heck all the horses were, and having to find himself a new office now that Jean had redecorated his old one. He’d forgotten just how carefree and heartwarming those first few days had been.
‘“Tonight I’ll see my fiancee for the first time in years. I guess it’s normal to be nervous. I just worry that we’ve grown apart after all this time. Really, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. Sometimes I wonder if we might be better off as friends.”’ Varka paused at the line and sighed deeply.
“Now Flins, as your reliable narrator, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Past-Me was not wrong. I felt really bad about it, but the moment I saw her I felt…well nothing. No spark. No relief of seeing her after so many years apart. And just this…I don’t know… dread isn’t the right word. But something akin to it, that I’d made a huge mistake and didn’t want to drag her into a life with me where love was not reciprocated.”
“But enough of that for now,” the Grand Master said, scratching the back of his neck and standing. “I’ll be back for more story time with Varka later.”
In truth, he needed a moment. Some time to gather his thoughts, knowing what was coming in the letters ahead. And maybe even some liquid courage with the fellow soldiers in the main room. It took several hours and twice as many flagons before Varka had discarded his cares enough to venture back into the quiet of Flins’ room.
Tongue loosened, shoulders relaxed, Varka sat on the side of Flin’s bed, finding comfort in the other’s mere presence.
“Alright, where were we?” Varka started, opening the next letter to read.
‘“Dear Flins,
I’m not sure whether that went better or worse than I imagined. Dinner with my fiancee and her family went by without a hitch. Conversation was easy. The food was divine. But I almost felt…bored? Maybe my standards are too high. Not that she isn’t lovely, or witty. And she’s highly intelligent. Actually I can’t find fault with her in any meaningful way. Maybe the fault is with me instead? I guess being hit on the head in battle one too many times has finally caught up with me. But when she kissed me on the cheek as we parted, I was almost relieved there was no more to it than that. Something must be broken in me. Hopefully I’m just tired.”’
“Oof, heavy thoughts,” Varka laughed upon finishing the letter. “Hope it’s not too much for you to hear. Having a captive audience to my self-revelations is a bit unnerving. But you’re welcome to wake up and stop me any time.”
Varka paused for a long moment. “No? Well I guess I’ll continue since your interest is so piqued you refuse to leave the room. Let me find the next letter…”
‘“Dear Flins,
I can’t tell you how shocked I was that you actually wrote to me. But has anyone ever told you, you write like an old man? Maybe it’s an ancient fae thing. Not that I’m exactly sure that’s what you are, but a man can guess.
But from one old man to another, it really was nice to hear from you. Despite being back in Mondstadt, I feel strangely homesick for Nod Krai. Maybe it’s the change in routine. Or the lack of Rift creatures that seek to take my head off on the daily. Would it be strange to say I missed you? In a brother-in-arms, purely platonic way of course.
All those late nights at the Flagship drinking together, nights under the stars as we camped after a long fight with the Wild Hunt, knowing you always had my back in a fight. It just feels so odd to part ways. And that you’re an entire ocean and continent away.
And if you want to ignore that, I’ll take the hint.”’
Varka glanced over at Flins. The fae still lay on his side, curled in upon himself, knees bent towards his chest. A faint shimmer rippled over his skin, the iridescence of whatever dark magic shielded and protected his form encased within his wings. They did not spring forth from his back in any biological way, yet the way they flowed between the strands of his hair, the same soft indigo like a ripe autumn berry, was as organic as if he’d been born with them.
“Fair warning, it just gets sappier from here,” Varka stated, settling more comfortably, relaxing against the headboard, one arm up behind his head, legs crossed at the calf as he pulled out the next letter.
‘“Dear Flins,
I don’t think I ever asked you if you’ve ever been in love. I probably failed to ask you a lot of things about yourself. Not that you’d answer many of them, secretive being that you are. But I’m still curious.
I only bring it up because I am decidedly not in love with my fiancee. And I told her as much. Kept trying to talk myself out of it, but despite my heart almost beating out of my chest for the entire day, I knew it was the right thing. She took it well. Probably realized how much we had grown apart. Or maybe I never really knew her either.
But when I told her she deserved happiness, someone to love and cherish her, and that that someone was not me, I think she understood. Then she asked me if there was someone else. I was so startled. I said ‘no’ before I could even take a moment to ponder it. I thought I was telling her the truth. But I was lying to us both.
So now I’m back at Angel’s Share. And I swear I’ve only had one pint so far. Remember how I used to write love letters to her in Nod Krai? You and the Knights used to rib me for that. All in good fun, I’m sure.
But now, instead, I’m back in Mondstadt. At another bar. Drinking. Thinking. Writing to someone else I wish was here with me.”’
Varka shook his head, snorting at his own sappy words. “Sorry Flins. I can’t even blame alcohol for that one. But let me warn you, it only gets worse. So if you don’t want to hear me pour my heart out, now would be a good time for you to wake up and smack some sense into me.” He paused. “No? Alright, can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
‘“Dear Flins,
This is going to sound overly maudlin of me, but I had a dream about you last night. Not anything untoward. Just us. Together. And I woke up feeling so happy. Everyone said I was in such a great mood all day. It’s kind of amazing how much lighter I felt. So it really got me thinking. And of course you don’t have to, but if you ever want to visit Mondstadt, perhaps I could show you around? Get drinks with me at Angel’s Share, meet my friends. Hells, we could even find some Hilichurls or something to kill together, for old times sake.’”
Varka looked over at Flins, wondering if it was his tired eyes playing tricks on him, or was the fae slightly smiling? Or perhaps that had been his expression this entire time. Shrugging he pulled out the next letter.
“Guess now I know why you never responded to that. Damn crows, you probably thought I didn’t think of you once, huh? Little did you know...” He unfolded one more envelope from the bottom of the pile, pressing it flat with his hands almost reverently before glancing over at Flins with a sad smile on his face. “Last one, then you’ll be free of my musings, I swear.”
‘“Dear Flins,
I’m sorry to hear you’ve felt useless with less to do since the Knights have been away and the Lightkeepers’ jobs are few and far between. But I want you to know, you are so much more than just that. More than a Lightkeeper. More than a fighter. More than a fae or a man or whatever the hell you are that’s been your sole purpose your entire existence. I know you didn’t respond about coming here to Mondstadt, but you would be welcome here with me. By my side.
I have something to tell you, but I’d rather say it in person. And if you’ll let me, I’ll make sure that as long as I’m here, you’ll never feel alone again.’”
“See I told you, sappy as all hell,” Varka said, sighing and looking down at his signature, wondering how Flins would have responded had he actually received the letter. If he would have laughed off Varka’s human emotions, found his words unnecessary, his offer and the subtlety lost or easily brushed off.
He shivered, not willing to sit with the thought. But then he realized the goosebumps upon his forearm were not from such an easily definable source. The air in the room felt strange, as if all the static had gathered in one final crescendo before snapping out of existence and leaving all who felt it bereft.
“So what was it?”
Startled, Varka nearly jumped out of his skin as he glanced over to find yellow glowing eyes watching him enraptured. A hand softly reached out, touching the back of his own with consoling intent.
“...the thing you simply had to tell me in person?” the fae finished, voice raspy from disuse.
“Flins, you’re…are you alright?” Varka managed to stammer out.
“Not if you make me wait.”
Varka looked from side to side, admiring the wings that enfolded Flins’ lithe form, open yet still framing him in an iridescent shimmer upon pale skin.
“I…I have a feeling you know what I’m going to say. Are you really going to make me spell it out?” Varka stammered, unbelieving that his words had actually reached the fae, had coaxed him out of his comatose state.
“Hmm. Despite only just waking, I find myself quite tired yet again. Perhaps a nap is in order,” the Flins said softly, stretching his neck as if in search of a more comfortable position.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Varka barked far too loudly, sitting up and reaching beneath the wings to grip Flins’ shoulders in calloused hands. The slight upturn to the fae’s lips told the tale that the fae knew exactly what game he was playing at. “Are you going to threaten this cocoon bullshit every time I upset you?” Varka finished, shaking his head at the other man.
“Not every time,” Flins replied, reaching a hand out to gently touch the side of Varka’s face.
Varka’s breath caught, a hitch that held more than words and yet not enough to convey the entirety of his heart. He reached up, touching the back of Flin’s hand reverently, thumb tracing the soft skin that had warmed against his own.
“Don’t ever make me miss you again.”