Work Text:
Dottore sat in the semi-darkness of his laboratory, an unfolded, yellowed parchment in his hands. The faint light of a kerosene lamp caught only his thin fingers, gripping the fragile paper, and the shadows dancing on walls covered in formulas and diagrams. In his other hand, he held a bouquet of crimson roses; their petals had already begun to wither, losing their pristine freshness. The scent, once sweet and intoxicating, now mingled with the acrid smell of reagents, creating a whimsical, unsettling symphony.
«My Dottore, – the letter began, written in the clear, confident handwriting he knew so well, – if you are reading this, it means I have already made the sacrifice. Do not look for ways to bring me back. My path ended where there is no return, where the end justified the means, even if those means were my very existence.»
Dottore smirked bitterly. Capitano. Always so direct, so unwavering in his decisions. And always so… loving, in his own peculiar, stern way. He remembered the day Capitano first brought him those roses. A tender gesture, completely at odds with the image of a ruthless Harbinger who struck terror into entire kingdoms. Back then, in this very laboratory, the air was saturated with the warmth of their bodies and a silence broken only by the rustle of pages and the muffled beating of hearts.
«I know that you always tried to understand, while I always preferred to act. And now, my action is the final step. I do not ask you to wait, nor do I ask you to grieve. I only ask you to remember. Remember what was between us. Remember that even in the heart of a machine, in a mind filled with a thirst for knowledge, there can be a place for something… real.»
Dottore slowly traced his finger over the line, as if trying to feel the warmth of the hand that had traced these words. He remembered. How could he not? The years spent together were a series of ups and downs, scientific breakthroughs, and military campaigns. They were two sides of the same coin, two predators who had found in each other a rare understanding and… something more. In his world, Dottore’s world, where every emotion was merely a chemical reaction and every being an object of study, Capitano was an anomaly. A perfect balance of strength and tenderness, cruelty and loyalty.
«Merging with the Realm of Night was the only way to achieve my own goal. And I could not turn away from it. It is my duty; this is how I ended my final battle. I must liberate this world, even if the price is my own oblivion. But know that even there, in the Realm of Night, a part of me will belong to you. Your knowledge, your discoveries, even your most insane experiments—all of this became part of me, just as I became part of you. Farewell, my only one.»
The bouquet in Dottore’s hand felt heavier. These roses, a symbol of their passion, now seemed a symbol of farewell. Capitano, who had always strived for greatness, had chosen the greatest path—dissolving into energy to give life to a new world. He, Dottore, had remained here, in his laboratory, with a promise to remember. But what is memory to one who seeks to transcend reality itself?
Years passed. Years filled with a new thirst for knowledge, new grand projects. Dottore, like a wound-up mechanism, continued his work. Experiments in Sumeru, where the air was saturated with wisdom and a painful past, became his new testing ground. He sought answers, new facets of existence, trying to understand the very essence of life and death.
And he found them. He found the path to Irminsul, to the source of memories, to the very fabric of reality. His ambition knew no bounds; his mind was indomitable. He wanted to rewrite fate, correct mistakes, create a perfect world. And for that, he was willing to do anything.
The final weeks burned with heat. Not the heat of research, but the heat of change. Irminsul, faced with his intrusion, reacted. Violently. Inevitably. Dottore, submerged in the very heart of the tree, felt his body begin to burn. His past personas were pulling him into the fire, his memories, everything was burning in a bright flame, and he himself along with it.
He saw images. Faces. Projects. And among them—the silhouette of Capitano. Majestic, radiant. And the roses. Crimson as blood, as passion, as his own pain. The final gift. The final reminder.
«I… remember…» – he whispered, before his consciousness finally dissolved into the raging flames of Irminsul.
Now, Dottore’s laboratory was empty. The silence, once filled with the hum of instruments, the rustle of pages, and quiet but passionate voices, was deafening. The aroma of the tea they so loved to drink together, discussing everything under the sun—from the complex structure of an atom to the subtleties of the human soul—was gone. It had been replaced by a light, barely perceptible dust that had settled on the empty shelves and tools.
In the center of the room, on a marble table, stood a bouquet. The crimson roses, now dried and fragile, as if petrified, still held echoes of past passions. Their petals, cracked by time, seemed like tears frozen on the cheeks of memories.
No notes. No experiments. Only emptiness. And this bouquet. A crimson trace in a devastated universe, a reminder of two Harbingers whose paths had diverged, but whose story remained forever inscribed in the fabric of reality they both had sought to understand and conquer. Their love, their ambitions, their tragedy—all of it was but a fleeting yet bright flame in the eternal night of Teyvat. And now that the flame had died out, only an echo remained. And the crimson trace of eternal roses.