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Let me tell you a story.
Once, there was a planet isolated from everything. It followed its own rules, all created by a being who called themselves god, and who was afraid of everything not in their control. And so they created rules and sanctions and punishments, burying the planet under a false sky so that no gaze could ever see through it, inside or outside.
Perhaps that was enough, for a while, but the beings outside of the planet – THEY who became more, THEY who are no gods but concepts – well, THEY have better to do than worry about some backwater planet, don’t you think? So perhaps it was never enough – rather, perhaps THEY never cared enough.
But then – a Cataclysm. A betrayal, the end of a nation, friendships and brotherhood destroyed. A moment of weakness. A false sky that, just for a moment, was pierced.
The despair, tears and rage of a knight, strong enough to attract THEIR attention.
Picture this: your brother has been captured, blinded, and only you can save him.
It is a terrible situation, but you are strong, you are a knight, and you will save your brother. So you go gather your friends, people you know are strong and won’t hesitate, and you explain everything.
They say yes, and you feel hope blossom in your chest. With them, you can save your brother. Perhaps you can even save this broken nation. Together, you can make everything better.
Then –
Death. Red, so much red – and you wonder if you’re the reason this all happened, if only you hadn’t gathered the monsters who pretended to be your friends, if only you hadn’t led them to the traitor you once called brother.
It doesn’t matter. In the end, you can only scream and cry and swear revenge.
I won’t rest, I will never stop until you, you traitors, you chose power and immortality over everything how could you-
(Mmh. Really, it’s no wonder THEY noticed.)
The thing about Aeons is that THEY don’t care.
No, that’s not quite true – THEY do care, but what THEY care about and how THEY care about it are quite complicated to understand.
Take Yaoshi, for example. The Abundance gives and gives and does not care if you don’t want it. THEY give immortality, life no matter the cost, even when death would be a better option. THEY give and give and then take, uncaring of the opinions of others. Why does it matter that your body is unrecognisable, that you can’t think anymore? You breathe. You live. It is all that matters.
Some would call that caring. Others would call it a fate worse than death.
The Hunt is different. For all that the Luofu swore allegiance to THEM, for all they erase the Abundance’s abominations in THEIR name, Lan cares very little. The Alliance can call upon them, should they need it, but it’s less about them and more about their prey. Lan is a hunter – everything else is secondary.
One could argue that The Abundance is a more caring Aeon than The Hunt. But be honest: when you look at their followers, at what the care of Yaoshi does to THEIR worshippers, maybe no care is better than any at all.
So, Lan. The Hunt.
THEY don’t care, not really – at least, not in a way mortals can understand. But they still grant their blessings to some select few, still manage to look away from THEIR prey for a second to glance at the feeble soul who caught THEIR attention.
It doesn’t happen often, but it still happens.
The five sinners leave, and Dainsleif feels something explode inside his chest.
It’s impossible to describe. It’s fire under his skin even as his teeth clench against the cold, it’s pulling at his every nerve even as he can feel himself relax against his will, it’s being stared at by something bigger than Teyvat itself.
It’s being seen.
(It’s an Aeon, seeing a mortal step into THEIR path, and making a claim.)
Like I said – THEY don’t really care.
But THEY can empathise.
Dainsleif barely remembers escaping the ruins of Khaenri’ah, going to Sumeru to help and eventually meeting the outlander who had spent so much time with the King.
Following the destruction of everything he once loved and protected, Dainsleif travels the world with the outlander, this strange being who tried to save his nation.
They hadn’t spoken much before now, the golden outlander staying close to the King as Dainsleif remained a mere knight – one high-graded, perhaps, but nothing to the King.
His brother and friends betrayed him – but at least, he’s not alone. At least, he still has one friend.
(And if sometimes, his travelling companion looks at him as if trying to see something else, as if sensing something that should not exist in this artificial world, then Dainsleif never hears about it.)
Dainsleif is cursed with immortality – all Khaenri’ann are. However, the Shade of Death is merely a fragment of a higher being – one that remains below an Aeon. What is a mere tyrant to a concept that transcends the universe?
Still, the curse of immortality remains within Dainsleif – but stronger than that is Lan’s blessing, seeping into his very being, keeping him focused and sane, far more than the ring gifted by his traitor of a brother ever could.
(Dain hates that ring, hates that he needs it to survive, to hunt. He hates that a childish, foolish part of him wonders if that means his big brother still cares about him.)
In another world, Dainsleif would have wielded the power of the Abyss, hating every second of it, this dark power that surrounded him, this power that had corrupted those he once called friends.
This world is a little kinder. The Bough Keeper travels alone, but on the coldest nights, when the world and memories weigh heavily on his shoulders, the feeling of being seen makes it a little easier to breathe. Even as nightmares often haunt him, dreams of rainbows keep the curse and his memories at bay, allowing him to rest.
It takes a long time for Dainsleif to get used to his new powers.
It’s not like he can go and ask someone about it. For all that his brother and friends – no don’t think of them like that – were far more interested in the study of entities in and out of Teyvat than he was, travelling alone for years is enough for him to realise that whatever blessed him is from outside, a being powerful enough to either avoid the Heavenly Principles or make them too wary to retaliate against either the being or Dain. He’s not sure which possibility is worst.
He still dresses in black and blue, clinging to the colours of his lost country more out of habit than any real lost love, but sometimes he stops to admire the few rainbows that follow the rain. It’s quite strange, as he never bothered before, but now something about the colours attracts his gaze.
At least he’s too busy experimenting and theorising to think about how his travelling companion betrayed him, like everyone in his life.
Dainsleif can wield all sorts of weapons – Haden would not allow for anything less – but his main one and the one he’s most comfortable with has always been his sword. There is a reason he was called the Twilight Sword, after all.
Bows are not something he used often, but as he walks in the streets of the City of the Wind, he catches sight of one of the bows behind the blacksmith and he can’t tear his gaze away. Even as he walks away, his mind can’t help but fall back on what he saw.
Days pass, and Dainsleif still doesn’t know why he stops in Mondstadt to look at the archers of the Favonius Order, or even why he stops by the blacksmith to make his own, or why he tries his own hand at it even though it’s been years since he shot an arrow.
The bow – his bow – is lighter than his sword, and it takes him more time to get used to it, but shooting the members of the Abyss Order from afar when they think distance will keep them safe from him is incredibly satisfying.
The first time he really talks about the whole thing, it is with a member of the Hexenzirkel of all people.
Dainsleif doesn’t actually hate them, except Rinedhottir, but he has no love for them – they rank on the same level as the gods, which is basically don’t like and don’t interact.
So it’s by complete happenstance that he stumbles upon the one who calls herself B.
“Hello!”
Barbeloth. Dainsleif knows that the members of the Hexenzirkel are supposedly friends, that among them hides one of the Five Sinners – Rinedhottir, who cared for nothing but her own experiments – and has to grit his teeth.
“Is there something you need?”
Tell me where Rinedhottir is, he briefly thinks, but for all that Dainsleif is furious, that does not make him foolish. Of all the sinners, Rinedhottir is the most troublesome one – and even if Barbeloth knew where she was, she wouldn’t tell him, and trying to force a member of the Hexenzirkel to give him information is a sure way to make very powerful enemies.
“No.” is his cold and dry answer, and B lets out a short laugh.
“Are you sure? Many would pay to peer through the future.”
Peer through the future. Dainsleif thinks of blond hair – the same shade as his – and empty eyes seeing far more than they should, and suppresses a shudder. If Barbeloth notices, at least she doesn’t say anything.
“I see that you are curious!” B’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he realises too late that he’s been silent for too long.
“I already said no.” Dainsleif retorts, irritated, but Barbeloth is already looking at her crystal ball with a smirk on her face.
It is only when her smirk abruptly falls that Dainsleif’s anger fades, replaced by a strange curiosity.
“I did not expect this… How interesting.” she whispers, “It seems your fate is no longer in Teyvat’s hands.”
Dainsleif blinks.
“What do you mean by that?”
Barbeloth ignores his question and remains silent for a moment, as if still trying to come to terms with whatever it is that she has seen.
When she speaks again, her eyes are fixed on Dainsleif as if examining some kind of new phenomenon. It makes his skill crawl, but he does his best not to show it.
“I won’t say anything more.” she looks more amused than anything, “What an ironic twist! Why, it’s been a while since I’ve been this amused. Even Alice couldn’t have seen this one coming.”
The conversation ends here, and Barbeloth leaves, looking oddly pleased with herself.
Damn seers. Dainsleif can’t help but think bitterly before walking away, and he tries to put that strange conversation out of his mind.
He fails.
It happens during one of his hunts.
He doesn’t know when he started calling them that, but it seems right in a way he can’t quite describe. Dainsleif hunts the Abyss Order, never letting them leave his sight until nothing but blood and ashes remain.
And so, during one of his hunts – an Abyssal Lector – something burns inside him, and instead of his sword, Dainsleif draws his bow and aims.
The words that escape him are words he has never spoken before, but they slip from his lips as if out of his control.
“Let the Lux arrow pierce the sky.”
The field is bathed in a rainbow of colours, and when the light dissipates, no trace of the abyss remains.
No trace of anything left, actually.
Dainsleif stares, hands clenched tight on his bow, and wonders if the tremble in his hands is from fear or excitement.