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Wanderer watched by the window as Durin left the Favonius headquarters. It was late already. The sunset carried orange and red shades all around Mondstadt. The Anemo Archon’s statue casted its shadow over the city, protecting its citizens as they slowly went back to the comfort of their homes.
Durin disappeared behind a corner. Wanderer turned back inside. The sunset also illuminated Albedo’s office, filtering between thick blue curtains. It was kind of messy, two desks covered in essays, papers and vials, bookshelves filled to the brim and a thin layer of dusk above the paintings hanging on the walls.
Wanderer went to sit on the second desk. He observed Albedo for a moment. They spent the last two hours with Durin making sure everything went back to normal after overlapping both of his fates. Seemingly, everything was okay. Yet, Albedo asked Wanderer to stay after Durin left to go back home. Why? Albedo was still writing in a notebook retracing everything they said earlier. Usually, Wanderer would have hated waiting, but he didn’t feel like leaving. The air was comfortable, and so was Albedo’s presence, even if he was still confused as to why someone he didn’t even know that well could make him feel relaxed. Besides, if Albedo wanted to ask him about Durin, it had to be important.
Albedo finally put his pen down.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. There is something I’d like to discuss with you before you leave.”
Wanderer nodded. He looked at Albedo, whose gaze seemed to analyze him. He had these beautiful teal eyes, a color Wanderer only saw in Sumeru’s shiniest rivers during summer. The same sun that made those waters gleam reflected in Albedo’s eyes.
“It’s about you.”
Wanderer was cut off in his thoughts by the statement. He immediately averted his gaze towards the door. The shift in the atmosphere was instant.
“There is nothing to say about me.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
Wanderer could feel Albedo staring at him. He didn’t answer, still focused on the door. He wasn’t here to talk about himself, and even if he barely knew Albedo, he figured the alchemist wasn’t going to question him about his taste in books or anything of the sort. A conversation about such frivolous subjects was already a hassle, but sharing deeper, more personal information was far worse. Albedo spoke again.
“You said, back in Nod-Krai, that you were a puppet. I’m intrigued. Who made you? And with what technology?”
“And why does it matter?”
Wanderer got up and took a step towards the door. But he didn’t leave. He looked at Albedo, and saw nothing but polite curiosity. He didn’t look like someone who would want to use him. It was something different, driven by other ambitions. For one second too long, Wanderer felt himself hesitate. Albedo noticed and got up from his desk. Wanderer wanted to move, to at least take a step backwards, but he stayed there as the blond stopped in front of him.
“Can I see your hand?”
“Why?”
“I want to verify something.”
Wanderer sighed and gave his hand to Albedo. Maybe after that, he would notice there isn’t anything special about him and he could leave.
Albedo gently took his hand. He flipped it over, examined each knuckle with what seemed like genuine scientific curiosity. Wanderer stood there, as seconds seemed to stretch and he grew more and more uncomfortable. A strand of hair fell in front of Albedo’s face as he tilted his head. And suddenly, the warmth was too much, the feeling of Albedo’s skin on his felt like fire, and Wanderer removed his hand like he just burned himself.
“My apologies”. Albedo spoke but Wanderer could barely hear him behind the buzzing in his ears. “I’m quite surprised. You don’t have any doll joints. I’m assuming they faded over time?”
Wanderer readjusted his hat, trying to regain his composure. He never felt like this before. He wasn’t scared of Albedo, nor intimidated : yet something about him felt electrifying. The way the alchemist looked at him, it caused sensations in his body he could not name. Between fascination and nervousness. Wanderer knew, thanks to Durin, what friendship was : but this was not it. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms above his chest.
“They did fade.”
“How long did it take?”
“I don’t remember. A few years.”
Albedo shook his head and went back to his desk.
“Those would take dozens of years to fade.”
He opened a drawer and retrieved five thick books. Wanderer recognized the green cover of the Amurta Darshan, and a red one that seemed to be from the Spantamad. Albedo took the biggest book from the pile and set it aside. The pages seemed worn off by time and the cover was blank, except for a thin golden outline.
“I did my research, and I didn’t find anything conclusive. Except for this. There’s this old Khaenri’ahn technology…”
“And again”, Wanderer cutted him off, “why does any of this matter?”
Albedo opened the book and started flipping through the pages quickly as he sat down.
“It matters because I care.”
“And why do you even care?”
He locked eyes with Albedo.
And Albedo stopped flipping the pages. Why did he care? Wanderer was frowning at him, awaiting an answer Albedo wasn’t sure he could give.
The obvious answer was that he was interested in the creation of human life. That’s why his Master created him, and that’s what he studied for years, to in the end be able to give a human body to Durin. So of course Albedo was intrigued by Wanderer’s existence. Yet, there was something else. A feeling deeper than his usual scientific curiosity, something he couldn't find in books.
The night was setting in and it was getting dark. Albedo lit up the lantern on his desk. The fire projected its orange light in the room. Wanderer wasn’t moving, his indigo eyes still fixated on Albedo. He probably realized his question wasn’t going to be answered, yet he didn’t say anything. Silence settled in. The air was thick, not in the way discomfort between two people created distance, but in the way two souls connect through every atom, like the atmosphere itself was carrying the nameless energy that united them.
Without a word, Wanderer went to grab the spare chair Durin used earlier and set it in front of Albedo’s desk. He sat down and removed his hat, placing it carefully leaning against the wood.
“It was a Khaenri’ahn technology. But that’s all I can say. My creator discarded me as soon as she realized I wasn’t good enough.”
Albedo closed the book. It wasn’t usual for him to set his research aside, but this one could wait. The fire in the lantern flickered. Wanderer’s face was easier to see without his hat. He looked like a porcelain doll, and for a brief second, Albedo felt like he already drew him before. He didn’t say anything, careful not to ruin one of Wanderer’s rare moments of vulnerability.
“You’re not human either. But you were perfect, right? You deserved a family.”
Albedo remembered the reflection of the light on Dragonspine’s snow. He could see himself looking up at the sky, seeing snowflakes falling towards him. Family was a strange concept to someone who was still trying to figure out what being human really meant. Wanderer was a new variable : he introduced in his life feelings that could only mean humanity. He sighed quietly.
“Family is not an easy thing. However, not being human doesn’t mean you can’t have one. You just have to create your own definition.”
Wanderer didn’t answer right away. He was looking at the fire dancing inside the lantern, lost in thought. Both of their shadows danced silently on the wall.
“Do you think,” Wanderer finally spoke, in a voice so low it could be a whisper, “you could teach me your definition of family?”
Albedo pondered the question. His definition of family was personal, because before Wanderer, he never met someone like himself, an artificial creation expected to act as a human being. But for the first time, maybe someone would be able to see humanity the way he does. There was something deeply intimate about it.
And now, it made sense. What Albedo felt about Wanderer. The profound desire of having him as part of his world, his life, his family. He cared about Wanderer in a different way than he cared for Klee and Durin, in a way he could, despite his poor understanding of the subject, call romantic. In the delicate flickering of the fire, he looked back at Wanderer and, for the first time, understood what he felt.
“It would be easier to show you what it’s like to be a part of my family, than to explain it to you.”
Outside, the bell above the cathedral struck seven p.m. The distant echo reverberated in the office. Wanderer looked up from the lantern, his expression unreadable.
“You can’t just adopt me in your family. You don’t just pick someone to be your brother.”
Albedo chuckled.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Wanderer frowned, visibly confused.
“There isn’t a way of inviting someone in a family. Unless you get into any sort of romantic relationship, or…”
Wanderer frowned even further. He crossed his arms above his chest and scoffed.
“Is that what you’re implying? A romantic relationship between you and me?”
“If that’s also what you want, then yes, that’s what I’m implying.”
Albedo placed a hand on his chest and felt his synthetic heart beat faster than usual. He could see the stars outside, a thousand of fates brightening up the night. He never thought his own fate could be intertwined with someone else’s ; yet tonight, he wished for two constellations to collide.
And Wanderer, for the first time too, had the same wish. He never thought a day like this would come, not after everything he did and everything he was. But the warmth he felt deep down could not be ignored forever. The second he understood what Albedo was trying to tell him, it was like the glowing sensation in his chest was finally addressed. He had an opportunity to give himself permission to feel, and permission for someone else to see him for what he truly was. Maybe he couldn’t experience romance the same way a human does : but does it really matter, if the one in front of him was synthetic too?
He looked back into Albedo’s eyes, and nodded. And that simple nod meant a thousand words. Words he never knew how to say, some he would eventually learn, but for now, none of them needed to be spoken. Albedo smiled, and in the silence of the office, at peace beneath the stars, two souls interlaced.