Chapter Text
It was the morning of Zandik’s eighty-fifth birthday. There wasn’t a celebration; neither was there a pile of presents for him to open, nor had there been a cake with candles to blow out. There was only silence when he awoke, not even realizing at first what day it was. He was greeted by the loneliness of his room, followed by a familiar ache in his bones, and the knowledge that he was to die soon.
He was slow to stand up. He grabbed his cane that had been leaning against his bedside. He changed out of his nightwear, putting on his lab coat and gloves, after which he put on his shoes. After that, he went on to look at his reflection in the mirror.
A scowl made its way onto his lips.
His old age was apparent. He was greeted with the sight of his wrinkled face, his lightened hair, and visible slump on his shoulders. Before the mirror, he could clearly see how much his hands were trembling, even as one tightly held onto his cane.
He hated this. He compared his image to what it had been many decades ago.
So much had changed.
It was meant to be a special day—having lived to an age that most could only dream of. But, as he scrutinized his appearance, he could only yearn for everything that he has lost. Gone were his striking features, retaining none of the appeal that he had in his youth. The muscles he gained throughout the years had also disappeared.
For all the wisdom that he gained in his old age, he lost everything else in turn. Even his greatest asset, that of his mind, had slowed in its processing speed.
Zandik was no longer the man that he used to be.
Wasn’t that truly a shame?
“You look miserable,” He heard a voice from behind him speak up. It was Scaramouche. He saw his silhouette in the mirror, watching as he leaned against the doorframe to his room.
Zandik didn’t turn to face him. He had little energy to do much of anything. Scaramouche didn’t seem to mind as he commented nothing about his rudeness.
He squinted his eyes.
Scaramouche was as beautiful as ever. It irritated Zandik to no end. It really wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t as though he was vain.
He never cared much for his appearance. No matter how handsome he had been in his youth, he was still treated as an outcast. Time and time again, for all his admirers, he had been pushed aside, rebuked by the people who he once looked up to. His appearance meant little to him when his very core was rotten.
Zandik just couldn’t stand it. Scaramouche was around the same age that he was. He wasn’t sure on the exact number, but the range was close enough.
As such, Scaramouche’s youthful appearance felt like an insult. He knew that it was due to his nature as a puppet, that no matter how much he aged, his face would never change. His hair could grow longer, if he so let it, but the softness of his lips, the smoothness of his skin, and the cool gleam in his eyes would endure even the wreckage of time.
The same couldn’t be said for Zandik.
He was merely a normal human. One who had spent an entire lifetime chasing after the very transcendence that Scaramouche had been born with. A bitter thought came to mind. He had accomplished a lot in his life—including having improved the Fatui’s arsenal, having broken and rebuilt Scaramouche, and most important of all: having created his segments. He made living copies of himself that were pulled from different moments in his life.
That alone should be proof of his genius. However, none of his feats have spared him from his fate. He was now a pitiful old man whose hands have grown unsteady as his heart was taken over by regret.
“Well?” Scaramouche prompted as he entered Zandik’s room. The silence between must have stretched for far too long, “Do you have nothing to say? To think that I came all this way to greet you on your birthday, only for you to ignore me. How rude. Could it be that you have already gone senile?”
Scaramouche’s tongue was as sharp as it always was.
It made Zandik roll his eyes, “I’m simply thinking.”
“Oh? About what?” Scaramouche walked until he was standing in front of Zandik.
His hands reached for the tie beneath his collar. It was loose. Zandik had found it difficult to fasten his tie after he reached his eighties. The motion was too elaborate for his stiff fingers. Scaramouche knew this, so after he smoothed out the wrinkles on his dress shirt, he made sure to carefully secure his tie around his neck.
It was a sweet act.
Zandik almost smiled.
His lips remained stubborn, however. It didn’t help that his thoughts were anything but happy, “I was thinking about the inevitable. I can feel it. I'm going to die soon.”
Scaramouche stilled before him. An unreadable emotion flashed through his face.
Could it be grief?
“I should’ve known,” Scaramouche scoffed, “All humans do is betray me time and time again. I should’ve known that you wouldn’t be the exception.”
“It’s human nature to die one day.”
That only upset Scaramouche more. His face crumpled as he let go of Zandik’s tie. Without saying another word, he turned around and left the room. Zandik was left all by himself—aware that if he had just remained silent, then Scaramouche wouldn’t have walked away.
He could only sigh. There was no denying the truth. He was already one step into death’s door. His death could come at any moment.
He just didn’t expect it to happen that same day.
“Help me… up… C- Call for help…” He called out to his segments after he fell. He expected for them to help him, to do as he pleaded. Except, they didn’t.
His eyes widened in horror as Segment 35’s lips formed a sinister smirk. His segments were leaving him to die on the morning of his own birthday. His chest ached with an intensity that bordered on a heart attack.
“Don’t forget, you’re one of… us…”
“Yes, and we’re all waiting.”
Zandik could only laugh, “Hah… Waiting for me to die?”
His vision blurred. His last breath was soon stolen from him. His body had grown numb, while his hand dropped to his side. He was dead.
After eighty-five years, Zandik had finally died.
That should have been the end of it.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Zandik swallowed a deep breath, practically gasping for air, before he opened his eyes. He sat up, wrapping his hands around his neck, as his ears rang and his entire body trembled in panic. He felt his heartbeat hasten its pace as he struggled to comprehend what happened.
He died.
His legs had gotten too weak to support him, resulting in him falling to the floor. He called out for help, only for his segments to cheer at his demise. He didn’t know what to feel at the reality that his own segments, the extensions of his very sense of self, had wanted him to die. It made him even more bitter. It cemented the truth that no one, not even ‘himself’ could love someone like him.
Zandik would forever be a monster and an outcast, even going so far as to die like one. He buried his face into his hands as he held back a scream.
“Is this… the afterlife?” He choked out.
He looked around his surroundings. He didn’t know what to expect once he died. He had no clue as to where his soul would end up. What he didn’t expect was for him to open his eyes to an environment that looked as though it belonged in the nation of Inazuma. He stood up from the ground that he woke up on.
The terrain was jagged, with tall cliffs that were daunting to climb. There were cool-toned trees all around, with a few shipwrecks by the shore. For some odd reason, it all felt so familiar to Zandik.
He thought that his afterlife would have looked more like Sumeru, his homeland, or Snezhnaya, where he lived for a majority of his life. Instead, he was walking around the shores of one of Inazuma’s islands. It wasn’t that he was complaining. This place looked really nice. He was just surprised. He knelt before the shore, curious as to what his appearance now was.
His body somehow felt lighter. His bones were no longer aching, and his hands had stopped shaking. It made him wonder if his form reverted to that from his adolescence.
He leaned over the water. The tide was gentle enough that his reflection settled quickly.
Zandik gasped.
The face that stared back at him was youthful.
His skin was smooth to touch, missing the wrinkles that formed in his later years. His hair was vibrant and silky when he ran his hand through them. He found it hard to believe. How was this possible?
He was actually young again. Though, his clothes were the same as those that he died in.
It was a blessing. He looked as he did in his twenties, with his sharp features and delicate frame. He almost wanted to cry in relief.
“H- Hello, mister…” A voice from behind him spoke softly, shocking him as he hadn’t even heard anyone approach him. Zandik turned his head, only for his eyes to widen when he saw someone familiar standing nearby. It was Scaramouche—no, he shook his head, it was him from before he joined the Fatui. It was the Kabukimono who called for him with a shy smile, “Are you lost? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
Zandik’s throat felt dry.
What was happening? Wasn’t this his afterlife? Why was the Kabukimono here? He didn’t understand. Could it be that Scaramouche had left that much of an impact on his life? If so, then why was he the Kabukimono? Why was his afterlife mirrored after Inazuma? Many questions ran through his mind. He had no answers for any of them.
“Mister?” The Kabukimono crouched down. He seemed concerned for Zandik with how he had yet to even say anything to him.
“I… I don’t think so? I don’t know,” Zandik replied.
The Kabukimono hummed, “It’s okay if you’re lost. Let’s go to the village. Someone there can help you find your way back home.”
He then offered his hand.
Zandik stared at it blankly. Village? His afterlife seriously couldn’t be Tatarasuna, could it? He hesitantly took the Kabukimono’s hand as he stood up, brushing away the sand that clung to his lab coat.
“I’m Kabukimono. What’s your name?” The Kabukimono introduced himself.
“You may call me Zandik.”
“Your name is lovely,” The Kabukimono murmured.
Zandik could feel his face heat up. He raised his hand to cover his mouth as the Kabukimono led him to a nearby village. There, he saw a lot of people that died after he sabotaged Mikage Furnace all those years ago. To see them again, so full of life, made him wonder if this was actually a punishment for his crimes. Could that be why the Kabukimono was here? To haunt him for ruining his life? He felt numb inside.
“Oh? Who’s your new friend, Kabukimono?” Someone walked toward them. His voice made Zandik stiffen.
It couldn’t be.
“Good morning, Escher,” The Kabukimono greeted with a sweet smile, “This is Zandik. I met him at the beach and he seemed to be lost. I’m bringing him to Niwa to see if he could help him get back home.”
‘Escher’ pursed his lips, “Zandik, huh? Interesting. Well then, I won’t hold you up any longer. Niwa’s busy at the furnace, as always.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Anytime.”
Zandik struggled to breathe. This wasn’t possible. In the past, he was disguised as ‘Escher’. How could there be an ‘Escher’ here if he was already present as Zandik?
That was unless… this wasn’t the afterlife.
Zandik tightened his grip on the Kabukimono’s hand.
The Kabukimono looked back at him, “Are you nervous? Don’t be. Niwa’s really nice. Trust me!”
He looked so innocent. He didn’t have a perpetual frown like Scaramouche, and his eyes still retained the wonder that he had since abandoned in his later years. It felt so real. Maybe, it was real. Zandik could feel his heart drop at the realization.
Had he travelled back in time?
The Kabukimono gently cupped his face. Zandik could only bite his tongue, remembering Scaramouche, who had stormed out on him before he died. He wanted to know if he had been told of his death. He felt a weight over his shoulders as he recalled how grim their last interaction had been.
“I’m sorry.” Zandik couldn’t tell if he was apologizing to the Kabukimono for ruining him, or to Scaramouche for everything. He just needed to say it.
The Kabukimono tilted his head, confused.
“Hm? It’s alright. It must be scary being lost. I’m here for you though,” The Kabukimono comforted him.
Zandik couldn’t bring himself to correct him. What could he even say? If he were to tell him the truth, it was likely that the Kabukimono would believe him to be insane.
And so, he said nothing.
He continued to follow the Kabukimono, with their hands intertwined. He allowed himself to be led forward into a past that he had once believed was long behind him.
Maybe, this time around, he could help the Kabukimono attain a kinder fate. He might as well try.